Raise A Little Hell | An Alastor x Reader Lemon Series

Far From Filthy

The next morning, I stood on Alastor's doorstep. Jordan had opted to stay home for this part. He wanted to see Fred and his like taken down just as much as I did, but he had no stomach for physical torture. To be honest, I had no idea if I had the stomach for it. 

Alastor opened the door, looking for all the world like he had enjoyed a good night's worth of sleep. His ever-present grin was easy-going, almost as if he hadn't slept with a kidnapped pimp in his basement. 

"Are you ready for this?" He asked, stepping aside so I could enter. I nodded as I came into his house, which looked more welcoming in the daylight. It looked like something you would see on the cover of some southern home magazine rather than a demon's house in Hell.

Alastor showed the way back down to the cellar, where Fred was tied up to a chair. I gave Alastor a curious look as if to question why he had done that.

"He was beating on the door," The Radio Demon shrugged, "It's hard to sleep when a discourteous guest is being obnoxiously loud."

"You filthy bitch," Fred snarled as we walked down the cellar stairs. He tugged as his bonds, though thankfully they didn't budge an inch.

"A bitch, yes," I replied, crossing my arms as I spoke, "But I'm far from filthy."

Alastor looked highly amused at our exchange. Moving to a table in the corner, he pulled out a box from beneath it and opened it. Inside was the definition of pain and torture. Instruments straight out of a medieval horror story were laid out carefully one by one. 

When Fred realized what was about to happen, he began squealing like a pig headed to the butcher's block. Alastor chuckled at the noise, turning to me, "Well, my dear, are you ready to get to work?"