Chapter Text
New Orleans in the early 90s had a way of holding heat long past sunset. Even at this hour, the thick summer air clung to the walls of the old Creole houses, softening their bright colors into something honey-warm, almost sleepy. Streetcars rattled down St. Charles like tired old beasts, fireflies blinked lazily over the cracked sidewalks, and somewhere in the French Quarter, a saxophone crooned a tune that wove through the night like a memory.
Up above a small candle shop tucked between a laundromat and a bakery that never closed, a dim lamp shone through thin curtains. Inside, the gentle clutter of a lived-in home hummed with the coziness of routine.
The bedtime routine.
And Lucifer was losing the battle.
“Papa!” Charlie squealed as she bounced on the old mattress. “Vaggie says the prince shouldn’t get a happy ending because he was mean!”
Vaggie, already lying stiff under the covers like a tiny soldier, huffed. “He was a jerk, Charlie. If someone’s a jerk, you don’t save them. You leave them as a frog.”
Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose—an expression frequently found on his face as a single father of two. “Sugar plum, sweetheart… bedtime stories aren’t philosophy class. They’re supposed to lull you both to sleep.”
Charlie blinked innocently. “But you’re reading it kind of scary today.”
“That’s because Daddy is very tired,” Lucifer groaned dramatically. “And this prince is kind of scary.”
The book in his lap was well-loved—creased, torn at the corners, and decorated with small doodles Charlie had drawn during the many nights Lucifer worked overtime. A faded illustration of a smug young prince stared out from the page, caught mid-transformation as the witch raised her wand.
Lucifer adopted a storyteller’s tone, soft and warm with just the faintest accent of their homeland.
“Once upon a time, there was a prince who had everythin’ he wanted but no heart to give. He was selfish, rude, and… honestly, kinda unbearable.”
Vaggie snorted. “Like some people.”
Lucifer’s brows rose. “It’s bedtime, not roast-your-father hour.”
Charlie giggled into her stuffed goat.
He continued, flipping the page with a flourish.
“Because he treated everyone terribly, one day a witch decided she’d had enough. She turned him into a frog and said, ‘Only kindness can break your curse.’”
Charlie sighed dreamily. “Then the princess comes in.”
“Yes indeed,” Lucifer smiled, softening. “Brave, patient, and kind. Even when he snapped. Even when he was rude. She showed him how to be better. Not by magic—”
“—but by choice,” Vaggie finished, rolling her eyes. “You say that every time.”
Lucifer leaned down and flicked her forehead. “And I’ll say it again until it sticks.”
When he closed the book, the gentle domestic hum settled in the room like an exhale. He kissed both girls on their foreheads—Charlie’s was warm and sweet-smelling from her bath, Vaggie’s smelled faintly of the lemon shampoo she hated.
“Alright, fireflies. Lights out.”
Charlie clung to him. “Stay, Papa.”
“I’m right outside,” he whispered, brushing curls away from her forehead. “Promise.”
He turned off the lamp and stepped into the narrow hallway, leaning back against the peeling wallpaper with a long, quiet sigh. His shoulders sagged beneath the weight of another triple shift, his aching feet protested every breath he took, and yet…
He wouldn’t trade his girls for all the kingdoms in the world.
Not even for a little rest.
.
.
.
Across the city, where neon signs buzzed and dark alleys whispered secrets, a different kind of story unfolded.
In a private studio nestled in the heart of the French Quarter, Alastor adjusted the microphone with meticulous precision. His fingers—slender, elegant, gloved—moved with the flourish of someone who understood performance down to its bones.
The ON-AIR sign glowed red.
“My, my,” he purred, voice sliding like velvet through the broadcast waves. “Good evening, my dearest listeners. Tonight’s tale is one of shadows… and of a man who dared to walk among them.”
His diction was crisp, polished, charmingly old-fashioned—the sort of voice that could sell secrets, seduce curiosity, or coax confession. And people listened. Housewives finishing late-night chores. Insomniacs rocking on porches. Taxi drivers drifting down Canal Street.
Even the criminals paused to tune in.
Alastor liked that.
Behind the smooth words, something darker simmered. Something hungry.
Earlier that evening, his extracurricular activities had nearly cost him dearly. A witness had turned the wrong corner at the wrong time. Sirens had wailed closer than comfort allowed.
He despised the feeling of vulnerability.
So now, as jazz hummed faintly from a distant bar beneath his window, the elegant gentleman with the charming radio voice found himself pacing the studio after the broadcast ended. His steps were controlled, his posture immaculate, but his eyes gleamed with a sharpened edge.
“I am,” he murmured to no one, “in need of an upgrade.”
The grimoire lay open on the desk. Its pages breathed like a creature waking from slumber, the ink shimmering faintly. He traced a finger along the diagram.
He wanted power. Immunity. He wanted to become untouchable.
The decision crystallized like lightning behind his eyes.
He would summon something greater than himself.
And he would command it.
.
.
.
The ritual took place behind his mansion, beneath an ancient oak whose hanging moss draped the yard like ghostly veils. Candles flickered in deliberate formation, the scent of incense curling through the humid air.
Alastor drew each rune with steady, deliberate hands.
Precision made perfection.
Perfection meant power.
He stood at the center, cane tapping the ground once, twice.
Then he spoke her name.
R̷̢̨̡̡͎̟͉͖̰͚̂͛̆o̴̙̲̘̮͂̋̔̒͜s̶̨̧̖̻̘̙̟͈̼͓͍̦̹͛͌̎̍͆́̓̃̔̅̐i̸̧͍̹̤̯̗̝̱͉̲̺̺̘̇̊̎͗͋̔͝e̸̛̲̥̋͌͗̓̽̿̉̇̉͝
The world inhaled sharply.
Light tore across the ritual circle, a bloom of pink, red, and reckless magic. It coalesced into a silhouette—a woman draped in soft decadence, her smile as sweet as poison.
“Well, aren’t you just charming?” she cooed, tilting her head with unnatural grace.
Alastor offered a cordial nod. “Good evening, my dear lady.”
Her eyes glinted. “Few mortals dare summon me. Even fewer remain mostly intact afterward.”
“Mostly?” he mused.
“Mm. It’s early yet.”
He chuckled lightly. “I seek power.”
Rosie circled him, examining him like a jewel she wasn’t sure was worth the trouble. Her heels clicked softly against the damp earth.
“And payment?”
Alastor smiled—wide, polite, and empty. “Name your price.”
“A life,” Rosie said without hesitation. “Symbolic. Precious. One tied to the very heartbeat of this city.”
Alastor raised a brow at her riddle. “The heart of New Orleans?”
Rosie’s voice melted into something ancient.
“̸̱͋B̶͓̈́ŕ̴̫ī̷̭n̶͎͒g̵͉͗ ̸͖̏m̷̪͌e̷̤̚ ̶̧̃t̴̻̋h̸͉͝e̴̳͠ ̷̼̈́l̵͕̓ȋ̷̟f̵͚͘ẹ̸̕ ̶̣̏t̴̛͔ḥ̸̀a̷͔̎ť̸̝ ̷̮̓ǩ̶̘e̷̙̓e̸̳̿p̶̬̌s̶̤̏ ̷̨͒i̴͙̋t̸̤̏s̶̹̽ ̶͕͘d̵̩͂r̸̪͊e̷͓͂a̵̲̍m̶̠̄s̷̝̄ ̶̡͊ä̵̪́l̵͙̓i̴̢̎v̸̞̓e̷̲̋.̴̫̕ ̸̛̙B̸̡͐r̵͚͗ì̶̯n̷̲͌g̷̲͐ ̵̳̆m̵̳͝ė̶̢ ̷̱̚i̵̤̔ṭ̷̉ş̵͠ ̴̞̇w̴̢͝a̴̞̽r̴̙͊m̸̩͗t̸̝̔h̸̫̄.̴̞́ ̶͈̀I̷̬̓ţ̷̚s̷͗͜ ̴̣̍s̷̹̚ǒ̵̯u̴̳̅ļ̵̆.̷̢̽ ̷̫͘Ȉ̷̭t̵͈̀s̸̑͜ ̶̏͜h̷̩̆ë̸͎a̵̝̍r̸͙͌t̷͎̀.̴̨̏”̸̠̾
Her smile sharpened.
“But choose carefully. Pick the wrong heart—”
A single nail tapped over his sternum.
“—and the consequences will be… v̶̟̩͕͗̋͌͜į̴̼̲͕̼́̈̈͜l̴̢̹̰̭͌̑̎͌̀ȩ̸̝̱̼͎̱̿̏.̶̡̹͕̪̜̿̏̒͘”
.
.
.
On a quiet, crooked street smelling of rain and fried dough, Lucifer balanced two drooping bags of groceries and a paper-wrapped beignet for Charlie’s snack tomorrow. He’d just finished a double shift at the diner—after a morning shift at the bodega—and every part of him felt like it had wilted in the humid night.
Yet he hummed.
A soft tune, something he used to sing as a child when the world felt too heavy.
Charlie and Vaggie walked ahead of him—Charlie skipping, Vaggie scanning alleys like she owned them.
“Hey, hey, stay where I can see you,” Lucifer called.
Vaggie scoffed. “I can fight a grown man.”
“Well,” Lucifer sighed, “Daddy cannot, so please be mindful.”
Charlie giggled. “Papa’s tiny!”
Lucifer groaned. “Everyone’s a comedian tonight.”
They reached the bakery, its windows warm and glowing.
But someone watched them from the shadows.
A tall silhouette leaned against a lamp post, posture elegant, attention keen. The streetlight caught his smile—bright, polite, unsettling. His eyes gleamed like a predator admiring prey he didn’t want to spook.
Alastor stepped into the light.
“Good evening.”
Lucifer stopped abruptly.
Charlie bumped into his leg.
Vaggie hissed.
Lucifer blinked. “Uh… hi?”
Alastor’s voice dipped silk-smooth. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Lucifer stared up—way up—and muttered, “Lord, you’re tall.”
Alastor chuckled mildly. “And you are… quite compact.”
“Thanks,” Lucifer deadpanned. “Really boostin’ my self-esteem, man.”
Alastor ignored the remark, studying him intently.
This man, this small, exhausted father humming on empty streets—felt strangely warm.
Alive.
Full of things Alastor had never possessed.
It struck him suddenly:
This was the heart Rosie demanded.
Not grand.
Not powerful.
But beating quietly, stubbornly, beautifully.
Alastor’s cane tapped once.
“I’m afraid,” he said gently, “I’ll need you to come with me.”
Lucifer’s pulse jumped in panic.
And Alastor… felt it.
A strange, nauseating wave of fear rushed through his chest, as if it were his own. He inhaled sharply—disoriented.
Lucifer clutched the grocery bags. “I don’t know what you’re sellin’, but we ain’t buyin’.”
Alastor stepped closer.
That spike of fear hit again—sharper this time.
His smile flickered.
“What,” he whispered, confused, “is this?”
Magic burst between them—wild, unwieldy, rejecting his choice.
Rosie materialized with a delighted cackle.
“Oh, Alastor,” she sang, “you foolish creature.”
Lucifer yanked his girls behind him.
Alastor felt the tremor of terror roll off Lucifer, and it slammed into him like a tidal wave.
He staggered, gripping his chest.
His grin was tight against his face, “What—did you—curse me with?”
Rosie twirled a finger. “A small reminder. Since you foolishly picked the wrong heart, you will now share his emotions. His fear, his joy, his irritation—”
Lucifer yelled furiously, “Hey!”
“—every little flicker of emotions his soul produces, you’ll taste it.”
Alastor’s voice sharpened. “You said the wrong heart. Meaning—”
“Oh, darling,” Rosie chuckled, “I said nothing at all.”
And she vanished.
Leaving the street dark, humid, and heavy with three terrified mortals and one very bewildered demon of a man.
Alastor exhaled shakily—feeling Lucifer’s lingering panic swirl with his own.
Lucifer glared. “What did you do to us? What was that thing—”
Alastor ran a hand through his hair, annoyed beyond measure.
“I assure you, my good man… I am as inconvenienced as you are.”
“Papa,” Charlie whispered, tugging his sleeve, “is he a bad guy?”
Lucifer shot Alastor a look that could boil water.
“Sweetheart, we’re… still evaluatin’.”
Vaggie bared her teeth. “He smells like crime.”
Alastor muttered, “Children are so delightfully perceptive.”
Lucifer groaned.
Alastor felt the frustration hit like a warm, irritated pulse.
And so it began.
Two men, one curse, and the tightly beating heart of New Orleans caught between them.
Chapter Text
It had been some time after Rosie vanished, the night held perfectly still. The street was warm with sticky summer air…the distant hum of a streetcar…the faint notes of someone practicing trumpet badly in the next block.
And in the middle of it:
Lucifer clutching both kids.
Alastor standing like a confused Victorian ghost.
Charlie blinking up at him.
Vagie baring her teeth.
Everyone waiting for someone else to explain anything.
Lucifer was the first to speak.
“Well,” he said faintly, “that ain’t good.”
And for the second time in his life, Alastor felt something unfamiliar sting behind his ribs.
Panic—Not his. But from the small tiny blonde human in front of him.
“Agh—” he grimaced, pressing a hand to his chest. “Could you not do that? It’s terribly…pitiful.”
“Pitiful?” Lucifer sputtered. “My fear is not—”
He stopped, shook his head violently. “We ain’t doing this. Stranger danger is real. Girls, on me.”
Charlie zipped behind him.
Vagie refused to move, glaring directly into Alastor’s soul.
Alastor swept a hand through his hair, composing himself with sheer force of pride.
“Well! It appears we are… connected.”
Lucifer deadpanned, “I don’t wanna be connected.”
Alastor smiled thinly. “Neither do I, but here we are.”
Charlie tugged her papa’s shirt.
“Papa, is he your… boyfriend now?”
Lucifer choked.
Alastor, violently hit by Lucifer’s embarrassment, choked too.
“We are NOT—!” Lucifer sputtered.
Alastor coughed albeit loudly. “Children have such… creative imaginations.”
Charlie hummed thoughtfully. “He looks like a tall, scary, mean, weird boyfriend.”
Vagie crossed her arms. “He looks like a murderer.”
Lucifer whispered, “Sugar, don’t say that—”
Alastor blinked. “I—you—what—”
The emotional cocktail they were all producing hit him like a derailed streetcar.
This was intolerable.
Alastor cleared his throat, trying to reclaim some dignity as the children stared him down.
“Ahem. Lucifer,” he began grandly, “you must accompany me.”
“No,” Lucifer answered.
“It wasn’t a question.”
“Well, it wasn’t an answer you wanted, but it’s the one I got.”
Alastor tapped his cane sharply against the ground.
“You are part of this magical… entanglement. I need you close until I figure out how to reverse it.”
“Nope.”
“Lucifer—”
“Still no.”
Alastor exhaled in tight, irritated bursts. “Must you be so uncooperative?”
“You tried to kidnap me!”
“You are extremely resistant for someone who is—what—five feet tall on a generous day?”
Lucifer made a strangled sound.
Alastor felt the humiliated fury wash through him like a wave.
“Oh dear…” he muttered, wincing. “Please stop feeling like that. It’s loud.”
“It’s YOUR fault!”
“Actually,” Alastor corrected pleasantly, “technically it’s Rosie’s fault. But yes. My mistake led to this and I accept my partial responsibility.”
“Partial?!” Lucifer shrieked.
Alastor flinched, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
“This is going to be atrocious.”
Alastor attempted to step closer.
Vagie stepped in front of Lucifer like a guard dog, fists clenched.
“If you touch him,” she hissed, “I’ll break your legs.”
Alastor blinked. “…Pardon?”
Vagie growled.
Charlie hid behind Lucifer.
Lucifer lifted both grocery bags like shields.
Alastor gazed down at this feral eight-year-old with mild confusion.
Then—for reasons unknown—pride bloomed in Lucifer’s chest.
And Alastor felt it.
It hit him like a warm little sun.
He recoiled dramatically.
“Oh good heavens—what was that?!”
Lucifer blinked. “Uh… love? I’m proud of her.”
“Make it STOP!” Alastor demanded. “That was unpleasant.”
“You’re just emotionally unavailable!” Lucifer yelled.
“And by choice, I assure you”
Charlie tugged Lucifer’s sleeve again.
Her voice was small and worried:
“Papa… are we leaving with the giraffe man?”
Alastor’s eye twitched. “I am NOT a—”
Lucifer cleared his throat.
“Okay, look. Mister… radio guy—”
“Alastor,” he said, bowing slightly.
“—I ain’t going with you.”
“You are,” Alastor corrected, “For if you wander off, this curse will funnel every tremor of your dread straight into me—and I assure you, darling, I retaliate.”
Lucifer paused.
Looked at the girls.
Looked at his groceries.
Looked at Alastor.
“…Damn it.”
“Language,” Vagie muttered.
Lucifer planted himself firmly between the children and Alastor.
“Fine. We come with you—but you ain’t taking my kids.”
Alastor blinked. “Of course I am.”
“No you ain’t.”
“Yes, I am. You share emotions with me—what if they get separated from you and you panic? I’ll have a stroke.”
Lucifer glared.
Alastor glared back.
Charlie whispered: “Papa… I think he’s already having a stroke.”
Alastor sneered. “I am perfectly healthy, thank you.”
Lucifer grumbled. “You don’t look healthy.”
“That is simply my complexion.”
Vagie stomped her foot. “We’re not going anywhere with you.”
“Unfortunately,” Alastor said brightly, “your father’s emotions are my problem now.”
Lucifer snarled, “Stop sayin’ that like I’m a bad dog you gotta walk.”
Alastor smiled. “If the shoe fits.”
Lucifer threw a grocery bag at him.
Alastor, hit with Lucifer’s fresh wave of incandescent frustration, clutched his chest.
“Oh dear SATAN—fine! Fine! Let us compromise!”
Lucifer furrowed his brows, suspicious. “Compromise?”
“Yes. You all come to my residence—together—but you retain full autonomy. You may leave once I find a reversal, but until then, I request your proximity so I do not perish from your emotional turbulence.”
Lucifer snorted. “You makin’ it sound like I’m dramatic.”
“You are agonizingly dramatic.”
Lucifer stepped on his foot.
Alastor felt that burst of satisfaction ripple through Lucifer, and grimaced at feeling it too.
“This is going to be the death of me,” he muttered.
So they walked.
Lucifer at a rapid, angry little speed-walk—tiny legs pumping, girls on either side.
Alastor following with long, elegant strides.
“Do you have a car?” Lucifer called over his shoulder.
“A gentleman does not drive. I walk.”
“Bro, you’re six foot demon-tree, your stride is like three of mine.”
“Not my fault you are travel-sized,” Alastor replied cheerfully.
Lucifer felt mortified.
Alastor immediately choked again.
“STOP INFECTING ME WITH YOUR EMBARRASSMENT!”
“STOP SAYING PERSONAL ATTACKS!”
“It wasn’t personal—it was observational.”
“IT WAS PERSONAL!”
Vagie muttered to Charlie, “I think Papa’s gonna fight him.”
Charlie sighed, “Papa can’t reach his face.”
Alastor looks over at Lucifer, grinning sharply, “Why are your children like this?”
Lucifer snapped, “Survival instincts!”
.
.
.
The estate stood behind wrought iron gates, shadowed by massive oaks. Candles glowed through tall windows. The entire house looked old-fashioned, immaculate, hauntingly elegant—as if untouched by time.
Charlie whispered, “Woah…”
Vagie: “Looks haunted.”
Alastor: “It is not haunted.”
A door creaked in the distance.
