#ohdeerfully

Your first day in the hotel brought you face-to-face with who would eventually become your dearest companion, second only to your husband himself. The chaotic, cockroach blood-frenzied housemaid Niffty was at first glance a minor pest, but the longer you stayed and the more you watched her antics, the more fond you grew.

It was hard not to see her in a childlike light. Of course she was literally toddler sized, but her hyperactive personality and tendencies for fixation gave her an overall chaotic vibe that was really only possible for a child to have. It helped that Alastor owned the girl's soul, so you had ample opportunity to know her better.

In life, you wanted nothing more than a child of your own, but all the cards were seemingly piled against you; from internal issues with your own body to marrying a man who truly would not have been a good father figure even had the stars aligned in your womb.

Currently you sat at the couch in the hotel lobby, head perched on your hand that was propped against the armrest. The housemaid was standing on the coffee table in front of you, proudly turning this way and that to show you the new stitchwork she did to her newest dress - white topped with a cute yellow skirt and red embroidery. You clapped gently as she spun a final time, palms holding the sides of her dress as she gave a little bow.

"Niffty," an aggravated voice called. You turned to look behind you, spotting a frazzled Vaggi holding a bucket of some mystery, oozing liquid that you had no interest in identifying. "Room 237 spilled some nasty shit. I already got most of it."

Like a predator, Niffty momentarily fell still as if processing how she was about to pounce on her prey. In another moment, she was scampering away from the lounge, throwing herself into the broom closet for supplies, and then leaping up the stairs in a fit of excited giggles

"What a twisted little creature," you heard Alastor's voice pipe from the spot on the couch next to you. Black shadow was still wafting off of him from his magic, having just materialized next to you. You turned your attention towards him.

"I think she's rather lovely," you argued indignantly, raising an eyebrow. Your husband merely laughed in response.

"The two go hand in hand," he responded. "A lovely, twisted thing."

"I don't think she's twisted at all," you lied in a quieter voice. Of course, you knew she had her kind of murderous tendencies, but in her defense it was usually towards bugs and grime. Otherwise, although maybe it was your fondness for her infecting your judgement, she was a rather sweet and innocent girl.

Alastor was silent for a moment, looking deeply at your face, as if searching for an answer to an internal question. You maintained eye contact for a few seconds, but eventually looked away, almost in fear of him finding that answer.

"When will you give her her soul back," You asked, fidgeting with your fingers. One benefit of being married to the Radio Demon was never having to worry about giving up your soul in a deal, but you can only imagine the empty, hopeless feeling being owned would give you.

"I know what this is about," Alastor said, voice terribly quiet despite the vacancy of the hotel lobby. You fell silent, fidgeting paused as you sought for a reply.

"It's not about anything."

"My dear, I know you too well to be lied to."

You frowned and snapped your head towards him, seven years of pent up grief and frustration rushing towards the forefront of your mind, but the fire on your tongue died at the hint of softness in his calculated expression. His head tipped slightly, ears twitching in anticipation at your aggressive look, an almost amused grin on his face as he awaited the response that had turned to ash in your mouth.

Deciding you weren't responding, he continued, his grin turning a bit weaker at the edges with a strangely forlorn expression. "I suppose an apology now would be about a century late?"

"You have a long list of apologies at varying lengths of lateness."

"I guess I should start working on that list, then," He sighed, leaning back into the couch. Notably, and to your frustration, he didn’t elaborate. Apparently now wasn't the time to start that work - if ever.

"BACK!" The familiar shrill of the housemaid interrupted your thoughts. Niffty was tumbling back down the steps, taking an astounding four steps at a time as she raced to put all her supplies back in the broom closet. At some point in her absence, she had switched back to her standard red work dress, and you tried to ignore the mysterious fresh stains on the fabric as she scampered back to you.

She jumped right into you at a force that you could swear would've broken something if you were any weaker. You instinctively wrapped your arms around her small form, holding her tightly, as she similarly had her own arms hung loosely around your neck.

