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ANOTHER MARVELOUS READDDD i will never tire of this show and its characters, i fear

Alastor x f!reader - Forced Proximity

The long awaited follow up to the Lucifer forced proximity series!

I think it's pretty evident, but in this fic Alastor is sex-favourable, so if that's something you don't want to read pls just scroll past :)

Would love to hear what you guys think! He's literally my FAVOURITE character but is also just so hard to write correctly

Warnings for this one - mentioned cannibalism, blood, sex-favourable Alastor, Alastor is Alastor and he is in hell for a REASON. SMUT - MINORS DNI

Tag list (general, not Lucifer specific) - @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @cyberpr1m3 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @froggybich @helluvapoison ( <- sorry for some reason I forgot to copy you across but I'm updating now so I don't forget 😅)

---

You didn't believe in redemption, not really. You liked to fantasise with the idea, imaging what the pearly gates of heaven would look like if you could ever make it that far, but ultimately you shrug off the notion and return to your tasks for the day with a slightly bigger chip on your shoulder than usual. Your beliefs were not shared with all of the citizens of Hell, namely the daughter of Lucifer herself, Charlie Morningstar, who had erected a hotel with the sole intent of redeeming sinners and effectively 'dealing' with the overpopulation problem in Hell. When you had seen the advertisement on the TV you had laughed to yourself, and then your laughter had turned into genuine contemplation a week later when you had seen a job vacancy at said hotel. You had needed money, and you had grown tired of your dilapidated flat, and after a day or two you had sent your application off. You had been working at the Hazbin Hotel for many months now, and although you still found yourself heavily doubtful of the notion of redemption, you had come to thoroughly enjoy the company at the hotel, considering many of the residents good friends.

Charlie had been as magnetic and charming and obnoxiously hopefully as you had assumed, and she had eventually won you over with her intoxicating joyfulness that always seemed to put you in a better mood, no matter the circumstances. You could really do with that joyfulness now, you think to yourself, glaring unhappily at a new and obscenely large blood stain seeping from under Alastor's bedroom door and into one off the main carpeted hallways of the hotel.

You sigh heavily, lowering yourself onto your hands and knees and beginning to pour an incredibly generous amount of carpet cleaner onto the horrific red pool. Of the few current residents of the hotel, Alastor was by far your least favourite, and for many entirely valid reasons. He was cruel, he was sardonic, he pranced around the halls with an infuriating smile and a ridiculous cane and an overly chipper tone that absolutely grated your nerves and struck pain into your very bones. He seemed to take particular joy in toying with you, materialising out of the shadows as you worked and nearly killing you all over again with fright, constantly using you as a prop in his stories - using you as some sort of arm rest was always his go-to - and just generally going out of his way to piss you off in your daily life.

Infuriatingly, despite all of his numerous flaws, you still found yourself thinking of him when you really shouldn't have been. When he wanted to be, he could be charming, a real gentleman, and genuinely thoughtful. That's probably what made him so efficient at getting under everyone's nerves; he knew exactly what to do to charm, so he also knew exactly what to do to have them ready to rip his throat out, and then he'd laugh at the absurdity of it and prance away twirling his cane and humming some ridiculous old-timey tune.

He was also tall, and well-kept, with impeccable manners to those he deemed worthy of respecting. He was an attractive man, and you were pretty sure he was aware of that fact, and that just made you hate him even more. Cocky self-entitled handsome bastard.

He was also a cannibal, and worst of all, he had a habit of toying with his dinner and letting it bleed out all over the floors you were in charge of cleaning. You had yelled at him time and time again about this habit, and he'd always chipper back some downright horrifying response about how the meat is far more tender when petrified. You had stopped trying to argue with him about it when he had offered to let you try some so you would really understand.

"Fucking, demonic bambi-" You mutter angrily to yourself, scrubbing away at the carpet and watching the blood bubble up around your latex gloves as you begin etching away at the circumference of the patch. This would take you forever, and you knew your back and shoulders would kill when you had finished. "petrified meat bullshit." You had become entirely lost in your own thoughts, muttering quietly to yourself and completely unaware of the sharp footsteps that treaded along the carpet towards you, the soft dull tapping of a cane accompanying them. "Chicken doesn't taste better after half of it's been thrown along the fucking floor."

"Hello, my darling!" An infuriatingly chipper voice calls, heavily laden with static as you freeze and glance behind you, eyes immediately connecting with Alastor's coat tails. You crack your neck up towards his face, eyes wide in surprise before they narrow at the smug smile he adorned, watching you on your hands and knees cleaning up his mess. "Hard at work I see, I'm afraid my last meal had a rather... strong spirit."

You frown at the way Alastor's eyes light up as he recalls his last little hunt, the corners of his usually eery smile ticking up and stretching painfully along his face. The static in the room seemed to rattle dangerously as his words tapered off, and the hairs on your arms stand on end as you continue to stare up at the domineering man.

"Hello, Alastor." You respond far less cheerfully, eyes turning back to the patch of blood as you take a breath. The red-headed deer twirls his cane and grasps it behind his back as he watches you, complacent smile forever etched across his cheeks. "Couldn't clean this up with your powers like I assume you did with your bedroom?"

"If I did, what would be the point of having you here, my dear. I would hate to put you out of a job, you know how much I adore your company."

"Hm, yes. The feeling's mutual." You berate, wringing the now-red washcloth into a bucket at your side. "Still, I would really appreciate you making my job just that little bit easier. I'll be here for hours."

