{YOU'RE LUCIFER! human Radioapple AU inspired by the 'my dear nanny' comics^^}

Alastor, a Creole man in the 1900s-1920s of New Orleans Louisiana, worked making Radioshows, until he eventually got fired due to the racist times and was out of a job.

That was until he found Lucifer, a shorter, blonde haired and blue eyed white man who was seemingly divorced and in need of a full time sitter for his younger daughter Charlie.

After a trail week Alastor had eventually got the job, and the two grew close, the house feeling empty whenever one was apart from the other.

Lucifer didn't know what exactly Alastor did in his free time, but he had started to catch on. Alastor always going somewhere late, returning with dried blood on his sleeve and always washing his hands...

Because behind the charm and politeness, Alastor was a s3r1@l k1ll3r in disguise, often eliminating racist influential or cocky figures. ──────────────────────────

I returned home later than I promised, coat soaked through, the city cold enough to leave frost on car windows. I was bleeding. Not much, just a long, angry cut across my chest, half-hidden beneath my vest, unfortunately there was a small struggle this time.

Lucifer was waiting. He had that sharp tension in his jaw, the one that comes when a man knows enough to worry but doesn’t yet know the complete and honest details.

“You’re reckless,” he snapped before I could even remove my coat fully.

“I’m careful,” I said lightly, peeling the fabric from my chest. “Enough that it won’t-”

He cut me off. “Don’t. Stop being reckless. I don’t care what you were doing, I don’t care how justified you think it is. You could’ve—”

I held his gaze, amusement flickering in the corner of my eyes. His voice was raw. Unfiltered. Dangerous in its own way.

“You care,” I said softly, more to myself than him.

“I care about you, Alastor!” he almost shouted, stepping closer with a deep breath. “Don’t push it. Don’t go out like that. Don’t—”

Get yourself killed.

The words that were never spoken hung in the air between us, I swallowed a smile. His eyes were bright, panicked, fierce. He didn’t need to ask, didn’t need to know the details.

The mere fact that he knew I’d been in danger was enough to crack his composure.

“Very well,” I murmured, letting my hand hover near his shoulder. Not touching. A tether. “I’ll be careful, I swear it.”

He exhaled, eyes darting to the wound. I knew he wanted to touch it, to scold me, to pull me into safety. He didn’t. Not yet.

I smiled faintly. He was an imbecile but he wasn't stupid, he knew there was something about me warning him to stay away, but even still, he worried about the danger around me instead of the danger within me.

And that..

Amuses me.