Obsession . ||A radioapple 📻🍎(Alstor x Lucifer) Imagination.

22. MISSION: Unalive club owner (pt 2)

my hands are seriously ded. Anyway here you go

Enjoy!
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Alastor’s POV:

Alastor kept one eye on Lucifer and the other on Mr. Sleazeball, who was about one gross wink away from getting accidentally “possessed” by Alastor’s fist. The air shifted, kind of like that eerie calm before a tornado, only this time the storm was about to involve a really bad pick-up line.

The target, who had been laughing like a hyena a second ago,
suddenly stopped. His gaze lingered on Lucifer way too long. It wasn’t I’m-a-friendly-club-owner lingering either. It was I-might-try-to-make-Lucifer-a-side-dish lingering.

Lucifer, bless him, leaned casually against the table like this was no big deal, but Alastor knew better. He could see the tension in his shoulders, like he was one awkward touch away from throwing the guy into the nearest dumpster.

Then came the grin—the owner’s, not Lucifer’s. No, Lucifer was doing his best to fake some confidence. Meanwhile, the owner’s smile spread across his face like mold, complete with that disturbing twinkle in his eyes.

Lucifer glanced at Alastor, his now-blue eyes wide with a silent What now?

Alastor gave the tiniest nod. Keep going, devil. Not that he was confident this wouldn’t explode in their faces, but hey, they’d gotten this far without anyone getting punched. That was something.

Lucifer swallowed, threw on a smile, and slid into the booth next to the owner. Alastor cringed. Too close, WAY too close. The creep immediately took his shot, slinging an arm around Lucifer like they were buddies at a baseball game.

Alastor had to fight every urge in his body not to snap. Sure, he was great at playing it cool—legendary poker face—but watching Lucifer laugh at whatever garbage the guy was spewing? That was testing his limits.

Lucifer was holding it together, though. Barely. He leaned into the guy, probably dialing up the charm way higher than necessary, but it was working. The owner was eating it up like it was all-you-can-eat-buffet night.

Alastor forced himself to wait. His fingers were itching to do something, but patience was key. One wrong move, and this operation would go belly-up faster than a fish out of water.

Except... this wasn’t just about the mission anymore. Watching Lucifer squirm under the guy’s arm? Oh, Alastor was reaching his breaking point.

And then it happened. The owner shoved one of the women off his lap—like she was an old sock—and made more room for Lucifer, his hand sliding down Lucifer’s back in the creepiest way possible.

Lucifer’s shoulders tensed. One more second and he was gonna snap.

Time for Alastor to step in.

Keeping it cool, Alastor slid out of his seat and crossed the dance floor like a cat who just spotted its next victim. In a few strides, he was standing at the booth, looming over Mr. Sleazeball.

The guy looked up, flashing a greasy smirk. “Who’s this? Your bodyguard?”

Lucifer shot Alastor a look, eyes wide, practically screaming Help me!

Alastor smiled, the kind of smile that said you’re about to regret your life choices. “Nah,” Alastor said, sliding into the booth next to Lucifer. He threw an arm around Lucifer’s shoulders, pulling him close. “I’m his date.”

The guy blinked, processing. He looked at Lucifer, then back at Alastor, like he was trying to figure out if he should be scared. “Huh,” he grunted. “Didn’t think he’d go for your type.”