Little did you know, that was exactly what he wanted. Alastor was an enigma to many, and in many ways he was an enigma to himself, especially when it came to his relationships with others. He treated the vast majority of others with nothing short of disgust and contempt, keeping them at a firm arms distance, maintaining polite conversation with those he needed to frequent and potentially rely on for 'favours' in the future, and flat-out ignoring the many many wayward soles that had no, and would never have any, use in his life. The only real exception was Rosie, someone he truly considered a good friend, and perhaps Mimzy, but he was still unsure about her usefulness in the long run: she was proving to be more trouble than her company was worth. He had been comfortable with this reality of things, never really needing social relations. He was a self-reliant man, and even in life had had a rather small social circle. That is, of course, until you entered the picture.

You had waltzed into the hotel with a job application acceptance letter in your hands and a rather large question mark hovering above your head. You were unusual, to say the least, and Alastor had frustratingly made little progress in deciphering your motives. In the many months of your employment, he had deduced three things. First, you did not believe in the cause of the hotel, believing it to be a failing endeavour to redeem sinners: heaven would never let a sinner in. He could agree with you there. Second, you had a soft spot for hopeless cases. He had found this out after watching you chatter with the other residents of the hotel, the way you encouraged and fawned over them churning his stomach. You had extended friendship to the likes of Angel Dust and Sir Pentious and even Husk so willingly, he couldn't understand why you would ever even entertain their hopes if you didn't believe redemption was possible. Third, you had an attitude, and at first you positively drove him up the wall with your snide humour and challenging remarks. You did not shy away from his mockery like the others, and he both revelled and loathed the challenge.

You were different, you were entertaining, and he found his thoughts wondering to you far more than he liked, or understood. At first, he thought he had simply hated you, that explained his obsession. Then, he had once pissed you off so much you hadn't spoken to or acknowledged him for a week, and he had found himself more furious in that one week that any other instance when you had managed to play on his nerves. He did know that he liked your attention, and that he absolutely detested when others, particularly men, drew your attention away from him. No, you were his little plaything to torment, and how dare others challenge his territory.

Having you on your hands and knees, knelt so obediently in front of his door, in front of him, cleaning up his messes, within his line of sight, without the prying eyes of Vaggie or Angel Dust or whoever else, was exactly what he wanted. You're little attitude at the whole situation only inflated his ego.

His smile nearly splits his face in two as he leans closer, bending at the waist with his hands clasped behind his back. "I'll be sure to leave my messes far closer to home next time, my dear."

You knew what that meant. You consider throwing the bottle of bleach next to you right at his head.

"Alastor, I swear to God if I find a half-eaten corpse in my room-!"

"No, no, my dear, I would never enter a lady's room without her permission, what kind of heathen do you take me for?" He sidesteps as you begin scrubbing at a patch of blood close to his left foot. You both knew that was a lie. He had shadowed himself into your room unannounced more times than you could count.

"If you fucking-"

"Ah-ah!" He cuts you off abruptly, standing back to his full height and staring down at you, right hand wafting his staff around in an eccentric wagging motion. "How very un-lady like! It's very unbecoming. Maybe I should leave you a little gift to teach you a lesson. After all, what would the hotel's residents think if our staff walked around parroting such heinous language?"

Your hands clench around the rag you were currently using, and a muscle in your jaw ticks, biting your tongue to not give him any more incentive to leave you an unwanted 'gift'.

His grin twitches at your lack of response, watching as you dutifully continue to scrub at the never-ending blood stain. You had tied your hair up to deal with the mess, which you usually wore down, and he couldn't help but allow his gaze to fall from your furrowed brows to the long expanse of your neck that glimmered enticingly in the hallway lights. From the way you strained, he could clearly see the column of your throat, and his eyes narrow for a fraction of a second as his thoughts turn to far more sinful endeavours: how would your pulse feel against his the palm of his hand? against his tongue and teeth? What sound would you make if he sunk his teeth into your flesh a little too harshly? How would you taste?

In a moment of weakness, his gaze continues to follow the ridges of the vertebra at the back of your neck, crimson eyes darkening as they follow the dip and curve of your spine as you lean further onto your hands, pouring some more cleaning liquid into the centre of the stain. He catches himself, clicking his jaw and tightening his grin, and his eyes shift back to your face as his cane extends, hooking under your chin and guiding your gaze back towards him.

"Did you not hear me?" His voice was low, and the static in the corridor fuzzed and distorted his speech. If it were anyone else, the vocal inflections would have been laughable, but this was Alastor, and he had a way of making everything bone-chilling.

"Uh- yes, Alastor." You quickly stutter out, bravado fading a little as he glowers down at you, one hand still pinned behind his back, and the other curled leisurely around the handle of his cane which now dug painfully into the underside of your chin. "The residents," You wet your lips, skin crawling at the static that emanated from his cane's contact against your jaw. "wouldn't be happy."

One of his brows arches, and he waits expectantly. You work your jaw as your realise what he wanted.

"I'm sorry."

"Good girl." His lip curl in satisfaction, the praise gravelling down his throat as he pulls his cane back to his side. Your fingers clench around the rag in your grasp again, this time for a completely different reason. You were disgusted at yourself, fear turning into something else as you continue to gaze up at him, but still, you would store that memory for later.

"Now, I have a broadcast to begin." He uses the tip of his cane to push open his door, still staring down at you. "Do keep your mutterings to yourself. And as always, the offer remains if you'd like to try some truly exquisite cuisine, perfectly petrified."

"No, thank you." You were no longer outwardly disgusted at his reoccurring offer, and you watch as he hums and takes one single large stride over the blood stain and into his room. He glances back at you from over his shoulder, hair swishing with the movement and teeth glinting in the dim lighting of his room.

"Shame. Do tune in to the broadcast, it's going to be an excellent one, mon chéri."

