Just a random ghost liking random stuff

Wings retracted in a flicker of divine light before vanishing entirely, your hair tousled from the wind between worlds.

You padded further in. The radio demon’s suite was a strange place—half 1930s luxury, half liminal dreamscape. Alastor stood with his back turned, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, humming something half-forgotten. The stove flickered with a greenish flame. The scent of spice and smoke and something homey filled the air. 

“My dear,” Alastor said without turning. “You’re early.”

The angel of death smiled, heart fluttering in that familiar, involuntary way. “I missed you.”

Alastor turned, face cracking into that smile—razor-sharp and too wide, but never cruel when it was for you. He wiped his hands on a towel and stepped forward, closing the distance. “You always say that, but I never tire of hearing it.” Alastor tilted his head.

You wrapped your arms around the demon’s waist and nuzzling against his shoulder. “It’s our anniversary, you know.”

“I know,” Alastor purred. “Do you think I forgot?”

He stepped aside with a flourish, gesturing toward the table. There, in the centre, was a steaming bowl of jambalaya. Rich, colourful, aromatic. A single candle flickered beside it, casting shadows that danced along the walls. A bottle of something old and sweet.

You blinked, touched. “You made this?”

He was still smiling, but his hands were restless—tugging his cuffs straight, fixing the spoon’s placement, fiddling with the napkin. Nervous. Excited. A bit embarrassed.

Your chest warmed. “You’re sweet,” you said, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “You pretend not to be, but you are.”

“Horrible slander,” Alastor said with mock offense. “I’ll have to devour someone just to balance out the sentiment.”

The jambalaya had cooled slightly, but neither of them cared. They lingered over it, pausing often between bites to talk, laugh, and touch, not in grand gestures, but in small, grounding ways. A brush of fingers. A nudge of knees beneath the table. 

Alastor poured the last of the wine, his eyes were half-lidded with contentment, his grin softening into something far more genuine than most would ever see.

“So,” You said, swirling your glass with a lazy motion, “I heard your last broadcast.”

Alastor perked up, as you spent the next few minutes explaining how entertaining his latest work was. Alastor let out a snort of laughter, then leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “And what about you, hm? How many pitiful, struggling souls have you plucked from this month, my darling?”

You leaned back in his chair, stretching with a hum. “Oh, the usual. A few plague victims – there’s this new virus now…. A retired assassin who died peacefully. A mime who choked on invisible popcorn. Seventeen accountants. And a little girl who asked me if I was going to take her teddy bear, too.”

Alastor’s grin twitched, just slightly. “Did you?”

“Of course not,” the angel said gently. “I told her Heaven’s full of bears. She smiled and held my hand the whole way.”

A quiet moment passed. The radio in the corner crackled softly, then settled. “You really do bring peace,” Alastor said. “Even to endings.”

“That’s my job,” the angel replied. “Well, part of it.”

The dishes clinked softly as you washed them. Alastor was in the living room, fiddling with the dials of a ghostly old radio. Occasionally, he’d call out some wry comment, about a rival overlord’s new scandal, or a particularly poetic obituary he’d read earlier but mostly, he just watched you from the corner of his eye.

When the table was cleared and the dishes dried, you padded into the bedroom. The bed was already half-made, covers neatly folded, your own favorite pillow placed beside Alastor.

It was tradition: on their anniversaries, you stayed for the night. You were excited to cuddle next to him again. You pulled the comforter up, smoothed it down. Adjusted the corners…and stopped.

Because there were arms around you…Alastor’s arms. “Al?” You whispered, surprised.

A hum answered you. Soft, almost hesitant. Alastor pressed close from behind, resting his chin against the angel’s shoulder. His hands were steady, one curling gently around your waist, the other trailing downward with slow, deliberate grace.

You inhaled sharply as fingers brushed over the front of your trousers. Not rough or aggressive. Just a touch, like testing the weight of a thought. 

Your breath caught, cheeks warmed. “Alastor…” You  murmured, unsure. 

Because this wasn’t common. Alastor rarely participated in intimacy beyond kisses, not that you minded. After centuries, you found sex a secondary thing to indulge in. Their relationship had never needed that kind of closeness to be whole.

Alastor didn’t speak. He just held you closer, lips brushing the line of your neck. The angel placed his hands lightly over Alastor’s. They were cold, but they always had been. And right now, they were trembling slightly.

“You okay?” You asked, voice hushed.

A pause. Then: “I nearly died, you know.”

You closed your eyes. “I know.”

“I didn’t feel afraid for myself…I kept thinking,” Alastor murmured, “that I hadn’t touched you enough.”