Her eye switched between you and Alastor. "You are hanging out with this bad boy..." her voice had a pondering tilt to it, eyebrow furrowing in thought. "Does that make you a bad girl?"

You thought for a moment. Does hanging out with (and being married to) Alastor automatically make you a bad girl? Does regretfully enjoying his presence place an inherent sin on your soul? Probably.

"Yes." You replied simply. This elicited a wide grin from the girl, who's grip around your neck became a python-like constriction in excitement. You fought not to stutter.

"Okay!" She said with glee. A warmth flooded your chest as you gently rested your cheek against the top of her head. You felt Alastor's eyes on you, but you refused to look his way, deciding you didn't care to see what kind of expression he held for you.

A loud clatter, followed by the sound of shattering glass made the housemaid's body tense, already preparing to jump to work. A loud curse came from the kitchen.

“So, like, what’s up with that,” he asked with a light slur, cheek smooshed against his arms. One hand drug a lazy finger around the rim of a half empty whiskey glass. “I mean, who would actually sit that close to that creep?”

You frowned lightly at the description, but quickly shifted into a soft smile. Before you could say anything, though, you could almost physically feel the glee in Alastor’s expression as he let out a dramatic “ahh,” in response to the question.

“Well, I would hope my own wife could tolerate being even a foot away from me,” He said with a chuckle, tossing a leg up over another and leaning back into the couch. He laid an arm across the back of the couch, letting his hand graze the back of your shoulder.

His comment, along with the uncharacteristically affectionate gesture, caused the interest of a few other residents in the vicinity to turn towards the two of you. Angel Dust’s mouth opened in speechless surprise.

“Wife?” Charlie asked with a tilt of her head. She had been busy picking up the pieces of a board game. Angel Dust nodded in support of her question.

“Yes, don’t you remember? I did tell you all this on my first day, unless… you thought I was lying? Do demons get Alzheimer's? Was nobody listening to me..? How rude…” Alastor mused over his ideas with a parodied hand played on his chin, eyes cast to the ceiling in mock thought.

“Like anybody would believe that shit,” Husk muttered from his spot behind the bar. He, of course, did know, as he knew a lot of the more classified details of Alastor’s life that he was bound by contract — and by threat — to never speak about.

Alastor shrugged with a flick of an ear and a “hm,” but otherwise ignored Husk’s comment.

“Damn, toots,” Angel’s eyes turned towards you. He picked himself up off of the bar top and stretched his upper body. “How d’ya put up with that shit? No wonder you can tolerate being so nice to us.”

You waved a playful hand at him. “Oh, come on, it’s not that bad. Plus, he was rather sweeter in life, otherwise I would totally agree with you.”

“Oh, how you wound me,” Alastor sighed. 

“You might as well be our mom with how much shit you put up with around here,” Angel remarked. A handful of other sinners in the room nodded in agreement, Charlie especially was giddy to support the idea. A warm smile broke across your face at the comment, and you clasped your hands together and held them to your chest and let an “aw” escape your lips. You had always wanted children, but never could have any. You would always work or volunteer at local kindergartens, daycares, and take up babysitting gigs in an effort to fill that gap in your life, so the idea that the residents in the hotel that you grew to love so much would see you as a motherly figure… Oh, you could cry so easily right now if you weren’t careful. 

Charlie playfully clapped her hands together. She always witnessed first hand how much you helped in the hotel, sometimes even with just your presence, which seemed to almost force calm upon the otherwise rowdy members of her hotel. You had helped her so often, too, especially with the more “girly” side of advice that she was sometimes too embarrassed to go to her dad for. With her own mother gone, she frankly did see you as a mother figure. 

“Oh my god! Yes,” She said, then gasped dramatically as if just realizing something.  “And, since you’re married, that would make Alastor, like, the hotel dad!” (Lucifer cover your ears)

“Hah!” Alastor laughed, a loud staccato sound, head briefly tossed back. “No, thank you.”

Charlie frowned, posture slumping and bottom lip pushed slightly out. 

