Hell High | An Alastor x Reader Lemon Series

Lunch is a Battlefield

If finding your locker is a battlefield, then finding a spot at lunch is like D-day. Minus the bullets and dead bodies. Scratch that. This was hell, for all I knew there might be casualties on the scuffed up cafeteria floor.

Thankfully Angel waved my deer-in-the-headlights ass over to his table, saving me the trouble of looking too much like an idiot. Sliding into the seat next to him, I mumbled a thank you and began to pick at a peanut butter sandwich I had kept in my locker. 

"This is Cherri," Angel introduced me to the tatted demon sitting across from us.

Waggling her fingers at me, she said, "'Sup kid?"

Ok, the kid part bugged me a bit. I mean, I was so close to graduating in the living world. Not to mention the fact that because of my weird early birthday, I was already eighteen when I started my senior year. 

I opened my mouth to say something, but a laugh at the next table over caught my attention. I turned to see a red-haired deer demon entertaining a group around him with god-awful dad jokes. He was perched on the table nonchalantly, telling joke after joke like they were going out of style. 

"Who's that?" I said instead.

"Who?" Angel replied, turning to see who I was looking at, "Oh, that's Alastor. He's the king of drama club or some shit. A whole group of weirdos if you ask me."

"You just say that because they shot down your burlesque idea." Cherri retorted, flicking a pea from her tray at him.

"Damn shame too," Angel sighed, turning back to us, "I would have made a killer Christina Aguilera."