Alastor sighed. “That is just my pipes.”
A chandelier flickered ominously.
“…and possibly a mild structural instability.”
Lucifer murmured, “Great. If the demon don’t kill us, the ceiling will.”
Alastor gestured them inside.
And immediately regretted it.
Two children sprinted into his home like ferrets released into a museum.
“NO—NO TOUCHING—NOT THE ANTIQUES—”
Charlie poked a taxidermy deer.
“Is this your dad?”
Alastor choked. “WHAT?! NO!”
Vagie opened a drawer. “What’s this do?”
“PLEASE DO NOT—AH!”
Lucifer leaned against the wall, smirking. “Chaos is a personality trait.”
Alastor felt Lucifer’s amusement roll through him like sparkling wine.
He gasped in horror.
“IS THAT—SATISFACTION?!”
“Yup.”
“STOP IT!”
Lucifer smirked more.
Alastor felt it more.
“OH FOR HEAVEN’S—THIS CURSE IS BARBARIC!”
.
.
.
Lucifer stepped into the main hall, overwhelmed by the grandeur despite himself.
He worried—briefly—that the girls might break something irreplaceable.
And that paternal anxiety swarmed him.
Alastor froze.
“Oh—oh dear—oh, this is dreadful—”
Lucifer blinked. “What? What’s wrong?”
Alastor pressed a hand to his temple.
“So much worry—so much tenderness—why does it feel like warm molasses?!”
Lucifer stared.
Then smirked again.
“You feelin’ my dad instincts?”
Alastor looked appalled. “Why do they feel so—nurturing? It’s like emotional beeswax.”
Lucifer shrugged. “Get used to it.”
“I refuse.”
Charlie tugged Alastor’s coat.
“Do you have snacks?”
Alastor blinked. “What?”
Lucifer shouted from the kitchen doorway: “DON’T GIVE THEM SUGAR!”
Alastor startled at the sudden spike of Lucifer’s stress—and flinched like someone slapped him with a frying pan.
“I DIDN’T EVEN DO ANYTHING YET!”
“Just don’t!” Lucifer called. “They turn into goblins!”
Charlie tugged harder. “Snack?”
Alastor stared at her.
Then Lucifer’s dad-guilt punched him in the soul.
“Fine,” Alastor whispered weakly.
“ONE snack.”
“They got you good,” Lucifer teased.
Alastor’s eyebrow twitched. “I am regretting everything.”
-A Truce (Of Sorts)-
Hours later—after Alastor child-proofed a room with frantic precision, after Lucifer nearly fell asleep sitting upright, after Vagie threatened a wall sconce for “looking suspicious”—they finally settled in the study.
Lucifer sat on a plush loveseat, exhaustion hanging off him like a damp coat.
The girls dozed against his sides.
Alastor stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, posture immaculate but emotional insides in shambles.
He studied Lucifer quietly.
Lucifer, half-asleep, muttered, “Quit starin’.”
Alastor cleared his throat. “I am… attempting to determine what sort of man you are.”
Lucifer yawned. “Just a dad tryna get by.”
Alastor hesitated.
That warm pulse—Lucifer’s love for the girls—melted into Alastor’s own chest again.
He grimaced deeply. “I dislike feeling empathy.”
Lucifer chuckled weakly. “Welcome to my life.”
Silence hung softly in the grand room.
Lucifer finally whispered:
“So. What now? You keep us hostage?”
Alastor stiffened. “I do not keep hostages, Lucifer.”
Lucifer lifted a brow. “Coulda fooled me.”
“I will,” Alastor said tightly, “keep you here as long as needed for the curse's stability. But you and your children will not be harmed under my roof.”
Lucifer stared at him.
Blinking slowly.
Then—unexpectedly—he believed him.
Alastor felt that trust bloom in Lucifer’s chest.
And recoiled like he’d touched a hot stove.
“STOP THAT!”
“Stop what?” Lucifer asked.
“FEELING—THINGS—AT ME!”
Lucifer snorted. “Man, you’re in for a rough time.”
Alastor sighed, pressing a hand to his brow.
“I can already tell.”
Chapter 3: Living Together
Summary:
Alastor and Lucifer are forced to live together, what could possibly go wrong?
Notes:
Fastest update three times in a row! Woooo!
Anyways warning: My English
Chapter Text
Morning stretched over Alastor’s estate.
The sunlight that crept through the tall windows looked almost apologetic, landing on antique furniture that clearly preferred candlelight. Dust glittered in the beams like confetti at a funeral. The house smelled faintly of old books, polished wood, and… chicory coffee?
That last one didn’t belong.
But then again, neither did the three humans.
The mansion was used to quiet.
To dignity.
To undisturbed shadows.
Now it was full of:
Lucifer muttering at a kitchen appliance,
Charlie humming a little tune from the night before,
and Vaggie stomping like she planned to fight the floor next.
Alastor stood at the kitchen doorway like a man trying to understand a crime scene.
Lucifer, hair a mess, wearing one of Alastor’s oversized guest robes (because his clothes were in the wash after Charlie spilled her juice), was fighting the coffee maker like it was a demon.
“I JUST want caffeine,” Lucifer groaned, jabbing the button. “Why is this thing built like a haunted jukebox?”
Alastor cleared his throat.
“It is a French press, not a machine.”
“It’s possessed,” Lucifer snapped.
“It is not.”
“It growled at me.”
“It released steam at you.”
Charlie stood on a stool beside him, swinging her legs.
“Papa, you gotta say sorry to it. Maybe it’s shy.”
Lucifer stared at the press.
“I ain’t sayin’ sorry to a cup.”
Alastor winced as a ripple hit his chest — Lucifer’s rising frustration, sharp and tired.
He clutched the doorway.
“Could you—perhaps—not be so emotionally… loud this early?”
Lucifer blinked at him.
“You allergic to feelings or somethin’?”
“Yes,” Alastor said crisply. “Apparently yours.”
Charlie giggled.
Vaggie marched in behind her like a tiny guard dog.
The second Lucifer spotted her evaluating the room, a flare of parental alertness shot through him — and straight into Alastor, who recoiled dramatically.
“Oh good heavens—what now?”
Lucifer frowned. “What happened?”
“I felt your worry,” Alastor said accusingly. “Your instincts are abrupt.”
“Well, she’s been climbin’ things since she could walk, I gotta stay alert.”
Alastor pressed a hand to his chest.
“It feels like someone threw a dagger at my ribs.”
Lucifer smirked.
“You’ll live.”
“Debatable,” Alastor muttered.
Vaggie marched into the kitchen, arms crossed like a mall security guard.
She eyed Alastor with suspicion so strong it could vanquish a demon.
Charlie patted Alastor’s coat.
“It’s okay, Mister Alastor. She hates everyone.”
Alastor blinked. “…Comforting.”
Lucifer rubbed his face.
“Can we please not traumatize the tall demon before breakfast?”
“I am NOT a demon,” Alastor corrected, affronted. “I am magically enhanced.”
“Buddy,” Lucifer said flatly, “you kidnapped a man with groceries that's something a demon would do.”
.
.
.
Eventually, through pure chaotic teamwork, breakfast happened. Somehow
Lucifer made scrambled eggs that were more like scrambled hopes.
Charlie poured cereal into Alastor’s fancy porcelain bowl like she was baptizing it.
Vaggie sat at the table like a military commander, glaring at every object.
Alastor observed them all with the air of a man who had never, in his entire life, eaten breakfast with other beings.
Lucifer slid a plate in front of him.
“Eat. Y’all need fuel for evil radio business or whatever you do.”
Alastor lifted a brow.
“I don’t eat food.”
Lucifer froze.
“Are you—oh my god, are you one of those ‘I survive on vibes’ weirdos?”
“I subsist on ambient magic and willpower,” Alastor said primly. “And besides, this hardly appeals to my palate.”
Charlie gasped. “I wanna do that!”
Lucifer facepalmed.
“No, honey, you need actual food.”
Vaggie added, “He looks like he needs food.”
Alastor bristled. “I do NOT look—”
Lucifer’s amusement lit up inside his chest like a sparkler.
Alastor inhaled sharply.
“Stop finding this funny.”
“I can’t help it,” Lucifer teased. “Your face is funny.”
“My face is CHARMINGLY SYMMETRICAL.”
“It’s dramatic.”
“It is dignified.”
“It’s doin’ a twitchy thing right now.”
“It is NOT—”
“It is,” Charlie chimed.
Alastor clutched his temples.
“How is it that three humans have destroyed my composure in twelve hours?”
“Natural talent,” Lucifer said proudly.
.
.
.
After breakfast, Alastor attempted to determine the “range” of this cursed bond.
He ushered Lucifer to the far end of the hall.
“Stay here.”
Lucifer blinked. “Why? You tryin’ to ditch me?”
“No,” Alastor said through gritted teeth, “I am testing distance tolerance.”
Lucifer sighed.
“Fine. But if I pass out, you’re payin’ my medical bills.”
Alastor’s eyebrow twitched.
Alastor walked away, counting steps.
Ten steps.
Fifteen.
Twenty.
Then—
Lucifer had a parental micro-panic — something tiny and sharp, thinking: “Where did Charlie go?”
It hit Alastor like a spike of alarm straight to the chest.
He staggered.
“Oh—NO—NO—this is VILE—”
Lucifer shouted, “You okay?”
Alastor yelled back:
“STOP WORRYING ABOUT YOUR CHILD FOR TEN SECONDS!”
“I’m a parent! I can’t!”
Alastor dragged himself back down the hall, panting like he’d sprinted a race of sorts.
He reached the study to find:
Charlie petting a deer statue,
Vaggie halfway up a bookshelf,
and Lucifer desperately trying to coax her down.
Lucifer’s distress — fed by parental instincts — flared again.
Alastor crumpled to his knees.
“PLEASE—PLEASE STOP FEELING SO MUCH.”
Lucifer snapped, “I didn’t ASK to have two kids and a curse today!”
“Nor did I!” Alastor screeched.
The blonde human turned toward the bookshelf, coaxing gently, desperation creeping in as he reached for Vaggie.
“Please, sweetheart, just—just get down before you give me a stroke—”
“No,” Vaggie said flatly, climbing higher with the confidence of a tiny outlaw.
Charlie giggled behind Lucifer’s leg, pointing at Alastor.
“Papa, look! You’re makin’ him glitch again.”
“I CAN HEAR YOU,” Alastor wheezed, clutching his chest as Lucifer’s panic slammed into him.
Charlie chirped, “Sorry!”
Alastor shot her a look. “You are absolutely not sorry.”
.
.
.
Somehow, after removing Vaggie from the shelf (she bit him), after calming Charlie (she apologized to the deer statue), after cleaning spilled cereal off a very expensive rug—Lucifer and Alastor finally had a second of peace.
They sat on opposite sides of the couch.
Lucifer with his knees pulled up, weary but soft.
Alastor perfectly straight, hands folded, like a man posing for his own oil portrait.
Silence lingered.
Lucifer finally asked quietly, “So… what’s Rosie want with whoever’s heart you were supposed to bring?”
He stared into the empty fireplace as though the embers might arrange themselves into an excuse.
When he finally spoke, his voice was dangerously calm.
“Power,” he said simply. “More than I currently possess.”
Lucifer chewed his lip.
“So you were gonna… kill someone?”
“No,” Alastor said sharply.
“I do not waste life. I repurpose it.”
“That’s—that’s worse, man!”
Alastor waved a hand. “Debatable.”
Lucifer glared.
A sharp hot flare of disapproval bloomed in his chest.
And a heartbeat later, Alastor felt it like a sack of bricks.
He gasped.
“Oh heavens—NO—don’t disapprove—your moral judgments taste like spoiled milk—”
Lucifer burst out laughing.
Alastor clutched his heart as the laughter rippled into his own chest, warm and fuzzy.
“Do NOT laugh. Stop it. I don’t like how that feels—”
“Oh, I’m gonna use this,” Lucifer snorted.
“DON’T YOU DARE—”
Lucifer leaned back.
“So what now? Rosie expects this heart still?”
Alastor paused.
A quiet, dangerous stillness fell over him.
“Yes,” he admitted. “She will come to collect.”
Lucifer’s throat tightened.
Alastor felt it like his own fear.
Alastor inhaled sharply as it punched into him.
“Lucifer—please—contain that. Your panic is… overwhelming.”
Lucifer looked away, “Sorry I’m scared someone wants a human heart, man.”
Alastor couldn’t help but stare.
Exhausted.
Overworked.
Still trying to smile for his kids.
Still standing in front of danger even when his knees shook.
There was a strange tug behind Alastor’s ribs.
Foreign. Unbidden. Soft.
He despised it instantly.
“…I won’t let her take you,” he murmured, the words pulled out of him like a splinter.
Lucifer blinked.
“What?”
Alastor scowled at the floor as if it had offended him.
“I said I won’t let her take you. You are—”
He gestured vaguely at Lucifer’s chest.
“You are… that.”
Lucifer’s brow pinched.
“…My nipples?”
Alastor’s entire face contorted.
“GOOD—lord—no. Not—your— anatomy.”
He flapped a hand, flustered.
“You are emotionally loud. Irritatingly warm. Your children are feral gremlins. But none of that belongs to Rosie.”
Lucifer stared, slow and dawning.
“…You’re protectin’ us?”
Alastor recoiled like he’d been splashed with holy water.
“I NEVER said that—do NOT twist my words—”
“Sounds like it,” Lucifer teased.
“STOP FEELING AMUSED AT ME—” Alastor snapped as the warmth hit him again.
“It’s—sparkly—why is happiness sparkly?!”
Lucifer laughed harder.
Alastor pressed a hand over his face.
“This curse,” Alastor muttered, glaring into the void,
“is going to ruin my impeccable reputation.”
Lucifer smiled, soft and worn.
“Welcome to bein’ part of a family.”
Alastor choked.
“DO NOT EVER SAY THAT AGAIN.”
Across the room, Charlie as iif sensing something, clings to Lucifer's arm whispering.
“Papa… I think Mister Alastor’s already part of us.”
Alastor’s eye twitched.
Lucifer felt a sudden, warm, almost embarrassing rush in his chest—
And Alastor felt all of it.
Violently.
He shot to his feet.
“NOPE. Enough. I’m leaving this room.”
“You can’t,” Lucifer reminded, cheeks still flushed. “The curse’ll make you sick if you go too far.”
Alastor stopped mid-stride.
“…I despise my existence.”
Charlie grinned, half-asleep.
“We love you too!”
“STOP THAT IMMEDIATELY.”
And somewhere deep in the walls of the mansion…
A faint laugh echoed.
A laugh that did not belong to any of them.
Rosie was watching.
Waiting.
And she was delighted.
Chapter 4: Domestic Warfare and Unwanted Parenting
Notes:
Oooops almost forgot to update!
Here ya go pips! Enjoy!Anyways warning: My English
Chapter Text
The second morning in Alastor’s mansion dawned with soft, hesitant light. The house, normally silent as a tomb, dignified, perfectly still—woke to:
thumping, crashing, shrieking, and the distant sound of a vase dying a tragic death.
Alastor stood in the middle of his grand hallway, stiff as a statue.
He breathed in. He breathed out.
And he reminded himself that he could not murder children.
Legally.
“Lucifer,” he called sharply, “control your offspring.”
Lucifer stood in the middle of the hallway, barefoot, hair a mess again, still wearing Alastor’s guest robe that was determined to slip off one shoulder. He was trying—futilely—to hold both girls at once.
“Vaggie—put that down. Charlie—no, don’t touch—Vaggie, I SAID put that—Charlie, baby, please—”
Two children.
Ten hands.
Infinite destruction.
Alastor watched from the stairs like a man witnessing a natural disaster. He folded his arms neatly, assessing the chaos with a professional look.
“Why,” Alastor asked calmly, “are your children wielding antique dueling pistols?”
Lucifer didn’t even look back.
“She’s teething.”
“She is EIGHT—”
Vaggie waved her pistol. “This is MINE now!”
Alastor’s eyelid twitched. “Do something.”
“I AM doin’ something!”
“You are NOT doing nearly enough!”
Lucifer pivoted, desperate. “Charlie, baby, give the daggers back.”
“I found them!” Charlie beamed, dual-wielding throwing knives like a cherub.
“They were in a case!” Lucifer cried to Alastor. “Behind glass!”
Charlie grinned. “It was loose.”
Alastor dragged a hand down his face. “I… may genuinely pass out.”
And he almost did—because Lucifer’s escalating anxiety hit his chest like a freight train.
“OH—STOP THAT,” Alastor gasped, clutching his chest. “Your terror feels like I swallowed a nest of hornets!”
Lucifer shouted back, “I AM RAISIN’ TWO GREMLINS IN YOUR FANCY HORROR HOUSE, OF COURSE I’M PANICKIN’—”
“Well be less panicked!”
“I’M TRYIN’!”
A metallic click snapped through the hallway.
Vaggie grins triumphally atop a tablE, pistol in hand.
Lucifer screamed.
Charlie cheered.
Alastor closed his eyes.
.
.
.
The chaos escalated from “concerning” to “apocalyptic” in under three minutes.
Vaggie climbed the banister.
Charlie started juggling knives.
Lucifer’s soul left his body. And Alastor—quite literally—felt it.
He staggered, “must you be so dramatic? —your despair—it’s too much—”
“THEN HELP ME!!!”
“I—don’t know how to child!!”
“Well you BETTER FIGURE IT OUT—”
Charlie dropped a knife.
Lucifer inhaled sharply.
Alastor crumples his hands controlling the wave of nausea.
“I can feel your parental panic and it burns— WHY is it so STRONG—”
“CAUSE I LOVE MY KIDS!!”
“STOP IT!!”
But then—
Charlie slipped.
It was almost imperceptible. A tiny wobble of her little foot on the smooth, polished floor as she reached just a fraction too far for a porcelain figurine.
Just small enough to be harmless.
Just big enough to send every ounce of parental instinct in Lucifer’s body firing like Fourth of July fireworks.
One moment, Charlie wobbled.
The next—
Alastor moved.
Fast. Too fast.
Muscles coiled and released with mechanical precision. His hands shot out, catching her by the back of her tiny shirt before her momentum could betray her.
Charlie blinked up at him.
“Whoa.”
Alastor blinked down at her.
“Oh God,” he whispered. “I’ve become involved.”
Lucifer, breathless, stared at him like he’d just watched a miracle. Vaggie stared like he’d just kicked her puppy.
Charlie giggled.
“Thanks, Mister Alastor!”
Alastor did not smile. But something in him… softened.
“Oh—NO—NOPE—STOP—whatever that feeling is— turn it OFF,” Alastor sputtered, releasing her so fast she nearly wobbled again.
Lucifer burst into laughter. Alastor felt the laughter hit him like warm champagne bubbles under his ribs.
“Ack—STOP LAUGHING!”
Charlie clung to Alastor’s coat with both hands. “You’re good at catchin’,” she declared proudly.
“I am NOT,” Alastor snapped, stiff as a board. “Let go of me. Immediately. Quickly”
“But you saved me!”
“STOP SAYING THAT.”
Lucifer wiped a tear, still giggling like a kid.
“She’s right.”
“NO SHE IS NOT—”
“You did good.”
“That is slander,” Alastor hissed, voice tight, nostrils flaring.
Charlie hugged him harder.
Vaggie glared.
“Don’t get attached to him. He’s suspicious.”
“I AGREE WITH HER,” Alastor said desperately. “Detach from me immediately.”
Lucifer smirked.
“Too late.”
Alastor went pale.
.
.
.
.