Your heart ached, tender and full. “You don’t owe me this,” you said quietly. “You never have to give me more than you want.”

“I want this,” Alastor said, almost stubbornly. “Not because I think I should. Not because it’s expected. But because… I want you.”

*

You laid on your back, skin flushed with heat and breath caught in your throat, muscles trembling beneath Alastor’s careful touch. You were coming undone with every stroke of the demon’s clever fingers.

Alastor’s eyes glowed faintly, a slow pulse of red watching every twitch, every gasp, every need. He didn't move quickly. No—Alastor liked precision.

His hand, cool against the heat of the your cock, moved in deliberate rhythm. 

“You’re beautiful when you tremble,” Alastor murmured, voice low, thick with something dangerous and intimate. “Do you know that?”

You moaned softly in answer, hips rising instinctively. But Alastor’s other hand pressed them down against the bed—firm, unyielding, a reminder of who held the reins.

“No, no, darling,” he chided gently, leaning in. His lips brushed against your ear. “You stay still. I like watching you fall apart for me.”

You whimpered, eyes fluttering. Alastor chuckled.

“That’s it,” he whispered, tongue flicking the shell of your ear. “That’s the sound I wanted. That pretty little noise...”

You gasped and Alastor’s hand moved faster in response, reading every twitch of muscle like sheet music.

He adored this.

Not because it was about sex—it wasn’t, not really. He had no hunger for it in the traditional sense. But the control, the delicate orchestration of power, sensation, surrender? That was a performance worth savouring.

You were panting now, thighs shaking, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the unbearable pressure of nearing climax. Alastor leaned in again, grinning against your throat.

“Go on,” he breathed. “Come for me, my angel.”

And with a strangled cry, you did—arching into his touch as cum spilled across Alastor’s hand, your whole body pulsing with release. When it was over, he kissed your cheek. “You sound even better than I imagined,” he whispered.

“Well,” he said with a sly tilt of his grin, “I do believe there’s the matter of reciprocity to consider.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted. “Huh?”

Alastor climbed onto the bed like a cat circling its prey, but with unmistakable affection behind his glowing gaze. “You didn’t think I’d let you be the only one spoiled tonight, did you?” he purred, pressing a cold palm to your bare chest. “No, no, my dear. You owe me.”

You flushed again, still bliss-dazed, still sensitive. “Owe you?” you echoed, weakly. “I’d do anything.”

Alastor’s grin sharpened. “I know.”

He leaned back, resting against the headboard, legs spread with deliberate ease. His tone dropped to something darker. “Show me.”

You moved without thinking. You slid between Alastor’s legs, eyes flicking up as you undid the buttons of his trousers. When you finally took him into his mouth—warm, reverent, slow…Alastor exhaled, a low, satisfied hum.

And then… they emerged. Tentacles. Black as ink, they slid into the air, four of them, long and coiling. You moaned softly around him at the first touch; a cold caress sliding over your back, down your spine, over your hips.

One tentacle brushed your hair away from your face. Another traced his waist. The third coiled around your thigh, possessive. The fourth ghosted along your throat, not choking, just… reminding. You’re mine.

Alastor let out a breathy chuckle, his hand resting lightly on your head as he looked down. “My darling… so obedient. You really are a perfect little angel, aren't you?”

You whimpered at the praise, hollowing your cheeks as you moved deeper, more eagerly now, wanting to please. Needing to. Every moan, every soft sound from Alastor, was music you lived for.

The angel of death, usually so composed, was trembling as two of the demon’s inky-black limbs coiled around your thighs like snakes, holding you open while the other two worked more intimately, squirting a green liquid on your back hole to lubricate it.

You gasped as one tentacle nudged your entrance, cool and firm, but yielding just enough to press inward slowly.

Alastor loomed above him, as though he were watching a private show—his show. His smile was wider now, but soft. Genuinely pleased. “Look at you,” he murmured, fingers ghosting along your jaw. “You’re positively radiant.”

You whimpered as the second tentacle began to slide in beside the first. A sharp stretch, but not painful. It was… full. 

You clutched around him, breath shallow. Alastor leaned closer, lips brushing against your ear. “I wonder,” he whispered, “what it feels like for you—an angel so pure, letting a sinner claim you like this.”

You moaned in answer, a shudder rolling through you. You could barely think. Every muscle in your body was locked in anticipation, back arched, knees shaking from how good it felt. One curled inside to stroke at that sweet spot deep within, and you trembled.

Alastor chuckled darkly, pleased. “Ah, there you are.”