“I’m actually on his side this time,” Angel muttered, eyes turning towards his drink. He picked it up for another sip.

“Yes, rather unfortunately I think you will have to play as a single mother here,” Alastor’s red gaze shifted to you. He was being playful, but you could tell by the softness at the edges of his mouth that there was a certain compassion. He always knew how much you craved a child in your life, and he sometimes felt guilt for never providing that for you, so he held himself back from fully ruining the moment with his zealous teasing.

“Fine,” You said with an unserious huff and a cross of your arms. “You’re no help anyway, I can tell these kids are far too scared to ever dream of asking you for guidance.” 

“I’m not really a role model, anyway,” Alastor said with a widening grin. “I mean, unless you want to raise a couple more murderers.”

“No! Nope!” Charlie quickly cut in. “No murderers here, please! We have enough of those already.”

You fondly watched the group of sinners in the room as the conversation slowly shifted into a more general, laid back assortment of chatter, leaning back on the couch and against the arm that Alastor still hadn’t moved. Instead of pulling away, which you almost expected, you felt his clawed hand turn and lightly wrap around your shoulder in a gentle squeeze before relaxing again.

Be a mom? To these guys? You pondered to yourself as you heard a loud, random “FUCK” from a conversation.

I think Alastor would be particularly nice to motherly figures, especially in Hell

He loved his own mother dearly, and couldn't even BEGIN! to imagine her being in Hell

So seeing any woman that reminds him of her, or is at least equally kind, confuses him terribly

ESPECIALLY if that kindness is directed at him

HIM? Alastor? The high and mighty super evil scary (not at all touch starved) Radio Demon?

No... he doesn't need coddling. Not at all

At first he would react just as anybody would expect him to

You try to offer advice? Ignored. You try to help him with any scrapes he gets during a scuffle? Shoved away. You compliment him? Laughed at.

But your gentleness does eventually start chipping away at the wall he spent his whole afterlife building up.

When he once came into the hotel lobby in a new suit, you crooned at him in joy and began fussing over small details, such as a slightly askew tie or an uneven collar

He was outwardly aloof to it, especially in the presence of others, but he couldn't even lie to himself that it didn't make his chest feel a bit lighter with glee

After that, he noticed himself buying more suits (and maybe sometimes purposefully leaving a button undone or his bowtie uneven) just to try to get you to fuss over him like that again. And it worked. Every time

After the initial cracks in his "I don't need you" facade, it unfortunately came crumbling down fast

Maybe he would get a bit more reckless when fighting other sinners and overlords, coming back to the hotel and finding you in your room to Very Casually show you his wounds

The gentle touch of your hands as you carefully tended to his wounds would send lightning through his body, not used to this level of care from another sinner

The tickle in his scalp as you ran your fingers through his tousled hair to smooth it into place

And then his mind started making connections between you and his mother.

By then he was practically always near you, whether you notice or not, always listening and guarding like a dog

Imagine like a sweet older lady and her deranged doberman type dynamic

And when you found him after the battle with heaven, after a frantic search, you nearly pounced on him

"Oh, Bambi... What have you gotten yourself into this time." You had whispered to him, cupping his face in one hand

He hated how he instinctively pressed his cheek into your hand. "A moment of weakness" he claimed to himself after the fact.

And he hated how tears welled in your eyes at the sight of him

How you doted on him for days after, constantly removing him from the eyes of others to refresh his bandages

But did he actually hate it? The attention? The gentle touches he hadn't felt since his own mother's death?

He would never admit the true answer to that. But by your side he would remain

Hopping off the stool, you smoothed your outfit, a deep green dress that ended in sequined tassles just past your knees.

"Speak of the devil," Alastor perked up as you neared, holding an arm out and wrapping it around your waist to guide you when you were close enough. He briefly introduced you to the table and you gave your own polite greetings, but your eyes never left the drunken man. There was disdain in his sneer, and you fought to keep yourself from twisting into a similarly hateful expression. Alastor was always much better at maintaining that smile of his.