His door swings shut with a click, and you sigh, shoulders drooping as you rest back onto your knees. He only ever described things as 'excellent' when some form of suffering was involved: he would be broadcasting his latest kill with his uncanny ability to record events on his microphone and play them back during his broadcasts. You didn't want to listen to some poor sinners screams, but you stand to fetch yourself a radio nonetheless, knowing he would undoubtedly ask you about the broadcast at dinner. At least you would have some form of entertainment as you continued to clean up his mess.

---

You had had a date. Alastor hadn't know, otherwise he would've saddled you with an immense heap of work and thoroughly prevented you from going. Now, he sat at the bar with Angel Dust, Husk and Sir Pentious, all of them eagerly awaiting your return. Charlie and Vaggie had turned to bed an hour ago after Charlie had grown too tired to keep waiting, and Niffty had been absent all evening, doing godknows what. Sir Pentious was in the middle of retelling an utterly harrowing story of the time he had had to have sex with an entire club's worth of people when the hotel's front door had swung open, and you had stepped inside, smiling brightly at the group of men.

Angel Dust and Sir Pentious immediately barrage you with questions as Alastor's eyes rake heavily over your figure, his jaw clicking as he smiles tightly, utterly unhappy with what you had decided to wear. You outfit was positively lovely, though that isn't the words he would have chosen to describe such a get up, and you looked an utter vision in the crop top and short skirt you had decided to wear, hair and makeup styled elegantly and in such a away that flattered your best attributes. In other circumstances, he would've been positively thrilled at seeing you in such an outfit, especially if you adorned such attire in his own quarters for his own profane pleasure, but alas, you had been with someone else all evening. He attempts to stamp down his jealous with a hefty sip from his glass of whisky as you perch yourself at the bar between himself and Angel Dust, but his jealousy was ugly, and a beast of its own making.

"Positively a vision, my dear." He hums, and your gaze turns towards him happily, the flush to your cheeks indicating a night of drinking or debauchery. His gut told him both, and his smile clenches at the edges. His voice was dry and gravely, and you weren't entirely sure if he was humouring you with an actual compliment or intending to mock you with sarcasm. "Who owned the pleasure of enjoying your company this evening?"

"Have you been drinking Alastor?" You chastise, throwing a purposeful look at Husk, who grumbles and shrugs his shoulders as he continues cleaning a glass. "You're never so kind to me. I either look absolutely stunning, or you're about to make some cruel joke."

"Where would the entertainment be in telling you? I'll let you figure this one out on your own." He takes another sip, and repeats his original question.

"Ah!" You brighten, and you pivot in your stool to include the eager Angel Dust and Sir Pentious in your conversation. "Daniel! It was the guy you saw me with in town Angel."

Said pink spider brightens at the news, and throws himself across the entire bar to lean closer to you as he talks. "Oh! Tall, dark and handsome! I remember him." Angel purrs, and you push him away from you playfully as Sir Pentious begins to ask you about what you spent the evening doing. You retell the events of the night sipping on a glass of water offered by Husk, and you seem positively giddy when you recount dancing with said date at a local bar.

"He sounds-" Alastor begins, musing over his drink as it was finally his turn to offer his thoughts on the retelling. "like a great oaf who doesn't know how to treat a lady. I mean really, I know we're in hell, but the scrappings are truly spoilt."

You frown at his comments, and Sir Pentious frowns even deeper after being truly enamoured in your little love story.

"I mean, what a wretched sinner, making you walk all across hell because he couldn't plan the evening appropriately. I do hope you don't intend to meet with the likes of him again."

The look you send the four men insinuates the complete opposite, and Alastor finds himself sitting bak in his seat as he begins to regret ever asking.

"You do!" Angel all but yells, and he's throwing himself across the bar again to grab at your arms. "I know that look! The sex was good wasn't it! I want details! Flithy, dirty details!"

"Angel!" You shout, trying to pry his hands away. But dignity did not exist at this hotel, as far as Angel Dust was concerned.

"It was, wasn't it?" Angel practically sings, pulling on your arms and practically begging you to share the information. Sir Pentious leans in as well as you glance between the two men, a dear caught in headlights.

"I- fine. Yes. Yes it was good, happy?"

Alastor nearly breaks the glass he had been holding, and his lip curls as he places the drink down, watching as you begin to indulge Angel Dust and Sir Pentious in your little stories. He remained composed, ears barely twitching in disgust at the vision of you with someone else, but his shadow warbles against the wall, and its mirror image grin splits into a frown for a fraction of a second before it disappears entirely, melting into the shadows as Alastor tunes out the conversation. He couldn't stand here and listen to this, so he bids everyone goodnight and heads to his quarters, positively fuming that his little source of entertainment had found herself someone more entertaining than him.

Perhaps he would have to pay this 'Daniel' a visit. His fists curl around his staff as he stalks to his room, and he spends the night unable to rest as his shadows inform him of what they had seen that night.

---

Frankly, you had been testing Alastor's resolve all day, and he was not a man known for denying his most depraved desires. He feasted on who and what he pleased, he ensnared souls and toyed with his property as he wished, he was ungodly and unanswerable, and for the first time in a long time he wasn't getting what he wanted, and what had been flaunted in front of him all day. You.

You had decided to wear a particularly short skirt today, a red flimsy thing that hung from your hips enticingly and exposed your mockingly pure thighs. How he wanted to clench his claws into that unmarked skin, how he could practically feel your flesh around his teeth as he sunk his maw into you. His appetites were undignified, and so otherworldly from his usual blasphemy, and he couldn't bring himself to care as he watched you bustle about the foyer, dark eyes following you slowly from his position against the bar. Watching, waiting, with positively wicked thoughts dancing behind his disinterested gaze.