You turned your face, flushed and panting, eyes glassy. “A-Al… please…”

“What is it, sweetheart?” Alastor drawled, clearly knowing full well what. “You want more?”

The tentacles pulsed. Squeezed. Slid just an inch deeper. You almost sobbed. “Yes—yes, please, don’t stop—!”

Alastor leaned in again, tongue darting across your lower lip, savouring the taste of your begging. “My dear,” he whispered, “I’m only just beginning.”

The pace quickened slightly, more fluid, more rhythmic, like a perfectly timed melody. The stretch, the friction, the fullness…it built into something overwhelming. You could feel heat coiling in your stomach, pleasure curling tight around your spine.

Alastor held you gently, almost lovingly, watching every reaction. You whimpered as the tentacles pulsed again, pressing firmly against that aching spot inside you.

“I… I want to make you feel good too,” you breathed as you pulled away, not able to concentrate on sucking him off.

Alastor tilted his head, amused. “Oh, you are, darling. Watching you like this…so undone, so obedient—it’s positively exquisite.”

The pressure built rapidly now. Your cock was hard again, leaking, untouched. But you couldn’t reach down,  another pair of tentacles held your hands in place. You could do nothing but feel. You took him in your mouth again, determined to make him come too.

The demon reached down, brushing damp hair from your forehead. The tentacles pulsed again, swirling in perfect rhythm inside you, each movement hitting that overstimulated spot with maddening precision. Pleasure bloomed so intensely and then—it crested.

Your muffled cries were uncontrollable as you came, back arching. Your release spilled across your stomach, hot and shaking, mind blank with the force of it.

But you weren't alone at that moment. You trembled beneath him, mouth still wrapped around Alastor’s length, you felt it— when you cried…the sharp twitch in Alastor’s hips, the sudden tightening of his grip in your hair.

Alastor let out a low, fractured moan as he came with a shudder, spilling into your throat in rhythmic pulses. You swallowed it without hesitation, without thought, obedient and dazed, riding out the last waves of your own orgasm as you held Alastor gently in your mouth.

The tentacles began to withdraw, slowly, carefully, sliding free with a wet, obscene sound. You gasped at the emptiness, at the cool rush of air against oversensitive skin. You collapsed into the mattress, boneless and dazed.

Alastor joined you moments later, curling around your body. He kissed your temple once, softly. “You did wonderfully,” he said.

You could barely speak. You curled into Alastor’s embrace, trembling with aftershocks, heart fluttering. “I love you,” you whispered, barely audible.

Alastor went still. Then, quietly, almost against his nature, he responded. “I know.”

Adam clearly has had enough of being left out of the battle. “I'm fucking over this.”

Adam launched himself forward in a single, brutal movement. The air cracked around him as he drew back a fist–Boom. One punch. Just one. A shattering burst of golden light tore through the air, and the shield—your Alastor’s beautiful, delicate, stubborn creation—split apart with a crack like a mirror giving way. It didn’t explode. It dissipated.

The hotel stood exposed. Alastor still hadn’t moved. Your stomach twisted. You didn’t show it, of course. You stood there, still and unreadable as ever. Death didn't panic.

Your eyes found Alastor again. He was still smiling—but his posture had shifted ever so slightly. He wasn’t showing it. Not to Adam. Not to the army. Not to anyone. But you knew. You always knew. And gods, you wanted to hold him right now. To brush the smoke from his cheek and say, you did well, darling. 

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. Any sign would damn you both. But slowly, so slowly, you let your hand fall from where it had been resting on your belt. It slid just to your side, fingers open. A silent gesture.

He twitched his sleeve, just once. Like dusting off his cuff. I see you too. I’m okay.

It was the only reassurance you would get. Alastor takes a few steps forward to meet Adam. “Adam! First man, next to die.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Alastor. Pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure. I'm about to end your fucking life.” Alastor taps his cane on the ground, causing four tentacles to rise up around him.

You really should’ve focused. But your heart did a stupid thing. Your fingers flew to your face instinctively, covering your mouth like you were suppressing a gasp of horror—but it wasn’t revulsion that bloomed in your chest. Because if you opened your mouth, you might sigh his name like a lovesick idiot.

It was a very specific, deeply unprofessional thought: He looks so hot right now.

God, you were weak.

You turned your face slightly, hand still up, as if shielding yourself from some blasphemy. Anyone looking would think you were repulsed—maybe even disapproving.

Alastor caught it. Of course he did. His gaze slid toward you, just a flick, just a hair’s breadth of motion—but his grin curled just a little more wickedly, like he could see right through your little mask of disgust.