Somehow—through the mysterious magic of chaos—Charlie and Vaggie ended up in the kitchen again, demanding snacks like tiny, violent monarchs.
Lucifer was already rubbing his temples.
“You distract ‘em,” he pleaded. “I’ll get the food.”
Alastor stared in horror.
“You want me to entertain them?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t entertain.”
“You have a RADIO SHOW.”
“That is scripted.”
Charlie tugged his coat again.
“Tell us a story!”
“NO. Absolutely not.”
“Please?” she whispered.
Lucifer’s heart melted.
Alastor felt it and recoiled like he’d been struck.
“Oh–STOP THAT—stop softening—your emotions are sticky—”
But when he looked down…Charlie was staring up at him, gap-toothed, hopeful, hugging his sleeve like it was her new favorite plush toy.
And Lucifer’s affection for that small moment seeped into Alastor like warm syrup.
He flinched.
“UGH—FINE. ONE story. A small one.”
Both girls gasped. Alastor reluctantly lifted his hands, like he was handling volatile explosives.
“Once,” he began stiffly, “in a cursed forest, there lived a particularly incompetent wizard—”
Vaggie interrupted.
“Is he you?”
“NO—now hush.”
Within two minutes, the girls were spellbound.
Within five, Charlie was leaning on his arm.
Within ten, Vaggie had edged closer, trying not to look invested.
Lucifer watched from the doorway, holding two plates of beignets, and saw it:
Alastor—
the immaculate,
the cold,
the terrifying,
—was gently gesturing with his hands as he described glowing spell books and mischievous forest spirits.
And the girls were eating out of his palm. Literally and figuratively.
Lucifer felt something warm bloom in his chest. And Alastor choked on the sensation mid-sentence.
He glared toward Lucifer.
“STOP THAT—whatever emotion that was—stop it NOW—”
Lucifer was smiling softly. “Looks like you’re part of the chaos now.”
“I REFUSE—”
Charlie hugged him again.
Vaggie sighed. “You’re not that bad.”
“I AM that bad, thank you.”
Lucifer sat down beside them, tired eyes softening at the sight.
And in that moment—brief, absurd, domestic—
Alastor felt something else behind his ribs.
Foreign.
Unbidden.
Soft.
Again.
He hated it.
But he didn’t move.
Didn’t shove the children away.
Didn’t flee the room.
He stayed.
Just for a few seconds.
Lucifer’s emotions settled, warm and steady—
—and Alastor felt that warmth too.
He grimaced, muttering under his breath, “This household is going to kill me.”
Charlie beamed.
“We’ll take care of you!”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.”
Lucifer’s smile deepened.
And Alastor felt it.
And hated it.
And maybe—just a little—
didn’t.
Chapter 5: The City, the Curse, and Whatever This Is
Summary:
When Lucifer goes to work, Alastor has no choice but to follow him....unwillingly of course.
Notes:
Hiii readers! Hope you'll having a great day!
Anyways warning: My English
Chapter Text
Morning in Alastor’s mansion had settled into a pattern. A chaotic, feral, deeply concerning pattern. A pattern Alastor pretended to despise and absolutely did not enjoy even a little bit, thank you very much.
Lucifer, short golden hair damp from the shower, rolled his sleeves as he checked the time on the crooked antique kitchen clock.
“I gotta go,” he murmured, pulling on his worn satchel.
Alastor lifted a brow from across the table, elegantly sipping something that looked like tea but smelled slightly of iron.
“Go? Where?”
Lucifer gave him a flat look. “To work. Humans gotta do that. Keeps the kids alive.”
Alastor stiffened. “The curse will react poorly to distance.”
“So you’re sayin’ you gotta come with me?”
“No,” Alastor snapped. Then slowly, reluctantly, “…Yes.”
Charlie gasped. “Papa gets a bodyguard?”
Vaggie frowned. “Why does he get a bodyguard? I’m the muscle.”
Lucifer patted her head. “You’re eight, baby.”
“I can still throw hands.”
Alastor cleared his throat, posture tightening the way it always did when emotion threatened to show on his very dignified face.
“I will accompany you. Purely for my own survival.”
Lucifer smirked. “Sure, buddy. Whatever you gotta tell yourself.”
Alastor felt the amusement spark through Lucifer—
then into him.
He nearly gagged.
“STOP DOING THAT.”
“Stop doin’ what?”
“Being lightly pleased.”
Lucifer snorted.
“Damn, can’t even be a little happy around you.”
“Correct.”
Charlie threw her arms in the air.
“Mister Alastor’s coming to the shop!!”
“Absolutely not,” Alastor said.
“You have no choice,” Lucifer said.
Alastor looked like someone had handed him a crying baby.
“…I despise this existence.”
.
.
.
New Orleans mid-morning was a living thing—jazz bleeding from open doors, vendors shouting, heat clinging to the skin.
Lucifer strode through it like he belonged to every street corner. Alastor followed two steps behind him, hands folded neatly behind his back. Back straight, chin high, polished smile in place.
Every time Lucifer’s mood twitched, the curse tugged on Alastor like someone plucking a harp string.
A dog barked from a balcony.
Lucifer flinched.
Alastor inhaled sharply, eyes widening.
“Good heavens—STOP that. Stop producing fear.”
“I didn’t!” Lucifer argued.
“You did.”
“Did not.”
“You spiked like a faulty barometer.”
“It barked!”
“Then control your response.”
Lucifer muttered, “Damn, you’re insufferable.”
“You’re emotionally volatile,” Alastor replied, voice pleasant as butter. “I am simply a victim.”
Lucifer scoffed.
Two women by a praline shop suddenly gasped. One clutched her friend’s arm.
“Oh! Oh my Lord— that’s him. That’s Mister Alastor!”
The other whispered, “He sounds even better in person.”
Lucifer blinked as both women approached Alastor with delighted smiles.
“Sir,” one said breathlessly, “we listen to your show every night. You make the city feel alive.”
Alastor dipped his head gracefully, voice warm velvet. “My dear ladies, the city is already alive. I simply help her hum a little louder.”
Both women melted.
Lucifer blinked again.
“You’re really good at that, y’know.”
Alastor turned to him, voice dropping instinctively into his radio cadence.
“Ah, but you should see what I can do when I actually try to impress someone.”
Lucifer’s breath hitched.
Alastor stiffened as the fluster washed over him like heat. “Whatever that fluttering is—stop it.”
“I didn’t mean to!” Lucifer whispered sharply.
“Contain it!”
“I CAN’T CONTROL THAT KIND OF FEELING—”
“THEN CEASE HAVING IT!”
People glanced over.
Lucifer groaned.
“You’re makin’ us look weird.”
Alastor adjusted his coat, calm and composed once again. “I assure you, people adore me regardless of your emotional outbursts.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes—then burst into laughter. Bright, sudden, genuine.
Alastor jerked like someone had stabbed him in the ribs. “Agh—stop—stop LAUGHING—”
“I can’t—ha—look at your FACE—”
“It feels like glitter and sunshine—make it STOP—”
A street vendor waved a spatula. “Y’all okay over there, Mister Alastor?”
Alastor snapped upright, mask back on instantly.
“Quite! Simply… enjoying the day.”
Lucifer grinned smugly.
Alastor added through clenched teeth, still smiling at passersby, “I am going to perish from your levity.”
Lucifer leaned closer, whispering, “Then stop bein’ funny.”
“I am NOT funny.”
“You absolutely are.”
“Lucifer,” Alastor’s smile thinned, his voice dropping to a warning. “If you laugh again, I will make you regret it.”
Lucifer laughed again.
Alastor, debonair posture cracking only slightly, muttered, “I despise this curse with every fiber of my being.”
Lucifer nudged him lightly. “Relax. You’re survivin’.”
Alastor shot him a sideways look, voice low and charming and annoyed all at once.
“I am enduring. There is a difference.”
.
.
.
Lucifer’s job is… surprisingly wholesome.
The blonde man worked three jobs, but today was his shift at the little candle and book shop on Dauphine — the same one Charlie pointed out every time they passed:
“Papa works there! It smells nice!”
Alastor took one step inside—
And froze.
The place buzzed with warmth. Actual warmth. Colored jars, old wood, smiling regulars, soft jazz from a dusty radio. And all of it pulsed with the emotional residue of Lucifer’s kindness over the years. A feeling so potent Alastor nearly staggered.
“Oh dear… heavens.” He grabbed the door frame. “This place reeks of your sentimentality.”
Lucifer frowned. “It smells like vanilla and patchouli.”
“It smells like feelings.”
The owner, an older woman with too many bracelets and a voice like hot tea, approached.
“Ah! Luci, sweetheart—oh hello!”
Her eyes widened at Alastor. “Lord above, where’d you find this tall, handsome thing?”
Lucifer sighed. “He uh… follows me now.”
Alastor bristled. “I do NOT follow—”
“He’s cursed,” Lucifer clarified.
“Ah,” she said, nodding sagely, “a relationship thing.”
Alastor almost died on the spot.
.
.
.
It was a slow morning until the bell above the door jingled violently.
In strutted Angel.
Feather boa. Platform heels. Eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man.
He spotted Alastor, paused, and lit up like a neon sign.
“Well hellooo, tall drink of vintage handsome,” he purred. “Where’ve you been hidin’, sweetheart?”
Alastor blinked, taken aback.
“We’re stuck together,” Lucifer answered.
Angel blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then grinned.
“Oh my GOD, are y’all dating?”
Lucifer: “NO—”
Alastor: “ABSO—”
“ABSOLUTELY NOT.” They blurted out in unison.
Angel stared between them.
“Uh-huh.”
Lucifer covered his face.
Alastor felt the secondhand embarrassment and dry-heaved.
Angel leaned on the counter. “Well anyways, babe, you wanna swing by the stage later? We’re short-staffed. You’d be perfect.”
Lucifer blinked. “…Me?”
“Yeah you. You got charm, you’re cute, and you don’t take crap from customers. C’mon, sugar, you’d kill at crowd-wrangling.”
Lucifer opened his mouth—
closed it—
then looked at Alastor.
Wrong move.
The moment Lucifer wondered, Could I actually do that? the curiosity hit Alastor like a tidal wave.
Alastor’s spine snapped straight. “NO.”
Angel smirked. “Aw, what, jealous?”
Alastor sputtered. “I—NO—I am being logical—!”
“You jealous.”
“STOP SAYING THAT.”
Lucifer was unhelpful with him blushing like a maiden on her first date.
Alastor felt it. And panicked.
“Oh—NO—STOP—whatever that heat is—STOP—Lucifer, cease feeling that immediately—”
Angel blinked.
“…Heat?”
Lucifer turned bright red.
“WE ARE LEAVING,” Alastor barked, grabbing Lucifer by the elbow.
“It ain’t heat,” Lucifer hissed. “It’s embarrassment—!”
“That is WORSE.”
Angel cackled as they retreated.
“I’m still saving you a spot on stage, sweetheart!”
.
.
.
Lunch Break.
Lucifer collapsed onto the bench. Alastor remained standing, rigid, a sentinel too proud to bow, too stiff to lean.
Lunch consist of two sandwiches Lucifer packed in a hurry. He chewed slowly but his eyes were elsewhere, haunted. After a few beats, he turns to Alastor.
“You scared I’ll take that job?” his voice was low, soft, almost inaudible.
Alastor’s chest constricted—not from fear, not from jealousy (obviously)—but from the weight behind Lucifer’s hesitation. He can almost see it. Those eyes conveyed everything and he read him like an open book. Wanting a better life for Charlie, wanting to pull them out of the cramped apartment they called home, wanting more than peeling walls and leaky faucets.
Lucifer’s voice broke the silence, low and fragile.
“I wasn’t gonna leave the shop… I—Angel’s offer, it… it’s a chance to… make things easier. For Charlie. For Vaggie. For… us.” His hands trembled slightly as he gestured vaguely to the world around them. “Could let her pick schools… let her have the life she deserves. Not this… this cage.”
Alastor’s throat tightened seemingly not by his own accord. That quiet desperation, that painful longing—it cut him sharper than any blade. He wanted to lean, to sit, to reach across and steady Lucifer, but pride held him upright.
“I… I just…” Lucifer swallowed hard. “I wanna be more capable, more deserving to be called their dad. I wanna feel like I… I’m worth… something.”
Alastor braced a hand on the bench.
“…Lucifer.”
Lucifer blinked up, eyes wide, vulnerable.
He swallowed hard, voice low. “You are…worth something. More than you know.”
Lucifer stared.
Alastor immediately regretted saying it.
“FORGET I SAID THAT.”
“I ain’t forgettin' it.”
“PLEASE DO.”
“No.”
Lucifer smiled though it did not reach his eyes. He swallowed, trembling slightly, his walls cracking. The memories resurfacing—the exhaustion, the dreams he’d held back for Charlie’s sake, the hope that Vaggie can finally been recognized officially in their family tree, a small but meaningful claim to belonging, to legitimacy. It swelled inside him, and the thought made his chest heavy.
Lucifer’s emotions surged again—gratitude, disbelief, hope, and something warmer, softer. Alastor staggered back, hand still gripping the bench.
“No—STOP—your appreciation feels like a fever—!”
Lucifer smiled softly.
“It’s just gratitude.”
“It’s HORRIBLE.”
“You’re horrible,” Lucifer teased.
Alastor exhaled shakily. His smile not so forced.
“…Perhaps.”
.
.
.
On their way back, the fragile calm of the afternoon shattered.
Three men lingered at the street corner—broad-shouldered, mean-eyed, clearly hunting for trouble.
One of them caught sight of Lucifer. “There you are,” he sneered. “You still owe me for last week.”
Lucifer froze.
Fear and dread shot through him, sudden and jagged—straight into Alastor. Then beneath it all…a tiniest feeling of shame.
The world blurred.
Alastor stepped forward before thought could catch him. One hand gripped his cane, the other steady at his side. His voice dropped, quiet and terrible, like ice cutting through air.
“If you do not step away from him,” he said, low and steady, “I will hollow you out and use your ribcage as a radio antenna.”
The men froze, uncertainty flashing across their faces.
Lucifer’s voice trembled.
“Alastor—”
“QUIET,” Alastor hissed, Lucifer’s fear coiling like a live wire in his chest. “Your panic is making this… significantly bloodier in my imagination.”
Lucifer swallowed. “I’m fine. I’m okay, I promise.”
The words struck Alastor—
not the threat,
not the danger,
but Lucifer’s calm reassurance.
Warm. Small. Entirely human.
It slid under his ribs like a hook, softening something in him he did not want softened. It was dangerous.
He exhaled slowly.
But the tremor that ran through his shoulders had nothing to do with fear—
and everything to do with restraint.
Because the men weren’t running yet.
They should have been.
Alastor lifted his head, the faintest smile curling at the edge of his mouth—
the kind of smile that did not belong on a sane man.
The kind of smile that made even the streetlights seem to dim.
He stepped toward them, cane tapping once against the pavement.
Unhurried.
Predatory.
Inevitable.
“Gentlemen,” he said, voice smooth as polished bone. “I do hope you run.”
The man chocked, legs trembling.
“W-Why?”
Alastor’s eyes gleamed, bright and empty.
“Because if you don’t…” He tilted his head, smile widening just a fraction—
“…I’ll be forced to demonstrate exactly how sincere I am about the ribcage comment.”
Silence.
A beat.
Another.
And then instinct finally overpowered stupidity.
The men bolted—scattering like leaves caught in a storm, tripping over each other in their desperation to escape the thing smiling at them.
Lucifer stared. Not at the men fleeing, but at Alastor, at the quiet, terrifying certainty in every step, every breath, every thread of his voice.
It wasn’t a bluff. Alastor would’ve done it. Without hesitation. And without remorse.
He had moved for him. For Lucifer.
“…You protected me.”
Alastor stiffened, hands tightening on his cane as though strangling the truth itself.
“No I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I did NOT.”
“Alastor—”
“DO NOT MAKE THIS A THING,” he snapped, voice tight, almost strangled.
Lucifer smiled softly. Too softly.
Alastor flinched as though struck.
“STOP SMILING—YOUR GRATITUDE FEELS LIKE SUNLIGHT—STOP—”
Lucifer’s grin widened, teasing, relentless.
“Maybe that’s the point.”
.
.
.
As they walked on. Lucifer’s hand brushed his. Accidentally.
Lucifer pulled back, ears pink. “Sorry.”
Alastor swallowed, heart thudding.
“…It’s fine.”
Lucifer froze.
“Wait—did you just say it’s fine?”
“I DID NOT. Forget I said that.”
Lucifer’s grin returned, mischievous and warm.
“Stop that!”
“No,” Lucifer said simply, unbothered. “Not this time.”
Alastor looked away, muttering, “…You are intolerable.”
“And you’re stuck with me.”
Alastor’s chest twisted in a way that was unpleasant, complicated… and strangely warm.
Lucifer felt it. Alastor felt him feel it.
Both flinched violently.
“NO—” Alastor breathed.
“NOPE—” Lucifer echoed.
.
.
.
Angel leaned out of the stage doorway, noticing them. “SO? YOU COMING TO WORK FOR ME OR WHAT?” he shouted, catching Lucifers attention as they passed.
Alastor remained silent, rigid at Lucifer’s side, ears twitching.
Lucifer waved lazily.
“Not today…” grin curling he added, “maybe tomorrow?”
Alastor made a strangled noise. “You—cannot—simply—”
Lucifer nudged him lightly. “Relax. We’ll figure out the curse.”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed, tracing the faint curve of Lucifer’s smile, the tired warmth in his gaze. Remembering the heart Rosie had wanted.
“…Very well,” he muttered, almost to himself. “We shall.”
Lucifer’s grin widened, sharp and knowing.
“You just promised.”
Alastor froze, voice clipped.
“I—did not—”
“You did,” Lucifer said, effortless, his eyes gleaming.
“I—NO—THAT WASN’T—”
“You did.”
Alastor groaned into his hands.
Lucifer laughed, smooth and luminous, spilling across the quiet streets.
Chapter 6: A Breaking Point
Summary:
Rosie makes her entrance.....again.
Notes:
One of my favorite chapters so far! I really enjoyed writing this story which can be translated into more fanfics for the two idiots. yipeee!
Anyways warning: My English
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Evening in the mansion crawled in slow and amber, settling like warm dust across the antique furniture. The kind of soft light that made shadows long and gentle, that softened the edges of a home known for being too still, too immaculate, too carefully curated.
Not anymore.
Charlie and Vaggie had passed out across the velvet settee after dinner. Vaggie lying like a fallen soldier, Charlie curled into her like a small, affectionate barnacle. Lucifer tucked a blanket around them, humming something faint and home-worn under his breath.
Alastor lingered in the doorway, pretending not to watch.
He did watch.
Of course he watched.
He watched Lucifer smooth Charlie’s curls back with the same gentle care he handled cracked porcelain. Watched him check Vaggie’s breathing the way tired parents do without even realizing their hands have memorized the pattern.
He felt the soft warmth in Lucifer’s chest—
a bloom of affection, a sigh of relief, the tired pride of a man who somehow makes everything work for his children even when he shouldn’t be able to.
It slid quietly under Alastor’s ribs.
Warm.
Annoying.
Human.
He did not react. And his feet remained firmly planted on the floor. Lucifer turned and found him there, leaning lightly on his cane, every part of him arranged into effortless elegance.
“Took you long enough,” Lucifer murmured.
Alastor’s eyebrow lifted. “For what?”
“To admit you like bein’ around them.” Lucifer nodded toward the kids.
Alastor’s smile tightened—only a fraction. “No such admission has taken place.”
“Your face says otherwise,” Lucifer said, brushing flour off his sleeve.