He had been doing a mighty fine job of wrangling his unrighteous thoughts until he had spotted Lucifer's greedy little eyes lingering a tad too long as you had bent to collect something from a bucket, and then he had had to immediately vacate the room to go and gather his thoughts and come up with an actual plan that consisted of more than just striding up to you right in front of the blond bastard and shoving his tongue as far as it would reach down your throat and sinking his claws down to your very bones. That wouldn't do. He was a man of class, and he couldn't be seen to lose his composure so openly.

You had been his for far too long without him staking a claim on you, and he had grown tired of the chase. Today was the day, whether you liked it or not.

He had since finalised a plan, commanding his shadows away to prepare the necessities, and now sat leant against the bar, shoulders and neck tense as he attempted to lean languidly, an ear flicked towards your direction as he pretended to care about the story Angel Dust was sharing to Husk.

His grin stretches wider as his hears Niffty's little hurried footsteps, heading straight for you. She had already seen his mess, he was glad, he didn't know how much longer he could listen to Angel Dust complain about some of the 'actors' at his job. His fingers curl around his glass of whisky slowly, swirling the drink as he raises it to his lips, taking a slow purposeful sip, forcing his ears to both turn towards Angel Dust as soon as he picks up on your furious footsteps heading straight towards him.

"Alastor!" You shrill, and he takes his sweat time craning his neck towards your fuming figure, lips stretched over jagged teeth as he tilts his head. Angel Dust had even stopped talking at the pitch of your voice. "Again?! Really? I told you-"

"I know, I know." He waves you away, feigning disinterest, smug smile growing as he watches a muscle in your jaw twitch. "I didn't plan on it, my dear, this meal awoke from the sedative sooner than I anticipated."

"And what, you decide to obliterate them in the centre of the hallway?" He hadn't heard you this angry in a long time, and he takes a deep breath, propping an elbow against the bar as he swivels in his seat to face you, whisky still in his grasp.

"I don't see the problem, my darling, you're so good at cleaning up my messes usually, I'm simply trying to keep you occupied."

"I-!" Your words fail you at the fury that overtakes your mind, and your glare rivals Alastor's own as you fume in place, fists clenching at your sides. He looked completely and utterly disinterested, eyes half-lidded as he regarded you with nothing short of contempt for interrupting his little drinking session. Overlord status be damned, he would listen to you. "We don't even have any carpet cleaner left! I used it all cleaning your last fucking mess! None of the shops are open this late and the corridors will reek by morning!"

Alastor, on the other hand, had to concentrate greatly to prevent his ears from flattening against his head in sheer glee: this was going exactly how he had planned. His grin stretches impossibly wider, and the static in the air hums along with his speech. "We have an entire stock room full of that cleaning liquid you're so fond of using. Don't tell me you are unaware of this?"

Your brows furrow as you stare at him incredulously, lips parting as your mind thinks back to all the storage cupboards in the hotel. "No, we don't." You didn't sound so sure, but if there was one, you had certainly never seen it.

"Really, my dear? You're our head cleaning staff, I would hope you would know where it is."

You continue to stare at him, beginning to feel rather foolish as he continues to smile at you, smugness delving into downright mocking. "Oh, honestly," He rolls his eyes dramatically, downing what little of the golden liquid that remained in his grasp and standing elegantly from his stool, straightening his overcoat as he looks down at you. "this hotel would surely fall into disarray without me. Alas, come along, hopefully you will make use of yourself if I show you."

His fingers curl in a beckoning motion as he strides past you, both hands clasped behind his back as he turns from the room, leaving you to hurry along behind him. You can hear Angel Dust snicker as you bustle after the tall demon, embarrassment flicking at the nape of your neck. You were certain there were no other cupboards in this hotel you were unaware of, it was your job.

Somehow, Alastor had managed to find the one cupboard in the entire building you had 'forgotten' about. A small rickety rather unimpressive looking thing on the second floor. He now stood outside of the door, self-satisfied smirk stretching across his cheeks as he glances down at you, a hand twisting the door knob and throwing it open with his usual flair. "All the supplies you will possibly need are in here, my dear."

You stare into the tiny cupboard with a frown, doubting your own memory. You had walked this corridor hundred of times, and you were sure you had never seen such a door here before - it didn't even match the doors of the residents rooms on this floor, rather bleak and worn in comparison to the polished wood of every door. The cupboard was dark, only illuminated by the main hallway's light which cast deep and dark shadows up the dusty shelves, many of which were empty, so it must have been used by at least someone. Your frown deepens as you glance at Alastor, stepping into the dank stuffy room and beginning to search the shelves.

"I didn't realise there was a cupboard on this floor." You mutter, and Alastor's heady gaze follows you into the darkness, working his jaw as you begin to search through the few bottles that his shadows had hurriedly scattered about.

"How embarrassingly forgetful of you. No worry, all is forgiven."

You roll your eyes at the clipped smugness, continuing your search. You finally spot a cluster of bottles containing the cleaner you were looking for, but you had to crane your neck to see them properly, and you realise with a further frown that there was no way you'd be able to reach them without help. That, or climb, and you would rather die than allow Alastor to see you climb a rickety old shelf for a bottle of cleaning liquid.

Swallowing your pride, you turn towards the tall demon leaning against the doorway to the cupboard, watching you with an unwavering gaze and his arms crossed tightly across his chest. He really was enjoying proving you wrong: you knew he'd enjoy your ask for help even more.

"Can you pass me the bottle?" A pause, and he shifts his weight onto his right leg as he leans against the door. "Please."

The last thing you see is his pearly grin as he steps into the room, and then the door swings shut behind him and you're plunged into shrouding darkness

"Oh dear," A voice full of static comments above you, and you hear wood rattling as he presses his hands against the door to try and push it back open. "it seems as though that was a safety door."