"You were speaking of me?" You asked, referring to his earlier comment. Before Alastor could respond, the man across from you spoke, and you cringed at the volume of his intoxicated voice.

"I'll say," He said. He pointed an accusing finger at you. "This is the south, sweetheart. We don't accept this..." his voiced trailed, finger moving back and forth, pointing at both you and your boyfriend.

A fire immediately lit in your stomach. He didn't need to finish his statement, implication clear enough. You were unfortunately used to this kind of comment, but no matter how many times you heard it you never let it slide any easier than the last.

Before Alastor could speak any annoyingly calming words into the interaction, you snapped your hand up, grabbing the waving finger and squeezing it in your fist. The man yelped, uselessly pulling back against you. You wanted so desperately to do more.

A firm hand on your shoulder shifted your attention back to Alastor. His brown eyes were intense but compassionate. He made a pointed look around, referring to the gathering attention from nearby patrons, doubtlessly concerned about his public image.

With a huff, you shoved the hand away from you. The drunk man was a pitiful sight, clutching his hand to his chest as he spoke a few more hateful, slurred words, but the beating sound of your pulse was overpowering in your head as you memorized his face.

A few more hours passed, and you were nearly able to forget the entire interaction as you laughed with a few other girls and enjoyed the band and their wide range of different tunes and tempos. When Alastor came to collect you, finished with his mingling, the fury you felt earlier came back and you hastily searched the bar for the man.

To your incredible luck, he was still here, and looked to be too happy in his place to leave anytime soon. You nodded to Alastor, feigning an innocent smile as he payed your tab.

At the door to the bar, you looped your arm around Alastor's, your other hand resting on his upper arm as he walked you home in the humid Lousiana night.

"I just don't know how you handle it," You said. "All that racist shit. It's ridiculous."

He laughed in response, stopping in front of your door. "You learn to handle it when you know it your whole life."

You frowned, but didn't contest his point. It was, after all, hard for you to truly imagine as a white woman.

After a few more words and a tender goodbye, you stepped inside and closed your door. You rushed to your room, switched to an all black, comfortable outfit with a pair of gloves, and slowly creaked your door back open, warm air sticking to your face as you carefully peaked around the street. Perfectly empty.

You waited near the door to the speakeasy, leaning against the hard brick wall of an alley, attention fixated on the door. You weren’t sure how long you waited, only focused on making sure the man didn't slip by without notice. You didn't even stop to wonder if he left while you were walking home.

And then he stepped out of the door. His face was flushed with drunken heat, hand tangled in his hair. Your heartbeat rapidly increased, a mixture of pure hatred and excitement pulsing in your veins.

You slunk behind the man as he stumbled down the street, careful to keep out of the spotlight of street lamps. When he paused to rest a hand on the corner of a building, one that very conveniently turned into another alley, you sprung into action.

You quietly but quickly stepped up behind him, wrapping one arm around his neck and clamping one hand over his mouth, pushing your two arms together to keep his jaw clamped shut as you drug him backwards into the dark of an alley.

You had to release him briefly to fish for your knife that was tucked in a pocket. Despite his current stupor, he took this chance to spin around and shove you to the ground, forcing a loud cuss out of your lips.

"You fuckin' sleazy-" You began to spit, but he fell atop you, fingers gripped frantically around your neck.

Your teeth gritted, and you fumbled your hand around in your pocket, finally grabbing your knife. Without hesitation, you positioned your hands down at your stomach, knife positioned up, before hoisting your entire body upwards in order to sink the blade deep into his gut.

Just as you stabbed him, he sputtered, and a stream of blood began to fall from his neck. Your confusion made you pause, also feeling the warmth of blood on your hand from the wound you made.

His body fell to the side, and another man stood above you, a shining blade in his own hand.

A silence.

"...Alastor?" You said, recognizing the silhouette of the radio star.

"Well," He said, breathlessly. "Good thing I followed you. Did he..."