“Then your face is misinterpreting mine,” Alastor replied crisply.
Lucifer laughed, soft and tired—and Alastor felt the small warmth of it like a faint heat behind his sternum.
He did not comment.
He did consider walking into traffic.
Before he could decide, the chandelier above them flickered.
A sharp, unnatural hiccup of light.
Lucifer stilled and Alastor felt that thin thread of unease in his chest. Quiet and contained.
Lucifer was trying not to react.
Alastor straightened. Then the temperature dropped. A soft, syrup-sweet hum drifted down the hallway, like someone singing through silk.
Alastor’s jaw tensed.
Lucifer’s breath stuttered.
And Rosie slid into view as though she’d been there all along—parasol twirling lazily, smile soft enough to rot.
“Well hello, darlings,” she cooed, voice dripping honey and venom in equal measure. “You’ve been terribly busy.”
Alastor stepped forward.
Not dramatically.
Not protectively in the obvious sense. He simply aligned himself squarely between her and Lucifer.
Lucifer didn’t move, but Alastor felt the spike in his chest: that quick, thin flare of fear Lucifer tried to swallow down. Alastor’s posture sharpened.
“Leave,” he said simply.
Rosie ignored him, drifting her gaze past him to Lucifer like a cat finding the weakest mouse in the room.
“My sweet little ember,” she purred, “you look exhausted. All that dreaming. All that hoping. It must be so heavy, hm?”
Lucifer’s throat bobbed.
Alastor felt the fear constricting in Lucifer’s chest, quiet and crushing. It flickered through him too. A cold, pressing vice. He kept his face neutral.
Rosie smirked. “Still clinging to life, to love, to that tiny scrap of warmth you call home…”
Her voice dipped into a whisper.
“…You and your little girls. Clinging to each other like driftwood.”
Lucifer inhaled sharply.
Alastor’s fingers tightened on his cane.
Rosie made a thoughtful little hum.
“Not the heart I want,” she mused. “No. You’re lovely, but not mine.”
Lucifer blinked. “Then why—?”
Rosie’s smile sharpened, “Because you are the piece he cannot afford to lose.”
Lucifer didn’t flinch. He only frowned—small, puzzled, as though the sentence had been handed to him in the wrong language. His lips parted, a quiet breath drawn in, the beginning of a question he hadn’t yet shaped.
“I said leave,” Alastor repeated, firmly to the demon. Amused, Rosie grinned at him.
She leaned in, tapping one nail beneath his chin.
“Bring me the right heart, dear. Before I take the wrong one out of boredom.”
The chandelier above them pulsed—then shattered, raining silent crystal.
And she vanished.
The house exhaled.
Lucifer didn’t.
He stood there, frozen.
Alastor waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then—
Lucifer’s breath faltered. Not loud. Not dramatic. A small, brittle break.
Alastor felt it. A tight, crushing tremor behind his ribs, soft and suffocating.
Lucifer swallowed, shoulders beginning to curl inward.
And he was trying. Trying so hard not to let it show.
But Alastor felt every bit of it. He crossed the distance slowly.
“Lucifer.”
No response.
Just that rising pressure in the chest—fear growing teeth.
Another broken inhale.
Alastor placed a precise hand on Lucifer’s forearm.
Lucifer flinched, breath stuttering.
“Easy,” Alastor murmured.
Lucifer’s eyes squeezed shut. His pulse jumped. The panic wasn’t flashy. No gasping or flailing. Instead, it drowned him the way the tide pulls a man under—quietly, steadily, mercilessly.
Alastor’s voice lowered to something steady as a heartbeat.
“Breathe.”
“I—I’m fine,” Lucifer whispered, voice almost nonexistent.
“No,” Alastor said softly. “You’re not.”
Lucifer’s knees wobbled.
The panic spiked so sharply Alastor inhaled—only slightly—but enough to feel like cold water hitting the lungs. Without thinking, he steadied Lucifer by the elbow.
Lucifer didn’t look at him.
Couldn’t.
He folded forward, gripping his own arms, breath trembling but quiet, muffled, controlled—as if panicking loud would be an inconvenience.
Alastor’s chest tightened painfully with the echo of it.
“Lucifer,” he said again, voice barely above a whisper. “Look at me.”
Lucifer did not.
So Alastor stepped in front of him, still holding his arm, and gently lifted Lucifer’s chin with two fingers. Lucifer’s eyes were glassy. Not crying, not breaking—yet the hollow in his eyes disturbed Alaastor.
“Match me,” Alastor murmured, slow and calm.
He inhaled deeply through his nose.
Waited.
Lucifer tried.
Failed.
Swallowed a sound.
Alastor lowered his voice further, “In… and out.”
Lucifer wavered.
“Again.”
A shudder.
A breath.
A thin, cracking exhale.
Alastor’s hand tightened a fraction. “There you are,” he murmured.
Lucifer’s fingers curled in the fabric of Alastor’s coat without meaning to.
Alastor did not move.
He let him hold on.
He let him breathe.
Let him take from his calm, his steadiness, his unnatural stillness—whatever it took to pull him back.
“I’m sorry,” Lucifer whispered so softly it was almost inaudible.
Alastor’s eyes narrowed by a hair.
“Do not apologize,” his grin tightened, almost faltering, “You are allowed to feel frightened.”
“B-But you’re going to feel it..” he replied, voice shaking.
Alastor hesitated.
Just a breath. And then—
“Then let me bear it,” he said simply.
Lucifer’s breath broke again, but this time slowly, not panicked.
“…Thank you.”
Alastor went still. Every muscle taut. He felt the emotion roll through Lucifer—warm, small, painfully sincere.
Gratitude.
Trust.
And something like affection tucked deep beneath it.
It hurt.
Not physically. But something else entirely he could not name.
Alastor exhaled very slowly, the only sign it hit him at all.
“As I said,” he murmured, “you are allowed to feel.”
Lucifer huffed a breath that was nearly a laugh.
“You? Allowing emotions?”
“I allow nothing,” Alastor snapped softly. “I simply endure.”
Lucifer’s lips twitched. Very faintly. Dry humor slipped into his voice. “…You’re not built for this, huh?”
“Absolutely not.”
Lucifer breathed, steady now.
Alastor finally stepped back.
Just as they were about to stand up—
“OH my GOD—are you two FINALLY making out?”
Angel stood in the doorway, boa slipping off one shoulder, hands thrown into the air like a proud parent catching their kids kissing.
Lucifer groaned.
Alastor’s jaw clenched once.
If it wasn’t the perfect time for Angel to pay Lucifer a visit.
He was, of course, one of the few people Lucifer actually tolerated—checking in on him, occasionally babysitting Charlie and Vaggie when he had to work multiple shifts in a day.
Angel pointed at them with manic delight, “This is EXACTLY the kind of drama I ordered!”
Lucifer buried his face in his hands.
Alastor looked at Angel with the cold, polite neutrality of a man deciding whether homicide would be worth the cleanup.
Angel waggled his brows. “SooOOoo—what’d I interrupt? First base? First kiss? Tension you could spread on toast?”
Lucifer mumbled, “Go away, Angel.”
“Oh honey, I was worried what that tall dark handsome fella was doing with you and the kids so I took it upon mahself to see.”
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose. “…Wonderful.”
Angel leaned against the wall, grinning. “But seriously—y’all good or what?”
Lucifer nodded, small but honest.
Alastor didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. He simply placed himself between Lucifer and the rest of the world by instinct alone.
Angel noticed.
“Oh,” Angel whispered, grin widening. “Ohh, you ARE in deep.”
Alastor’s smile became paper-thin. “I recommend silence.”
Angel cackled joyfully. “Yeah, you’re doomed.”
Before Alastor could respond, Charlie’s sleep-muffled voice drifted from the settee.
“Papa… water…”
Lucifer straightened immediately. The panic faded from his chest—replaced with soft parental focus.
Alastor felt the shift. Soft and warm. A gentle glow instead of a storm.
He didn’t recoil this time. He just watched Lucifer walk to his daughter, tuck her hair behind her ear, whisper something soft and steady. And the warmth in Lucifer’s chest seeped into him again. Still uncomfortable, still foreign, but gentler now. Tolerable.
Angel glanced at Alastor. “You’re staring,” he sing-songed.
Alastor did not look away.
“Perhaps.”
Angel’s jaw dropped.
“…Oh. Shit. You’re REALLY doomed.”
Alastor exhaled once, surrendering nothing, but giving away everything.
“Perhaps,” he repeated quietly.
.
.
.
.
And Rosie’s whisper curled faintly through the walls—
“Good.”
Notes:
If you enjoy the story so far, please leave kudos or comments! It really helps me stay motivated. Adieu! xoxo
Chapter 7: Keep What You Dear Close
Summary:
Angel forces himself in the narrative. While, Lucifer and Alastor navigate a morning of domestic chaos, mounting tension, and unspoken closeness as rumors swirl and old debts surface.
Chapter Text
Morning crept into the mansion. For once, the house felt almost normal. Almost lived-in. Someone had left Charlie’s stuffed goat on the banister. Vaggie’s crayons were scattered like confetti on the floor. The kitchen smelled faintly of butter and burned toast.
It would have been peaceful.
If Angel Dust hadn’t been in the middle of an argument with an eight-year-old.
“I told you,” Angel hissed, pink boa fluffed indignantly around his shoulders, “we are NOT using freakin’ glitter glue before breakfast. Or at all. Ever. I still have PTSD from the last time you weaponized art supplies.”
Charlie, sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, blinked up at him with enormous innocent eyes.
“It was only a little glitter…”
“It was a SHIT TON of glitter,” Angel corrected, hands thrown up. “There was even glitter in places I can’t legally discuss.”
Vaggie, perched on her stool like a tiny guardian angel of chaos, pointed her fork accusingly.
“You curse too much.”
Angel placed a hand to his chest. “I curse artistically. There’s a difference, princessa. It’s called nuance.”
Vaggie squinted. “Papa says you’re not supposed to say bad words.”
“Your papa also thinks coffee counts as a food group,” Angel muttered. “So let’s not pretend he’s any moral compass.”
The girls giggled uncontrollably.
And unbeknownst to the three, Lucifer froze in the archway, one hand pressed to his hips.
Soft, blooming warmth washed through him like fresh sunlight, and because of the curse, it washed through Alastor too—where he stood immediately behind Lucifer, adjusting his tie with all the calm of a man refusing to acknowledge he felt anything at all.
“…It is too early for this,” Alastor muttered, straightening his suit cuffs with practiced elegance.
Lucifer exhaled, trying not to smile.
He failed.
Angel spotted him and slapped a hand over his heart theatrically.
“Oh THANK GOD you two are awake. I was two seconds from calling the cops—”
“You don’t call the cops,” Lucifer reminded him.
“Okay fine, I was gonna call the pizza place, same thing here.” Angel waved a hand. “Anyway—good morning, boys.” His grin sharpened. “Sleep good? Together?”
Lucifer choked on air.
Alastor’s smile twitched into something lethal.
“Choose your next words carefully,” Alastor warned sweetly. “Preferably ones that won’t get you buried beneath the azaleas.”
Angel clutched his pearls. “Threats before breakfast? Honey, buy me a drink first.”
The kids didn’t understand any of it. They just waved enthusiastically.
“ANGEL’S HERE!” Charlie cheered.
“He’s loud,” Vaggie added.
“Oh I LOVE her,” Angel preened.
Lucifer rubbed his face. “Angel’s babysittin’ today. I gotta go with Alastor.”
“On a date—”
“NO,” Lucifer snapped.
“Definitely a date,” Angel whispered loudly to the girls.
Alastor’s eye twitched.
He cleared his throat. “Lucifer has been… instructed to accompany me.”
Angel wiggled his eyebrows to dangerous heights. “Instructed? Oh my GOD. Y’all are into power dynamics, huh? That explains SO MUCH.”
Lucifer covered his face again.
Alastor pressed a hand to his own chest as though in pain—not from Angel, but because Lucifer’s embarrassment rolled through him in waves.
He did not like that he could feel it.
He liked even less that he found it—
Endearing.
He stepped forward briskly, cane tapping against the floor. “Lucifer. Coat.”
“I can get my own coat.”
“You take too long.”
Lucifer glared weakly. “Bossy deer.”
Alastor’s smirk sharpened. “You adore it.”
“I do NOT.”
Angel sang, “Yes he dooooOOOO—”
“Goodbye, Angel,” Lucifer said immediately.
“Have FUN on your weird domestically tense outing!”
“GOODBYE, Angel.”
Alastor practically herded Lucifer out the door.
.
.
.
New Orleans heat wrapped around them as they stepped outside. Alastor walked with long, measured strides; Lucifer followed half a step behind, trying not to stumble.
“Why are you excited?” Lucifer grumbled.
“I am always excited,” Alastor replied cheerfully. “It is the burden of being eternally magnificent.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes.
They entered the Radio Station, its Art Deco facade gleaming like a polished coin. Inside, the air was cool and humming with old machinery and the faint scent of cigarette smoke.
Every head turned.
Every. Single. One.
Because Lucifer—pale, pretty, soft around the edges, wearing Alastor’s spare coat and scarf, looked like he did not belong in a den of polished professionals and sharp-eyed producers.
And also because Alastor did not bring people here.
Ever.
A young receptionist dropped her pencil. “M-Mr. Alastor, sir! Welcome back! And—oh my—who’s…”
Her gaze drifted to Lucifer.
Lucifer frowned. “Hi?”
She blushed. “Is he the—”
“No,” Alastor said firmly.
“You finally brought your hidden lover?” someone murmured.
Lucifer choked again. “I—EXCUSE me? I’m not—! We’re not—!”
Alastor forcefully cleared his throat, a sound sharp enough to cut glass. “He is assisting me today.”
“With what?” someone asked.
“Being pretty?” another whispered loudly.
Lucifer made an offended noise that Alastor unfortunately felt vibrate inside his ribs. He grits his teeth.
“This is so unnecessary,” Lucifer hissed under his breath.
“No,” Alastor replied calmly. “This is entertaining.”
“You’re enjoying this?!”
“Immensely.”
“You—YOU—”
Alastor stepped neatly into the recording booth, leaving Lucifer sputtering in a sea of gossip. The staff leaned in, whispering like teenagers.
“Look at him—he’s gorgeous.”
“Alastor has taste, oh my God.”
“Do you think they met at a jazz club?”
“They’re holding hands.”
“We’re NOT—” Lucifer realized Alastor had indeed grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the booth, “—This isn’t what it looks like! We’re NOT holding hands!”
Alastor shut the door.
Just in time.
Lucifer dragged a hand down his face. “They think we’re—”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you correct them?”
“I did.”
“Not really!”
Alastor adjusted the microphone, voice smooth as radio static. “I find their assumptions amusing.”
“You would.” He glared.
Alastor glanced sideways. “Do they bother you?”
“Y-yes! No! I don’t know!” Lucifer flailed, cheeks red. “I don’t wanna be the weird guy everyone thinks you’re screwin’!”
Alastor blinked. Then smiled. Which wasn’t at all as intimidating, Lucifer thought.
“Lucifer,” he murmured, “I would never allow them to speak of you in a disrespectful manner.”
Lucifer stilled. Something warm pulsed in his chest. It echoed in Alastor’s.
They both very carefully looked away from each other.
Alastor flicked on the transmitter. “Shall we begin?”
Lucifer swallowed. “Y… yeah.”
The red ON AIR sign glowed.
Alastor’s voice rolled through the booth—a velvet storm. Smooth, crisp, intoxicating.
Lucifer sat behind him in a secondary chair, headphones crooked over one ear, listening as Alastor slipped effortlessly between charming humor, sly commentary, and spine-prickling charisma. It was the first time Lucifer had seen him in his element.
And damn.
It was…
Something.
The control. The confidence. The charming grin he used like a weapon.
Lucifer felt it quietly in his chest—something like reluctant admiration.
Alastor paused mid-sentence.
His eyes slid to Lucifer.
He felt it.
Lucifer panicked, trying to squash the emotion down.
Too late.
The smile that curled at Alastor’s mouth was downright sinful.
Lucifer kicked his shin.
Alastor did not even flinch.
The rest of the broadcast melted into a strange, buzzing tension, light, electric, uncomfortable only because it wasn’t entirely painful.
Somewhere in the middle of a jazz segment, Lucifer whispered:
“…Alastor?”
“Yes?”
“Rosie said something. Last night.”
Alastor’s tone cooled. “Yes?”
“She said I wasn’t the heart she wanted. But…something you couldn’t afford to lose?”
Silence thickened.
Even the static hum of the radio filter seemed to hush.
Lucifer continued, voice low. “What did she mean by ‘heart’?”
Alastor’s fingers tightened slightly around the microphone.
He didn’t answer. Not immediately.
Lucifer felt something ripple in his chest, a shadow of dread.
“…Alastor?”
The radio host finally spoke.
“Rosie does not choose her words carelessly.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is the only one I have at present.”
Lucifer frowned. “Do you know what heart she’s talkin’ about?”
Alastor hesitated.
Hesitated.
That alone terrified Lucifer more than Rosie ever had.
“…No,” Alastor admitted finally. “And that concerns me.”
Lucifer’s stomach dropped.
“But,” Alastor added, “we will find out.”
Lucifer looked up. “Together?”
Alastor’s gaze flickered—soft, startled.
Then steady.
“Of course.”
Lucifer’s chest warmed.
Alastor inhaled sharply as the feeling flooded him too.
He glared at Lucifer immediately. “Stop that.”
“I’m not tryin’ to feel things, you jerk!”
“Well, have some control!”
“You’re the one who said I’m allowed!”
“Yes, and I regret it.”
Lucifer rolls his eyes. “No you don’t.”
.
.
.
They left the booth in near silence.
The staff stared even more openly now.
Some whispered.
Some giggled.
Some sighed dreamily.
Lucifer wanted to die.
Alastor looked delighted to say the least.
As they stepped outside, the humid New Orleans air clung to their skin. Cicadas hummed. Thunder rumbled distantly. After a beat, Lucifer finally broke the silence.
“Al… how do we find out about Rosie’s heart thing?”
Alastor tapped his cane. “We start with what we know. Rosie does not lie. She plays with truth until it cuts. Her magic is old. Older than the city.”
Lucifer shivered. “You know her well?”
Alastor’s smile faltered. Only a fraction.
“She had been someone important,” he said. “And a debt I have not yet paid.”
Lucifer felt unease tighten in his chest. Alastor felt it echo. He placed a hand lightly at Lucifer’s bac, barely touching.
Lucifer startled. “What’re you…?”
“You are frightened,” Alastor said. “It becomes… difficult to think when that happens.”
Lucifer’s breath hitched. “You—you keep sayin’ that like you’re not feelin’ it too.”
“I am ignoring my half.”
“What?”
“My discomfort,” Alastor clarified. “I am ignoring it. Yours is louder.”
Lucifer looked at him incredulously. “Why’d you care which one is louder?”
Alastor blinked like the question was silly.
“Because one of us needs to remain levelheaded.”
“But—why you?”
Alastor paused.
“Because you have children.”
Lucifer froze.
Something warm and painful bloomed in his chest—bright as a struck match.
Alastor inhaled sharply as it hit him. He turned away immediately, scowling at nothing.
“Stop that.”
“I’m not doing it on purpose!”
“Then do it purposefully less!”
“I can’t—!”
Thunder cracked overhead.
Both men stiffened. The air grew colder. A silk-sweet humming drifted on the wind.
Lucifer’s breath faltered.
Alastor’s jaw clenched.