"Alastor!" You reprimand, but it was hard to direct your anger at any particular direction when you couldn't see anything. You bring a hand up to pinch at the skin between your brows, and you slink back when your arm smacks against his torso in the darkness. "You didn't prop the door open?"

"Why would I?" He incredulously questions, schooling the tone of his voice to remain somewhat neutral, and not the excited clamour it wanted to adopt. He had you now. "It's a utilities cupboard."

"Look, it's fine." You reason, searching for his gaze in the darkness, which you finally see when he turns his head to look down at you, crimson eyes hovering unsettlingly, the only thing you could see in this cursed cupboard. "Just shadow-apparate out of here and then open the door from the outside. Easy."

He stares down at you silently for a moment, and that hope that festered in your chest slowly withers as you waited for an answer. He had teleported around the hotel the entire time you had known him, you would be fine.

"Darling," He bites out, static filling the word and crackling along your skin, feigning frustration at your own ignorance. You can hear his claws tap against the wood of the door, and your eyes desperately search his, finding nothing other than irritation swimming in his depths. "I did not bring my staff with me."

Was that all he was going to say? You glower up at him, disbelief written plainly across your face. "You're telling me, The Radio Demon, one of the most powerful overlords in all of Hell, needs his stick to use his powers?"

He doesn't respond immediately, and you shrink back into the wall behind you, something cool pressing into your spine, as static fizzles around you, his voice deep and distorted. "Watch your tone."

"What about your shadows?" You desperately question, voice small as you try not to anger him further. You couldn't be stuck in a goddamn cleaning cupboard with The Radio Demon, what sin had you committed in life to befall such a fate? You must have unknowingly slaughtered a thousand orphans. "Can one of them open the door from the outside?"

"I'm afraid they are performing a task for me." Alastor hums, and you hear the door rattle again as he presses his back and shoulder up against hit, leaning his full weight against the wood as he gets comfortable.

"What, all of them?"

Sharp eyes turn back towards you, and you bite your cheek as the air escapes your lungs. You really shouldn't taunt him so openly when you were practically pressed up against him, with no where to go, and no one to hear you.

"I suggest you get comfortable, my dear. We are stuck here until one of the other hapless residents find us."

Now that your hopes had been completely dashed, you suck a deep staggering breath into your lungs, nose filling with stagnant damp air as your mind swirls. There really was no room in this cupboard, and it had been a tight enough fit when only you had stepped inside, never mind a much larger, much more domineering presence currently pressed up against your side. The cupboard was not large enough for yourself and Alastor to stand shoulder to shoulder, and you were now practically hip to hip as you tried to wedge yourself into the furthest left corner, pressing yourself away from the otherwise nonchalant sinner lent leisurely against the only potential exit. You could feel his body heat in the darkness, and his leg and arm were pressed tightly against your own - you would rather this than stand completely opposite him, with nothing else to look at other than the absolutely haunting pair of eyes that studied you from their lofty perch. Static warbles along your skin and fills the small space, and wherever you pressed against Alastor thrummed with energy, like pressing your hands against one of the old television sets you grandparents used to have.

This was truly Hell, your own perfectly manufactured torture, and godknows how long you would be trapped here.

Alastor couldn't remember a time in recent memory where he had been happier, and he revelled in the heat of your body pressed impossibly close to his, able to feel every breath you took and every shift in your stance as you fidgeted in your corner of the cramped cupboard. If he was anything, he was a hunter, and he had practiced the art of patience and striking for the kill until he had perfected it. He had kept his hands to himself for a while now, letting you stand in the darkness completely unobtrused, listening to your breathing which had only grown more staggered as the minutes ticked on.

He was fully aware of the sinful thoughts you had of him, one of his shadows 'accidentally' observing you during one of your more intimate moments, and he also knew the effects this proximity was having on you. He could feel your breath fan across his neck as you continued to press yourself away from him, like a terrified little rabbit in its den. All he had to do was wait for the opportune moment, and from the way you refused to look him in the eyes he knew that moment was fast approaching.

He had really outdone himself with this one, he thinks, gazing down at you with one of his widest smiles, his cheeks aching with the effort.

The silence was deafening, and the crackle of the static that hummed just loud enough for you to perceive was evermore suffocating. Your body was rigid, the hair of your back and arms standing on end as the air thrummed with something sinister - something you had grown accustomed to, but not something that you had ever had to endure for such a long period of time, nor this close. You couldn't breath, you couldn't think - actually, you could think, and it was your own damned thoughts that had you panicking in the first place, hoping beyond hope that the overlord in front of you couldn't suddenly read your mind.

"I wasn't aware you were claustrophobic, my dear." Alastor's voice sliced the air like a scalding iron through flesh, and you wince at the suddenness of the pitch. The air rumbles with every word, and you feel as though you've been caught red-handed when your eyes connect with his own through the darkness. A pair of haunting ruby eyes staring down at you, bright and sinister, hovering in the darkness. They mocked you; he was playing with his food.

"I'm not." You bite out, glowering up at him and pressing yourself back into the closed door, willing the wood to suddenly became hollow and swallow you whole.

"Oh?" He practically hums, voice pitching, smug. Radio chatter wafts in the darkness, a distorted laugh-track mixed with something else, too warped for you to understand. It was nothing good. Panic spiked up your spine. "You don't sound as though you're handling this too well, is something else the matter?"

"Nothing is wrong."

"Well, my darling, you sound absolutely terrified. I can practically hear your heartbeat."

He was either lying to you, or his fucking dear ears were much better than you believed. You hoped it was the former, you knew it was the latter. "It's just so hot and stuffy." You attempt to lie, eyes never leaving his own. "Don't worry," You mock, far too confident for your own good. Something in the static churns. "I'm not scared."