Panic swelled in your chest as his voice trailed and his gaze fell to your hands, still clutching the bloody knife. He then looked at the man. Your stomach twisted as you noticed a look of realization cross his features before he looked back at you.

"I- Alastor, it- he- I don't- It's not what looks like," You stumbled over a mixture of different excuses and explanations that tried to come out. He dropped to a knee, grabbing one of your bloodied hands to help you up from the ground.

He grabbed your face, hand held under your chin and wrapped around your cheeks as he turned your head this way and that, examining you for any marks.

"Is this yours?" He asked, referring to the blade that you had dropped during your desperate bid for explanation.

You opened your mouth to respond, uncertain. Your hesitation was answer enough for him.

A new look came to his face, like a dangerous clarity that you had never seen on him. It struck a chord of fear in your body. His smile was almost twisted as he twined his fingers through yours.

"An accident," you claimed weakly. He only shook his head with a laugh in response.

"Don't lie to me," He said in a whisper. He picked up the knife from the ground and pressed the hilt back into your palm. He placed a hand against your chest, testing your heartbeat. "I know that look. I know that thrill."

You swallowed, watching his already threatening expression shift further into a frantic excitement that bordered on derangement. It was like your soul itself knew a new, irreversible door opened between the two of you.

You busied yourself with scraping one nail under another in an effort to clear away grime, nose wrinkling at the sensation. To your luck, the hotel was out of water, so the possibility of a shower was out. 

“Oh, damn,” You heard again, but this time it came from the gruff voice of Husk. You peered up from your ministrations, jerking your head up in an ‘I fucking dare you to say something’ challenge. He shook his head wordlessly, the faintest grin on his face as he settled himself behind the bar.

“Finally!” Angel whined, laying his upper body across the counter. “Babes, I’ve been waiting all night for a drink…”

“You’ve been here for, like, five minutes,” You hissed towards him, finding him more irritating than you usually would. He ignored your comment, maintaining his dramatic place along the countertop.

You watched as Husk began preparing the drink Angel usually requested, his eyes occasionally looking towards you in what you assume was sympathy. You scoffed and rolled your eyes, bringing your tail up and laying it over your lap.

Your claws found themselves in the matted fluff of your tail’s fur, and you clenched you jaw in preparation as you started yanking your fingers back out, skin stinging as a result, trying to break up the clumps that had begun to clot and practically bind your fur together.

The startled flutter of wings distracted you, and with a glance up you saw Husk looking over towards you, lips curled in a grimace as he watched your poor attempt at grooming. Angel took his distraction as an opportunity to greedily snatch up the glass in his hand.

“Um, some privacy..?” You said in a half-joke, but part of you already knew the question that was brimming between the two of you.

“Do you want some—” “Can I have some—”

You both stopped, and a sheepish smile crossed your lips. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit embarrassing to ask,” You released your fingers from the mess of your tail. “But you’ve always been much more patient at this.”

Husk drug a hand down his face, but nevertheless he walked back around the bar and sat in the stool next to you. You turned around after a gesture from him, and it didn’t take long to feel the tingling sensation of another being touching your skin.

You sighed and relaxed a bit as his paws worked through your fur, a meticulous care from him that you would have never guessed he had upon first meeting him. A silence filled the room, comfortable, your body feeling less and less tense with each brush through your fur.

There was nothing romantic between you and Husk — there was only a camaraderie that had formed between both of you; two feline sinners, covered in fur, in the unavoidably messy chaos of Hell and this hotel.

“I’d love to see the other guy,” He laughed after a while, noting the fact that he could not find a scratch on you.

“Guys… about four,” You corrected with pride, tail instinctively swishing out of his hand before he caught it again. You heard him only hum in reply.

And then the slow, low build of static and tension filled the room, shortly followed by an inky black shadow that filtered through the bottom of the entrance door.

As the Radio Demon materialized, his cheerful voice crackled in your ears, which flicked at the new sound.

“Good afternoon—” He began, but as his red eyes settled on you and Husk, more notably the distance between the two of you, there was an almost imperceptible stutter of the ever-present noise of radio static. His smile tightened and his head tilted in curiosity. 