Rosie’s voice curled through the air like smoke:
“Tick-tock, boys…”
Lucifer shivered violently. Alastor stepped in front of him without thinking.
“Rosie,” he growled.
She didn’t appear. Only her laughter remained, intimidating, knowing, hungry.
“…Find the right heart,” she whispered through the heavy air. “Before I take what’s dearest.”
The wind went still. The humidity pressed thick around them. Lucifer’s pulse thundered painfully in his chest. Alastor felt all of it. He reached out—hesitating—but then placed his hand firmly around Lucifer’s wrist.
“Lucifer.”
Lucifer looked up, breath uneven.
“Focus on my voice.”
Lucifer swallowed.
Alastor pulled him closer.
“Good,” Alastor murmured. “Match me again.”
Lucifer tried.
Failed.
Tried again.
Alastor exhaled slowly, deliberately, guiding him through the panic.
Thunder rolled again. But it wasn’t as loud.
After a long minute, Lucifer steadied.
“Sorry,” Lucifer whispered.
Alastor shook his head. “We are past apologies.”
Silence stretched.
“…Alastor?” Lucifer murmured.
“Yes?”
“When she says ‘heart’… do you think she means something metaphorical?”
Alastor looked away.
“Or literal?” Lucifer whispered.
Alastor didn’t answer.
His grip tightened slightly.
“…We will find out,” he said at last.
Lucifer nodded, fear still trembling quietly in him.
Alastor felt it.
He did not recoil.
Instead, he began to walk.
Lucifer followed.
Side by side.
Closer than they had been yesterday. Too close, and somehow never close enough.
Notes:
I take it back this is by far my favorite chapter!
Anyways if you enjoy the fic please leave kudos and comments :)
Chapter 8: Closer to the Truth
Summary:
Driven to uncover the truth about Rosie's words. They both press deeper into the dark....only to find that the secrets unraveling aren’t hers alone and they risk exposing their own.
Notes:
I hope you're in for a ride because angst is coming wether ya like it or not! annnnnd of course fluff lots of tooth-rotting fluff.
Anyways warning: My English
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The storm began before the night did.
Thunder rolled low across New Orleans, and rain soon followed, slow and heavy. The mansion glowed faintly against the darkening afternoon, its windows bright as lanterns in the gloom.
Inside, Charlie and Vaggie perched on the floor in a sea of blankets, Angel Dust sprawled dramatically over the couch like a starlet awaiting an audience. He batted his lashes when Lucifer and Alastor re-entered.
“There they are,” Angel declared, “my two favorite idiots in denial. How was the date?”
“ANGEL,” Lucifer groaned.
Alastor didn’t groan. He simply exhaled through his nose like he was restraining the urge to stab something with his cane.
Charlie looked up from her coloring book.
“Papa, what’s a date?”
Lucifer froze.
Angel grinned.
“A date, darling,” Angel said sweetly, “is when two grown-ups like each other very, VERY much—”
Lucifer lunged. “NO. STOP TALKING—.”
Alastor crossed the room in three elegant strides and physically clamped Angel’s mouth shut with an unused glove he keeps in his pocket.
Angel mmphed furiously.
Alastor smiled pleasantly. “You are forbidden from speaking for the next five minutes.”
Angel mmphed even louder.
Vaggie squinted suspiciously at both men. “Why are your faces red?”
“They’re allergic to honesty,” Angel said, mouth finally glove free.
Lucifer rubbed his temples. “Angel, for the love of everything holy, go home.”
“I AM home,” Angel grins. “These kids love me more than both of you combined.”
Charlie nodded enthusiastically. “Angel bought us ice cream!”
“We weren’t supposed to tell him that,” Vaggie whispered.
Angel winked. “Snitches get stitches, princessa.”
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you still here?”
“Because my shift at the club doesn’t start for another hour,” Angel chirped. “And because I love seeing you two pretend you aren’t completely whipped for each other—”
Lucifer choked.
Alastor’s eye twitched visibly.
Charlie blinked. “What’s whipped?”
“Nothing you should know about sweetheart,” Lucifer tried to smile.
Alastor pointed toward the door. “Leave.”
Angel put both hands on his hips. “FINE. But if you two start makin’ out the moment I leave the room, TEXT ME.”
Lucifer made a noise no mortal man had ever made.
Angel sashayed out with two dramatic finger-guns. Then finally the door closed. Silence fell.
Alastor inhaled.
“Your friend,” he said, “is intolerable.”
“They grow on you,” Lucifer muttered.
“I would rather they not.”
Lucifer huffed a small laugh and Alastor felt the warmth of it echo through him, subtle and intrusive.
He straightened sharply. “Stop that,” he snapped.
“I’m literally just standing here!” Lucifer protested.
“Then stand less emotionally.”
Lucifer scowled. “You’re impossible.”
“And you are exhausting.”
“Then why am I still here?”
Alastor paused.
His expression didn’t change. But something inside him did. The answer was too complicated. Too tangled. Too close to truth.
So instead he voiced out. “Because Rosie is not done with us.”
Lucifer’s stomach tightened. Alastor felt the jolt.
He steadied his voice. “Come. We should begin.”
.
.
.
Alastor led him to the upstairs study, a room Lucifer had seen only once before when he arrived. Bookshelves climbed the walls like ivy, filled with leather-bound tomes, grimoires, old clippings from the twenties, and too many preserved oddities that looked suspiciously cursed. The air smelled like old paper and cedar and something faintly sweet—something like cinnamon.
Lucifer rubbed his arms. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Good,” Alastor said. “It means you have instincts.”
He pulled a heavy volume from a top shelf and laid it on the desk. Lucifer watched from the side, seeing Alastor’s faint thrill of having something to do—a mystery to unravel, a problem, a hunt.
“Stop enjoying yourself,” Lucifer muttered.
“I will not.”
Lucifer rolled his eyes.
Alastor opened the book, revealing pages inked in a script unlike any Lucifer had ever seen, loops and slashes like shadows dancing.
“Rosie isn’t human, is she?” Lucifer asked quietly.
“Obviously not”
“What is she?”
Alastor’s expression tightened like a belt cinched too quickly. “She is something old.”
Lucifer swallowed. “Older than you?”
Alastor raised a brow and sneered, clearly offended.
“Older than this city?”
Alastor’s gaze flicked upward.
“Yes.”
Lucifer felt cold creep under his skin. “Alastor… you said you’re indebted to her. What does that mean?”
Alastor did not answer.
He traced a page with one gloved fingertip. “Alastor,” Lucifer whispered.
Alastor slowly closed the book.
His voice softened. Not gentle. But quieter than usual.
“Lucifer. Do you trust me?”
Lucifer blinked. “What kinda question—?”
“Do you?”
Lucifer inhaled. The bond hummed faintly, his emotions sliding like a warm tide toward the tall man standing too close.
“…Yes,” Lucifer said softly.
Alastor’s expression shifted—just a millimeter. Enough to show shock. Enough to show he felt something warm pierce through the curse.
He stepped back.
“Then trust me when I tell you,” he said, voice tighter, “that knowing the full truth now would only harm you.”
Lucifer frowned. “I’m not weak.”
“No,” Alastor said, “you are not. But you are human. And she is not.”
Lucifer’s chest tightened. “So the heart she wants—”
“Is not yours,” Alastor finished.
“Then whose?”
Thunder cracked outside.
Lights flickered.
The chandelier trembled.
Lucifer’s pulse spiked and Alastor felt it crash through him. The radio host moved instantly.
“Lucifer. Look at me.”
Lucifer forced his gaze away from the trembling lights, away from the shadow that seemed to flicker in the corner. Alastor’s eyes held him steady.
“There you are,” Alastor murmured.
Lucifer swallowed hard. “She’s watching us.”
“Yes.”
“And she wants a heart.”
“Yes.”
Lucifer clenched his fists. “Does she want mine?”
“I told you,” Alastor said, “she does not want yours.”
“But she threatened my girls.”
“That does not mean she desires your heart.”
“Then WHY—?”
Alastor hesitated. Then, very quietly.
“Because taking what you love is how she makes me bleed.”
Lucifer went still. The words knocked the breath out of him.
Alastor stiffened immediately as emotion surged through the curse, bright, hot, and spiraling.
He slammed a hand down on the table. “Lucifer—compose your—”
“I’m not doing anything!” Lucifer shouted, voice cracking.
“You’re feeling something, which is equally disruptive!”
“What do you expect me to feel?! You just said—”
The air thickened.
The curse throbbed painfully between them. Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, fighting for control.
Alastor’s voice dipped, velvet-dark. “Lucifer. Match me.”
“I can’t—!”
“Then breathe. Now.”
Alastor stepped closer.
Close enough that their forearms brushed.
Close enough that Lucifer felt the heat of him. Slowly, painfully, Lucifer’s breath steadied. Both men exhaled together.
Lucifer whispered, “She hurts you through the people you care about?”
Alastor stiffened. “I care about no one.”
Lucifer lifted a brow. “Alastor.”
“I do not care about anyone—”
“Alastor.”
“…anyone else,” Alastor corrected stubbornly.
Lucifer blinked.
Alastor stiffened.
Both realized what he’d admitted.
Alastor cleared his throat violently. “Moving on.”
Lucifer’s cheeks went scarlet. His chest warm, almost like a garden of butterflies took nest inside.
Alastor grimaced at the warmth flooding into his own ribs. “Stop that.”
“YOU STOP IT!”
“I said nothing!”
“You implied EVERYTHING!”
“I implied only what was necessary for your comprehension!”
“You’re impossible!”
“So you’ve said!”
The tension snapped like a live wire.
Silence fell.
Thunder shook the windows again. Reminding them of the storm.
Lucifer’s voice dropped. Small. Serious. “Alastor… is your heart the one she wants?”
The man looked away, jaw clenched. His hand tightened around his cane.
“…Potentially,” he admitted.
Lucifer felt his own heart lurch—fear, anger, protectiveness tangled too tightly.
Alastor hissed as the emotions stabbed through him. “Lucifer—enough—”
“I’m sorry,” Lucifer whispered. “I just—”
A soft humming noise drifted through the room.
Silk-sweet.
Honey-thick.
Rosie’s voice.
“Heart, heart, heart…” she crooned faintly. “Whose shall it be, darling boys?”
Lucifer’s breath froze.
Alastor stepped between Lucifer and the window instinctively, shoulders squared.
“Show yourself,” he snarled.
Rosie did not appear. But her voice danced in the dark corners of the room.
“Not yet, dearie. Not yet. But you two are simply delicious together.”
Lucifer trembled. Alastor reached back without looking and caught Lucifer’s wrist.
His grip firm….and grounding.
Rosie laughed softly.
“Careful now,” she whispered. “The more you cling, the harder it will be when I take what I want.”
Lights flickered. Shadows stretched. The room went still. And Rosie vanished.
Lucifer sagged against the desk, breath shaking. Alastor did not let go of his wrist.
“Lucifer.”
Lucifer swallowed. “She—she’s gonna take something from you. Isn’t she?”
Alastor didn’t answer. Which was answer enough.
Lucifer’s voice cracked. “You saved me yesterday.”
“I was protecting my investment.”
“Stop that,” Lucifer snapped. “Just—stop lying about how you feel.”
Alastor stiffened. “…I do not—”
“You do,” Lucifer insisted, stepping closer, eyes bright. “I may not feel it through a curse like you do but I know.”
Alastor felt a flicker of something unspoken passing through him. He froze, caught off guard by the certainty in Lucifer’s gaze.
Lucifer pressed on, “You’re scared. Not for you. For……..me—I mean for my girls. And that scares you more than Rosie ever did.”
Alastor ripped his hand away like he’d been burned.
“That,” he said sharply, “is enough for tonight.”
Lucifer stepped forward. “Alastor—”
“No.”
Alastor straightened, mask slamming back into place. “You are emotional. And I am—far too compromised.”
Lucifer blinked. “…Compromised?”
Alastor glared. “Emotionally contaminated.”
Lucifer stared.
Alastor grabbed the nearest book and shoved it onto a shelf. It fell off. He kicked it under the desk.
Lucifer’s lips twitched. “Alastor—are you flustered?”
“I am going to throw you out the window.”
“You are flustered!”
Alastor pointed the cane at him. “Silence.”
Lucifer laughed. Soft. Tired. A little hysterical. And Alastor felt the sound roll warm through his ribs again. He turned away violently.
“Go check on your daughters,” he muttered.
Lucifer approached slowly. “Alastor…”
He did not look at him. But his voice dropped, low and quiet.
“You cannot lose what you love,” he said. “She knows that. She will use that.”
Lucifer’s breath stilled. “Then what do we do?”
Alastor finally met his eyes.
“We make sure,” he said, dark and deliberate, words sharp enough to draw blood. “That she never gets the chance.”
Lucifer inhaled slowly, letting the syllables sink in. Determined. Scared. Angry. Brave. Everything coiled tight in his chest.
“Together?”
Alastor didn’t answer. He only paused, letting the silence stretch, heavy and suffocating, before nodding once—slow and measured. His eyes didn’t meet Lucifer’s as he moved toward the door.
Notes:
Hiii again! If you enjoy the story so far please leave kudos or comments! I appreciate it so much! xoxo
Chapter 9: In Between Lightning Strikes
Summary:
A lightning flash, a nightmare, a truth exposed.
Chapter Text
The storm hit harder than expected.
By evening, the sky had cracked wide open, rain clawing at the windows like frantic fingers. The mansion creaked under the weight of thunder, its hallways dimmed to amber shadows. Every flash of lightning painted the estate in sharp white—then darkness again.
Charlie and Vaggie were already asleep, bundled in a blanket fort Angel had built using couch cushions and questionable architectural choices. Angel himself lounged beside them, legs crossed, chewing gum with the smug self-satisfaction of a babysitter who did the bare minimum.
“Kids are out cold,” Angel whispered when Lucifer peeked in. Vaggie was asleep with her cheek pressed to Angel’s fluffy boa. Charlie on the other hand, drooled on his chest.
Angel wore an expression of holy resignation.
Lucifer smiled softly. “Thanks, Angel. Really. I know you just got off work but—”
“Don’t make it weird. I’m good with kids,” Angel whispered. “And kids are good with me. Because they don’t know my sins.”
Charlie mumbled, “Because you’re soft.” Angel froze, then slowly looked at Lucifer.
“Tell anyone,” he hissed, “and I’m telling Alastor about your duck collection.”
Lucifer bit back a laugh. “Your secret’s safe. I’ll check on them later.”
Angel waved him off. “Go find your bougie boyfriend.”
“He’s NOT—”
“Yeah, yeah. Denial’s a river, baby.”
Lucifer escaped before Angel could launch into more teasing.
.
.
.
Alastor stood in the foyer, staring out the tall windows as the storm painted the night in knife-like flashes. His silhouette looked carved from midnight tall, still, sharply outlined by every pulse of lightning. Lucifer felt a strange tug in his chest as he looked at the man.
“You good?” Lucifer asked softly, walking closer.
Alastor didn’t turn. “She was here.”
Lucifer’s blood ran cold. “Rosie?”
Alastor nodded once. Still not facing him. “In the storm. Watching.”
Lucifer stepped beside him. “You saw her?”
“No.”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed at the window. “But I felt her.”
Lucifer swallowed. “What’d you feel?”
Alastor’s jaw tightened, “Hunger.” Thunder growled overhead. Lucifer’s chest constricted. Alastor finally looked at him. Only for a second. But it was enough to reveal something unguarded.
Like an emotion he refused to name.
“We cannot be caught off guard,” Alastor said. “Not tonight.”
Lucifer nodded. Their hands brushed accidentally. Both men froze. Both felt the same electric jolt. Neither acknowledged it.
Alastor lifted his chin. “Come. There is more research to do.”
Lucifer followed, heart pounding far louder than the storm.
The study lights flickered once more as they entered. The chandelier buzzed faintly, responding to the storm.
A book on the desk trembled.
Lucifer stiffened. “Alastor, something—”
“I know.”
Alastor moved first, swift and graceful, snapping the book open with one hand while grabbing Lucifer’s wrist with the other.
Lucifer let out an undignified squeak, “You don’t have to keep doing that.”
“I do,” Alastor said crisply. “Or else you will panic and I will feel it and then I will panic, and that is unacceptable.”
Lucifer frowned. “You panicking is unacceptable?”
“Yes.”
“But me panicking is fine?”
“Correct.”
“That’s not how emotions work!”
“It’s how mine work.”
Lucifer threw his hands up. “You’re impossible!”
“And you are distracting. Sit.”
Lucifer sat.
Alastor skimmed the book with sharp, rapid movements. Old symbols and sketches flickered under lamplight.
Lucifer leaned in. “What are we looking for?”
“Patterns. Indicators. Resonance signatures.”
“English, please.”
“We’re looking,” Alastor snapped, “for anything that explains what Rosie meant by heart.”
Lucifer nodded.
Another flash of lightning made the room jump. Lucifer jumped too.
Alastor sighed. “Will you—” He reached out and put a steady hand on Lucifer’s shoulder.
“—relax.”
“That doesn’t help!”
“It helps me.”
Lucifer glared. “Oh, so now your emotions matter?”
“Yes.”
“But not mine?”
“They are inconvenient.”
Lucifer spluttered.
Alastor smirked.
But then as quickly as it made Lucifer’s heart skipped a beat. His smirk faded. The radio host fell in silence completely.
Lucifer felt the shift immediately. A cold spike of dread stabbed through the bond.
“Alastor?” Lucifer whispered. “What’s wrong?”
Alastor didn’t answer.
Slowly, he lifted a hand toward the window.
Lucifer followed his gaze.
And saw her. A silhouette behind the glass.
Rosie.
Just a shape. Just a shadow. But unmistakably her.
Lucifer’s breath vanished.
Alastor moved faster than Lucifer had ever seen him move. He slammed the curtains shut, the velvet satin falling heavy and final.
The room went dark.
Lucifer grabbed his arm. “Alastor—”
“She is testing the perimeter,” Alastor said, voice low.
Lucifer’s pulse skittered. “Can she get in?”
“No.”
A beat.
“But she can see us.”
Lucifer’s stomach turned. “What does she want?”
Alastor stared at him, as if scrutinizing everything. Lightning flickered. His voice dropped to a whisper.
“You.”
Lucifer’s heart stuttered in his chest.
Alastor quickly corrected, “Not your heart. Your fear. She must have been feeding on it.”
Lucifer shut his eyes, breath shaking. “What if she decides she wants me anyway? What if—”
“Lucifer.”
Alastor stepped closer.
Too close.
Lucifer felt the warmth of him, sharp and dizzying.
Alastor’s hand rose. Paused. Then touched the side of Lucifer’s jaw, feather-light. Alastor’s voice was quiet, dangerous, honest.
“I will not let her take you.”
Lightning lit them both in white. Lucifer’s breath hitched.
Badump
Alastor felt it.
His hand dropped instantly. “We are done here.”
Lucifer grabbed his wrist. “Alastor—”
“No.”
“Alastor—”
“No.”
“You can’t keep walking away!”
Alastor spun, eyes bright as a cornered animal.
“I am trying,” he hissed, “to maintain composure.”
“You think I can?” Lucifer said, voice breaking. “I’m terrified. And I know you feel that. And I know you hate it. And I—”
Alastor stopped him with one sharp gesture.
“Lucifer,” he said, voice cracking just once, “I do not hate your fear.”
Lucifer stared.
“I hate,” Alastor whispered, “that I can do nothing to stop it.”
Lucifer swallowed hard. “You are stopping it. Every time you grab my hand or tell me to breathe or—”
Thunder shook the walls. The chandelier buzzed once—then blew out. Darkness swallowed them whole. Lucifer gasped audibly. Alastor grabbed him in an instant, hands firm on his body.