He hums above you, deep and grating, and something sinister crackles along the note as you suck in another breath, far quieter than the ones before. The tune pitches and warbles, and you wince at the assault on your ears, pressing back into the door behind you, and you become incredibly aware of the static crackling along your skin. He hadn't even needed to verbalise the threat, but his presence in the air and his glowing ruby eyes narrowing down at you sent the message: 'You should be.'

"You know, I had been looking for an opportunity to discuss something incredibly important with you," Alastor redirects the conversation, and your brows furrow in confusion at the nonchalance of his tune. "and I suppose this is the perfect opportunity."

"What would that be?" You question, voice small as you try to focus on the conversation and not the way you could feel his chest rumble against you with every gravelling syllable.

"Your work attire."

Your eyes close as you curse internally. You could admit that you had worn something a little less than professional today, but you hardly had a chance to wear anything outside of your usual cleaning get-up, and with how few residents the hotel had, you didn't think it mattered. You are torn from your thoughts when you feel a large hand toying with the hem of your skirt, and you stutter out a gasp when you feel a clawed hand curl around the hem and tug lightly at the fabric, cool knuckles scraping against your upper thigh. "U-uh-"

"Do you really think such a small little thing is appropriate in a workplace?"

"Alastor- I didn't-" Oh my god, what was he doing? His left hand lands on your thigh, sliding up your supple flesh and fingers stopping just on the underside of the skirt's length. His palm was large and warm, and when he stretches his fingers out his claws stretch over the entire expanse of your upper thigh, pinpricks of pain emanating from where the tips of his fingers dig into the skin.

"I appreciate the view, mon chéri, but I did not appreciate the audience." His voice distorts around the last word, deep and threatening as the static crescendos around you.

"Alastor," You breathe weakly, hands clenching into the shelves behind you as you grapple with what to do. He had never shown any such interest in you before, treating you as a mere infuriating nuisance, and now here he was, pinned against you with his palms sliding up your skirt? One wrong move, and you're sure you'd be dead, so you decide to not move at all. He hums in acknowledgement, left hand continuing to grip your thigh as his right leaves your skirt. You feel claws tugging at your locks, and you head is forced to tilt by a painful grip, staring wide-eyed into his own harrowing crimson gaze. "I'm sorry- what are you doing?"

"Giving you what you asked for, of course." He sings, leaning down to your level, breath fanning across your cheeks as his hand tightens its grip against your scalp. You wince, but you cannot deny the heat that had begun to pool between your legs at his roughness. "Why else would you wear such a flimsy little thing?"

"'m sorry." You stutter out, not entirely sure what else to say. You were completely at his mercy, and you await eagerly for his next move. Large doe-eyes staring up at him, tears glistening at their edges with the way he tugs your head to the side, tilting your gaze up as he breathes hotly against the column of your throat, perspiration gathering along the flesh as he breathes in your scent.

He chuckles darkly, and you nearly moan when you feel his nose brush against your pulse point as his head dips down towards your neck, his ears brushing against your jaw as his tongue wets his lips. "Your apology is appreciated." A long thick tongue laves its way from the hollow of your throat all the way to the crook of your jaw, and your hands turn into fists against the shelves you gripped against, mouth falling open in shock. "but I'm afraid it simply won't do."

His teeth graze your neck as his lips latch against you, peppering wet open-mouthed kisses beneath your ear all the way down to the collar of your work shirt. You groan, and your hands fly into his hair as he suckles harshly, teeth tantalisingly scraping against your skin, teasing your pulse point as his ears flatten against his head, fighting his impulse to sink his teeth directly into the column of your throat.

Before you know it both of your hands are wrenched from his hair, pinned above your head by one of his large hands, and his face is brought up to meet your own, faux sympathy playing along his features only fora moment before his smile twists into something far more cruel. "Ah, ah!" His grip on your wrists tighten, and a claw digs into your wrist to stop your squirming. "That's not how this goes, darling. You do as I say, and then maybe," His voice distorts around the word, and his head lowers slowly as he continues to talk at you. "I give you what you want."

Then, he's sinking his teeth into the crook of your neck as you moan, pain blossoming as tears gather along your eyelashes. Alastor moans, a deep gravelly grunt, and the radio static screeches as his tongue laps at the blood spilling from the bite, not wasting a single drop as he mouths desperately at your damp flesh.

"Al- wait!" Your pleas are ignored as his teeth sink higher into the side of your neck, more tender and not as deep as before, but pain still sparks as you struggle against his hold on your wrists. His free hand hikes your left thigh up around his waist as he groans against your skin before returning to your hair, and you feel lightheaded at the static that travels through your very bones as he plants dark blossoming hickeys against you.

"Delectable, my dear." He hisses against your skin between bites, beginning to kiss back along the tender flesh in some form of an apology. You whine at the way his lips roughly dance along your puckered skin.

He shushes you as he delves to the other side of your neck, and you catch a quick glimpse of his ear-splitting grin as your head is forced to the other direction, eyes fluttering closed as you arch into him, the pain in your neck beginning to edge into pleasure as he laves of the wounds, kissing tenderly against your bruised flesh before moving on to sink his teeth somewhere else. There was no way anyone would miss these enticing purple marks he was forcing against your skin, and if they did, he would just have to remind them, and you.

"I've known about your little infatuation for quite some time, chéri." He mutters between licks and kisses, voice deep and taunting as he kisses his way back up to your jaw. He tugs your head back towards him, bright eyes boring into your own heavy lidded pair. You pant desperately, breathes mingling as he studies you like a specimen, eyes trailing over every groove of your face, far more composed than you, licking his lips to rid of the blood that lingered. "My shadow stumbled across you having quite a nice time by your lonesome." His claws dig into the exposed flesh of your thigh, and he uses his grip against your left thigh as an anchor to pull your hips taught against his own, face inching closer and closer. His head tilts as he watches heat bloom across your cheeks, and he grins wickedly when you hips shift against his own.