He took a few steps forward, humming a tune nonchalantly as he stood directly next to you and Husk, eyeing the way the bartender’s fingers scratched through your fur, of which slowed slightly under the eye of Alastor.

“Grooming rituals?” He mused. There was an uncomfortable lilt in his voice, and you could tell much of his reproach was directed to the cat behind you. You frowned, turning your head to look up at the Radio Demon.

“He’s helping me clean up, you know, all the…” You gestured vaguely at the red that still stained yourself in a few places. “Bits and pieces of those guys that attacked me.”

“Well!” Alastor responded, standing up straighter. “I suppose, my dear, I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you to prevent the need of this help.” 

“Closer?” You questioned absently, not fully grasping the implication of his claim.

“You haven’t noticed? Mr. Freaky always seems to be around’ya,” Angel Dust snickered, but quickly stopped and looked at his now empty glass as if it was the most interesting thing in the world after a hostile glance from Alastor. He tapped it a few times on the bar, trying to get Husk’s attention that it was empty.

Alastor laughed off any sign that Angel’s words meant something and used the opportunity, Husk momentarily pausing to look towards the spider, to grab his paw with two fingers and gingerly lift it away from your tail. Husk instinctively yanked his arm away from the Radio Demon, holding it protectively to himself. 

“Come on,” You groaned, pulling your tail back up over your lap. “I’m still dirty… And the showers are broken.”

“Ah! Well,” Alastor chimed, folding his hands behind his back with a cheeky grin on his face. “I can get that fixed up shortly… Husk, I do think our effeminate spider has been trying to get your attention for a couple minutes now.” Husk didn’t argue and opted to just tend to Angel.

“Now,” Alastor said, clapping his hands together and bending slightly at the hip to be more level with you. “I insist… next time you need help, do come to me.”

A quirk of your brow made something in his smile change. It tightened, seeming almost… desperate. Embarrassed?

“As the host of the hotel, after all,” He said, much too quickly. He cleared his throat. “I’m here to serve.”

“But… you don’t know anything about proper fur grooming… right?”

“I can learn.”

“I’m very particular.”

“And I consider myself a patient enough man to learn those particulars.”

You swallowed, face starting to feel a little warm. “Geez,” You laughed, flicking your gaze over to Husk and Angel, who were both side-eyeing Alastor and you with equally confused faces. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost reckon you were hitting on me.”

A pause. A sharp spike in the audible radio frequency. Alastor’s eyes narrowed in denial, but the time it took for him to come up with a response was long enough that you felt a weird skip in your heartbeat. 

Just as he opened his mouth to say anything, to probably dismiss you in a boisterous and condescending laugh, you coughed and waved your hands out to dismiss the idea before he could, a forced laugh falling from your lips.

“But I do know better,” You said, squinted eyes peering at Alastor, who stood straight and busied himself with fixing the already straight bowtie around his neck.

Another silence. Quiet enough that you could hear Angel trying his hardest to quietly set his glass down on the counter. 

“Not right now, Al,” You said, voice muffled with your face pressed against a pillow. “I slept badly. I don’t feel personable today.”

You heard a low chuckle from him as you felt his presence walk to the far end of your room towards the window. You squeezed your eyes shut in preparation but, to your surprise, he actually pulled them tighter together to remove the bright beams of red light that had filtered in with the day.

“How can you be so quick to judge yourself for the day,” He mused at the fact you already threw out the concept of being polite for the entire day. “You just woke up.”

“Yeah, for the tenth time in the last eight hours,” You huffed. You purposefully kept your eyes directed straight at the bed sheets that surrounded you, not wanting to look at him, nervous for the flood of emotions that you were still gripping tightly within. You held your breath as you felt the mattress dip as he sat by you.

“You aren’t yourself,” Alastor commented confidently. You huffed dramatically.