“Lucifer—Stop worrying.”
“I—I can’t see—”
“I know.”
“What if she’s in—”
“She isn’t.”
Lucifer’s breath came fast. Alastor felt every tremor. He stepped closer, guiding Lucifer until they were pressed against the desk. Alastor’s hands remained on him, steady and grounding.
“Match me,” Alastor murmured in the dark.
Alastor inhaled.
Lucifer did too. Slowly, painfully, until their breaths finally aligned. Lucifer steadied.
Alastor’s voice brushed the cold air between them, “There. Better.”
Lucifer sagged. “Yeah. Better.”
They remained like that. Too close. Too vulnerable. Too aware.
Until the lights flickered back on. Both men jumped apart like guilty teenagers.
Lucifer cleared his throat. “We should—uh—check the kids—again.”
“Yes,” Alastor said instantly.
They fled the study without speaking of it. Not one word.
Charlie and Vaggie slept soundly in their blanket fort. Angel was passed out beside them, one leg thrown over the armrest, snoring like a drunk man.
“Good God,” Alastor muttered. “Is he dead?”
“He’s just like that,” Lucifer whispered fondly.
Alastor made a face.
“You go to bed,” Lucifer said. “I’ll stay with the girls.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I will stay.”
Lucifer blinked. “Alastor there isn’t even space for you to sleep here.”
“Correct.”
“And sitting here all night is—”
“Preferable to you waking up in a panic and disturbing my library.”
Lucifer smiled despite everything. “You’re a jerk.”
“And you’re a handful. Now go to bed”
Lucifer hesitated.
Alastor raised a brow. “Lucifer.”
“…Fine.”
He went.
Alastor sat vigil. Hours passed. The storm eased. The house breathed.
And then—
Lucifer dreamed.
He was standing in Rosie’s parlor.
Something red dripped from the ceiling. The walls pulsed like a living heart. Rosie stood before him, parasol twirling lazily, eyes dark as coals, and a smile curving like a blade.
“Poor little ember,” she purred. “Do you know yet?”
Lucifer backed away. “Know what?”
“What heart I want.”
Lucifer swallowed. “Not mine.”
“No,” Rosie crooned. “Yours is sweet, but not what I crave.”
She stepped closer. Lucifer couldn’t move.
“His,” she whispered.
Lucifer’s breath broke. “Alastor’s?”
“Mm.” Rosie smiled, teeth too sharp. “But not his literal heart. No. The other one.”
“The other—?”
Rosie leaned in. Her voice dripped like syrup.
“The one he does not admit exists.”
Lucifer’s stomach dropped.
“The one,” Rosie whispered, “that beats for you.”
Lucifer woke with a violent jolt. And straight into Alastor’s arms. Alastor caught him instantly, reflexively, hands firm on Lucifer’s shoulders. Lucifer gasped for breath, clutching at Alastor’s coat.
“Calm down,” Alastor said softly. “Breathe.”
Lucifer obeyed.
Barely.
Alastor felt his every tremor. Every echo of terror that passed.
“…She knows,” Lucifer whispered. “She knows what she wants.”
Alastor eaised a brow, confusion etched in his expression and mild curiosity altogether.
“Tell me.”
Lucifer looked up. Eyes wide. Voice shaking.
“She wants your heart,” he whispered. “Not the one that keeps you alive.”
A beat.
A breath.
A quake.
“But the one you pretend you don’t have.”
Alastor went completely still. His grip on Lucifer faltered. Just a fraction. He let go of him, then stepped back.
“Lucifer,” he said tightly, “go back to bed.”
“Alastor—”
“Now.”
“But—”
“NOW.”
Lucifer flinched.
Alastor’s face cracked—regret flashing through it before he could stop it. He turned away sharply, hands trembling once before he forced them still.
“Please,” he said softly.
Not an order.
Not a threat.
A request.
Lucifer’s heart broke a little.
He nodded and went. But he looked back once.
Alastor stood alone in the hallway, back to him, one hand pressed over his own heart like something inside him hurt.
And for the first time, Lucifer wished he was the one feeling Alastor’s emotions.
.
.
.
Morning came too gently for what Lucifer felt.
The storm had broken sometime before dawn. Sunlight seeped through the tall windows in thin, watery streaks, touching the mansion’s halls like careful fingers. Everything smelled faintly of rain and magnolia, that clean, washed smell that New Orleans always wore for an hour after a storm—right before the humidity came back with a vengeance.
Lucifer woke with the same feeling he’d fallen asleep with:
A cold knot low in his stomach.
A quiet, crawling dread.
Rosie’s words echoing like a bruise inside his skull.
The one he pretends he doesn’t have.
The one that beats for you.
He sat on the edge of the bed, hands pressed to his face. His daughters were asleep in the next room. The storm was gone. The house was quiet. And still Lucifer felt—
Hunted.
He didn’t have time to sit with it. Because the moment he stepped into the hallway—
Alastor was already there.
Standing like a magazine spread come to life.
Suit flawless. Tie immaculate. Hair perfectly combed.
Carrying a silver tray of French-pressed chicory coffee as if last night hadn’t shattered something between them.
He beamed at Lucifer.
“Good morning!” Alastor sang brightly, voice smooth as a radio jingle. “Did you sleep well?”
Lucifer stared at him. Alastor, smiling like the devil wearing Sunday clothes, added cheerfully, “I certainly did!”
Lucifer blinked slowly. “…You didn’t seem to be sleeping last night.”
“I rested,” Alastor corrected chirpily. “And I rested marvelously.”
Lucifer opened his mouth. And closed it. Because even if the curse doesn’t affect him, he sees through him.
Effervescence.
Sparkling good cheer.
Radio-host enthusiasm turned up to eleven.
He was covering.
Hard.
“…Alastor,” Lucifer said carefully.
“Yes?”
“We—uh—should talk about—last night..you know..—”
“Oh, nonsense!” Alastor waved a gloved hand airily. “Last night is over. Entirely irrelevant. Do try to keep up!”
Lucifer stared at him like he’d grown a second head.
“Last night was—Alastor, it wasn’t nothing.”
“It was,” Alastor said, “a perfectly ordinary evening involving research, mild terror, and emotional overreaction.”
Lucifer’s jaw dropped. “Emotional—? I wasn’t overreacting, I almost— you almost— we almost—”
“Yes, yes,” Alastor said brightly, “and here we are, still alive! Imagine that!”
Lucifer bristled. “You’re acting weird.”
“I am acting normal,” Alastor corrected sweetly. “You are acting weird.”
“I’m acting weird?!”
“Indeed.”
Lucifer pointed a finger at him. “You’re avoiding it.”
“I avoid many things,” Alastor said cheerfully. “Traffic. Dull conversation. Bad jazz. Emotional intimacy. Today is no different!”
Lucifer sputtered. “Alastor—!”
“Coffee?” Alastor offered, as if that settled everything.
Lucifer slapped a hand over his own face, groaning. The curse absorbed his mortification and hurled it directly into Alastor’s chest.
Alastor’s smile quivered for half a second.
Just a hairline crack.
Then it snapped back into place. “Delightful!”
Lucifer glared. “You felt that.”
“I felt nothing,” Alastor lied.
“You are the worst.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Lucifer ran his fingers through his blonde hair, fighting the urge to scream. “We can’t pretend nothing happened.”
“We can,” Alastor corrected, “and we will.”
Before Lucifer could argue. The front door slammed open. And chaos arrived. Angel swept into the foyer like a pink hurricane, boa flying, heels clacking, sunglasses on despite being indoors.
“HELLOOOO sinners!” he sang, voice echoing throughout the mansion. “Your favorite babysitter is back to make sure nobody has emotional breakdowns while I’m gone—”
He stopped dead.
Looked at the two men.
One stiff.
One overheating.
One holding coffee like a shield.
One looking like he’d been awake five years straight.
Angel’s grin exploded across his face.
“Ohhhhhhhh—what do we have here?” He pointed dramatically between them.
“Are ya havin’ a divorce already?”
Lucifer choked. “We’re not— we aren’t— we’re not even—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Angel said, waving a hand. “Save it for Jerry Springer.”
Alastor sniffed, offended. “What an uncouth comparison.”
Angel smirked. “So you DO know what I’m talkin’ about.”
“No,” Alastor said.
“Yes,” Angel crooned.
Lucifer groaned into his hands. Angel flopped onto the chaise lounge without waiting to be invited. “So! Which one of you slept on the metaphorical couch? My money’s on Alastor. Boy’s too prideful to apologize.”
“I do not apologize,” Alastor sniffed.
“EXACTLY,” Angel said, throwing his hands up. “Case closed!”
Lucifer sputtered. “We’re not—this isn’t—Angel, can you PLEASE—”
“No,” Angel said immediately.
The kids came bounding in.
“ANGEL!” Charlie cheered.
“You came back!” Vaggie added, clutching her stuffed toy.
Angel scooped them both into a hug. “Of course, babies! Auntie Angel always comes back.”
“Tragically,” Alastor muttered,
Angel shot him finger guns. “Love you too, Jazz boy.”
Lucifer covered his face again. “Angel, the house was quiet five minutes ago.”
“Quiet?” Angel gasped. “That’s TERRIBLE. Absolutely unacceptable. No wonder y’all are acting like divorced parents who slept in separate beds.”
Lucifer wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.
Alastor continued to smile.
Too politely.
Too pleasantly.
But Lucifer can see right through him.
Irritation at Angel.
Yet relief that Angel’s chaos was distracting from last night.
Lucifer folded his arms. “Alastor.”
“Yes?”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t,” Alastor replied. “We need to feed your children before they set something on fire.”
“No they don’t—”
“They lit my carpet last week,” Alastor said. “You were there.”
Lucifer grumbled. “It was a candle mishap.”
“It was arson,” Alastor countered.
Charlie beamed proudly. “I made purple fire!”
Angel wagged a finger. “And we love that for you, sugarplum, but don’t tell the fire department.”
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Igniting my belongings isn’t the point at hand.”
Lucifer stepped closer. “Alastor—last night I—”
“No talking before breakfast,” Alastor said firmly. “House rules.”
“You made that rule five seconds ago—”
“Yes, and I intend to enforce it.”
Angel cackled. “Oh my God. He IS avoiding the fight.”
“I am avoiding nothing,” Alastor said, offended.
Lucifer stepped closer. “Then LOOK at me.”
Alastor did. And for a split second, the mask slipped. Lucifer instantly saw it. A crack of something raw and frightened and almost human.
Alastor inhaled sharply, and as if magic the mask slid back up.
“Breakfast,” he announced. “Now.”
He strode toward the dining room with the stiff grace of a man who absolutely would not discuss his feelings under any circumstances, ever.
Angel whispered to Lucifer as they followed, “Oh yeah, honey. That’s a man who’s emotionally constipated and terrified he might actually like you.”
Lucifer kicked him in the shin.
“OW! VAGGIE, YOUR FATHER IS A VIOLENT LITTLE SHIT.”
Vaggie shrugged. “He is.”
.
.
.
Breakfast at the mansion was usually a battlefield. But today, the air was strangely still.
Alastor busied himself with dishes, humming brightly like a man determined to pretend nothing existed outside the kitchen walls.
Lucifer sat across from him, tense, wringing his hands.
Angel whispered loudly to the kids, “Your dads had a fight.”
“We’re not—!” Lucifer snapped automatically.
Angel snorted. “Sure. And I’m a nun.”
Charlie tugged on Angel’s sleeve. “What’s a vourse?”
“Divorce, baby,” Angel said. “It’s when two people stop pretending they're fine.”
Lucifer stiffened. Alastor’s humming faltered for a fraction of a second—the curse catching the tremor in Lucifer’s chest.
Lucifer shot Alastor a look.
“I know you felt that,” he whispered.
Alastor didn’t look up. “No, I did not.”
“You did.”
“I certainly did not.”
“Alastor.”
“Lucifer.”
Lucifer leaned forward. “We can’t avoid this.”
Alastor smiled pleasantly. “I can. And I will.”
Lucifer’s voice dropped. “The dream I had— It keeps replaying every time I close my eyes.”
The humming stopped entirely. Alastor’s shoulders stiffened. He set the coffee pot down too quickly it almost cracked.
Lucifer swallowed. “What Rosie said—”
Angel froze mid-bite of toast.
Alastor did not turn around. “Angel. Leave.”
“UH. No?” Angel said. “I’m not going anywhere—”
“Leave.”
“Make me.”
Alastor turned his head. Just an inch. Just enough for Angel to go pale and mutter, “The kids need juice!” before fleeing the room with them in tow.
Leaving Alastor and Lucifer alone.
Lucifer’s breath wavered. “She said… your heart.”
Alastor’s back went rigid.
Lucifer continued, voice small. “Not the one that keeps you alive.”
Alastor didn’t move.
“She meant the other one,” Lucifer whispered. “The one you pretend you don’t have.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Lucifer waited.
The curse hummed, thick, tense, like a violin string pulled too tight.
Finally—
Alastor turned.
His smile was strained. Voice velvet-soft and razor-sharp.
“Lucifer,” he said, “finish your breakfast.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I said,” Alastor repeated, “finish your breakfast.”
Lucifer stood. “No. Talk to me.”
Alastor’s eyes flashed. A warning. A crack.
“I will not,” he said. “Because you are frightened—and I cannot afford to feel that right now.”
Lucifer stared at him.
Alastor stared right back.
Both men breathing too quickly.
“Alastor,” Lucifer said softly. “I’m not afraid of you.”
Alastor’s expression didn’t change. But the curse betrayed him as something warm flared in his chest—sharp and startled.
“Stop that,” Alastor snapped.
“Stop WHAT?” Lucifer yelled.
“Feeling things AT me!”
“I’m not TRYING TO—!”
“TRY HARDER!”
Lucifer groaned into his hands. “We can’t do this forever.”
Alastor’s smile tightened. “No. But we can endure it long enough to finish breakfast.”
Lucifer stared at him, incredulous. “…You’re joking.”
“Hardly.”
“You’re impossible.”
“I am consistent.”
Lucifer dragged his fingers down his face. “Alastor. WE have to talk about this.”
“No,” Alastor said firmly. “We will talk after I finish pretending everything is fine.”
Lucifer stared. “That’s—Alastor—that’s NOT how pretending works.”
“It is exactly how it works,” Alastor said. “Now sit.”
Lucifer planted his feet. “I’m not sitting until you stop smiling at me like that.”
“This is my neutral expression.”
In the doorway, Angel whispered to Charlie and Vaggie:
“Yep. Definitely divorced.”
Notes:
Soooo I'm thinking of finally making an Executioner fanfic of these two, ya'll interested?
If you've enjoyed the story so far, please leave kudos or comments. Lovelots! <33333
Chapter 10: Unbidden Emotions
Summary:
Something happens that test the vulnerability of this unlikely bond.
Chapter Text
The house felt different once a storm passed.
Too still.
Too clean.
Too carefully arranged after a morning that had been anything but.
The girls were asleep upstairs—finally, after Angel’s whirlwind exit. Lucifer stood in the parlor, arms crossed, staring at the window but not actually seeing it. His chest felt too tight, like his ribs were trying to fold into each other.
Alastor entered behind him, cane tapping lightly as if nothing in the world weighed more than that soft sound. His voice was bright, obnoxiously bright.
“Well!” he announced, cheerfully. “What a productive morning. Children fed, chaos minimized, your… flamboyant friend successfully evicted.”
Lucifer didn’t move.
Alastor smoothed an invisible wrinkle from his vest. “A triumph, if I do say so myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I intend to reorganize the upstairs library. It appears someone—possibly me—placed a book upside down.”
Lucifer still didn’t move.
Alastor smiled pleasantly. “Is there a reason you’re staring at the window like it owes you money?”
Lucifer inhaled slowly.
“Stop acting like nothing happened.”
Alastor’s smile didn’t falter.
but it tightened.
Just slightly. Barely noticeable.
Except Lucifer noticed and a jolt of irritation traveled into his own chest.
Lucifer turned, folding his arms tighter. “You’re doing it again. Pretending you didn’t say anything last night. Pretending Rosie didn’t threaten us. Pretending everything is normal but—"
“Lucifer,” Alastor interrupted lightly, “I am not pretending anything. I am simply choosing to prioritize order over emotional theatrics.”
Lucifer scoffed. “Order? You call this order? You’re chipper and humming and reorganizing books because you can’t deal with what you said!”
Alastor’s grin sharpened. “Ah. I see. You are attempting to instigate a fight.”
“I’m trying to TALK to you.”
“We did talk.”
“No, Alastor. You talked around things. I talked around things. We avoided everything.”
“I avoid nothing,” Alastor said, voice cool and even. “I simply discard the unnecessary.”
Lucifer stepped forward. “So what am I? Unnecessary?”
For the first time, Alastor’s eyes flickered uncertainty. And the curse surged faintly— a pulse of alarm, quick and hot and sharp. He smoothed his expression instantly, but Lucifer saw the gap.
“That,” Alastor said slowly, “is an absurd question.”
“You avoided answering it.”
“Because it does not warrant an answer.”
Something inside Lucifer cracked.
“Why do you get to decide what warrants ANYTHING?!”
Alastor’s eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction—a dangerous slip.
“Because,” he said, voice overly charming and patronizing, “I am the one with centuries of experience navigating demons like Rosie while you—”
“Don’t do that,” Lucifer snapped.
“Do what?” Alastor asked coolly.
“Talk down to me like I’m some emotional liability.”
Alastor said nothing.
Lucifer stepped closer. “I’m trying to understand what we’re dealing with. And you keep shutting down the second it gets personal.”
“Nothing is personal.”
“Stop lying!”
That did it.
The curse jumped—a sharp jolt through both of them, like touched wires. Alastor hissed softly and placed one hand on his ribs. His voice dropped to a low warning.
“Compose yourself.”
“No,” Lucifer said, breath tight. “I’m done letting you dictate this.”
Alastor’s eyes flashed red—a warning, a threat. Don’t push it.
“Lucifer.”
“Why are you so terrified of telling me the truth?” Lucifer demanded.
“I am not terrified,” Alastor snapped back, losing a sliver of control. “I am logical. Something you—”
“Say it,” Lucifer bit out. “Just SAY it.”
Alastor bristled. “You are being puerile.”
“Say it.”
“You are emotional—”
“SAY IT.”
“FINE,” Alastor snapped, voice cracking like a whip. “BECAUSE WHAT I FEEL IS IRRELEVANT.”
Silence. The room went still. A drop of tension hit the floor like a pin.
Lucifer’s anger flickered into shock, “What… you feel?”
Alastor went still in an instant. His breath hitched. And his eyes, usually bright with mischief, widened by the barest, betraying fraction.
The curse responded instantly—a heavy, crushing pressure between them, like it recognized something spoken that should not have been.
Lucifer stepped forward. “Alastor… what do you feel?”
“Nothing,” Alastor said instantly.
The curse pulsed—a sharp, painful jolt through both of them at the lie. Alastor winced, gripping the edge of a table. Confusion and irritation creeping into his skull.
Lucifer clutched his chest, breath catching, knees buckling.
Alastor sucked in a sharp breath.
“Lucifer—control your emotions—”
“I’m—” Lucifer gasped, “I’m not the one—”
Another pulse. A flash of pain. Harder. Worse.
Alastor staggered a half step, bracing himself against the wall. Lucifer’s head spun, vision tinting white around the edges. The curse squeezed like a fist around their ribs.