He knew. And oh, he was going to make you suffer for it later.

Adam didn’t even try to mask his scorn as he turned to you. “Well?” he barked, his voice edged with impatience. “Aren’t you gonna help me kill that red freak or something?”

You let out a long, exaggerated sigh, lifting a hand to inspect a chipped black fingernail like it was far more important than the obliteration of your lover ten yards away. “I’ll watch,” you said smoothly, voice calm and dismissive. “You seem very enthusiastic. Wouldn’t want to rob you of your moment.”

The lie sat so easy in your mouth, you almost believed it yourself. But you didn’t move to fight. Didn’t lift your scythe. Just folded your arms loosely across your chest and leaned your weight into one hip, looking for all the world like you couldn’t be bothered.

Inside, though? Your chest burned. Your throat itched with all the things you couldn’t say. Adam scoffed. “Figures,” he muttered, turning away. “I’m disappointed that Death is too pussy to fight.”

You didn’t rise to the bait. You just smiled gently, almost beatifically. A peaceful expression that masked how tightly your fists had curled behind your sleeves.

He didn’t know that “the red freak” had held you in silence while you traced the scars on his back. That the demon he scorned had kissed your forehead like it meant something. 

It was divine to watch him fight. Alastor moved with improvised violence, sharp and wicked and rhythmic. 

You stayed still, arms still loosely folded, pretending to be bored, but your eyes tracked every movement. Every step Adam took. Every near-miss. Every time that blessed blade arced a little too close to where it shouldn’t.

Your jaw clenched. You tensed. You would not let him—

Alastor’s eyes found you. And he shook his head. A small movement. Barely there. It stopped you cold. The furious ache of having to stand there—untouching, unspeaking—as the one person you loved most was in danger…you’ve taken various souls, but never felt anything. But this helplessness was a new feeling. 

Adam was done. “I'm going to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, CAUSE RADIO IS FUCKING DEAD!”

Adam swings his guitar, sending a shockwave towards Alastor. When it dissipates, Alastor’s microphone has been snapped in two. While Alastor is distracted by his microphone, Adam manages to score a hit on him, slashing him across the torso. Alastor flew backward, crashing to the edge of the hotel’s rooftop with a sickening thud.

Alastor picks up the two pieces of his microphone, trying to get back up but was too injured. You gasped audibly. You hadn’t meant to break composure. You’d been so good until now. But when that cruel wave of divine force shattered Alastor’s microphone, you felt your whole chest seize up like it had been punched from the inside.

And you didn’t think anymore. You moved.

In a flash of black feathers, you launched from your perch above, wings outstretched, shielding him. Alastor coughed behind you, low and ragged, and it broke you.

Adam staggered to a stop, blinking in stunned confusion. “…What the fuck?” His brow twitched. “What the actual fuck, Azrael?”

You didn’t respond immediately. Adam stepped forward. “Why the hell are you protecting him? You should be taking his soul, not slacking on your job as you always do!”

His eyes searched yours, and then they widened. “Oh. Oh, I get it now.” He laughed—a short, cruel bark. “You’re sucking the red freak’s dick, aren’t you?”

Behind you, Alastor groaned and tried to rise. “Azrael, don’t—”

“No.” Your voice cut through the air, steady and absolute. You turned just enough to glance back at him. Blood stained his vest.

“Don’t do this,” he rasped, voice fraying at the edges. “You can’t undo this.”

You gave him the gentlest smile.“No secret remains a secret forever, darling.”

Adam’s face twisted into something grotesque. “You traitorous little—”

“Enough.” You lifted your hand, shadows forming at your feet, dark and ancient and godlike. “I’ve played the role asked of me. I do not participate myself with feeble politics of heaven and hell. But it seems like you’ve forgotten to fear me.”

Adam stepped back, hesitant. You got up in his face. “My darling is not going to die today, but you surely are.”

Adam’s voice faltered. “There’s no way–”

You grinned maliciously. “It will be aided by my brother, Lucifer, no else. See you on the other side.”

Alastor’s shadow encompassed you as well. “Radio's not dead, but it is ending this broadcast.”

The world warped. Reds overtook your vision—velvet drapes, worn carpet, that warm, perpetual amber glow of the “ON AIR” sign hanging like a holy relic.

Alastor’s radio booth.

He stumbled. You were there instantly. “Whoa, whoa, Al—sit down.” You guided him toward the plush old chair in the corner of the booth, hands firm but reverent.

Alastor chuckled, though it came out a little breathless. “Ah, my dear, you should’ve let me take the hit with dignity. I’m no stranger to pain.”