“Yeah, like I said, I slept—”

“My love,” He said, the too-quiet of his voice causing you pause. The radio tune that typically complimented his voice was gone. “I’ve known you for nearly a century. I can tell the difference between you being sleep deprived and you being off.”

A slight tremble of your lips made you turn your head even further into the bed sheets. Alastor remained where he sat, silent and waiting. You knew he wouldn’t continue to pry, but you also knew he had the patience of a rock and would sit there for the rest of the day if that’s what it took for you to speak.

Warmth touched your cheeks and ears, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Embarrassment to now be stuck on the verge of admitting something you had been able to hide for years, and frustration that it was practically being forced out of you now. You knew if you tried hard enough you could get Alastor to leave you alone, but that would come at the cost of him likely pestering you about it for the next week. 

You finally tore your face away from the safety of the sheets, tentatively looking over at Alastor. He said there, motionless, watching you, an unreadable expression on his still lightly grinning face.

Your eyes swept over him, taking in every little detail as if he was a mirage about to fade away. The red and black of his hair, the shine in his ears, the curve of his nose, the rhythmic tapping of one of his fingers against his knee. You looked at him. Alastor. Your Alastor. Here, with you.

A heavy gripping in your chest forced you to redirect your eyes. How silly you felt, ironically emotional over his presence when your fear was the lack of it.

“You’re all out of tune, my doe,” He remarked, undoubtedly sensing your turmoil. He was always good at picking up even the tiniest clues at your emotions, and you knew the clues today were much larger than tiny.

“Today,” You said, finally, but words vanished from your lips for a moment. You paused to collect. You swallowed. “You died. Today.”

Alastor’s eyes cast up to the ceiling in thought, remembering that long-ago day. “Yes,” He then said, turning his attention back to you. “I do recall… that blasted dog. Glad we don’t see many of those down here. But… forgive me, I don’t quite see…” He trailed off, opting to let you continue before he started asking anything.

Your fingers wrung themselves together, fiddling and anxious as you tried to piece together what to say to him. A grief you had dealt with alone for a near century, bordering on a shame that you had kept from him. Were you afraid of ridicule? Of scorn? You knew he wouldn’t — you were likely the only being alive (and dead) that could completely expose your most vulnerable truths to him without being taken advantage of.

So why was it so hard to tell him?

The weight on the mattress shifted as he moved, pulling himself fully into the bed and settling against the headboard, tugging on you gently to also pull you up and against him. You rested your head against his chest, listening, taking in the sound and touch of his mere existence beneath you.

“When you died,” You said slowly, finally, after a few minutes of comfortable silence. As if shoved, words came tumbling from your lips like an avalanche down a mountain. Tears that had pricked at your eyes in warning since you woke finally began to well and fall. “I was alone, you know. And I felt it. Every day. Alone. And I was scared. And I missed you. Even when the police pulled me in for questioning. Even when they locked me up for a few months for your stupid murder-spree conspiracy… I missed you. I thought I would never see you again. And I was alone in that. Every second of it. For months.”

Alastor didn’t have to hear the full ending — you both knew what eventually brought the two of you back together. One could only take that level of grief for so long.

“I thought I would never see you again, either, ma moitié,” His voice was tender, fingers beginning to deftly twine through your hair. “I still haven’t figured out how you ended up down here. But… I’m glad.”

You reached a hand up to lay it against his chest, only now noticing how much you shook with adrenaline and anxiety. His own hand came up to lay it against your own, curling lightly around it with a soft pressure.

“I was so scared I’d never see you again,” You repeated, fighting hard within yourself to keep any sobs from interrupting your speech. “And I was so mad at you, too, for leaving me like that.”

Alastor remained quiet, one hand still held against yours while the other continued to comb through your hair. He was a fantastic listener when he wanted to be. 

“But I’m here now. With you. So I just… I don’t know why I still—” You cut yourself off, taking a breath before your emotions escalated. “Even still… Every year, even though I still have you with me, this day just tears me apart. Like some treacherous little still-traumatized part of me is still so scared you’re going to disappear again.”