Lucifer choked, “Stop—lying—”
“I am NOT—” Alastor snarled, voice strained, “—LYING—”
The curse slammed into them. They both went down to their knees.
Breathing hard. Shaking. Hearts beating too fast.
Lucifer pressed a hand to the floor to steady himself. “Alastor—please—just stop resisting it—”
Alastor growled through clenched teeth, “I do NOT—allow—such emotions—”
Another violent pulse. Lucifer cried out, the force of it ripping through his lungs. He felt Alastor’s pain, too—sharp and strangled.
He crawled closer, pulling Alastor’s coat.
“Alastor, listen to me—”
The man flinched like the touch could burn, but he didn’t pull away.
“Tell the truth,” Lucifer whispered hoarsely. “Or this curse might…kill us.”
Alastor’s head hung low, shadows hiding his face.
Lucifer gave out a trembling breath, “..please..Al.”
A long, trembling silence.
Then—
Very quietly.
Very tightly.
Like it was being dragged out of him by force:
“I feel—”
A shudder ripped through him.
“Far too much.”
Lucifer began breathing slowly. The curse eased slightly. Just enough for them to breathe.
Alastor’s voice was raw, unfamiliar, stripped of its careful polish.
“This curse—” he rasped, “—is designed to expose, not to bind. It forces truth. It forces vulnerability. It strips away everything I use to keep… myself intact.”
Alastor lifted his head, his brown eyes were unbidden.
“I do not know how to feel this,” Alastor admitted, voice fracturing at the edges. “And I do not know how to control it.”
Lucifer’s voice softened. “..you’re not supposed to control it.”
Alastor’s brow tightened in disbelief. “Lucifer, control is what keeps people alive.”
“Not with me” Lucifer whispered. He reached up and gently touched Alastor’s shoulder.
Alastor froze, utterly still, like a deer facing down a hunter’s aim.
Lucifer swallowed. “You’re scared.”
“I am not—” Alastor snapped.
But the curse throbbed—a small, quiet ache. Alastor inhaled sharply. He let out a slow, broken exhale.
“…I am.”
Lucifer felt the honesty settle like a fragile bird in his chest.
Alastor looked away, voice barely a whisper. “Are you satisfied now?”
Lucifer shook his head softly. “No.”
He leaned in closer, eyes bright with something fierce and unbearably gentle.
“I’m not satisfied until you understand that you don’t have to deal with all of this alone.”
The Radio host stared at him. As if the words were in another language. As if he didn’t know how to hold them. To comprehend it.
The room felt still for just a moment.
A faint hum drifted through the walls—silky and distant.
Rosie’s voice.
“Mm…,” she purred. “Honesty suits you Alastor.”
Alastor’s entire body went rigid.
Lucifer’s breath froze.
Rosie giggled softly, syrup-sweet and cruel.
“Oh, boys… you’re making this so entertaining.”
The lights flickered once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
Silence.
Lucifer swallowed. “Was she listenin’ to us the entire time?”
“Yes,” Alastor said, voice low and trembling with a fury he barely contained. “And she will regret it.”
Lucifer studied him. His chest tightened. Alastor’s breathing was uneven, shallow, betraying the calm mask he always wore. And beneath it all… something shifted in the bond between them.
Changed. Deepened.
Something Rosie wanted.
Something Alastor feared.
Something Lucifer didn’t yet understand.
Alastor stood abruptly, smoothing his coat. Not meeting Lucifer’s conflicted gaze.
“We need,” he said every word measured, “to be far more careful.”
Lucifer rose too. “Alastor—”
“No,” The single word fell like a blade. “Not now.”
He lingered only a moment longer, and in that moment, his eyes held a storm: unspoken fears, unadmitted desires, everything he refused to voice. Then he turned, and with deliberate steps, he walked away, leaving the room hollow.
And Lucifer stood in the quiet parlor, chest aching, realizing something unmistakable:
Rosie didn’t have to break them.
They were already doing it themselves.
Notes:
Please leave kudos or comments if you enjoy the fic! Thank you :DDDDD
Chapter 11: Morning After the Storm
Summary:
Morning brings pancakes, forced smiles, and truths children see too clearly.
Notes:
Hiiii! So sorry for not updating yesterday! But here it iiiiis. Please enjoy! I'll be posting two chpters to make it up for you guys! :>>>>>>
Anyways warning: My English
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Morning arrived into the manor once more. And it should’ve felt peaceful.
It didn’t.
Lucifer barely slept. He lay awake in the guest room, staring at the ceiling, listening to the throb of the curse like a second heartbeat tied too close to his own. Somewhere on the other side of the house, he knows Alastor is awake too.
Restless.
Irritated. probably.
When Charlie burst into his room at 7, all sunshine-energy and morning curls, Lucifer sat up too fast.
“Papa, it’s morning!” she chirped.
Lucifer forced a smile. “So it is, sweetheart.”
Vaggie peeked behind her, frowning.
“Papa, are you okay? You look… weird.”
Charlie gasped. “Is Papa sick?!”
“No,” Lucifer said quickly. “Just tired. Very tired. Adult tired.”
Charlie nodded like she understood the sacred gravity of adulthood. Vaggie, on the other hand, didn’t buy it for a second.
“Did something happen last night?” she asked, voice small.
Before Lucifer could answer, a voice glided into the doorway—
“Well, good morning, my dearest little troublemakers!”
Alastor. The Radio host was overly exaggerated in cheerfulness once more. He stood there like a man posing for a photograph—perfect posture, immaculate smile, cane angled just so. Not a single crack visible.
But Lucifer saw through him anyway. A man who buried all his emotions in a casket.
Charlie squealed, running to him. “MISTER ALASTOR!!”
He caught her mid-barrel, swinging her up with an elegant little spin.
“There she is,” he said, voice rich, “the young lady who nearly redecorated my foyer with crayons last week. Have you come back to finish the job?”
Charlie giggled into his shoulder.
Vaggie crossed her arms.
“You’re way too happy.”
Alastor blinked at her. “Should I not be?”
“You're… extra smiley,” Vaggie narrowed her eyes. “A scary kind of smiley.”
Lucifer coughed into his sleeve to hide the sound escaping him. Leave it up to his youngest to sniff the man out.
Alastor’s grin twitched—only a millimeter—before snapping back into perfection.
“My dear,” he said sweetly, “I am always smiling.”
“That,” Vaggie said flatly, “is the problem.”
Charlie tugged Alastor’s tie. “Is something wrong Mister Alastor?”
Alastor froze. Like a bell rang on his ear.
Lucifer stood abruptly, smoothing the blonde hair sticking out. “Alright kids,” he grabs their attention, clapping his hands, “who wants breakfast?”
Charlie cheered.
Vaggie hesitated, still staring at Alastor like he was a puzzle with teeth.
.
.
.
They walked to the kitchen together—Lucifer in front, the girls bouncing between them, and Alastor trailing behind with a politely guarded posture.
Every so often, the curse gave him this feeling of discomfort—Alastor burying, Lucifer worrying.
Charlie kept glancing back.
Vaggie kept frowning deeper.
By the time Lucifer started making pancakes, they were both planted at the kitchen counter, leaning across it like suspicious little detectives.
Vaggie poked her fork at Lucifer’s shoulder. “Did you and Alastor fight?”
Lucifer choked.
Alastor, who had placed himself in the farthest corner of the kitchen like a dangerous ornament, answered with impeccable calm, “Of course not. Adults simply have… discussions.”
Vaggie squinted. “Your discussion sounds like a fight.”
Charlie nodded gravely. “Yeah. And Papa looks sad.”
Lucifer almost dropped the spatula.
Alastor’s eye twitched once—barely perceptible.
He stepped forward, tone breezy.
“Well! Look at that! Pancakes for breakfast! A delightful distraction, isn’t it?”
Charlie tilted her head. “Mister Alastor, are you sad?”
This time Alastor did freeze. His cane tapped the floor once—an unconscious tick Lucifer had learned to read.
No.
Not a tick.
A tell.
Lucifer set the pan down, heart tightening. “Kids—”
“Sad?” Alastor repeated cheerfully, voice pitched too high. “Whatever would give you that absurd idea?”
“You’re smiling weird,” Charlie said.
“You’re smiling too big,” Vaggie added.
Lucifer groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Alastor inhaled slowly, like a man recalibrating every internal cog.
“My smile,” he said with a strained politeness, “is perfectly normal.”
Charlie reached out to him making hand motions as Alastor leaned down to her level, she touched his cheek.
Alastor went absolutely still.
“Your face feels tight,” she whispered. “Like when Papa tries not to cry.”
Lucifer choked on the air he was breathing.
Alastor stared at Charlie, wide-eyed, utterly unprepared for such a direct hit. She didn’t even realize she’d just set off an emotional landmine.
Vaggie muttered, “Yeah. Something’s definitely wrong.”
Lucifer put the spatula down with a soft clack.
“Girls,” he said gently, “grown-up problems are… complicated. And besides, let’s give him the space he keeps pretending he likes having.”
Charlie immediately frowned. “But if Mister Alastor’s heart hurts, we need to fix it.”
Alastor jolted like someone dumped ice water down his back.
“MY HEART—?!”
Lucifer slapped a hand over his eyes, “Oh God. I am starting to hate that word—”
Vaggie hopped down from her stool and marched to Alastor like a tiny general. She jabbed an accusing finger into his vest.
“Did you do something to Papa?”
Alastor sputtered. “I assure you—”
“Or did Papa do something to you?”
“I—no—well—that is to say—”
“Or did you both do something together?!”
Lucifer dropped a plate.
Charlie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Did you two kiss?”
Lucifer dropped the second plate.
Alastor made a noise Lucifer had never heard before—something between a dying violin and a radio short-circuiting.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT—”
“CHARLIE, SWEETHEART—”
“PLEASE STOP TALKING—”
“NO ONE KISSED ANYONE—”
“WE WERE HAVING A CONVERSATION—”
“NO MORE QUESTIONS—”
“GOOD LORD—”
The girls stared at them.
Then at each other.
Then at the chaos unraveling.
Charlie pointed at Lucifer. “Papa’s red.”
Vaggie pointed at Alastor. “Alastor looks like he’s gonna explode.”
Charlie gasped again. “Is this a DIVORCE?!”
Lucifer’s soul nearly descended.
Alastor muttered lowly, “I’m surrounded by imbeciles.”
Lucifer knelt so he was eye-level with the girls. “Listen,” he said softly. “Everything’s okay. Adults argue sometimes. That’s normal. But we’re not… we’re not divorcing. That’s not how this works.”
Charlie frowned. “But you act like Mama and Papa did before Mama left.”
Lucifer stilled.
Alastor’s head snapped toward him, expression cracking. The curse pulsed and Lucifer’s pain rolled into Alastor’s ribs like a punch. Alastor stepped forward immediately, voice lower, softer.
“Charlie,” he said carefully. “I assure you, your father is not leaving my… direct vicinity anytime soon.”
Lucifer looked up sharply at him.
The girls blinked in unison.
Vaggie asked, “You’re not gonna throw us away?”
Charlie asked, “Because you want us to stay?”
“I—”
Lucifer stepped in quickly. “Breakfast.”
“Yes,” Alastor echoed, sounding strangled. “Breakfast.”
Silence.
Then Charlie opened her mouth, “So you DO love each other—”
“NO,” Lucifer yelped.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT,” Alastor barked.
The girls stared at them. Then burst into giggles.
Lucifer exhaled shakily.
Alastor adjusted his tie violently.
Then Lucifer looked away, barely suppressing a smile he knew he was failing.
A quiet, fragile domestic peace. The first they’d had in days.
Charlie crawled into Lucifer’s lap. Vaggie leaned against him. And Alastor sat near them, close enough that Lucifer could feel his presence.
Lucifer looked up at him.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Alastor cleared his throat. “For what?”
“For not letting them worry.”
Alastor’s eyes softened—just a flicker. Then hardened again.
“Someone has to maintain order,” he muttered.
Lucifer may not have been cursed to feel Alastor’s emotions, but he heard the truth hidden in every word.
He cared because the girls cared.
He cared because Lucifer cared.
Even if he couldn’t say it yet.
Breakfast resumed in its chaotic, sticky, syrup-soaked glory.
But underneath it all, something had shifted.
And for once, it felt like the shift might not break them.
Not yet.
Notes:
If you enjoy the story so day please leave kudos or comments! It helps me stay motivated hihi ;)
Chapter 12: Tethered
Summary:
Safety has a cost, and love has a history.
When Alastor’s past collides with Lucifer’s present, denial becomes impossible.
Notes:
As promised! Two chapters in one day! :DDDD
Warning: My English
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
CHAPTER 12
New Orleans had always been a city of heat and passion, and the summer Lucifer met Lilith felt like walking through a dream he was not meant to wake from. The nights were warm with streetlamps that hummed like honeybees, and jazz drifted out of cracked doors in soft ribbons of brass and longing. She had stood beneath the arching oaks of Jackson Square—golden haired (like his own), dark-eyed, a woman made of candlelight and confessions—and Lucifer had been young enough to mistake her stillness for serenity.
She spoke like someone who had lived a hundred lives. He listened like someone who hadn’t started his first.
Their love, if one could call it that, began with quiet conversations under the balcony shadows and ended with silence that tasted like copper. Lilith did not scream, did not cry, did not rend herself apart the way Lucifer had quietly expected lovers do in tragedies. She simply faded. Like a lantern running low on oil.
When she placed infant Charlie into his arms, she kissed the baby’s forehead as though trying to remember the shape of tenderness. Lucifer had watched, throat tight, waiting for something—some apology, some explanation, some reason why her eyes were already turning away.
“What do I do?” he whispered, voice cracking.
She touched his cheek—lightly, briefly, almost kindly.
“You love her,” she said. “You’re good at that.”
And then she left.
Just like that.
A quiet departure. A closing door.
Lucifer did not know then that grief didn’t always roar. Sometimes it sank into your ribs like humidity, filling the lungs until breathing became a choice you had to make over and over again.
He raised Charlie alone.
Not gracefully. Not painlessly. Not in any way the world would call triumphant.
But he raised her.
Working shifts until his hands ached. Sleeping in brief, shallow pockets. Carrying Charlie everywhere in a secondhand sling because he was afraid she’d vanish the moment he set her down. Singing her lullabies while washing dishes in a borrowed kitchen. Smiling at her until smiling hurt.
When she turned three, she began to talk in unstoppable streams of brightness. She filled rooms with stories about her stuffed goat helping sad people “because everyone deserves a friend,” about raindrops that danced, about shadows that “just need someone to listen.” And every day she repeated her favorite truth, like a mantra she believed could heal anything: “Papa’s tired today. But that’s okay! He’s still the best, most magical Papa ever.” Lucifer had laughed until he cried. Or maybe he’d cried until it sounded like laughter. It was hard to tell the difference back then.
He found Vaggie on a Thursday night.
The bakery down the block was closing, the smell of sugar and warm dough still clinging to the air like a comfort. Lucifer had been carrying Charlie against his chest, her tiny fist curled in his shirt, when he spotted a small figure hunched beside the dumpster.
A little girl. Dirty. Thin. Her knees scraped raw. Eyes sharp as broken glass.
She had been watching the trash for food. Lucifer’s heart had squeezed in a way he didn’t know hearts ever could.
Charlie looked at the child and immediately pointed.
“Papa… she needs help.”
Lucifer knelt slowly, keeping his voice soft. “Hey, sweetheart. You lost?”
The girl bared her teeth like a feral thing.
“Don’t come closer.”
Lucifer didn’t.
Charlie wriggled in his arms. “Hi! I’m Charlie! You wanna share my goat?”
The feral girl blinked at the stuffed toy offered toward her like an olive branch. Lucifer could tell she was trembling. Not from cold. From fear. From a lifetime of it.
“Do you have anywhere to go?” he asked gently.
“No.” The child’s chin lifted defiantly. “And I don’t need nobody.”
“Okay,” Lucifer murmured. “But if you want food, we have some.”
Charlie gasped. “Papa makes good pancakes!”
“I make the best panckes,” Lucifer corrected.
Charlie turned back to the little girl.
“It’s the yummiest thing ever. He adds syrup!”
The stranger’s stomach growled.
Lucifer pretended not to hear. “My home is small,” he admitted. “And messy. And probably haunted by unwashed laundry. But… there’s space. If you want it.”
The girl’s eyes softened so slightly Lucifer might’ve imagined it. She whispered,
“…I don’t even know you.”
“I’m Lucifer,” he said. “And this is Charlie.”
“What’s your name?” Charlie chirped.
The girl hesitated. “Vaggie.”
Charlie’s face lit up.
“That’s pretty!”
Lucifer extended his hand—patient, steady, warm.
Vaggie didn’t take it. She took Charlie’s instead.
And that was that.
Lucifer brought her home. Bathed her. Fed her. Sat awake until dawn as she cried silently into a borrowed blanket, shaking so hard his arms ached from holding her still.
He didn’t ask where she came from. He didn’t need to. He just kept her.
Loved her the way he knew how—clumsily, fiercely, endlessly.
Years passed in a blur of exhaustion and makeshift joy. There were days he went without eating so they could. Nights he collapsed on the couch only to wake with two small bodies curled on top of him like warm, breathing blankets. Times he worked three jobs and still worried there wouldn’t be enough food, enough medicine, enough anything.
But his girls grew.
Safe.
Healthy.
Loved.
He did that.
Even when he was breaking, he did that.
Which is why, in the present day, leaning over the counter at the candle shop with a half-finished latte and Alastor’s stupidly elegant coat draped over a chair, Lucifer could feel the difference so sharply it made his chest ache.
Life was easier now.
It felt wrong to admit it. But it was true.
The curse had forced Alastor into their orbit like a stray comet. And for all the chaos, all the bickering, all the emotional migraines… Lucifer wasn’t scrambling to pay rent. He wasn’t calculating grocery budgets down to the penny. He wasn’t afraid the electricity would shut off if he fell asleep before sending the bill.
He was warm. Fed. Safe.
Alastor, for all his dramatic suffering, had made it so.
Which made his recent disappearances… concerning.
At first Lucifer assumed Alastor was trying to find a cure. Or a ritual. Or a loophole. Something logical. But the curse tugged whenever he went too far—like a thread pulled taut between their ribcages.
Lucifer felt it now. A sharp, uncomfortable tug behind his sternum. Alastor had been gone for hours.
“Damn it,” Lucifer muttered, rubbing at his chest. The worst part wasn’t the discomfort. It was the fact that—against all reason, against all sanity—he felt a flicker of worry.
Worry for a man who barely tolerated emotions.
It almost seems as if…
The bell above the shop door jingled.
A middle-aged customer walked in, fanning herself with a newspaper. “Hot out there, cher. Nearly fainted on the streetcar.”
Lucifer mustered a smile. “Let me know if you need water, alright?”
“Oh, sweetheart, you’re a blessing.” She dropped the newspaper on the counter. “Just need a minute to cool off.”
Lucifer noticed the front page.
A headline in bold black letters:
“ANNIVERSARY OF UNSOLVED NEW ORLEANS MURDERS – CITY STILL HAUNTED”
His hand stilled.
The woman tapped the article with a perfectly manicured nail. “I remember this case. Lord, everyone was scared back then. The way that man killed?” She shuddered. “Terrifying.”
Lucifer tried to swallow. It stuck halfway.
“You… remember details?” he asked, voice light, careful.
“Oh yes. We all did.” The woman leaned in conspiratorially. “Tall fellow, they said. Real tall. Moved like he was gliding. Voice so smooth he was charming his way into places.”
Lucifer felt something cold crawl up his spine. He didn’t understand the unease he was feeling.