"Let's make this clear." You have to fight your foggy thoughts to understand his gravelling voice, wincing at the static that assaulted your senses as he breathes deeply, a threatening edge to the energy that filled the small cupboard, choking the air from your very lungs. "You are mine, and mine alone." You nod desperately, sweet venom dripping from his lips like honey, and your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when his hips finally shift against your own, spreading your thighs around his hips. "And if I find you entertaining any other wretched sinner, you'll find out what I can really do." He leans impossibly closer, and all you can see is his red iris' boring into your own, his breath stinging the tender flesh of your neck as your chest heaves. "Understand?"

"Yes, Alastor."

"Lovely." His voice gravels in his throat as he finally leans down to kiss you, lips crashing into yours and grip against your wrists tightening as he bores into you, ears flat against his head and brows furrowed as he forces your lips to part, tongue snaking into your mouth with ease as he sucks all air from your lungs. He doesn't allow you any room, hand forcing your head to tilt as he kisses hungrily into your mouth, pulling away for a meagre breath before he's biting at your lip until you allow him access and groaning at the blood that trickles along his tongue.

His hand eases against your hair, allowing you to fight back against his bruising lips as it cradles the juncture of your neck, thumb pressing dangerously into the pulse point of your throat as he tilts your head up, brows furrowed and static sparking from his every touch as you whine against him. Suddenly, something cool snaps against your wrists and his now free right hand is grasping at your hip, clawed thumb hooking under the waistband of your flimsy skirt pressing into your hip bone and pinning your hips in place. Your eyes fly open, and you spot green chains encircling your wrists and preventing you from running your hands through Alastor's hair as you desperately wanted. You groan again when his grip tightens against your neck, and your eyes flutter shut when he grazes his teeth against your lips in warning: pay attention to him, nothing else.

Suddenly, you're spun by a firm grip on your hips and forced back into the wooden door with a thud, the air leaving your lungs as Alastor snaps his fingers in his free hand, green chains materialising in his grasp which he yanks harshly, and then your hands are once again hoisted above your head and you groan in frustration as he delves back towards your lips, both of his hands sliding up you tantalisingly short skirt and dragging along the flesh of your thighs, deep red scratches left in their wake.

"You're usually such a good girl for me." Alastor mutters against your lips, and you moan when his thumbs dig painfully into your abdomen, pushing your hips towards him despite the painful pricks. "But you've been so disobedient lately," his lips leave your own, and he presses a heavy kiss to the underside of your jaw, one of his fingers tugging at the top button of your blouse, slicing the thread holding the button together with ease and exposing more of your shoulder to the cool air. He grins up at you as you groan. "entertaining other men." His voice deepens to something demonic as he licks lower, and you can feel his lips grin to expose his teeth to your neck as another button is shredded from your uniform. "I cannot have you forgetting who you belong to."

Oh god. Your eyes roll, and you gasp his name airly as he explores the untouched flesh of your collarbone, gathering saliva on his tongue as he licks and nips his way to your shoulder. He hums happily, teeth sinking into the top of the swell of your breast, and you screech when he doesn't relent, his clawed hands pinning you in place with their firm grip against your waist as you struggle pathetically. You laves his tongue over the mark happily, and his eyes brighten when he glances up and sees the utter destruction he's wrought against your perfect skin. He kisses over the newest mark, rolling his hips into yours as he pants against your skin, every staggering breath you took forcing more of your flesh towards his awaiting mouth, lapping against he bruising skin with the threat of his fangs digging into you again if he so pleased.

"Alastor, please-" You moan, wetness gathering along your cheeks as he grinds against you, continuing to lavish your shoulder and throat with his agonisingly hot tongue and licking away the scabs that had begun to form. Your hands tug at your chains painfully, and his ears twitch when he hears the metal pull taut. "please, let me touch you."

His eyes meet yours as he pulls his mouth from your shoulder, and his chin glistens with a mix of saliva and blood as he glowers down at you, a contemplative look on his face as one of his eyebrows arch at your pitiful state.

He hums, and you can envision the way his jaw works as he thinks, but then his eyes narrow and you know he's finally made up his mind, and that it was not in your favour.

"You've still not learnt your lesson, mon coeur, if you believe you have any say in whether I allow you to touch me."

You plead up at him with desperate eyes, tongue licking along your puffy and bruised lips as you hope for him to take pity on you. This is Alastor, however, and you should know better by now.

Suddenly, his hands are on both of your hips and you are spun around, forced to face the door as he chuckles darkly behind you, a foot kicking your legs apart with ease. You gasp, and your hands tug at your chains harder as you try to wiggle free. A large hand lands on your nape, and his claws dig dangerously into either side of your neck as he leans towards you, his hips pressed against your ass, and his chest pressed against your spine as he corrals you into the doorframe. He gives one powerful rut of his hips against your hitched skirt, and you whimper as your elbows slam into the door, trying to turn your head to look at him but his grasp on your neck prevents you.

"Wait- wait Alastor. What if someone comes looking-"

"I don't remember asking." Static travels all the way down your spine from the palm resting flat against your neck, and you gasp in surprised when a clawed hand delves between your legs to press mockingly against the soaked spot in the centre of your knickers. He doesn't bother to push them to the side, clawed finger slicing the material straight down the centre as he pushes seamlessly into you, slow and careful not to cut you, but purposeful and strong as your walls clench desperately around him.