You knelt before him anyway, fingers glowing faintly at the tips as you peeled back the shredded layers of his red suit. “And I’m no stranger to fixing it.”

He winced as you exposed the gash—a deep, divine-etched wound that still pulsed angrily. That weapon hadn’t been made to wound. It had been made to end.

“Still smiling,” you murmured, eyes flicking up to meet his, “even with half your guts trying to escape.”

“Old habits die hard, dear heart.” He tilted his head, grinning crookedly through pain. “And speaking of dying, I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

“Working on it,” you muttered, your voice softening. A warm, obsidian light glowed beneath your palms, slow and careful.

Alastor watched you in silence for a long moment. His crimson eyes flickered, something rare and unguarded flickering beneath them.“You risked everything.”

“Not everything.” You finally met his eyes. “You’re everything.”

His lips parted. That ever-present smile faltered—trembled, even.

You smoothed your thumb across his chest, near the wound that was now fading into an angry scar.

You leaned forward, resting your forehead gently against his.“I’m here. I’m staying. You don’t have to smile for me.”

He closed his eyes. “That’s the problem,” he murmured. “I don’t smile for you. I smile because you make me forget it’s fake.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's for a fanfiction called "Crawlspace", which is a crossover between The Backrooms and an r/HFY story called "The Nature of Predators". It's been a long time since I read NOP so I don't remember how good it was, Crawlspace is definitely good tho!

(Also, synopsis about it right here also)

I'm not sure if I should recommend it to my backrooms mutuals and followers, because I know you guys are more into monsters and entities, and the story doesn't really have any (unless you count some kind of eldritch thing as an entity?) I'm also not sure if you can just read and enjoy it on its own or if you need to read NOP first, and NOP has like, 100 or 200 parts to it. Yeah... good luck with that.

With the sun dropping down behind the mountains and moon in the horizon it didn't take much convincing for a resigned king to drop the shears in a now empty watering can to simply stare at the lovely marigolds, stroked by the gentle light as if the world seemed to praise the flowers lovely existence, it caused the monster to let out a deep rumble in response catering back. Albeit odd to some within the gardens he'd spent day and night slaving over for the school their ex-wife taught at. The mere thought sent a twinge of melancholic memories to their poor mind, but it did remind the goat about something further important then twiddling his thumbs about the past.

You.. Oh, his darling, such a sweet boy you were truly. Wondering back into his mind like a tidal wave melted all feeling from his body only to shiver in the chilled air, but he seemed to be growing quite warm in the face with slight color peeking from beneath his sheen white fur. Brushing it off only to become more giddy with their movements as Asgore rushed to put away their tools for tomorrow and begin walking down the street back home, eager to see their little guy stare up at him with those lovely doe eyes, that somehow always seemed to be filled with pure adoration towards the king, oh truly did they feel smitten toward his human.

No matter how you two started, with the distaste and solemn sadness plastered in his being when you'd walked into the flower shop. Only for it to morph in confusion after pushing the bouquet you'd asked for far too many opinion on back into Asgore's hands after paying. Back then the certain fondness the boy had sent him before walking out without much more had left them wondering if you'd come back, and then you had. Every other Wensday you'd walk into the shop to buy flowers from him just to never accept it after paying no matter how much Asgore had seemed to insist upon you taking them. It became routine until the point he'd stop even asking you and plopping them into a vase next to the register with fondness, at least until not showing up for ovee half a year. It was so lonely as each Wensday at 5pm they'd sit in the shop simply awaiting you to walk through those doors just to rest you elbows on the counter with buttercups in hand as you'd compliment the shirt he'd put on that day.

It wasn't until Spring the next year Asgore would be graced to see the boy, who had them hooked from the first honey sweet compliment spilled from your lips slow like molasses driving them mad with curiosity and a certain sadness when it all seemed to go away, but what a joy it was after slipping into the store silently to walk up and hold out flowers you'd been growing in your own backyard in attempts to impress the retired king did realization hit them. Though once he did his precious baby boy pressed many kisses along their face passing soft praise and sweet nothings!

The ingrained memory always seemed to paint a lopsided smile on Asgore's face, once gaining sight of your shared home it took much restraint to simply sprint to the door no matter how much pain it'd cause later. Though with your previous scolding in mind the king had taken their time before breezing inside the home silently as to surprise you, but what he didn't expect was snacks to be on the coffee table and a warm blanket to be on the large couch as a TV was playing those add cartoons with a low volume almost sounding like static to their ears. Asgore couldnt help but feel his heart thump within their ribcage at the sight of you buried between the blankets sleeping peacefully.