And that was it. You had nothing else to say, and so you busied yourself with steady breaths, heart beating rapidly at the internal battle you faced to keep yourself as composed as you could be.

He leaned forward, bringing you with him, sitting up and pushing you away slightly so the two of you were now facing each other on the bed. The tingling sensation on your skin that always followed his presence was comforting as his attention searched over you. 

“My contract,” He said, slowly, as if admitting his own troubles to you. “Yes… I wanted power; because I always knew, in the slightest chance that we would be together in death… I never wanted to leave you a second time. And I gave up my soul for that chance. No force in this Godforsaken place will take you away from me again.”

You examined his expression, almost cynical, even though you knew he was telling the truth. Your jaw clenched, mouth puckering again as you fought another jolt of emotion. 

“I’m here,” He said finally after you didn’t respond, red eyes gazing firmly into your own. You felt his hand grip tighter around your hand, steadying their quivering.

He smiled at you. Not the usual bright, over-confident facade of a smile. Not as the Radio Demon. His smile was gentle. Sincere. Human. He smiled as Alastor — the one you fell in love with and married. The one you were so convinced you lost forever.

He leaned forwards, softly brushing his lips to the top of your head before touching his forehead against your own. You closed your eyes at the contact, the gentle affection bringing some calm to your nerves.

I think drunk Al would be a "lot" more affectionate

I mean. "pour him a couple shots of rye and he turns into a kitten"

although the bar for that is pretty much UNDER the floor so it's more like regular affection in normal people terms im sure

initially HYPER! would definitely get a lot of that "pilot alastor" personality back

play some music he likes and 100% will dance every time

very argumentative as well, more annoying than usual, but also kind of all over the place with his words

starts talking a lot more in french, sometimes whole sentences

next stage is just completely mellowing out. still pretty talkative, but quieter and very still in his seat

other than his ears... which are very twitchy and active as they respond to pretty much every noise he hears

doesnt usually hiccup/burp or anything typical of a drunk, but he does lose some control of his voice and his radio static so it warbles up and down like someone is playing with the knobs on a radio

it becomes so overwhelming sometimes you can't even understand over the garble

he tends to start sharing thoughts and memories that he otherwise keeps locked away very tightly

and last stage, if hes VERY drunk

(which is rare i fear... he still has decent self control to stop before then)

which is why he only drinks around people who he is very close with and has probably already shared these bits of himself with before

which is ALSO why he doesnt tend to drink much unless the second party is also drinking because he hopes they'll be too drunk to remember anything of note lol

think he misses his momma? hates his dad? secretly enjoys the company of some of the hotel residents? favorite companion in hell? where'd he go for 7 years?

I think it's heavily contextual, but overall no matter what he feels internally he's outwardly very polite about it, maybe a little sassy sometimes depending on the reason

Even if he was considerably upset, the most he would do it usher you away with some excuse as to why you had to go Right This Instant

A best friend you hadn't seen since life? Perfect, great, he's happy for you to maintain connections like that

As frustrating as Mimzy is, Al still values his relationship with her since they knew eachother in life, so I would only hope he'd appreciate the same for you

Of course he is also pretty possessive, especially considering you somehow managed to win over his evil little heart so you are kind of stuck with him now I fear

Say a past romantic relationship you had shows up, one that ended fairly with no hard feelings, and you were happy to reconnect as friends or something

Umm I think Alastor would be very hesitant with that at the very least

You are his, after all, and any sinner that even has a history of viewing you as THEIRS...

I dont think he would go straight batshit yandere or anything but he'd probably have a similar "i hate you so bad but someone I care for cares for you so I have to tolerate you" dynamic that he has with Lucifer

On the other hand, if someone showed up that you WEREN'T pleased to see

like a bad ex, past bully, etc. anyone who made you uncomfortable

You wouldn't even have to tell Alastor

He can read your body language like a book, and any indication that someone makes you uncomfortable will switch him right to Protection Mode

at your request he can very quickly take care of them in such a way that they won't ever cross your mind again