"Oh-" You gasp, head falling between your chained arms and hanging uselessly as your legs spread wider, his digit pushing in all the way to the knuckle. He drags his fingers out slowly, curling it against your spongey walls and then pushes back in with a sickening squelch, beginning a strong leisurely pace that has your hips canting against his hand, desperate for more friction.

Your hips shift against the prominent bulge in the front of his trousers, firmly pressed against your ass, as you try to match his agonisingly slow pace, and he grins down at you as you whimper your little complaints, your brows knitting as you try to give yourself some much needed friction.

"Look at you," He comments darkly, complacent smile dripping into his voice as he mocks you, hand tightening against your throat as he adds another digit, your underwear ripping further. "what if someone were to open this door right now? What would they say?"

Another digit enters, and you whine into your bicep at the unforgiving stretch as his claws carefully dig into your walls, coaxing against that heavenly spot inside of you as you pant and whine.

"Oh, God-" You groan thoughtlessly, moaning pathetically as his fingers. speed up and begin pummelling that special spot inside of you, your pleasure dripping down Alastor's fingers and palm.

"He can't hear you down here." Alastor tuts against the shell fo your ear, voice low and uncharacteristically quiet as he hisses, and you mewl when his thumb pushes against your puffy clit and begins rubbing circles in tandem with his thrusts.

"Still think we should wait?" His pace slows, and you push your hips desperately down into his hand when the building pleasure ebbs, blinking back tears of pleasure as you plead.

"No, no. Please, Alastor. More- I need more."

He leans over you, hand at your neck pulling your shirt away your from shoulder as he sinks his teeth into your back, and you shriek as he begins curling his fingers again, his hips canting against your own as you ride his fingers. It doesn't take long for you to be teetering on the edge of all-consuming pleasure, and you twist uselessly in your chains as Alastor mutters sinful nothings against your nape, switching between French and English and the static growing in the air positively drowning out any coherent thoughts you could conjure.

"Al," You whine as his teeth graze where your neck meets your back, and your voice pitches when a grunt reaches your ears, your ass pressing back into Alastor's hips enticingly as you beg him to give you something more. "Please, I need it. It's not enough-"

Oh, how he desperately wanted to give you more, but no. Your time was almost up, and his shadows had been increasingly whispering in his ear about the search party that had begun looking for you both. His ears stand to attention as they swivel towards the door, focussing on the corridor outside as you mewl and whimper beneath him.

"In good time, mon chéri." He hisses against your neck as the chains on your wrists lengthen, pulling you up and away from the door and flush against his chest. His fingers continue their brutal pace, and he supports your entire weight as you fall boneless against his chest, whining for more despite the heat that pooled in your stomach, your thighs beginning to quiver as your fingers clench into your palms.

The coil tightens, and a hand clamps over your mouth as you moan, eyes rolling in their sockets as that pleasurable heat begins to bubble. You mumble Alastor's name against his hand, and then he's twisting your head at a painful angle and kissing you furiously to silence your begging.

And then, just as you teeter over the precipice, his hand leaves you with a sinful pop, and your skirt is tugged roughly down and the collar of your shirt is pushed back up your shoulders. The door to the cupboard swings open with a slam, and you fall back into the shelf behind you with shock. When you gather your bearings, Niffy stares at you owlishly from the doorway, her little silhouette vibrating on the spot as Angel Dust's head pokes around the doorway, a disinterested look on his face. You scramble, desperately trying to regain your breathing as you glance behind you, looking to Alastor to help offer some sort of explanation.

Your stomach falls into a pit when no one else is in the cupboard with you, and your head whips back towards the two onlookers as you gape helplessly, hands tugging the material of your blouse tight over your chest and attempting to hide the deep maroon bite marks from view.

"I- I can explain."

"Holy shit." Angel Dust whistles, a shit-eating grin sent your way and his gold tooth glinting as he surveys your disheveled form. You were a hot mess, and he would've been jealous if he didn't know who had exactly placed those delightful marks all over your body. Pronounced marks of red and blue littered your neck and chest, with a light crusting of blood coating some of the deeper and richer marks. Deep red claw marks mark your thighs, and heady navy fingerprints dot your upper thighs where Alastor had gripped you. Your cheeks were impossibly red, whether from embarrassment of desire no one could tell, and your lips swollen and glossy as you mouth hangs open uselessly. "Didn't know he had it in him."

"I- we didn't." You stutter, and you would be positively fuming if you weren't so embarrassed. He could shadow-apparate out of that closet the entire fucking time.

"Stains gone, toots, we were getting worried." Angel Dust smirks impossibly wider as you gawp up at him, scrambling from your position on the floor as you attempt to tug your skirt further down your thighs to hide the very evident claw marks from view.

"The- the blood is gone?"

"Yep!" Niffty chirps as Angel nods. Huh, you hadn't even had a chance to clean it.

"We were worried because you hadn't returned, but looks like we shouldn't have been worried at all."

"Oh-" You sigh, a hand rubbing down your face as you desperately attempt to regain your dignity. "Please don't tell the others-"

"I won't! I won't!" Angel holds his hands up, but he was still grinning from ear to ear as he continues to map out the many bruises that littered your form. "But I'd get dressed soon if I was you. You're a walking advertisement at this point."

Alastor stands in his room, grey cheeks lightly flushed and hair ruffled, antlers a tad longer than they usually were, and a noticeable wrinkle to the front of his garments that he would usually never permit to exist. He offers a curt nod to his shadow who grins at him from the floor, thanking it for its warning about the searching party. He materialises his staff into his right hand, tapping it against the floor as he heads to the bathroom, loosening his tie as he goes to prepare a bath, he would have to get you alone again sometime, to really finish what he had started. For now, you understood who you belonged to, and as for the others, there was no mistaking who had staked their claim upon you.

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