The customer continued, with enthusiasm. “My sister swore she heard him once. Said he had a laugh like an old-time radio host. You know the kind—real vintage, real slick.” She clicked her tongue. “Nobody ever caught him. Not even close. But they say he liked patterns.”
“What… patterns?” Lucifer asked softly.
“Oh, hunting grounds,” she said. “Streets near the Quarter, old houses, places with music. And always at odd hours. Midnight. Dawn. Like clockwork.”
Lucifer’s fingers tightened on the counter.
Odd hours.
Patterns.
Alastor slipping out before sunrise.
Coming home just before dawn.
That same old-fashioned laugh.
That same polished smile.
That same height.
That same glide.
Lucifer’s pulse thudded painfully.
The curse inside his chest flickered—like it knew, long before his brain would admit it.
The woman sighed. “Anyway, cher, hope they never come back. Someone like that? Once in a lifetime.”
Lucifer managed a weak smile. The moment she left, the shop felt colder. He stood there for a long time, hands flat on the counter, breathing slowly, the world beginning to tilt.
Not him.
It couldn’t be.
Could it?
Not the strange, awkward man who panicked when Charlie hugged him.
Not the man who read stories aloud with dramatic voices the girls loved.
Not the man who caught Vaggie when she nearly slipped from a bookshelf.
Not the man who complained endlessly about Lucifer’s emotions but stayed anyway.
Not the man who—without admitting it—had begun caring for the girls.
Not him.
Except…
Except it made too much sense.
Lucifer closed the shop early. He walked home with the evening heat clinging to him, each step sinking heavier as the truth began to thread itself into something undeniable. By the time he reached Alastor’s mansion, the sun had dipped low, painting the windows in shades of blood-orange and plum. The air felt charged, restless.
The door was unlocked. He stepped inside quietly.
Charlie’s laughter echoed faintly from the parlor.
Vaggie arguing over a board game.
And Alastor stood in the hall.
Perfect posture.
Perfect suit.
Perfect smile—thin, polished, and polite in a way that had fooled thousands of listeners across the South.
But Lucifer saw the stiffness in his shoulders, the tension at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes, dark brown and sharp as garnet, lifted the second Lucifer stepped through the doorway.
A flicker, slight but unmistakable.
Awareness.
Connection.
“Lucifer,” Alastor greeted, his voice smooth as a perfectly tuned broadcast. “You’re home rather early.”
Lucifer swallowed. “Uh—yeah, well just… tired.”
The curse didn’t let that slide.
And Alastor—damn him—felt it.
His smile shifted, refined edges tightening. “Ah,” he murmured. “A lie, then.”
Lucifer hated how easily Alastor read him.
“Drop it.”
“I would,” Alastor replied lightly, “if I believed you were merely tired. But…” His gaze softened by degrees, like shadows easing off a stage light. “You’re unsettled.”
Lucifer wished—truly wished—he could hide it. But the curse vibrated between them, betraying every tremor.
“I’m fine,” Lucifer said quietly.
Alastor’s brows lifted in the faintest, most infuriatingly sadistic arc.
“No. You’re not.”
Lucifer exhaled, shaky. He stepped closer. Then again. Alastor remained still, though Lucifer felt the quiet shift of his attention like Alastor recalculated every possible direction this conversation might go and braced for all of them.
“You disappear,” Lucifer whispered. “You leave for hours. And I feel it. I feel that pull in my chest when you’re gone. And I… worry.”
Something flickered. A break. A fracture. So quick Lucifer wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking at Alastor’s mouth.
Then it was gone.
Alastor stood straighter. “Lucifer,” he said smoothly, “my habits predate this curse. And privacy is—”
“Stop.” Lucifer’s voice wavered. “Just stop. Today at work I heard someone talking about a killer. A man. Tall. Charming. A voice that sounded like a radio host. A laugh like an old broadcast…” His breath caught. “And I realized I know someone like that.”
Alastor’s smile froze.
Not faded.
Not cracked.
Froze.
Like porcelain beginning to fracture under pressure.
Lucifer took a breath that felt like broken glass inside his lungs.
“Alastor… what did you do?”
The silence that followed was taut, suspended, threaded with an old fear Lucifer had never heard from him before. Alastor’s smile—once confident, once theatrical—wavered. Just once. Just enough for Lucifer to glimpse the truth shimmering beneath the surface.
“Lucifer…” he said softly, and it was astonishing how much could fit into one name—warning, regret, restraint.
Lucifer felt the truth bloom like a wound.
He stepped back instantly.
Alastor moved forward instinctively, hand lifting fast as if to steady him.
Then froze.
His fingers curled back with near-painful control.
No touch.
Not now.
Not when Lucifer was looking at him like that.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Lucifer said.
His voice was small.
And Alastor—calculating, clever Alastor—knew that it meant everything.
He lowered his eyes. The smile disappeared.
The change was so jarring Lucifer almost took another step back. Alastor without a smile was like a stage without its lights—wrong, unsettling, too honest.
Lucifer’s heart stuttered.
Not because the monster stood in front of him.
But because that monster…
had been holding his family together.
Had been saving his children from falling.
Had been softer than he should be.
Had been trying.
trying—God, he had been trying—to be someone better.
“Alastor,” Lucifer whispered, horror and grief tangled in the name.
Alastor inhaled, slow and deliberate, smoothing the tremor out of his breath before it reached his voice.
“I had hoped,” he said carefully, “that if this secret ever came to light, it would be in a… controlled manner.” A wryness flickered. “Ideally, without the exact descriptors laid out like a police report.”
Lucifer clenched his fists. “Why?”
Alastor looked up.
And the smile that returned was not his usual polished showmanship.
It was something weary.
Something thin.
Something that belonged only to Lucifer.
“Because,” he said softly, elegant diction wrapped in fraying restraint, “before this ridiculous curse tethered me to your heart, I saw no purpose in examining my own.”
Lucifer blinked, breath faltering.
Emotion swelled in Alastor’s eyes, subtle, restrained, but real.
“And now,” Alastor murmured, voice dipping to a private softness he had never used on air, “I find myself in uncharted territory. I feel… things, Lucifer. Things I am not built to navigate.”
The admission was barely above a whisper, but its gravity hit Lucifer like thunder.
From the kitchen, Charlie’s voice rang out.
“Papa! Alastor! Dinner’s getting cold!”
Lucifer stiffened.
Alastor did too.
The curse throbbed—an aching, fragile current between them.
Lucifer swallowed hard. Alastor held perfectly still, watching him.
Two men.
One secret.
One confession.
One breaking point.
Neither stepped forward.
Neither stepped back.
And neither knew how to move at all.
Notes:
OOooooh lore drop? :OOOO
Chapter 13: Intoxication Is a Confession
Summary:
Between whiskey-soaked confessions and a bond that transmits every unspoken fear, Lucifer and Alastor are forced to confront something neither is willing to name and neither can escape.
Notes:
Ohhh this is gonna be a ride :)))
Anyways Warning: My English
Chapter Text
Lucifer paced the length of the study, fingers twisting the hem of Alastor’s discarded coat—still draped over the chair where the man had left it earlier that afternoon. Immaculate fabric. Sharp stitching. Crease-perfect. Alastor never left anything out of place unless something was wrong.
Lucifer hated how much he noticed that.
The bond hummed faintly in his chest, a low, taut thread that refused to sit still. It had been restless for hours—tugging, pulling, vibrating.
He knew what that meant.
Alastor was out again. Doing something. Something Lucifer tried so hard to pretend it didn’t affect him at all.
Well isn’t that what you’re good at, Luci?
The old voice in his head hissed, sharp and familiar.
Loving and hurting. Over and over. Giving and giving until you bleed. Tell me—has anyone ever given anything back?
He swallowed hard.
His fingers tightened on the coat, the fabric soft and expensive under his palms.
Alastor had been… attentive lately. Annoyingly perceptive. Annoyingly protective. He’d caught Charlie without thinking. Vaggie slowly easing up to him. He’d flinched when Lucifer panicked but never really blame him for it. He’d softened—subtly, maybe unwillingly—over the past days.
Lucifer couldn’t stop replaying it.
Don’t confuse that with affection, he whispered to himself.
He’s a killer. A monster. A calculating bastard who probably spent the last decade flossing with someone else’s spinal cord. He doesn’t care about you. He can’t.
Except…
Except the moment Lucifer had confronted him about the killings, Alastor’s smile had cracked.
Just a fraction.
Just enough for Lucifer to see something terrified behind it.
Why would a man like him feel fear?
Why would Lucifer matter?
Why—
The front door opened.
Quietly.
Softly.
Wrong for someone like him.
Lucifer froze. The smell reached him before the figure did.
Alcohol. Whiskey, gin, something smoky—something that clung to the collar of his pristine shirt. And beneath it—
Blood?
No. No—no blood. Just cigarettes. Lucifer exhaled shakily.
Then Alastor stepped fully inside. And Lucifer’s brain short-circuited.
Because Alastor—
Alastor, the immaculate, the meticulous, the man whose posture could shame a marble statue—
looked wrong.
His tie was slung over one shoulder.
His hair was ruffled.
His smile was crooked.
And his eyes were warm in a way Lucifer had never seen them.
“Bonsoir, mon cher,” Alastor drawled, leaning a shoulder against the doorway.
Lucifer blinked.
“…What did you call me?”
A lazy grin. Entirely unprofessional. Entirely dangerous.
“A term of endearment,” Alastor hummed. “Unless you would prefer chéri? Or perhaps—hm—mon amour?”
Lucifer made a strangled noise, heat crawling up.
“No—NO—don’t you French at me!”
Alastor’s grin only widened, slow and feline.
“Why not?” he asked, pushing off the doorframe and taking a few steps closer. His voice dipped slightly lower. “French is the language of affection, Lucifer. And you—” his gaze swept over him, slow and appreciative in a way that sent Lucifer’s heart stumbling, “—are a rather fitting inspiration.”
Lucifer’s face went incandescent.
“STOP—STOP SAYING THINGS LIKE THAT!”
“Why?” Alastor tilted his head innocently. “Do they bother you?”
“YES!”
Alastor’s grin widened, pleased.
“Good.”
Lucifer nearly exploded. “Where the hell WERE you?!”
Alastor blinked slowly, like reality was taking its time to catch up to him.
“Ah. Just gettin’ some giggle water with an old chap. Husker. Delightful company. Very… hmm. Cynique. I adore cynics.”
“You don’t drink,” Lucifer accused.
A breezy laugh floated through the hall.
“I do now. I am expanding my horizons.”
“You are expanding my anxiety!”
Alastor stepped closer, and Lucifer instinctively backed up until his spine pressed against the wall. Alastor was taller than usual—or maybe Lucifer was shrinking under the weight of that warm, lazy stare.
Lucifer felt like exploding from everything and nothing all together—this proximity—they’ve never—
They’ve never gotten this close to each other’s faces before!
Alastor inhaled sharply, one hand gripping the wall.
“Mon Dieu—stop—stop FEELING—whatever that is—your emotions are suffocating.”
“I can’t—” Lucifer’s voice quivered. “—I can’t just switch it off!”
Alastor staggered forward. “Listen to me,” he whispered—
—but then he paused.
His eyes flickered downward.
At Lucifer’s lips.
Lucifer went rigid.
Oh no.
Oh no no no.
Alastor’s voice dropped impossibly lower.
“…mon Dieu.”
His tongue clicked against his teeth softly. “You really are beautiful up close.”
Lucifer’s stomach did an Olympic backflip.
“s-stop—why are you—”
“You keep calling my name,” Alastor murmured, the barest hint of a grin returning, “like a lover pulling me back into bed.”
Lucifer nearly screamed.
“You are DRUNK—!”
“Mm,” Alastor hummed, leaning even closer, “and you are tempting. How unfortunate for us both.”
Lucifer felt the heat explode up his neck.
“BACK—UP—FROM—MY—FACE!”
Alastor didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
Only a whisper escaped his lips. “Make me.”
The curse pulsed. Lucifer felt his own heartbeat echo into Alastor’s chest.
Alastor felt it too—
because he stopped talking.
His expression flickered.
Not sober.
But suddenly sharp.
“Mon pauvre Luci,” he murmured, voice soft as velvet, “you’re frightened.”
“I’m NOT—!”
Lucifer jabbed a finger into his chest, putting some distance between them, “You were gone for HOURS. The curse—this—” he gestured wildly at the space between their ribcages, “—it felt like somethin’ was wrong.”
Alastor’s smile tilted, softened, twisted into something too close to genuine.
“You worried,” he whispered.
“I did NOT—!”
“You did.”
“DID. NOT.”
“Hmm.”
Lucifer sputtered, face burning.
The curse transmitted every frantic spike of emotion directly into Alastor, who winced as if punched.
“Ah—please—stop that,” he muttered, rubbing at his sternum. “Your distress is loud.”
“Then QUIT MAKING ME DISTRESSED!”
“Well,” Alastor said reasonably, “I would—if you quit caring.”
Lucifer froze.
Alastor blinked at his own words, sudden sobriety flickering through him like the brief flare of a candle.
For one terrifying moment—
He looked unguarded.
Lucifer’s voice was soft.
“…Alastor. Did you get drunk because of what I said?”
Alastor scoffed, stepping back with theatrical disgust.
“Hah! Absolutely not. I do not let mortal opinion influence me.”
Lucifer watched him.
Silent.
Still.
The curse tremored faintly and Lucifer could imagine it, could see it—Alastor’s emotions beneath the surface, twisting, tightening, prickling like thorns.
He was lying.
Alastor’s smile strained.
He turned away, shrugging off his coat with forced nonchalance. But his hands shook.
Barely.
Barely enough for a person to notice.
Lucifer noticed.
And that made everything worse.
He stepped forward, voice low, trembling. “You left right after I found out. About the killings.”
Alastor stiffened. His jaw clenched.
Lucifer swallowed. “…Was that why? Because I know what you did?”
Alastor didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But when he finally spoke— His voice cracked.
Just once.
“I do not wish,” he said quietly, “for you to look at me differently.”
Lucifer’s breath caught.
“I don’t—”
“Yes.”
Alastor turned sharply, eyes suddenly bright and unsteady.
“Yes, you do. And you should. I would be a fool to expect anything else.”
Lucifer tried to speak.
Alastor cut him off.
“But,” he hissed softly, “I will not—” he jabbed a finger toward the floor, “—not stand here and beg for your approval like some trembling adolescent.”
The words were hard.
But his eyes—
His eyes were terrified.
Lucifer took a step forward.
“Alastor—”
“Non.”
Alastor lifted a hand, palm trembling. “Do. Not. Say. My name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you care.”
Lucifer’s throat tightened.
“But I DO—”
“DON’T.”
The curse lashed between them—electric, violent, a snapped wire sparking.
It hurt.
Literally.
Lucifer flinched as the curse snapped hard in his chest—sharp enough to steal his breath.
Across from him, Alastor hissed through his teeth. The same pain hit him an instant later, he slapped a hand against the wall beside Lucifer’s head. His fingers curled, digging into the plaster with a tremor he could not hide.
“Lucifer—” His voice was tight, almost guttural beneath the veneer of politeness. “Stop. Whatever you’re feeling—stop it. It’s—” He inhaled sharply. “Good Lord, it’s vile.”
He staggered forward—too close—his palm landing beside Lucifer’s head, caging him in with trembling resolve. Their foreheads hovered a breath apart.
The scent of whiskey clung to Alastor’s words. Beneath him Lucifer could hardly remember how to breathe correctly.
“Listen to me,” Alastor whispered, voice trembling in a way Lucifer had never heard. “You are confusing pity with affection. Worry with longing. Obligation with… something else. But it is not real.”
Lucifer’s heart shattered.
“You don’t get to tell me what I feel!”
“I do,” Alastor insisted softly, “because the alternative—”
His voice broke again.
“—is unbearable.”
Lucifer went still.
Every breath.
Every heartbeat.
Every fear.
Everything.
Quiet.
Slow.
Terrifying.
“…unbearable?” he echoed.
Alastor swallowed hard.
“…go to bed, Lucifer.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is all you get tonight.”
Lucifer stared at him.
Alastor looked away first. He stepped back slowly, carefully, as if each distance apart hurt.
Then he turned, climbing the stairs with stiff, jerky motions that betrayed how deeply the alcohol and emotions had dug into him.
“Goodnight,” he murmured. His voice was almost steady. At the top of the stairs, he stopped.
“Lucifer?”
Lucifer looked up.
Alastor didn’t turn around. His shoulders were tense.
But his voice softened, “Merci… d’avoir attendu.”
Thank you for waiting.
Lucifer smiled sadly, “…goodnight, Alastor.”
The house held its breath.
Then silence swallowed everything whole.
And Lucifer, left alone in the hallway, slid down the wall, clutching his chest like his heart was trying to break free.
Pages Navigation
FrogsDeserveHugs on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Dec 2025 05:52PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Dec 2025 11:56PM UTC
Comment Actions
Fyolai4ever on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Dec 2025 09:42PM UTC
Last Edited Wed 03 Dec 2025 09:43PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Dec 2025 11:58PM UTC
Comment Actions
Fyolai4ever on Chapter 1 Thu 04 Dec 2025 12:11AM UTC
Comment Actions
Webshooter on Chapter 1 Thu 04 Dec 2025 12:31PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 1 Thu 04 Dec 2025 02:33PM UTC
Comment Actions
(Previous comment deleted.)
Azrailhalo on Chapter 1 Sat 06 Dec 2025 01:11PM UTC
Comment Actions
(Previous comment deleted.)
Azrailhalo on Chapter 1 Sun 07 Dec 2025 10:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
(Previous comment deleted.)
Azrailhalo on Chapter 1 Sun 07 Dec 2025 10:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
anielsen33326 on Chapter 1 Sun 07 Dec 2025 09:03PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 07 Dec 2025 09:03PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 1 Sun 07 Dec 2025 10:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
Webshooter on Chapter 2 Thu 04 Dec 2025 12:40PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 2 Thu 04 Dec 2025 02:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
Sleepymono on Chapter 2 Thu 04 Dec 2025 02:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 2 Thu 04 Dec 2025 02:37PM UTC
Comment Actions
Vicx20 on Chapter 2 Thu 04 Dec 2025 10:39PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rainfeathr on Chapter 2 Thu 11 Dec 2025 08:12PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 2 Fri 12 Dec 2025 12:44AM UTC
Comment Actions
Zahra_Xain on Chapter 2 Sun 14 Dec 2025 08:40PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 2 Mon 15 Dec 2025 02:59AM UTC
Comment Actions
Vicx20 on Chapter 3 Fri 05 Dec 2025 12:40PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 3 Sat 06 Dec 2025 01:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
Astradamian on Chapter 3 Fri 05 Dec 2025 01:27PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 3 Sat 06 Dec 2025 01:07PM UTC
Comment Actions
tickingclockheart on Chapter 3 Fri 05 Dec 2025 06:50PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 3 Sat 06 Dec 2025 01:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
TaintedMoonstone86 on Chapter 3 Fri 05 Dec 2025 10:33PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 3 Sat 06 Dec 2025 01:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
Sleepymono on Chapter 3 Sat 06 Dec 2025 04:04PM UTC
Comment Actions
Vicx20 on Chapter 4 Sat 06 Dec 2025 02:43PM UTC
Comment Actions
Sleepymono on Chapter 4 Sat 06 Dec 2025 04:11PM UTC
Comment Actions
Azrailhalo on Chapter 4 Sat 06 Dec 2025 11:56PM UTC
Last Edited Sun 07 Dec 2025 02:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation