#also why was it tagged '[character] x reader' ?? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pricegouge · 2 days ago

Text

Haul

Part Seven MDNI

master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

cw: abuse. like a lot. it's bad. idk how to tag it but i don't want to blindside anyone so: they play at drowning reader.

One of them is always home. That's the important part. Which is why it takes you a minute to realize when the ringing of the landline above you goes on too long, each shrill call rousing you slowly, dulled by layers of soundproofing and the fog of your depressive rest. You crumble when you roll over, stare apathetically up at the cobwebs above you and will Price to answer the damn thing already, then cock your head in confusion as another ten rings sound off, undisturbed. When it does die off, it's a slow peter out instead of the abrupt stall mid-ring, like when John plucks it from the receiver with an impatient hand. Whoever was on the other end has hung up, sick of waiting on an answer that wasn't coming. Was John out? Were they all out?

A potential way out of the warehouse won't do much good if you don't have a way out of your room, but it's hard to test the limits of your enclosure without tipping John off, now that you know for certain he is watching. So instead, you watch back, carefully documenting the movements of each of the boys. Dissecting patterns you'd noticed in the past but not thought much of. They handle you in shifts, when available, and visit you as a team more often than not. As far as you can tell, they do not relock the door after themselves when inflicting themselves upon your room. You're sure this speaks to the impossibility of the lock, and their disinterest in tempting fate, but it also speaks to their confidence in their ability to physically retain you themselves if it comes to it - and they've given you no reason to doubt it yet. Sometimes, when inclined to keep yourself up at night, you think about all the women who've come before you, all the trial and error the boys must have gone through to arrive at this risky procedure, and pinning your hope on ambushing one of them when they come fetch you for breakfast sounds more and more like a good way to have your corpse scavenged by coyotes off some disused highway in Southern Nebraska. And you're not ready for that easy-out, at least not yet.

So you mentally map the warehouse instead; every inch of it that you've seen, at least. The small area with pallet racking where the overhead doors spell deceptively easy freedom, the attached kitchen area and the office space off of it. There's a short hallway past the bathroom lined with closed doors. Your best assumption is that this is where the boys sleep, though you've yet to be trusted in their rooms. They let slip stories sometimes however, past girls they've made warm their beds. They phrase it as a treat, a privilege to look forward to. When you note the absence of locks on the outsides of the doors, you almost agree.

You have options, when you get creative. In addition to the hope for a night behind an unlocked door, there are times when they turn their backs on you a beat too long, or when they forget to parade you around the warehouse with a hand on your back. It would just take one sidestep to start, a quick dart out of their reach before the most high stakes game of hide and seek ever played. There's plenty of places to lose yourself in the warehouse, especially if you can time it to coincide with a day when most of them are out on jobs, or asleep. The problem with that, however, is, aside from John, none of them seem to have very dependable schedules, and you don't want to miss one of very few opportunities to hitch a ride with another trucker if you're biding your time for a chance to escape when fewer people are home, just to let months pass and find there are no such chances. It's not something you can bank on anyway, not when you've no way of keeping track of them. You do try to, though, carefully rehashing your deck of cards so that the suites read off like a flush, ace through king, before re-counting out the days in your passed pile. Now whenever a full suite changes you'll know you've been there another two weeks, and some change. (Is that a fortnight? The itch you get for the internet always strikes you at the weirdest times.) With that in place, you create a system of particular notches to tear into the cards to denote what days which boys are missing. But when the deck runs out and you've still not discerned a pattern, you give up on maintaining your marks.

Was John out? Were they all out?

When the telephone rings again, you about jump out of your skin. It's annoying, a noise you can see when it rattles around your skull and that familiar blind spot blooms in your bad eye. You rub the tension from your temples delicately, not for the first time wondering if this is just something you'll have to live with now. Agitated, you pull yourself from the bed and grab the stool to bang on the ceiling, as if your upstairs neighbor is being quite inconsiderate. Of course, even if they do hear you, they do nothing to fix the situation because they don't care, or because they like torturing you. Probably both. So you try your own switch, the one that rings a separate phone upstairs - the one they've never yet ignored except when punishing you rather severely.

Only, they ignore it now - the dual ringing of the receivers thrumming in your eardrums, stirring ill-advised thoughts to the surface.

For the first time since arriving, it's possible no one's watching.

Fuck, you hadn't accounted for this. In all your imaginative planning, you'd never considered what you could do from your little cell because the obvious answer is, nothing. Even with no one home and no one to stop you from just walking out, there's not a damn thing you can do. The locks don't magically give when you try them; no window manifests above the foundation level for you to pull yourself out through. You kick the door out of frustration, and then bite your lips in fear when you realize that John might see that when he reviews the tapes later and get mad that you've damaged his door for no reason, because even if you somehow manage to force the lock bolts clean through the frame, there's still the trap door at the top of the stairs which you're fairly certain they padlock when you're below. You can just see them now, laughing cruelly as you fail to break the reinforced frame from the rotted sash, their faces glowing in the pale light from whatever outdated CRT screen they probably still -.

Now there's a thought. One that will likely get you punished more severely than you have yet, but perhaps worth it all the same.

If you can find the surveillance equipment and trash it before they get home in time to stop you, you could spend your days doing useful things, like fashioning weapons, or working out so you stand a better chance of outrunning them when you decide to make a break for it.

If they let you keep functioning limbs.

Your hands shake when you make up your mind, rifling through the room like a madman. There aren't many fixtures in which to hide something, but with the exposed rafters you can see clearly enough that it's not some average dome camera. Tearing everything you can away from the walls, you search first through the mounted furniture, trying to find where any cords might run through the walls. You think you've got it when you flick the desk legs and find them hollow, imagining the feedline tunneling down through your unfinished floor, but a thorough inspection reveals nothing out of the ordinary, and the more you think about it, the less sense it makes that John could have known about your little card trick if the camera was set up close enough that such activity would have likely been out of frame.

The ringing finally stops when you turn back toward the bed - abrupt, yanked from the receiver. Fear courses through you like icewater, spilling over your skin in a wave of goosebumps. You could stop now, hunker in bed and pretend nothing happened. But if the camera wasn't in the desk, it's likely in the bed frame - the only other mounted piece of furniture - which means it very much did see you, transmitted every second of your frantic search for something, and if they come asking about your odd behavior and you've no explanation, you're going to get the same punishment you would have anyway, without the added benefit of having blinded them.

Over your head, John's raspy laugh booms dully through the ceiling, and your temple aches with it.

Fuck it, an eye for an eye.

Adrenaline high, you work more efficiently than you would have thought possible even just moments ago. Figuring that if you were a collection of sick monsters with a little pet caged in your basement, you'd want a good view of their bed, you try the head post first, the one in the corner which would allow them to see the room nearly in its entirety. It's a cheap frame. Metal, so they can mount bindings to it, probably, but unreliably assembled, especially when the cap piece is missing a screw, replaced instead by a pin-prick camera.

Your thumb finds the hollow texture first, the second socket you try. You duck down to be sure, and smile cheekily at the glint of glass you find there, a dark hole in the brass fixture you're upset you've never noticed before. The cap puts up little fight when you yank on it, the decorative piece held in place only by tiny, eighth-inch screws. After the first one dislodges, the thin trim of the post bends enough you can peel the whole thing back like a sardine lid, and you peer inside the hollow of the post to find the bulk of the camera, corded down through the floor much as you'd expected. After the struggle of the cap piece, the camera and its mount look like no trouble at all, except you can't quite reach it, fist too fat to properly fit through the opening and you hiss in frustration, shoving your hand through until the warped metal and the dangling screw bite into your flesh.

Retreating with a huff, you cast about for some sort of tool to use and freeze when you think you hear the quiet sound of the trap door opening. Stillness follows, so vital you think your heart even stops beating, every cell in your body waiting for the familiar tread of heavy boots on the top step. The moment drags on, long enough you begin to doubt yourself, long enough your lungs heave from disuse when the tread finally lands, and John begins his descent.

No time. No time. Your knuckles catch first on the metal but it's no matter, not when you keep shoving past it, feel the raw edge dig into the heel of your hand. You gasp in pain, fingers slipping over the edge of the camera when the blood begins to flow down your palm but you grit your teeth through another push, breath laboring through a grimace more than a smile when you finally catch the mount in a firm grip and yank, tossing the little electronic on the floor and stomping on it, barefoot and wincing, just as John finally disengages the last lock, swinging the door open to find you, panting and successful, leaning over the broken remnants like Ali over Liston.

***

It's a short-lived victory.

Turns out you weren't home alone, the boys all sidling through the side door where Johnny had sprayed you down when John calls for them, dragging you through the warehouse by your hair and weathering the viscous kicks you land on him with insultingly little reaction. You yell in frustration when they filter through the door, try to drown out the sound of John's barked orders with a shriek of your own. It earns you a hard slap and nothing more, your head whipping around so fast you don't see when Simon's arms wrap around your waist, tilt your world on its side as he drags you to the bathroom.

The faucet is already running, the water filling the tub so frigid that it emanates, soothes the ache in your fist even as you make it worse, clawing at the hands which disrobe you unceremoniously. You don't truly start to panic until Johnny squeezes in after as well, frame so wide he jostles everyone to the edges of the room so he can hand John a length of rope, fibrous and coarse, before slipping away again, lingering in the frame with Kyle.

Your eyes dart from the cord to the tub, a halfhearted shiver running through you as you try to dislodge Simon one last time. John notes your sudden docility with a humorless smile, taking in the blood on your hand and foot disinterestedly. "Did that to herself," he tells his assembled audience blandly, even though they didn't ask. He stands too close over Simon's shoulder, stares you down as he asks if they can guess what you did. In the stretch of silence that follows, John prompts you to fill them in with a thick, arched brow.

"Smashed the camera in my room," you whisper, voice drowned out by the thundering of water from the tub.

"Not so brave now, are you?" John snarls, his hand reaching around Simon viper-quick to bury itself at your scalp, wrenching your head to look at the boys crowded in the doorframe. Kyle has the decency to look mildly concerned, but Johnny's eyes are alight with the same mania you'd seen in him the night he killed Ash. Your voice is stronger than you expect it to be when you answer, a level of spite you didn't know you were capable of.

"I smashed the camera in my room."

Johnny just laughs. "Now why would ye go an' do a daft thing like tha'?"

Snark sits on your tongue, slips blessedly down the back of your throat when John crowds behind you, tips your head back into his shoulder so he can press his teeth too far into the tender arch of your cheek. "Because she's not so fuckin' smart. Simon." John shoves at your shoulder until you face the other man completely, nose pressed into the hard plane of his sternum. "Hold her still."

Simon's arms are like a steel cage when they wrap around your shoulders, pinning your elbows back behind your waist as far as you can manage. You stamp on his foot on instinct, bloodied sole scraping over the eyelets of his boots. John just kicks your ankle savagely, bodies himself between your legs. The rope smarts when he weaves it between your forearms, a ladder of ties running from your elbows to your hands which do not give an inch when you test them. John yanks the remaining length like a leash after fashioning them too-tightly around your wrists, the knobs of your carpels bulging as blood pools in your fingertips, the trickle of blood from your palm pulsing.

You only know he's crouched behind you when Simon lifts and a callused hand wraps around your bare ankle, the rough saw of jute following after. Panicked, you kick wildly, but John dodges the first and catches your free leg under his armpit on the second. When you wriggle, Simon just crushes you to his chest until your breath wheezes from you and John ties his first knot much too short, your back straining with the arch he's forced.

The way he manhandles your last limb into place despite your struggles would be embarrassing, if you weren't too preoccupied by the growing pit of fear in your belly, or the way it's so hard to breathe when Simon bears all your weight with a compressing grip around your chest. It makes your head throb, vision darkening in your bad eye where it was already struggling after John's slap. So it's nearly a relief when John takes some of your weight, his hands wrapping around your calves with bruising force. Simon shuffles his grip, your body tilting dangerously forward until his big hands wrap around your upper arms. You dangle between them as they turn toward the tub, and then you watch, upside down and one-eyed, as John hikes a leg up over to the far ledge of the bath and they begin to lower you, face first.

You scream when your hips sink past the frigid surface first, Simon lowering your top half quick enough that water floods your mouth and you arch your back as much as you're able, spitting and gurgling as your head breaches the surface. With the faucet still running, the water rushes around you, splashing over the side as you twist about, trying to get your knees under yourself. A sharp crack sounds behind you, and you turn to find its source just as John canes you over the ass with a broken off broom handle, Johnny tossing the head of it down the hall.

Crying out, you tip forward again and panic when you crash through the water, more so when your knees jerk back and your nose slams off the basin. You feel your restraints being pulled back - hard, and harder - before suddenly slackening, just a touch. Not enough to let you get your knees back under yourself.

Your back aches with the strain of pulling yourself up, shoulders bearing most of your weight. You gasp when you pull your head above water, engage your biceps enough to keep yourself there while you test your restraints. From the corner of your eye, you see the broom handle overhanging the edge of the tub, laid flat across the top to keep you suspended by your bindings, must be. Sputtering, you try to orient yourself, figure out the depth of your situation by reminding yourself it's only a tub, and not that deep. But the arch it forces your spine to maintain, and the stress of disused muscles after months of atrophy just laying about combine with the frigid cold to conspire against you, leave you too shivery and weak to maintain the hold for long and you relax just a touch, mouth still above level, just to flinch back up when the bubbling of the surface splashes into your nose, makes you cough.

Over the thundering of the pipes, you hear a familiar growl, too close to your ear. "Don't look so fucking clever now."

"John, please," you sob, twisting until you can see his shoulder in your peripheral, Johnny's eager face beyond it.

"Shut the fuck up," John hisses, dunking your head back under with a heavy palm on the back of your head. He lets you squirm for what feels like minutes, only dragging you back up when your panicked movements slow. You swallow more water than you spit out when he pulls you back up, breaths ripping through your esophagus like white water rapids.

Over the sound of your coughing, Kyle's voice is loud and patronizing when he asks why you had to go and ruin a good thing. "Thought we were all getting along, luv. What drove you to do such a stupid thing?"

You want to tell him to go fuck himself, can't for the water pouring from your nose. Probably for the best.

"We feed you, clothe you, bathe you," John ticks each item off with a quick dunk beneath the surface, just enough to feel the sting of water. Johnny laughs at the last one, throws a bar of soap into the tub. "And you show us your thanks by breaking my expensive fucking camera?"

It seems foolish, in retrospect, the possibility that they could simply replace it - tonight, even - only occurring to you now, now that the urgency of a snap decision has worn off and you're faced with the repercussions you'd shrugged off earlier.

They might kill you. You might drown in a dirty trucker tub.

John drops you as if disgusted and you fight to pull yourself up again, your hip glancing off the bar of soap when you finally get it and dropping you back under. John waits patiently for you to resurface, watches as you cough up as much as you can before speaking again. "Shoud just fucking leave you there."

You don't realize you're crying until your breath rips out in a sob of fear, the tears blending with the bathwater. It shouldn't be a relief when Johnny pipes up.

"Ach, if ye wan' tae kill her, at least let us have some fun wi' it."

Response barely audible over the water, you strain your ear to hear John's low pitch. "What did you have in mind?"

Johnny's eager, answer too ready. "Nothin' wrong wi' a good chase."

"Si's favorite," John agrees, contemplative.

"If we kill her, we have to find a new one," Simon counters, sounding almost bored. "Sounds like a lot of work."

"Gotta agree with Ghost," Kyle offers. "Kinda like this one, when she's not being a bitch."

You measure the silence in heartbeats, your vision tunneling with each dull thump in your chest. When John speaks again, he's deliberately louder, voice carrying enough that you don't have to strain to hear. "Alright. Compromise. We'll have a good chase, but winner gets to decide what we do with her." He leans close, his next words spoken against the shell of your ear. "So you'd best hope it's not Johnny who catches you."

#haul #dark fic #dddne #abuse cw

98 notes · View notes

carpkoinobori · 9 hours ago

Text

[⟢] cop car — karina x reader

[𖤐] 1/1 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): cop car - mitski | no te pido mas - helenita vargas | de oro - la familia andre | la murga - willie colón | la cuchilla - las hermanas calle

summary: you grew up desperate and made your way to the top, even started working for DAS. but your first assignment shouldn’t have been this— they sent you to die. your body lived, though. you didnt.

pairing: patrón!karina x halcón!reader (also x teniente!giselle)

tags: angst, like horrible angst, toxic and I mean Very Toxic yuri, major character death, implied sexual content, this is DARK, set in 1970-90’s colombia, kind of ambiguous but happy ending? reader is lowk stupid and a bop

wc: 10.9k

cw: karina is horribly manipulative, cartels, guns, selling, making, and use of drugs, use of weapons, murder, bombs, death, etc. this is about the colombian cartel ok shit is fucked.

ex: before there’s any outrage I AM COLOMBIAN. all information is acquired through primary sources (ex: family who literally lived through it). most info will be accurate, but my family specifically lived in medellín, calí, and barranquilla. this is set in bogotá. apologies for any city-based in accuracies.

a/n: this is for you aettudae my #1 ❤️

1964, Cundinamarca, Colombia Local time: 1:00 A.M. Location: a small town in Soacha, Cundinamarca, Colombia Objective: . . .

You were born on the outskirts of the city. Bogotá, the capital— the inside was rich, used to be filled with tourists, big buildings and fancy cars. The outside was él pueblo, where you’d wake up at three in the morning, walk to the nearest bus stop, which was probably a few kilometers away, take the buses that never ran on time with the rest of the exhausted men and women heading to work— work for rich people that ran the city till nightfall, get on another bus, and walk a few kilometers home, every day, constantly, while getting paid barely enough to support your family.

That was if you didn’t get robbed, or blown up in the middle of the city, of course— political unrest stemming from La Violencia had made FARC, and the cartel had begun to ramp up production and organization, planting car bombs under public buses and cars. The country was rife with bombings and gang violence till the late 90’s.

But right now, it was in the very early morning.

You would be born in 1964 to a poor family living in Soacha, Cundinamarca, Colombia, right on the outskirts of Bogotá. Your mother would be killed in 1970. Your father would be killed en la cantina, at night, in 1972.

You had been working since 12, anyway. Being told of your pathetic father’s death by a police officer who clearly did not care was when it was decided— you would not die in this town. You would make a name for yourself.

You were right, of course. You did make a name for yourself— you took down one of the most prominent cartel leaders in the country.

Or, at least, that’s what the media thought.

LA VERDAD DE LO QUE PASÓ EN 1993 —————————————————————— THE TRUTH OF WHAT HAPPENED IN 1993.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:00 P.M. Location: Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad | Administrative Department of Security (DAS) HQ Objective: Enter the meeting

You made it into DAS at 21.

Really, it was probably just because the high-rank workers felt bad for you. They understood— a girl from the outer part near Bogotá, no parents— you just wanted to make the country better for people like you.

You were given small jobs like paperwork and editing documents, until now. They were calling you in for your first meeting. Despite your usually serious nature, you couldn’t help a bubble of excitement. You’d finally be able to help like you’d always wanted.

which is why it was confusing why everyone was so somber when you walked in.

“Good morning,” you greeted, taking a seat.

“Good morning, y/n,” replied the woman who headed the ground-team. All your coworkers around her looked solemn, and you stared at them all puzzled.

“Your first assignment will be to infiltrate a specific branch of the Bogotá cartel— we fear they might be working with either FARC or plan to merge with another faction, and they’re already quite dangerous as it is— we don’t need more of them,”

the room was silent. You knew what this was— your first year on the job with barely any training. They were sending you to die, just to get some information.

You sat up straight, squaring your shoulders. You would get the information to help your people. You would live.

“I understand,” you replied, with a nod, standing to collect your file.

The woman handing it to you leaned in, a pained look in her eyes “Perdón,”

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 10:54 P.M. Location: Una cantina Objective: Scout an in to the “organization”

The woman in charge of the specific section of the widespread cartel that was causing so much destruction frequented a specific bar. You had been given her file— she was beautiful, with dark hair and pale skin, but she didn’t seem to be colombian. It didn’t really matter, to you— you weren’t here to ask her why she’d made these choices— you needed to infiltrate one of the largest cartels in Bogotá, on your first job.

you sighed, your head in your hands, the bartender giving you a cursory glance. The place was seedy, filled with alcoholics and sex-workers, as well as probably cartel members, which is why you were here.

You sat up, looking around. It was said Karina frequented this bar. You prayed she’d show up, making the sign of the cross.

God delivered— she walked in, with two other people you didn’t quite recognize— one had dark hair, as well, with big eyes, although her face was serious. The other was lithe, thin— her hair was shorter, and lighter in color, more similar to a brown.

You knew what you’d have to do to start getting information. It made you feel a little sick— a part of you, though, was grateful Karina was so beautiful. Her smile was cocky and smug, that of someone who knew she was untouchable. She made conversation with her two accompanies, talking and laughing and drinking. You waited for an hour or so, that she was now most definitely more than tipsy.

you walked over, wearing a short, tight black dress that let you fit the bill of another profession, looking at her through half lidded eyes.

another thing about the cartel. if they wanted a girl, they’d have her. The club was a dangerous place, the bar was a dangerous place— she’d seen a man get shot at a hamburger cart. The cartel was ruining the country.

you pushed down your sudden wave of resentment, focused on flirting with Karina. Her friend, the long haired girl, stared at you for a long time, scrutinizing. You wouldn’t know what that meant, for a while.

Karina grinned, tilting her head. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I don’t see why not,” you smiled, voice practiced to be smooth and flirty. You didn’t drink, usually, but you needed the courage.

She handed you a shot of aguardiente. It was dry and burned your throat, but it was good. You made conversation. “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?” You smiled, putting a hand on her arm. “Seems a bit.. dirty,”

Karina smiled, predatorily, teeth glinting in the low yellowed light. “Just trying to relax. You don’t seem like the type of girl to frequent this place. Why are you here?” She asked back.

“Oh, just.. trying to have a little fun,” you replied, lowly, voice ghosting over her ear. She seemed to like that answer.

“Yeah? Why don’t you come home with me, then?”

Your smile widened, although your eyes with still half lidded, touches fleeting. You still played your part.

“I will,”

you ended up going home with Karina. It took months to get her to trust you, but you had finally managed to get her to let you start working. All it took was a sob-story, a fake name, and she allowed you to work in her jurisdiction.

and so began the first objective: names. You needed names.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 4:33 P.M. Location: currently, a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

Karina had a home, of course, a large one— you had seen parts of the inside many a time. Of course, they also had some warehouses where they kept goods, where some of the members could crash for a night. You usually stayed with Karina, following her orders.

Some of the members used fake names. You had managed to catch onto one— Ning Yizhou, or NingNing. It was kind of stupid to put part of your real name in your fake name, but plenty of members didn’t use false names at all. You supposed it was just because they didn’t have much to hide.

The name was quietly recorded into your notebook— in code, of course, specifically pigpen-cipher, although you mixed it in with a few different things, referencing dice code as well to make it more confusing— the members of the organization sometimes forgot to call out their chosen names for each other, slipping up. You didn’t mind, though, it made your life easier.

The group had a whole network across Bogotá, planning to move into Medellín, which you felt was not a good idea, but had said nothing.

at one point, Karina brought you all out to eat at a very nice restaurant. You had become a favorite of sorts, for her. She didn’t suspect a thing, thank god.

They began to make small talk, conversations imbued with remarks about the ‘business’, people causing problems, supply and demand, and those annoying Americans.

the waiter came, and everyone quieted.

”Una cerveza, porfa,” Karina was first.

“Dame un refresco, por favor,” Giselle.

You felt something.. off. Obviously, Giselle wasn’t colombian. None of these four women were. But they all learned Spanish here. None of them really spoke Spanish beforehand. Giselle was speaking very.. correctly. Or, at-least, not using slang from colombia. Had she learned Spanish in Mexico? Castellano? Was she part of another gang?

you hadn’t noticed it was your turn to order with all the thoughts running through your mind. You looked at the waiter, glancing at Giselle.

“Si me haces el favor, una gaseosa,”

Giselle didn’t seem fazed by it. but something was off about her. Something was very, very off.

“Karina,” you called, walking into her office. She seemed to be writing something down. Most likely something about funds or money. She did have people in the banks to clean her money for her, but she didn’t like others running her finances. Too much of a chance for embezzlement. A part of you liked she was smart with her business.

“Winter told me you called for me?” You murmured, leaning against the side of her desk, tilting your head, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Ah, yes,” she affirmed, turning in her chair to you. “I have a job I need you to complete. You’ll be going with Winter,” she informed. “It’s nothing that difficult. You’ll both be going on some runs. It’ll just be delivering a few.. products, to a contact. It’ll be a long drive, maybe a few hours. She’ll come get you at four in the morning, exactly,”

Your face stayed carefully blank, but you plastered a content smile onto it. “Of course, I’m glad to be of any help. Speaking of help, Karina, you seem a little stressed..” you smiled wider, voice imbued with a sultry tone.

Karina was honestly a bit foolish. Smart with money, bad with people. Perfect for you.

She still suspected nothing, you thought, as she kissed you, hungrily.

the night ended with her paperwork left unfinished, and you asleep in her bed.

Winter was probably not going to be happy.

Winter was waiting outside the room for you, arms crossed and leaning on the wall. You had dressed into something casual— just jeans and a shirt. You glanced over at her with a blank expression. “What do we need to deliver?”

She seemed to be thinking, before pushing off the wall, and beginning to walk. You followed.

“Guerrilla wants some weapons. We’re just there to deliver,” she muttered, cigarette hanging half out of her mouth, unlit. You made your way to the car, getting in the passenger, the supplies in the back. “It’ll be a long drive up the mountain. Let’s try not to get stopped, yeah?” She muttered, starting the ignition.

You drove in silence, for a bit. The humidity of the air was starting to get to you. You hated the heat.

Winter didn’t talk to you, much. You didn’t think she liked you. You were pretty sure it was because she believed you weren’t worthy to be in the gang— you were just Karina’s plaything.

you didn’t really care what she thought, though. You had a job to do.

after a few hours, you had made it sufficiently up the mountain to the trade-off point. You stepped out of the car.

It was still foggy, from the rain and the altitude. You almost felt a bit lightheaded— but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. The plants and mosquitos were certainly bothersome, but you said nothing. Helping Winter lug up all the weapons was definitely hard— you weren’t very strong. Winter stared at you in annoyance, mumbling curses, most likely about you, under her breath.

the trade off was successful, but then, yet again, you had to make your way down the mountain with duffel bags of money. It was heavy. Putting it away in the trunk was simple enough. You collapsed back into the passenger, wiping the sweat from your forehead. You felt gross.

“Why was that so heavy?” You muttered, under your breath. Winter closed the door of the driver’s side.

“It’s not that heavy, you’re just weak,” she spat, annoyed. “You made us take an extra half hour. You’re not efficient,” she continued.

“It’s hardly my fault, Winter! This was my first job, I don’t-”

“I don’t know why Karina thought it’d be a good idea to let you help, you’re absolutely shit at it,” she retorted, acidly. “The only thing you’re good at is being her whore,” she cursed, as a snide closing remark.

You turned to her as she drove. You may be making sacrifices to get information, but Winter had no idea what you were working towards. It was an insult to your pride. Yet, you couldn’t think of a retort.

“I’ll work harder,” you muttered. “I want to be useful,”

she scoffed, but at least you said you’d try. She still didn’t like you, though. “Face it, sweetheart,” she began. “You’re not cut out for this life,”

When you arrived back to the warehouse, Ningning spotted Winter before you. You were taking some of the bags out, but could still here from the inside.

“Kim Minjeong! What took you so long?” She chided.

Winter rolled her eyes with a scoff. “Quiet down, Ning. Karina’s toy isn’t supposed to know our names until she proves herself. And anyway, she’s nearly useless. She’s the reason I took longer,”

you obviously pretended not to hear as you hauled money bags inside.

Two names down. Two to go.

Giselle and Karina were two harder to find out then the other two. You were sure with enough time, Karina would tell you her real name. She seemed on the verge of it, anyway, with how much she wanted to hear it fall from your lips.

Giselle, though.. you had no contact with her. She was always off, managing distribution or making sure people stayed in line. You never saw her around much.

but slowly, you began to become part of the group. You mostly helped on small runs, with either Winter or Ning. Ning didn’t really care what name you called her, writing it off as semantics that didn’t matter. Winter, of course, took herself very seriously, so you continued to have to address her formally. She was such a pain, but honestly, you didn’t mind much.

what you had to focus on now, most of all, was getting Karina to trust you.

that came in the form of another run. Although this time, it went so, so wrong.

You were meant to drop off a shipment near Medellín. You didn’t think anything would happen, really— the mountains were a bit far out from Bogotá, and it was closer to the border anyway.

You had been given a gun. It was handed to you by Ning a few weeks prior, under the orders of Karina. You knew how to use one, and no one asked why.

the drive there was mostly silent. Winter still wasn’t very warm to you, yet, she didn’t hate you. You had begun to earn your place, and she respected the effort, if anything.

You drove, and the closer you got to the warehouse, the more dread washed into your bones. “Winter,” you called, under your breath. “I think we’re being watched,”

“We’ve been down this route a million times, y/n. We’re fine, no one would-”

a gunshot rang out through the silence.

It missed Winter by a centimeter, hitting the windshield. You cursed the fact these jeeps didn’t have roofs or side-door windows. Minjeong sped up, of course— if she braked they’d fire again. It was all a blur, from there. You got out of the car, your back against the corrugated metal of the drop off point’s doors. You stared around you, pointing at an old building. “There, Winter- it’s a-”

“Snipers,” she finished, eyes wide with panic. “Hijueputa! I fucking knew we should’ve stayed away from Medellín-”

“No fucking time for that, Winter, get down-”

bullets cut through the air. You dragged Winter behind the Jeep’s metal body, looking over it and shooting wherever the bullets rained from.

there was maybe three people, four, even. Winter focused on the right, you focused on the left. You only had a pistol on you, but luckily you had enough rounds. You aimed straight at one man’s head— it was a straight shot, and you saw the blood spew out from his forehead. It was a mess of blood and bits of brain as far as you could see, his body slumping over the sandbags where he was hiding. They turned red, quickly.

You peeked over the jeep, again, about to shoot the second man on the left when—

a sharp pain was felt in your right shoulder. The force of it sent you nearly falling back, but you caught yourself. You looked straight ahead.

the sniper.

You were panicking and filled with adrenaline— you set the gun on the other man, watching him rise slowly, and—

straight into the neck, blood rushed out of the wound, and you heard a disgusting gargling noise. Blood, in some areas, was highly pressurized— it would shoot out like a fountain.

Winter had managed to shoot the sniper, finally, which was a miracle considering the distance. Right now, you didn’t care about the logistics of how, all you knew was that this was a trap. More people were coming. “Winter, we have to go,” you demanded, looking over at her.

She was bleeding from her thigh and side. Fucking hell.

you shoved her into the passenger seat, ignoring the warmth you could feel trickling down your shoulder, the way it hurt to move your arm. You started the car, and drove straight out of there. You drove as fast as you could, making it back in just around two hours and a half. You had tied your jacket around Winter’s leg, and her own around her side, the other girl groaning in pain throughout the ride. “Ya, Winter, cállate!” You spat, stressed and frazzled. “You’re gonna be fine, you’re gonna be okay-” you continued, clenching your jaw to not scream from the burning in your shoulder.

When you made it back, you stumbled out of the car, glass shards all over the hood, opening the doors. “Ning,” you called, knowing she’d always be near, most likely cleaning some blood after an interrogation or packing some coke. “Ning, it was a trap- help, please, Winter got shot,” you continued, calling out desperately. Ning appeared a few seconds after, eyes wide, rushing to the car. She helped Winter inside, laying her on the couch. She had lost a bit of blood, but the bullet hadn’t hit a major artery. You knew the bullet shouldn’t have hit her heart, either. Ning looked at you, seriously. “Go get Karina. And Giselle,”

you did as told.

you rushed to Karina’s office, the older woman looking at you with a bored expression, gaze lingering on your shoulder.

She didn’t ask any questions, just raised an eyebrow. “It was a trap,” you replied, panting, ignoring your own bleeding shoulder. “Winter.. she needs- she needs a hospital,”

Karina looked unsurprised. “Oh, yes,” she replied, holding your gaze. “How unfortunate of an event,”

Her words were.. slow. Almost mocking or sarcastic— you didn’t have time to decipher what they meant. She brushed past you, making her way to Winter, calmly

“Ning, how bad is it?” She questioned, leaning over the other girl’s body. There was no hint of worry or concern on her face, just curiosity.

“Not fatal, but serious. It didn’t hit the femoral artery, but I suspect it either fracture or grazed her femur. For the side wound, I don’t think it hit anything major, maybe a rib, but no organs. Even so, she needs medical attention now, Karina— speaking of, where is Giselle?” She continued, exasperated and stressed.

“She should be on her way. She was coming back from a job, already. She should be here soon,” was Karina’s nonchalant reply.

you decided that she couldn’t really be waited on, and Karina was clearly unhelpful.

“Do you guys have an operating table? You know what— get me a table. Just get me a table,” you demanded, reaching for some surgical gloves.

They laid Winter on the table, turning on all the lights. You positioned a lamp right over her, and stared at the bullet wounds.

there were only 2. You could do this, you had been taught first aid. This couldn’t be that hard.

You began to clean the wounds with running alcohol and cotton balls, trying to wipe away the blood that wouldn’t stop, and clean the wounds. You had grabbed a pair of tweezers, planning on just yanking out the bullet yourself when Giselle slammed the doors open, staring at the scene in shock.

“What the fuck are you all doing?” She shrieked, rushing over and moving you away. “Do you have any surgical training at all? You could kill her!” She exclaimed.

“Well, you weren’t exactly coming very quickly,” you retorted, now insulted. “I’m sure it’s not that hard to remove a bullet, just take it out-”

“Are you an idiot?” She exclaimed, shocked. “Get out of the way, this is why I’m here. I’ll deal with this,”

she pushed you away, putting on her own pair of blue surgical gloves, and a mask. She moved the lamp to the wound on Winter’s chest, inspecting it. She took hold of the tweezers, cleaning the wound once again with an alcohol wipe— but there was no time for painkillers. She extracted the bullet carefully, holding Winter down so she wouldn’t squirm and hurt herself, followed by her stitching up the wound. It took around twenty minutes for the bullet hole to be stitched up.

she repeated the same process with the second, before cleaning the wounds, again, and beginning to wrap them with gauze. Winter looked pale, and in pain, but she tried to show no sign of it on her face. Once Giselle finished with her, she turned over to you.

“Sit,” she instructed, voice flat and providing no room for judgement.

Karina had shrugged, disappearing back to her office, while Ning had left to go help Winter, leaving you alone with Giselle. She removed your shirt, unclipping your bra with practiced ease, and inspecting the wound. It had started to really hurt, now, the adrenaline having worn off.

“Don’t you have painkillers?” You asked, petulantly.

“No,” she muttered back. “You can handle it. You’re part of a gang, now, there’s going to be pain,” she reminded, harshly.

She cleaned the wound with alcohol, a hiss leaving your mouth at the sting. Your breath hitched when the tweezers made their way into the wound on your shoulder, clenching your jaw in pain. Giselle looked at you, coldly. “Don’t scream,” were her final words before she removed the bullet, cleanly, in one piece.

you gasped in pain, breathing heavily as the wound began to bleed again. Giselle held your other shoulder, keeping you in place as she sewed it shut, cleaning it again, and wrapping it with gauze. “Fuck,” you hissed, wincing at the sting of alcohol.

“Stop squirming,” she growled, and it made you sit still, albeit breathing hard and cursing under your breath. She handed you two pills— painkillers— and a glass of water, after the fact.

“Don’t take baths, you’ll reopen the wound, make sure to shower. Someone will have to help you redress the wound and make sure it doesn’t get infected. Karina isn’t good with wounds, and Ning will handle Winter. I’ll keep an eye on you myself,” she muttered, and it felt more like a threat than anything.

you took the pills, drinking the water to wash them down.

you glanced over to her.

“What are you, a doctor?” You asked, curious albeit a bit sarcastic.

“Yes, technically, I am,” she responded back, flatly. “Worked in el campo for my residency, saw the Guerrilla, saw the way people were living— got into this business, just as it started. That’s all,” she finished, succinctly.

you felt like the story was too practiced. Too simple. You began to suspect that something was off with Giselle— something most definitely was. The way she was never with the rest of the group, her detachment, her strange accent— she was suspicious, and it occurred to you that if you could reveal whatever it was, you’d secure yourself a spot in the gang and officially cement your place, as well as weakening the structure and trust of the organization. It was perfect. This was a great chance, an amazing opportunity. You were sure to take it.

That is, of course, if everything went according to plan.

(It never did)

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Karina had something to do with this. She seemed so dismissive, so.. unimpressed. What was it? Why was she so cold?

You sat at the edge of Winter’s bed, the other girl listening to your ramblings and theories half-heartedly, dazed. Ning was leaning against the wall, the both of you speaking lowly, so as to not be heard.

“She was testing you,” Ningning informed, after mulling on it for a bit.

“What?” You blinked, the words like a shock to your system. “She sent one of her men— along with the newest recruit— into a trap, with only two pistols against a sniper and three other men, all to test.. no, why would she do that? She wouldn’t endanger her own members,” you dismissed, shaking your head.

“She would,” Ning informed, flatly. “Karina’s our boss, yes, we respect her. But she didn’t get to where she is by playing nice,” she reminded. “Karina will do whatever she has to do to ensure her business, first and foremost. That is what is the most important to her. Plus, the government has been far too close to us, lately,” Ning scoffed, shaking her head with her arms crossed. “She’s probably become more careful— which isn’t good if you’re new. You’re probably in for it,” The dark haired girl guessed, meeting your gaze. “I wouldn’t be surprised if we got dragged into it, too. We’re disposable. Just pawns in this game,” she continued, pushing off the wall and reaching the door, hand resting on the handle. “But I hope you make it out,” she added. “You’ve been helpful,” was her final compliment, before she exited.

You stared at your hands. You had thought— genuinely— that Karina was kind, maybe misunderstood. You really thought you were smarter than her.

you now realized that Karina was extremely intelligent. She didn’t care what sacrifices had to be made— she’d protect what was hers, what she’d built. Worst of all, she might even know you were an informant already, she might just be playing with you.

you had walked right into the lion’s den, without even knowing. All the while, you thought you were one step ahead, that you were in control.

your head fell to your hands, a choked sob leaving your body.

you were going to die here.

Every single one of you was going to die here.

1985, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 6:25 P.M. Location: currently, a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

it had been a week since the incident. Winter had given you her real name— Kim Minjeong. Why? She said you had earned it, after saving her life.

Things had been tense, to say the least. Ning was considerably angry with Karina, which the older girl did not like. Giselle had been speaking to Karina more often, yet, she was also out the same amount of time.

Minjeong had told you that there had been talk of working more closely with the guerrilla, and that information worried you. The guerrilla was already enough trouble on its own— with the resources from the cartel, it’d be a horrible force for the government.

It was early November, already, and Giselle had seemed beyond tense, pacing whenever you caught a glimpse of her in her room, always thinking to herself, it seemed.

she was changing your bandages, now, a distant look on her face. The movements were practiced, almost like she was working on autopilot.

“Hey,” you called. “Giselle,”

“What?” She responded, flatly. “What is it?”

“Why do you seem so mad lately?” Was your question. She kept a blank, annoyed look on her face. She continued to clean your wound, but eventually responded. “Nothing. Just some negotiations that have been going in circles for days, now. Don’t worry about it,” she dismissed, stepping back once she had finished, moving to get some gauze.

“Really?” You hummed. “Anything to do with the guerrilla?”

Giselle stared, clenching her jaw. She began to bandage you, but spoke lowly. “Don’t talk about them. You have no idea what they’re like. You shouldn’t know any of this, anyway. I’m sure Karina wouldn’t like that,” she added, dangerously.

After the events that transpired on your last run, you had grown wary of Karina. You tried not to make it obvious, but everyone could tell, and the girl delighted in it. She loved the power and control, of course. Her smile was unsettling.

you quieted, after that comment. Giselle finished bandaging you, stepping away. “Stay out of things that don’t concern you,” she advised, but took a second to add something on. “Don’t worry too much. I don’t think she’ll kill you,” Giselle paused, a smile blooming on her face, “Yet,” she added, walking out.

Not very comforting in the slightest, but you should figure out what you could while you were here. You sighed, laying back on the bed.

Giselle was definitely lying about something— you just needed to find out what.

The guerrilla had led a siege on el Palacio de Justicia. It lasted two days, with many deaths. You saw the current news on it, even contacted your people in DAS about it— they had strictly warned you not to unless information was found, but those were your people. They could’ve died.

Giselle watched the news over your shoulder, or listened to it while she fixed your bandages. Minjeong had been getting better, too, her leg much better. Ning watched as well, her arms crossed.

Karina didn’t comment on it. Almost like she knew it would happen.

a suspicious amount of money was given to the guerilla by Karina a few weeks prior. You felt a shudder run through you, which Giselle responded to with a bark of “Stop squirming”.

later, Karina called you into her office.

“Y/n,” she smiled, tilting her head. “You seem.. on edge. May I ask why?” She was being overly formal, and it unsettled you.

“Ever since the attack, I keep feeling like it’ll happen again,” you began, rambling— it wasn’t a lie, per se, but it wasn’t the whole truth. The fear in your eyes and shakiness of your movement confirmed that, at least, it was partially true. “Im scared, that they’ll come here, and kill us. I don’t know what to do,”

Karina’s smile stayed in place, as she ushered you to sit down on the couch, there. “Don’t worry, corazón,” she assured, a hand running through your hair. You began to relax— maybe she wasn’t so scary, after all— It was understandable, maybe it wasn’t actually a test, maybe-

“As long as you’re loyal, nothing bad will happen to you,” she continued, hand tightening in your hair. “If you were to sell us out, then, you understand. I couldn’t promise your protection,” her hand strengthening its grip on your hair, speaking into your ear.

“Now, why don’t we get your mind off it?” She offered, looking into your eyes with a faux-sweet expression.

you complied, obviously. Despite the fear, there was a part of you that was drawn to her. She was threatening to kill you if you betrayed her, yet, you still kissed her, desperately.

she kissed back, of course, hungrily and heatedly.

That’s how most of the both of your talks ended, anyway.

1986, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 12:01 AM Location: una discoteca Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

It was 1986, now— had just turned into the new year. You were at a club, celebrating another year alive.

You had no idea where the other three girls went, thoroughly tipsy and entranced with Karina.

Karina was a bad person, you knew this. She was ruthless, and you should be scared of her.

but right now, with her hands on your hips, in the flashing lights of the club, you couldn’t quite remember that.

The two of you stumbled into the quieter, back parts of the club where there were rooms. Karina knew this place better than you, anyway.

it was still loud, and you could barely hear anything. She pressed you against the wall, tugging your hair, beginning to suck and bite at your neck.

she was most definitely drunk, you could tell by the flush to her face and how her words were looser than normal.

You knew you should’ve taken advantage of this, but you couldn’t. Your body felt hot, and instead of finding information, like you should have, you fell right back into Karina like a rat to a glue-trap.

you were pathetic.

and you knew it.

1986, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:23 AM Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

Karina had called you into her office, except this time, Giselle was there.

You were beyond exhausted, but did not complain.

They were both intimidating. Giselle was staring at you, coldly, arms crossed, while Karina had an amused expression on her face, grinning, head tilted into her hand.

“Y/n, I have a job for you,” she called, in a cheery voice.

“It shouldn’t be too hard, but you’ll be working with Giselle from now on. It’ll be good for you,” she continued, standing up and walking towards you. “She’ll keep you safe— won’t you, Gigi?” She asked, almost mockingly, a saccharine expression in her face.

“You’ll have a body by the end of the day. That’s all you want her for, anyway,” Giselle retorted, irritated.

“How great! Come now, y/n, Giselle will explain,” Karina beckoned, quite happy today. Some expansion into the U.S. had gone well, you knew that much, but there was no reason she should be so.. animated.

Karina handed you a semiautomatic pistol, which you stared down at. She then smiled, handing you a small box of bullets. She still kept a smile on her face, remarking, “You know, these are special. They’re hollow point bullets— Ningning made them,”

“What? She made them?” You knew of hollow-point bullets, they weren’t a secret, just uncommon.

“Drill a hole into them, cut an X to make some petals, and there you have it— well, I’d ask Ningning, of course, I’m not a weapons specialist. It’s quite easy,”

“But why? They don’t-”

“Effectiveness. They leave a bigger exit wound, and leave shrapnel inside the body at times,” Giselle interrupted. “In other words, pain. They’re used to inflict pain,”

Karina smiled, sadistic as ever, as she watched Giselle load some rifles.

“Today, we have a few hits to get done,” Giselle informed. “You’ll be coming with me. You know how to shoot a rifle?” She asked, glancing over at your horrified expression.

“No, I-”

“What about a pistol?”

You nodded.

“Perfect!” Karina exclaimed. “You can help with the interrogation, then. Giselle, I’ll meet you at the location. Try not to dirty her too much, hm?” Karina advised, slinking away.

“That’s why she’s so happy?” You asked, in shock. “Because-”

“Because she gets to kill someone? Yeah, that’s why. She’s sick in the head. You knew what you were getting into,”

you stared at Giselle in silence. The other girl was grabbing some sniper-rifle that you had never seen before, and several rounds of ammunition.

she loaded it into the car, and you two began the drive.

you held the pistol in your hands shakily, silent for most of the ride.

once you got to the location, you watched Giselle pray. You had heard of hitmen praying before their job, and you still couldn’t understand. They prayed to God to protect them, yet, they were about to take a life.

“Why are you praying?” You asked, suddenly, acidly. “We’re about to kill people, God wouldn’t-”

“It’s my job,” she interrupted, which was a common occurrence with Giselle. “It’s my job, and I’m just asking Him to keep me alive until it’s over,” she spat, coolly. “You don’t know what I’ve had to do. But you will, soon. So just shut up, will you?” She got out of the car, slamming the door shut. You scrambled after her, and the both of you hauled the equipment up the boarded-up, run-down building, up several flights of stairs, finally beginning to set it up after a few stories, looking down at a busy road.

“Why are we killing him?” You murmured your question, watching as Giselle began to adjust the rifle.

“He owes Karina money, and he won’t pay it. He also stole some of our goods and has been cutting pure cocaine with some other shit, I didn’t really care enough to figure out what. His other friend is the one we’ll be interrogating. He’ll die no matter what he says,” Giselle shrugged, watching the empty street, the morning finally coming through the sky, although the dark, clouded sky blocked the bright sun.

“How long will we be here?”

“However long it takes,”

It turns out that “however long it takes” meant almost eight hours. You were bored to death, yet still terrified. You were about to kill someone. And you had been here, waiting on edge for it to happen, for almost eight hours. You felt like you were going to burst into tears.

“Giselle, how much longer is this gonna take?” You complained, although a bit shaky.

“Trust me, I don’t want to be here either,” she drawled. “But he should be here, soon. He works near here,”

It took maybe another half hour before he appeared. Giselle saw him before you did, obviously— you didn’t even know what he looked like— but she didn’t immediately shoot. Her eyes stared down at him through the scope, her fingers brushing against the trigger. He was wide open, walking slowly without a car in the world. He stopped for a second, someone crossing in front of him—

click.

you heard the gun go off before you looked down.

Giselle had shot him perfectly in the side of the head. You couldn’t see a lot, obviously, you were pretty high up, but you saw enough.

his body crumpled to the ground, immediately, blood pooling around him. People screamed, cars stopped, and they all were looking around frantically trying to find the shooter. Giselle moved the gun and herself away from the window, to the side where they weren’t visible.

“Come on, hurry up— we gotta go,” she urged.

“Hold on, won’t they see us step out of the building? Isn’t this a bad idea?”

“They won’t catch us, there’s too much chaos going down there. Now come on, let’s go,”

The drive to the warehouse was relatively silent.

Giselle was tense, but that wasn’t new. She always was. But she seemed almost.. solemn. Quiet.

you both arrived, stepping out of the car, into the meeting point. Giselle had her own pistol, you also kept yours on hand.

when you entered, there was a man tied there. Giselle tensed when she saw him, but said nothing. You figured it was because of Karina, standing behind him with the same placid, content smile. It was eerie.

“Giselle, Y/n! You’ve made it,” she smiled. “I take it the job went well?”

“It was all fine,” Giselle replied. “Nothing out of the ordinary happened,”

“That’s great, really, it’s good! I’m quite happy today, Y/n, because we have a special guest. I know I said he owed me money— in a way he does— but this is something far more important. He works with the Americans! Isn’t that just amazing?” She continued, happily, waving her gun around in the air as she spoke. “I’m sure we’ll get some good information out of him,”

“So, the both of you, come! Let’s begin,” Karina gestured to the man, in the dim lights.

you figured, well— the show must go on.

The man was tied to a chair, that much was obvious. The floor was concrete, and there were boarded up windows and maybe one or two hanging lightbulbs. It was a bit dark.

the walls were steel, corrugated iron, and it gave a prison-like feel. the man was looking around, wildly, straining against his restraints.

“Hey,” Karina called, walking closer to him.

“You’re going to tell me everything there is to know about those Americans, okay? And then I’ll let you go. As long as you don’t lie,” she assured, pausing. “Now talk,” she demanded.

“They’ve noticed the supply into their country. They’re working on stopping it. They’ve already sent a few agents to infiltrate a few different parts of the cartel—”

“Which ones?” Was her sharp, quick reply.

“Medellín, primarily, but they’ve been looking to Bogotá. I don’t know much more than that, I don’t even know who the agents are, I-”

“Ning!” Karina barked, the dark haired girl appearing out of the dark. She held a pistol in her hand, jaw clenched, staring up at Karina.. defiantly, almost. “Won’t you be a dear and deal with him, for me?”

Ning glanced to the man. His eyes widened, and he began to thrash. “No! I don’t know anything, I swear, I don’t know any agents! I don’t know anything!” He pleaded, desperately. Ning looked away, aiming the gun.

You heard a whispered ‘I’m sorry’, and she made the shot.

Through the head, perfectly center. Ning placed a hand over her mouth, the smell of blood biting and metallic, letting out a choked sob.

Karina looked over at Ning. “Now, Ning-ie, there’s a bus waiting for you outside. You’ll take that back to our meeting point, won’t you? So you won’t get caught?”

Ning nodded, wiping her eyes of tears. She went over to Giselle, they exchanged some words, hugged— she came over to you.

“Y/n.. I’m sorry. There’s no way to get you out, now. Be careful, don’t.. don’t trust anyone, don’t- just.. be careful, okay?” she advised, lowly, hugging you, still crying faintly.

“Ning, what- I don’t understand, why’re you acting like this?”

“You’ll tell Minjeong I’ll miss her, right? I wanted to say goodbye, properly, but.. I didn’t have time. I left a note,” she added, slipping it into your pocket inconspicuously, pulling away from the hug. “Give it to her, for me. You were fun to be around, I’ll miss you too. Don’t lose yourself, stay focused. It was nice to know you, y/n,”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell her- I’ll give it to her- Ning, why are you acting like this? What’s going on?”

Ning smiled, laughing wetly, still crying. “You’ll find out, later. You’ll find out..”

Karina walked Ning out of the warehouse. You and Giselle trailed behind, still a few paces away. The bus was parked right outside, filled with people.

Karina hugged Ning, whispered something to her which made Ning clench her fists and cry harder— you don’t know from what.

Ning got on the bus with a smile, crying— though you still didn’t know why— and waved goodbye.

You looked to Giselle, confused, watching the bus continue on, further down the street, already maybe a mile or two away from you. “What was that abou-”

your ears rang. You heard it before it registered.

the bus had exploded.

there was carnage, everywhere. Parts of it had been thrown into different buildings. There were body parts strewn across the street, a crater in the asphalt, fire, along the metal— cars had been crushed, it was now chaos in the streets. You had almost been pushed back from the force, nicking yourself with the small, sharp pieces of metal. Karina was still standing, her suit dusty and filled with ash.

“Karina, what- what did you do?” you cried, confused and distraught yet again, feeling the tears build in your eyes.

Karina cooed, crouching down over you, thumbing the skin under your eye. “Oh, mi amor, don’t cry,” she reassured. “Ning was working with the Americans. The man in the warehouse knew, and was helping her sneak information along our supply chain! Don’t worry, the traitor is gone,” she ran a hand through your now dirty hair, cleaning a cut on your face with her finger. She smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, speaking lowly into your ear.

“I’m tired of these Americans trying to ruin my business. They keep putting themselves where they don’t belong. Don’t worry, mi cielo, you’ll be safe as long as you’re loyal to me, and as long as you listen. I know you will. Because you’re trustworthy, aren’t you?” She smiled, looking down at you.

you nodded, dazed. Karina had just killed Ning. Ning was dead. You had to get out of here. You figured hundreds were injured. You had to leave.

Giselle was even farther back, looking at Karina with contempt.

you didn’t notice, though. You were too busy watching the flames dance in the street.

1987, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 9:46 P.M Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel

it had been almost a year since the incident.

ever since Ning died, things had been different. Minjeong had been quieter, and angrier. Everything set her off, she came back covered in blood most of the time. You didn’t want to ask where she’d been— you’d just sit with her, quietly. Sometimes you heard her cry at night.

Giselle had been even more cagey, always out, defensive, on high-alert constantly.

and Karina.. well, you’d been spending a lot of time with Karina. You knew she was bad, you did, but there was something about her. It was just something about her, something that drew you in, and you hated yourself for it.

like right now. You were in her office, again, as she kissed you hungrily, hands gripping your hips in a bruising grasp.

your mind drifted. You reported back to DAS every so often, but you did inform them that you had to be very careful, that your reports would be sporadic. Truthfully, they didn’t event think you’d make it this far, do they were okay with waiting. They seemed to have several informants, anyway.

”y/n,” Karina growled, lowly, sucking and biting harshly at your neck. “You seem distracted. Focus on me, no? You promised you’d help me..” she murmured, almost a pleading sound to her voice. You weren’t stupid, though. Karina didn’t beg, she didn’t plead. This was mocking. You sucked it up, though.

you tried to focus on her, you did, but everything was beginning to get to you. DAS weighed heavily on your mind, and Minjeong’s grief did, too, and Giselle’s odd behavior, her accent, even the way she dressed— she didn’t seem like she was from here. She didn’t seem like she’d been her a long while.

“Y/n,” Karina snapped, annoyed. “Focus, will you? Or maybe you’ll end up like that bastard traitor,” she remarked, acidly, far too much emotion for the situation. Karina had been angrier lately, too. It must be the stress of the betrayal. Surely that’s why— it shook her to her core that there was a rat in her ranks. She had gotten paranoid.

the mention of Ning made you emotional, though. You felt tears prick at your eyes.

she looked down, and let out a laugh. “Oh, I love when you cry, baby,” she grinned, voice rough. “It makes you look so good. But not right now.. maybe in a bit. Stop being such a pussy,” she instructed, to which you nodded shakily.

and like that is how your work went, for a bit.

it wasn’t until late 1988 everything began to change.

Karina had been busy, lately. A lot of men came to her office, ones you didn't recognize and some you did, vaguely, from other meetings.

Karina had been overtly paranoid about informants— It was a miracle she hadn't discovered you, yet— or maybe she had. Maybe she was just waiting for the right time, playing with you, maybe-

"Y/n!" She called, in a sing-song tone.

You entered her office, quietly.

"I need your help for another job. A big one. If you do this, then it'll officially make you a part of us! Isn't that fantastic, baby?"

Karina had her hands on your hips, the same practiced smile she always wore on her face.

"Yes.. fantastic, it really is," you replied, in a murmur. "But what will I be doing?"

"You know the DAS building, here, in Bogotá? Well, amor, we'll be getting rid of it,"

"rid of it?" You tried to school your expression, but the shock and horror was plainly visible on your face. You felt sick.

"Rid of it. As in, you know— the building. I have a few ways to make sure it stays gone for quite a while. It’ll take nearly a year, I predict, but it’ll get done. You’ll be going to a few meetings with Giselle and me to make sure you can help. Is that okay, y/n?” She asked, in a faux-concerned tone. You both knew she wasn’t asking whether or not you’d do it, you had to. It was a rhetorical question. You would say yes, either way.

“Yes. It’s.. it’s fine,” you murmured.

“Good. Now, you can go. I’m sure there’s something for you to do to make yourself useful around here,”

MEETING ONE 1988, Medellín, Colombia Local time: 4:52 P.M. Location: a small town up in the mountains; el campo Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

Driving with Giselle was really not a good time. The songs on the radio were good, though.

the other girl was so frustrated, for some reason.

“Giselle,” you chanced. “I don’t mean to pry, but seriously— why are you so.. stressed?”

“We’re about to blow up Colombia’s national security headquarters, I think anyone would be stressed,”

You eyed her, not quite convinced.

“You know, anytime we carry out a job you’re so on edge,” you commented. she whipped her head around, knuckles turning white as she gripped the steering wheel.

“Are you accusing me of something, y/l/n?”

“No,” you replied, slowly. “Not at all,”

the meeting took place up in the mountains.

the negotiations were mostly handled by Giselle, but she looked nearly ready to scream.

“We’re paying you what you’ve asked, just give us the supply,” she repeated, voice low.

“I think it’s fair to ask for a little more, linda,”

Giselle was seething. Honestly, these men had rifles, machine guns— you weren’t about to fight them. you took out your pistol.

you pointed it right at the 500kg of dynamite.

“Take the money,” you instructed, eyes wide. You looked crazed, most likely.

they stared at you.

“I said take the FUCKING MONEY! You think I won’t do it? We can add on 130,000 more pesos, but that’s it.”

They agreed.

Giselle was silent, in the car drive. You stared at your hands.

“You would’ve done it,” she murmured.

“I would have,” you agreed, and it came with a sick sense of realization. You would have killed everyone in there, including yourself. You would have done it. Who were you? What had you become?

Giselle laughed, one of the only times you had ever seen her show a positive emotion.

“Oh, God,” she snickered. “You really didn’t think when you signed up for this, huh?” She commented. Your eyes widened, but you schooled them back into place.

no, she couldn’t mean what you thought. She couldn’t.

“Careful, baby,” she hummed. “You don’t wanna become something you can’t come back from,”

well, that’s fucking ominous.

Your next meeting was scheduled in the following weeks. You felt like Giselle was.. watching you. Her gaze never left you, but whenever you looked back, she was always just staring out a window, or at something on the wall. It was unnerving.

The second meeting went smoothly, but ended late. Giselle was driving once again, smoking.

“Do you have another?” You asked, suddenly, glancing at her against the dark backdrop of the night.

“Another what?” She questioned, looking over at you for only a moment, before focusing on the old, pot-hole filled road again.

“A cigarette. And a light,” you clarified, holding out a hand.

“I have a cigarette,” she confirmed, handing you one. “But no light. Sorry,” she shrugged, seemingly unbothered.

“Oh, fuck off Giselle. Just light it with yours,”

She rolled her eyes. “Why should I? Don’t you have a lighter?”

“I didn’t bring my lighter, I didn’t think I needed it,” you shot back.

She sighed, annoyed, but complying. She kept one hand on the wheel, barely glancing at the road, lit cigarette half in her mouth, being held in place by her hand. You kept your own firmly between your lips, not wanting it to fall.

she pressed the lit end to your own, eyes dark, and you couldn’t help but stare into them.

the end finally caught a spark, lighting up, and you both stared for a second more before breaking away.

You took a long drag, averting your eyes from her gaze, glad the dark of the night would hide your blush.

“Thanks,” you muttered, gazing out into the fields.

“Don’t mention it,”

MEETING THREE 1988, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 2:31 A.M. Location: Karina’s office Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

It happened so very late, and you struggled to stay awake. You felt your eyes closing, but Giselle would push you, and you’d spring back up.

Karina was arguing with a man about the price of the job. She was aggravated, he wasn’t taking the accepted offer.

The meeting had started off very casual— she even offered him some of their supply. You didn’t take any, neither did Giselle, but Karina and the man each did a line, snorting it off the table.

You watched the cross that hung from her neck dangle along the table, occasionally tapping the wood. The other man wore one as well, as did Giselle, as did you— you felt just a bit guilty about it. Hopefully, He’d forgive you for your wrongdoings. Hitmen prayed to God and so did drug lords— as did nuns, priests, politicians— all prayed, all believed. At least, most did. They claimed so.

You were shaken from your thoughts by a loud crash. Karina had pushed the man against the wall, yelling, now— “¡Me estás sacando la piedra!”

Giselle never said anything like that. Come to think of it, she cursed under her breath, you weren’t even sure what language it was. you shouldn’t be thinking of Giselle, though, not when this man seemed like he would die. That shook you out of your stationary position.

you jumped up, rushing towards her. “Karina! Karina, let him go!” You demanded, trying to pull her off. Giselle followed suit, prying her off him. Karina was panting, she looked crazed. Blood trickled out of her nose, and you wondered how much of her supply she was doing.

“You don’t understand,” she growled, clutching her desk. “Just take the money,” she began, again, and the man finally nodded. She practically threw the money at him, watching as he scrambled out. She let out a frustrated sound, slamming her hands on the desk.

“Giselle, get out. Y/n. Stay,” she demanded, not turning around.

Giselle hesitated, for a moment, it was barely noticeable.

but she left.

Karina turned to you, and like so many times before— you were truly, deeply scared. And yet..

you fell right back into her, letting her kiss you, use you, until she was fine again.

1989, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 3:13 A.M. Location: An old, unused road in the mountainside Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

The meetings happened in quick succession. They took place all throughout the rest of 1988, and into early 1989. It wasn’t until September that things really began to change.

Minjeong was always out. She avoided Karina, and only spoke with Giselle sparsely.

You and Giselle were in the car, currently. The final meeting had just occurred, and the both of you had gotten tired of driving.

you were both just sitting there, with the car off. Giselle spoke, suddenly.

“How do you do it?” She questioned. “How do you put up with her?”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Karina. I just.. sometimes, she’s too much. Especially lately. She’s paranoid,”

“I don’t know, I just-” you couldn’t say it was because it was your job. You couldn’t say it was because a part of you wanted her. You weren’t sure how to even reply to that. “I just do,”

Giselle seemed like she wanted to say something, but she closed her mouth. It was silent till she spoke again. “I don’t understand you. I mean, you’re like me, but.. you’re just so.. different— naive,”

“I am not naive!” You protested, even though you knew very well you were.

“Yes you are! I know you’re- I-” she wasn’t being very coherent, aggravated, fingers flexing like she was antsy.

“I’m what? What am I? Just spit it out, Giselle! I’m tired of-”

She cut you off, kissing you. You were surprised, for a moment, but quickly reciprocated. Her fingers curled in your hair, pulling you closer. You braced yourself on the dash, trying not to touch the wheel or anything else that could move the car.

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” Giselle muttered, pulling you into the backseat with her. “You just have no idea what’s going on, do you?”

You panted, now slightly confused. “What?”

“Nevermind,” she groaned, pulling you closer once again.

She pulled you onto her lap, and you snaked your hands into her hair, tugging at it, blunt nails scratching at her scalp.

You didn’t really feel bad about it, is what you’d realize later, when you were driving back in silence.

You kind of wanted her to do it again.

You and Giselle didn’t talk about anything that had happened. Partly because you didn’t want to, and partly because you feared what Karina would do if she found out. The weeks leading up to what you found to be a tragedy were tense. Minjeong was out more often than not, as was Giselle. You couldn’t warn anyone, because Karina had such a close eye on you, lately. She just wouldn’t leave you alone.

December came quicker than you would wish.

It was night when you heard Minjeong speaking to Karina.

“Jimin, you can’t do this,” she murmured, lowly, voice laced with an unseen anger.

“Why are you so tense, Minjeong? I thought you always agreed with me..” she sighed, and you could hear her walking through the thin walls.

“I can’t let you kill so many people, it’s just- it’s insane! You’re being irrational— you’ve snorted half of your own fucking supply!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Karina— Jimin, you’ve learned— spat, and the unmistakable sound of a slap resounded through the warehouse, Karina breathing hard. You heard a struggle, and panting. “I’ll kill you, Minjeong, don’t think I won’t. I’ve kept you around out of pity— and of course, you’ve always been so obedient. Why are you so hellbent on rebelling now?” She whined, in a mocking manner.

“You killed Ningning— how am I supposed to be loyal to someone who kills her own men?” Minjeong replied, voice breathy, as if she couldn’t breathe.

There was silence.

“You’ll learn. Now, leave here. If you argue against me again, I’ll feed you to the wolves,” Jimin growled, and the sound of Minjeong hitting the floor was heard all throughout the warehouse. “Get out of my sight,”

1989, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 11:13 A.M. Location: a safehouse for the cartel Objective: Find the key members of the cartel.

Karina was, and always will be, a mystery.

you had found out now that Karina’s name was Yu Jimin. You had asked Minjeong, shortly after what happened. You went to sleep, and awoke to the sound of the radio, blaring.

“El edificio del Departamento Administrativo de Seguridad ha sido bombardeado.”

you woke up with a start. You knew it’d happen. But there was a sense of true hatred, in that moment.

you walked out of your room.

you walked into Karina’s office.

“Yu Jimin,”

she whipped around, smile morphing into a frown in seconds.

“How do you know that name?”

“Minjeong,”

She saw the gun in your hand.

“Oh, won’t you put that down?”

You stared at her.

She smiled, then.

“You know, I knew you worked for them,” she began, nonchalantly.

“What?”

all that work, all that secrecy— it meant nothing, in the end? She knew, she always knew?

“I saw you searching for our names. You were just so.. you seemed like you’d work for the government. And then I found that little phone you had! It’s been disconnected for years. They haven’t received a single message,”

You stared, still, dumbfounded. Suddenly, this made it all the worse. She did this, forced you to help— knowing? You raised the pistol.

“Giselle,” Karina called, and the other girl appeared a few seconds later. She stared at the scene in front of her, looking between the two of you.

“Get rid of her for me, will you?” Karina dismissed, shrugging off the threat.

Giselle slowly took out her own gun. She pointed it at you, and yet—

“Yu Jimin, you’re under arrest for drug trafficking, terrorism, murder, smuggling, and-”

“What? What are you talking about?” Her eyes widened, as she shot up to her feet, gripping at her desk.

“My name is Aeri Uchinaga. I work for the FBI-”

“It was you!” She shrieked, nearly mad. “You were the mole? But you- you’ve killed in my name! Won’t you be implicit?”

“I’ll be pardoned by the state, most likely,” she informed.

it all made sense now. The strange accent, the tray she was so tense, constantly— you were a bit proud of yourself for noticing all the off things about her, but now was not the time.

you stared at Karina. You wanted to shoot her.

“She could leave,” you pointed out.

Giselle glanced over at you. “She could,”

you aimed at her leg. Just a bit off from the major artery in the thigh.

a click.

The aftermath was severe. The building was destroyed, most of your department had dissolved. Minjeong was working with the police, you had found out— although you hadn’t heard from her since the arresting.

you weren’t sure what to do, anymore. You had dedicated so much to this— and it was all for nothing. Essentially, you had failed.

You were currently living with Aeri, actually. You were a valuable witness— you had seen and done things that would hopefully be able to incriminate Karina, more than all the other records there was of her actions.

Aeri wasn’t as mean as she had been. She was actually quite quiet— but not mean. You two spoke about it. A lot had happened, and you both lived through it. You could relate to each other.

it would take time, though.

1993, Bogotá, Colombia Local time: 11:13 A.M. Location: Washington, D.C. Objective: . . .

It had been 4 years since Yu Jimin had been arrested. She was facing many, many charges— although you tried not to keep up with the news. There was to much going on.

currently, you were with Aeri. You and Aeri had gotten much closer in the following years— how could you not? You spent almost every waking moment together.

Aeri had some work to do, so you were waiting. It was quite simple, really.

You had been offered a position, here— in D.C. You’d work on other jobs, similar to this, but far more investigative. It sounded.. good. You’d like to help people, thats alway’s something you’ve wanted.

You were shaken out of your thoughts by Aeri.

“Hey,” she called, to get your attention. “Let’s go, they’ve got some questions to ask you before you can get hired. You know how government jobs are,” she shrugged, leading you down a winding hallway.

“Yeah,” you replied, your hand in hers. “They kind of suck,”

“They do,” she agreed, with a sigh. “They kind of do,”

A/N: I HATE HOW THIS CAME OUT 😭😭 it took me so long but it’s done. I kind of just wanted to get it over with. I don’t have much to say, honestly I might delete this. I had a good idea for it but just couldn’t find the words to execute it. sorry </3 expect a better work soon. I’m hoping to finish up some less heavy ideas before returning to my cold war AU. In any case, asks are appreciated, and I’m open to requests! thank you for reading this mess </3 also aeri being endgame is payback for you (aettudae) making her married to a man in honeycomb. that should be ME.

EXTRA: when you read ‘mi amor’ keep in mind I’m imagining to pronounced like one word, so more like ‘mia-mor’. ‘mia’ kind of sounds like ‘mya’. this will make sense to spanish speakers.

#carpmasterlist #carps works #aespa x fem reader #aespa x reader #karina x reader #yu jimin x reader #aespa imagines #gg x reader #girl group imagines #giselle x reader #giselle x fem reader #aeri x reader #aeri uchinaga x reader

45 notes · View notes

aihaloos · 5 months ago

Text

Tempted to write a replaced au twst fic where Yuu (or alternatively, I'll use my Yuu, Riyuu, who is basically who I'm writing this for) used to be the cutest girl around, the cheery one who's always around everyone, the one you can't seem to dislike even if your crush falls for her because she earnestly says sorry (even though it's not her fault) and will always help you out if you need her back in her old school. But one day, a new girl comes around and her whole reputation got destroyed. She helps the new girl adjust, tells her all the rumours and introduces her to all the popular kids. But the girl ends up backstabbing her, telling the popular girls rumours about how she intentionally plays up the act to steal their crushes to her, and lies to the boys, telling them she's just playing with their hearts and that she's a horrible person.

Yuu ends up alone and excluded, being seen as "annoying" and only having a few close friends who doesn't really interact with her in public in fear of their reputation being ruined. She ends up miserable at school, and wishes to not go anymore. But one day comes a saving grace, she gets whisked by a mysterious black carriage into Twisted Wonderland, or more specifically, Night Raven College. She doesn't mind working if it meant she doesn't have to deal with her old school, there was still 1 and a half years left of school and she doesn't want to deal with all ghe group projects to be assigned that will inevitably end with everyone not wanting to team up with her. Plus, as annoying Grim is, he's like the animal friend all of the anime and storybook protagonists she knows has, and she doesn't mind him too much.

Some things did change after she and Grim got officially enrolled, but she had no problem adapting to the social expectations of the world, part time jobs with Sam -- and occasionally the canteen -- paid enough to get her tools for cooking basic but delicious food, and new friends without the weight of her past helped her get settled comfortably.

The existence of Overblots stunned her for a bit, but a peek into Riddle and Leona's memories helped her understand the concept, even if just a little. However, things began to change eerily simlarly to her old school when a new girl comes, also in a similar position to her, getting transported to a new, unfamilliar world, and seemingly hailing from a similar world to the Earth she knows. She warmly welcomes her, eager to finally befriend another girl, but it seems that the girl does not share the same enthusiasm.

The girl only barely responds to Yuu's attempts at forming a friendship, and always seems to talk her in a condescending way, and often dismisses her, and especially so whenever there are any boys around.

Yuu will not deny any statements claiming she's an attention seeker or that she plays up her sweet innocent girl act, but she knows to never, ever sacrifice a bystander for it. But if someone insists on war with her... well that's another, different story. She's learnt her lesson of being overly optimistic, and she will not make the same mistake twice. She will not let her make her life a living hell more than it already is with Crowley's irresponsibleness.

Aaand thus begins the story. Or well, however you wanna continue it. I'm honestly in favour of most Housewardens (Kalim, Vil, and Idia in particular. I'll put my reasoning in a few paragraphs down) Adeuce, Tweels, and Ortho for team Yuu. Why?

Well, first of all, Adeuce. This is mostly because the duo is like. with Yuu since Day 1, as much of a bitch as Ace is, I think those two are the most likely to trust and know Yuu well enough to not believe the lies R (< Replacer) tells. Especially Deuce, he doesn't want to betray a friend he knew for quite a while, that would not be very honor student-like of him!! And she helped him out in a lot of situations too! He doesn't want to hurt you after all the trouble you go through to help him, and also knowing how horrible your living conditions are. Ace would most likely give in to peer pressure if the student body is overwhelmingly in favour of R, but as of now, he maybe enjoys your company just a bit more than R. Just a bit, promise.

Tweels I feel like is self-explanatory. Those two are perceptive as fuck istg it scares me. Jade especially. I feel like the two would just toy with R for a bit despite her facade and lies before dropping her after she bothers them for attention and favours one too many times.

(Ortho ties in with Idia so I'll explain him in Idia's paragraph)

Kalim is actually very emotionally intelligent. He can come off annoying and stupid, but from all the scenes I see of him, he's actually really good at dealing with people. Have you seen how he deals with the Scarabia residents after Jamil's OB??? The way he phrases his sentences?? He didn't force or even plead with them to forgive Jamil, he simply asks them to wait before making permanent judgements, and I think he's gonna be uncomfy with how condescendingly R talks to Yuu, and even if he's used to people going after him for money, I feel like R mostly eyeing him for money and how she "secretly" sighs in annoyance everytime she goes out of the party for a "bathroom break" will only solidify his dislike/discomfort, even if he doesn't show it.

Vil is also kind of self-explanatory if you read into his character and not just the shell the official English localization makes for him. (I could rant for hours about how the official tl portrays his character istg. He's hardworking and he actually didn't attempt to poison Neige out of pure jealousy, he did it because he felt like all his efforts to be beautiful will never be able to surpass Neige, who, in his eyes, always seemed to be innocent and naturally beautiful. He feels like the villain in Neige's story. He feels like he is reduced to what he often plays as, a snobbish, overconfident villain obsessed with overthrowing the hero. And because of it, it became a twisted self-fulfilling prophecy, pushing him to, in a fit of despair, be that same villain everyone sees him as.) I really don't think he will take well to R's condescension to Yuu, who genuinely wants to befriend R. (I actually have a whole thing in my head where Yuu and Vil occasionally have sleepovers where they do skincare together after the whole VDC thing happened. I feel like this is also a "vent sesh" of sorts for the both of them, just to air out their grievances without much seriousness, and I think Yuu would admit to wanting a fellow girl in the school that she could befriend, since no matter what, being the only girl can be exhausting.) Ik Vil's not a girl but he is such a girls' girl istg.

Idia... this mostly ties into Ortho and The STYX Incident, but like,, I think we can all agree on this one,, Idia is smart and capital V Very pessimistic. Would you rather trust the girl you've known for a while, who saw your memories, who helped you in awkward social situations when she can and is besties with your brother or some random new girl who trash talks said girl behind her back? The former, right? Plus, even if Yuu did only hang out with him and his brother because she likes to secretly laugh at him behind his back, there's mo guarantee R wouldn't do the same, given his experience. And he would rather have someone who actively helps him and his brother out than someone who wouldn't.

I didn't put Malleus in because of how canon him actually treats Yuu. I feel like the fandom kind of put on rose-tinted glasses on with his character, and kind of ignored some things like, idk... him just leaving them to fend for themselves homeless during Octavinelle... maybe he thought Crowley would offer them a place to stay but like... I'm still bothered by how didn't atleast offer a spare room in Diasomnia. He's a housewarden goddamnit. He's not as distant or scary as the rumours say but like. still rubbed me the wrong way.

Anyways I don't think my attention span will let me write it to completion so if anyone likes this and wants to write it feel free. Pls tag me if you do tho. I would love to read it :3

#was listening to all eyes on me while writing this btw #You can also insert an Obey Me crossover with Replaced AU on that end that also ended horribly #“First' the worst; maybe third's the charm!”#I don't play Obey Me though so I can't rlly construct the narrative for that one #Also I don't hate Malleus nor Malleyuu I swear #I just think we're a bit biased with his actions sometimes...#Anyways if anyone wants to just ditch the school for RSA #Valid. You're 100% valid #I just got attached to Adeuce Kalim and Vil lol #I would just run to RSA if I ever get the chance tho #Fuck Crowley noone likes Crowley 🙂😇#twisted wonderland #twst #Do I tag twst x reader???#fuck it why not it's literally based on an entire angst au anyways #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #replaced au #twst replaced au #twisted wonderland replaced au #okay enough tags I'm tired #I'm not gonna tag the specific characters mentioned #I'm too tired and I don't wanna :3 #Also R is used for Replacer for this entire thing sorry #I haven't played twst for a long; looooong while but I like some of the boys too much to let go [sigh]#Also just bc it's fun to think about #Waiting for Limbus or HSR to get updated so take some twst brainrot in the meantime #I love Villainess manhwas #Ofc I would love Replaced AUs

177 notes · View notes

lovesickeros · 11 months ago

Text

☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

#genshin impact #genshin impact yandere #genshin yandere #neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #furina x reader #yandere furina #yandere furina x reader #fic tag #pats neuvillette this noodle dragon can be so pathetic #aiming for pathetic desperate and slightly guilty. it gnaws at him knowing he's keeping you like a bird in a cage #esp if you react extremely negatively hes like a kicked puppy #not outwardly but internally hes a MESS. sobbing crying wailing #furina and neuvi sopping wet kittens u found in a cardboard box in an alley #vs arle thinking abt all the crimes shes going 2 commit in the process w/o an ounce of guilt. blackmail? check. kidnapping? check.#a little murder for flavor. as u can see im coping horribly w being practically snowed in rn i need 2 be put down #its like 4 degrees out rn (fahrenheit) and getting colder ueueueue i am dying..........#only thing keeping me going is my furinameow plushie coming. eventually. staying strong just for her.................#also needs 2 be mentioned all the stories r separate ksjfkhdsf #no not everyone in fontaine is yan and trying 2 kidnap sorry for getting ur hopes up..#yet #anyway u cant convince me arle isn't bribing (or just straight up forcing) her agents into doing stupid shit so she can “save” you #and make you owe her #two silly goofy little creatures vs the personification of gaslight gatekeep girlboss (heavy on the gaslight)#also split this up in 3 parts bc. lol. lmao. im not writing 9 characters at once goodbye #also all the masks do actually have significance i have an entire essay on why i gave each animal to specific characters okay

358 notes · View notes

kiwisandpearls · 1 month ago

Text

oh my god man

Hey, “character x oc” fanartists?

can you guys please stop tagging your “character x oc” artwork as “character x reader”?

35 notes · View notes

alastorsfuckassbob · 21 days ago

Text

With Her Song- 5

AlastorXFem!Reader part 5!

A/N: okay so this is egregiously long and could totally be two chapters (a grand total of 14436 words) but I think I've made yall wait LONG ENOUGH!!!!!!!! a l s o FUN FACT I LEARNED WHILE WRITING THIS, although turpentine is often used as a paint thinner modernly, in the olden days it was used to alleviate ailments such as soreness or pain. IT IS ALSO very very flammable!! It’s one of those old timey concoctions people would just kinda throw on whatever to fix an issue, but it often caused more pain than good. YAY for metaphors teaching me new little things. Shout out to hadestown for teaching me that silly little substance- pls I live under a fucking rock that’s probs painfully obvious.

Plot: Y/n needs therapy but instead indulges in a few too many dinky drinks with friends-it goes painfully wrong and then painfully right and then with a dash of fan service we get some drunken closure!

Minors get the frick out..thank yew :)

⚠️WARNINGS⚠️

-A bit of ANGST

-Alcohol and drugs..duh

-Murder death and violence..the whole nine yards

-A LOTTT OF CURSING (are you surprised)

-we do kiss but its not fun but could be fun in the future

-overuse of thesaurus! (take a shot every time i say enraptured)

✨ WITHOUT FURTHER ADO ✨ (i did not proofread this LMAO)

“I don’t know how I ever managed to love someone stupid enough to waste their soul on nothing more cheap liquor and lust rolled cigarettes.”

The words echoed through your mind. Each syllable reverberating into the depths of your soul, sowing the seeds of your own corruption. Their tone twists deeper, sharpened and volatile. The desolate look of his eyes was a time drenched rusted knife plunging deep into your skin, it radiated with a sincerity you weren’t ready to meet.

The memory was soaked in turpitude turpentine, match struck and ablaze with frantic fire. No matter how many times you attempted to cleanse your thoughts of the memory, the words would bubble up from the ashes and form again. It was a festering wound that wouldn’t close. The defiled crimson that poured from your wounded heart manifested as chapfallen tears and somber sniffles.

You reach into your satin lined purse searching for any form of distraction. A box of cigarettes finds space in your grasp, the lighter following soon after. Your shaking hands remove the thin stick from its box, you click the lighter to no avail. It sparks in unspoken flames, devoid of fuel, unable to battle the recollection displayed; it creeps in deeper both vivid and haunting. In a swift movement the objects fly across the room fleeting from your frustration. Your fingers fumble through the crowded labyrinth of the bags interior in search of your phone. Your grasp gets tangled on the crumpled receipts of your latest purchases and various tubes of lip gloss before it meets the exterior of the device.

The urgency of each swipe heightens and you frantically scroll through the contact list. Each name surfaced on the digital roster stirs a sense of unease within you. The majority of the contacts in your collection were nothing more than business associates. In your panicked swipes you come across a small picture of Angel followed by the name “Hot spider from work”. He had chosen the name himself upon entering his number into your phone, you hadn’t bothered to change it. You dial the number before you can convince yourself otherwise. Your eyes release a rivulet of tears dotting the surface of the screen as you await an answer. Its insistent ring pulses into your hand, mimicking the anticipation of your heartbeat. The longer it hangs in the air the more your hope for connection begins to fade.

With a soft click angel’s voice carries warmth and familiarity into your ears.

“Hey doll, I’m going out with Cherri tonight, I can’t talk long you need somethin?” He casually chimed accompanied by his typical charm.

You attempted to speak but the words caught against the burning in your throat. A nearly silent sob wracked against his ears, muffled by the crinkling timbre of the phone line.

“Oh shit..y/n are you okay?" His voice adopts a concerned cadence, the essence of compassion underscoring the inquiry. You hold back a sniffle as he continues to speak. ”Did something happen?” He pondered your apparent distress, his thoughts racing to find any plausible explanation. His mind shifted to your shared situation, casting an anxious shadow onto his usually brightened facade.

“Did.. Val do something?” A mixture of concern and fear manifested within his hesitant tone.

“No its okay..I just wanted to talk for a bit. I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy” Each carefully chosen word placed a mask upon the turmoil and disorder you felt underneath. He listened through each layer of brightly shined forgery, not buying into its incandescent veneer. Angel was not the “purest” soul in hell by any means, but his heart was imbued with the care he held for his friends. Even if the words you spoke supported a sense of stability, there was no way he would take that chance.

“Are you still at the club? I’ll be right over. I just need to let Cherri kno-”

“No, no- I don’t want to ruin your plans” You cut him off before the words left his mouth. Despite his borderline celebrity status, Angel wasn’t granted many friendships. With everything Valentino demanded, he didn’t have a lot of extra time to maintain the ones he did have. Whatever unrest Alastor had pervaded you with would have to wait; it wasn’t fair to ruin his downtime.

“I can get drunk off my ass another night from the sound of it you don’t need to be alone right now.” He spoke ignoring your words.Your friendship was the last semblance of normalcy in his hellish life. He would never outwardly admit how much, but he loved you. He would give up a hundred nights of drinking if it meant he could fix whatever had troubled you.

“Can I come with you?” You asked hesitantly. The fear of isolation haunted you too much to completely drop the issue, perhaps you could just tag along. That way you can avoid your current predicament, and he would still be granted a night of well deserved fun.

“Yeah obviously.” He mocked “Is that even a real question.” A wave of sarcasm crashed against his words, a laugh erupting along with it.

He took a moment to catch his breath, eventually his satirical outlook shifted into a short apprehensive silence. “Are you sure you’re up for it toots?” He posed, genuine worry at its core.

“Yeah I think it’ll be fun to get my mind off things..its just been a rough day” you say nonchalantly, as if you hadn’t just shattered the majority of your dressing room in your fight with Alastor.

“Kay I’ll let Cherri know we found a third” You could practically picture the jokingly seductive smirk smearing across his expression through the haze of the phone.

“Angel-“ You playfully rolled your eyes. You adored his flirtatious sense of humor more than you were willing to admit. Occasionally, the comments could become a tad repetitive, but for the larger majority of time, they were hilarious.

“You know you love me babes, I’m glad you’re coming with us. It took you long enough-you’ve been denying my invitations for months. We’ll pick you up in a half hour okay?” He prattled out, his tone teeming with an enthusiastic thrill.

“Yeah it should be fun..I’ve gotta get changed, see you when you get here” You laugh out, amused by his reactions. You haphazardly click the device off and toss it on top of your bag. You rush over to the disorganized hodgepodge of clothing hung on the rack within your dressing room. You tear through countless revealing outfits in search of something well suited for a night on the town.

The numerous options you had tried on and promptly threw off piled up behind you. Nothing felt right, if the color was correct, you didn’t like the way it fit you, if the fit was accurate, the color was an atrocity. You were beginning to contemplate not going at all, if you weren’t going to look good there was no sense in going. You anxiously inch closer to the racks end, denying each ensemble until you reach the final matching set, a short ivory corseted top and its matching mini skirt. It wasn’t ideal, but still held a bit more merit than the previous options. The dress you had been wearing pooled at your feet as you slid the new top over your head. As you stepped into the skirt, your phone started to buzz again. You pick up the device and read the message.

“Don’t expect us to wait all night for you~ We’re here now babes get your ass out here so we can have a good time”

You hadn’t expected the time to pass so quickly. You briskly check your hair and makeup in your phones camera and the results aren’t appalling enough to justify being late. The skirt’s zipper flies to a hurried close as you grab your things and rush outside to meet Angel.

Upon exiting the building, you are greeted with the well welcomed sight of the spider demon. He leans against the sleek black car. His eyes are glossed in disinterest, focused on the condition of his nails. As the front door clicks to a close behind you, he glances up in your direction. His bored demeanor fading to that of excitement. You send him a small sheepish wave as you walk towards him.

“Hiya y/n~” Angel purred, wrapping all his four arms around your frame. He lifted you into a bit of a spin as he hugged you. “Don’t you just look spectacular, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to impress someone” He lets out a clearly fake gasp. His face shifts into an overly dramatic display of satirical shock. “Is it me? Because I think it just might be me” He pinches your cheeks playfully before ushering you towards the car. As soon as you’re seated angel’s legs are stretched across you, and his arms rest behind his head against the window.

“Cheri! This is y/n.” Angel spoke enthusiastically, excited to have finally introduced his two favorite friends. You sent her a small hello and a little wave. However, Cheri remained rather quiet. In the few times Angel had mentioned her, she never seemed like the type to stop talking, just so long as she had something to say. It was off-putting to be the source of her silence. It didn’t seem like the two of you were going to be fast friends or even slow ones. Angels face fell as he shuffled awkwardly in his seat. The tension in the air suffocated you, straightening your spine as you drifted in its asphyxiating poison. His confident posture shifted into that of hesitation. The strong smile he usually wore faltered as it cracked into a thin straight line. You noticed the subtle reflection of his inner most thoughts in each anxious twist of his hands. Cheri rolled her eye, and fixated it towards the other window; clearly unbothered by his newfound expression.

“Right..uh..Who’s ready to get fucked up” He asked brightly attempting to fix the mood. Cheri sent him a glare in response, his efforts had fallen flat. You weren’t entirely sure what to say or how to defuse this situation, so you opted for silence as well. Disappointment sank into Angel’s frame. He drew his legs back and shrunk down into his own seat. The rest of the car ride was devoid of conversation of any sort. The only sounds within the vehicle were the trashy pop songs the car’s radio bothered to spit out, and the hum of the passing cars.

To be entirely honest, you weren’t sure why Cheri didn’t seem to like you. You had never met her until this point or truly even spoken a word in her direction, and yet she seemed so bothered by your existence. Angel clearly liked her for some reason, maybe she was just defensive around new people. You could work with that. The car jerks to a heavy stop in front of the neon lined club roughly yanking you from your thoughts. The building in front of you was a bit smaller than Valentino’s own club and yet it held the all the same destructive tendencies. As the three of you stepped out of the car, it sped off at an inhumane speed, leaving you with no course of escape.

The room was unusually warm. It seemed to pulsate with the thumping base reverberating from the numerous speakers that lined the bar. The dance floor oozed in the addictive scent of expensive perfumes and cheap liquors. The neon glow from the flashing lights above haloed each demon in a glistening sacrilegious sheen. For a moment, you are caught within its immersive daze. The electric buzz of the atmosphere in each tiny connection ties you within its euphoric chains. For a moment, you are nothing more than a spinning cog in the club’s eccentric machine. Twirling. Swaying. Hypnotic within its rhythm, your body reflects that of the environment as you lose yourself in its captivating dance.

“Y/n babes- we haven’t had a round yet, we’re here to get drunk and dance- not just dance” Angel’s playful voice snaps you back into reality. He grabs your hand and leads you to a quieter table in the back where Cheri had already ordered the first few rounds of shots.

Before you can truly sit down in the booth, your fingers grip around the small glass meeting it with your lips, the sharp tingling liquid burning down your throat. Within minutes the first few rounds were complete, despite your slightly stumbling form, you insisted on another. Angel, in a similar boat, gladly agrees leaving you alone in the neon glow with Cheri. As he walks towards the bar you feel the intensity of her gaze pricking into the exposed skin of your shoulders. Her voice officially calls your attention as she pulls out a small bag of miscellaneous pills.

“How about we get things really started” A sly smile spread across her face as she spoke, dangling the bag between her fingers teasingly. “It’s nothing too harmful just a mild..stimulant” She added as she took two small circular capsules from their flimsy plastic container. She placed one on top of the cocktail napkin in front of you and one on her tongue.

“What does that mean, what is it exactly” You ask hesitantly. You weren’t opposed to the idea of doing something of this sort, but it was best to know what you were getting into. In all honesty, Alastor wasn’t worth the onset taking something too serious would cause. Even in Hell, actions tend to have consequences.

“Oh don’t tell me you’re too good for this shit” She huffed kicking her legs onto the table, knocking a stray shot glass to the side with a soft clink. Your eyes widen in surprise by her reaction.

“No I wasn’t saying that- I just want to understand what I’m getting into..thats all” You stammered out attempting to diffuse any tension your response may have accidentally caused. She rolled her eye picking up the small white circle on the napkin.

“Don’t worry about that- it’s just to loosen you up so you can have a good time”. She laughed nudging your arm slightly. “Its not serious..It’ll just help you forget” She sent you a soft smile placing the pill in your hand. Her eyes held a fragment of sadness, she would never mention it, but she had her own issues too. In her own odd way, she was just trying to help, and for some reason you couldn’t explain, you trusted her.

You swallowed the pill as she pulled out a small circular tube. She pressed its edge against her lips and sent a puff of fruit mingled smoke in your direction. She wordlessly places the device in your hand, and you do the same. Its hazy pink light glows against the corners of your face as it activates. It wasn’t entirely like you to do something like this, but it seemed to help you get along with Cheri. That would make Angel happy to see his friends get along…After all, it was just to help you have a good time..No harm can come from a good time if thats all it is. The speakers of the club somehow grow louder as they sputter out a new, faster tune.

“Fuck I love this song” Cheri practically yells standing up from her seat. Before you can object, her hand takes yours, and you are dragged into the middle of the dance floor. She spins slightly as she rolls her hips yelling out the mumbled words of the song’s melody. It wasn’t long before your limbs began to echo the beat of each rhythm in tandem with her movements. Your mind glowed in a different sort of euphoria, your limbs seemed to float, slowing gliding through the tempo of the resounding pulse of your heart beat. Each person in the room seemed to blend together in watercolor warmth and decadent dancing pleasure, painting the picture of pure energy. With each spin you felt the weight of each memory sizzle off of your skin and evaporate into the air. You glance at Cheri beside you as her body swings under the influence of the pure “ecstasy” of the moment.

“I thought you were just gonna be another one of angel’s depressing friends-but fuck do you know how to party” Cheri laughed throwing her hands above her head as she swayed to the beat of the music. (White girl wasted asf)

“Where did I go wrong to make you think that” You laugh with her spinning her around.

“It doesn’t really matter, you just had that vibe” Her eyes drift to the demon behind you “More relevantly, I think ears over there is picking up a different vibe”

“What do you mean” You ask as she subtly points to the cat demon across the bar. His white fluffy tail resembled freshly fallen snow. On first glance, he held a gentle exterior. Golden chains strung from his neck dipped between his low cut lacy top and suit jacket. As your eyes wandered upwards, his seemingly innocent appearance was betrayed by his piercing red eyes. They soaked into his skin like freshly spilled blood. He glanced back at you, noticing how deeply your eyes were trained on him. He smiled revealing his razor sharp teeth and the edge of his forked tongue. His eyes raked up your figure, stopping just below your lips. His tail twitched as his sharp claws flexed against the metal countertop of the bar. He slid across a few dollars to the bar tender in exchange for two shot glasses.

“Y/n- are you blind- do you not see how he’s looking at you?” Cheri’s teasing voice stole you from your observations. It was getting a bit harder to focus. theatre music blared against your ears breaking your concentration at every available instance.

“I don’t know” You mutter out, unsure of what to make of the situation. It wasn’t like the demon wasn’t horrendously ugly, with his tall pointed ears and softy fuzzy exterior one might even refer to him as cute.

“Well I do! I basically live here- so he’s not going to reject you or anything, you should go for it” Cheri said nudging your arm playfully while shooting a sly wink to the object of the conversation.

“I’m not really here for-“ She cut you off before the uncertainty in your mind could hold the physical space of your words.

“Why not he’s cute right?” She quipped twirling a piece of her hair.

“I guess.. he’s alright, I just don’t know if I’m ready for that..I know it’s not important but- ” You stuttered out. The amount you had already drank and the pressure Cheri seemed to apply made it much harder to express how you truly felt. You had come out with them to forget what had happened and more importantly your feelings for Alastor, but now that that sentiment had phased into reality, nothing about it felt right. You wanted to drown your sorrows and slip into a blissful moment of peace, not fill the hole he left in your heart with the pursuit of another demon.

“Y/n don’t drag down the night with whatever bullshit is going on in your head. Don’t prove me wrong, I was just beginning to like you. Go dance with him, it’ll keep your mind off whatever you’re stuck on” Through the rough tone of her voice, there was almost a hint of desperation. She sent you a soft smile and nudged you further in his direction. The world seemed to slow down as each passing face lingered in your peripheral vision, each step tapering into slow motion as you walked in his direction. You had hardly given him a hello, before he shoved another shot glass into your hands. He spoke mostly of himself as he ordered yet another round. The world started to feel less and less real as he whispered utterances of “baby” and “darling” denying you the autonomy of a true name. He was enraptured with the beauty of your form, he couldn’t care less to anything that lived below that exterior. His hands rested against the exposed skin of your back as you pulled him to the dance floor.

You spin around giggling wildly as his fingers grip tighter into your flesh pulling you closer. His hips grind against your own, as his tail thrashes with the beat. With each sway, the world around falls into disarray. You can hardly make out Cherri’s grin and less than subtle thumbs up as she begins dancing with another demon she had come across throughout the entirety of your conversation. She grabs their hand and leads them out the door. Your dance partner senses your attention falling elsewhere, he places his thumb against your chin tilting it back in his direction. For just a moment, his deep red eyes seem to encapsulate a glimmer of Alastor’s own. The longer you gazed into his eyes the more apparent it was that their darling shade of crimson was their only similarity. Alastor had never looked at you in such desperate hunger. His eyes always held an aura of care.

“What do you say we get out of here baby? You’re a fantastic dancer, but I’d like to chat with you more.”

He whispers into your ear as he places a hand behind your neck. The two of you are impossibly close, teetering on the edge of a kiss. His hands trail down your back and underneath the hem of your skirt. You take a step back but his grip grows tighter, keeping you within his grasp. Angel, who had been viewing the scene from afar, practically bolted in your direction.

"y/n- who the hell is this?” Angel steps between the two of you sending the man a glare.

“Give us some space” You whisper, your eyes locked with Angel's. He rolls his eyes in response, turning his focus to the man you had been dancing with. “Yeah.. give us some space” he adds in his direction, bitterness overtaking his normally sweetened tone.

“That’s not what I meant.” You retaliated taking a step away from Angel. "I promise. Its fine."

“It’s what I meant though…I’m all for blowing off steam at the end of a long day but this is going too far” He huffs grabbing your wrist and leading you off the dance floor and towards the front of the building.

“Oh like you’re one to talk. You’ve been throwing back shots since before we got here. We were just talking” You mutter, as he opens the door to the exterior of the club.

“No you weren't and you know it- Also Y/n.. I hate to break it to you, but you are like maybe five feet tall” He laughs, placing his arm on your shoulder.

“Angel-“ you cross your arms, shrugging him off.

“MAYBE” He places his finger against your lips, effectively shushing you. “MAYBE with a few inches tacked on the end...Your tolerance isn’t going to be as high as mine” He sends you a playful wink.

“Bullshit- I’m just having a good time” you retort slapping his hand away.

“No, you aren’t. Nothing about your body language or your face or fucking anything about you even hinted that you were enjoying that” he huffs flinging his arms out dramatically. “What’s really going on with you?” he asks pointedly, the tension in his body visible as the fur on his chest puffed out a little more.

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t see why you care Cherri is doing the same things I am go bother her if your savior complex needs a new victim” you snap back at him. For a moment his face falls, his heart fragmented in the reflection of his eyes.

“Babe- you’re wasted, you don't really mean that" he said with a small laugh in the attempt to mollify the situation on both sides.

“everyone here is” you retort. You ignored the look in his eyes, tears pricking in your own as you turn back to the entrance of the bar. "Leave me the fuck alone Angel. We work together, you don't need to pretend to be my friend because you feel bad about yourself. I don't need pity especially not yours." you seethe placing your hand on the door in front of you. You knew you were being unreasonable, but whats said and done cannot be changed. Even if the rage you directed at him was not his to carry, fire does not care what it burns and bridges are not often rebuilt. Whats done is done, if Hell had taught you one thing, there was no way around that fact.

“Can you just cut the shit and tell me what’s going on” He yells grabbing the sides of your shoulders. Your eyes grow wide shocked at his reaction. He lets out a sigh ”Look.. I'm sorry Y/n...I’m just worried about you.” his voice is barely audible. "I know I'm not the best friend in the world or even a good one, but you're all I've got. You don't get to tell me thats not worth anything so just cut it out and tell me whats wrong..this isn't like you." His grip on your shoulders softens and eventually falls as takes a step back.

“My ex-fiancee showed up at the club, its stupid I know its not important but that asshole knows how to get to me" you finally admit.

“Oh realllyyy" His eyebrows raise suggestively. "Was it that cat sinner who used to work there- y/n i think you have a type," he laughs "but I always thought you two would be cute together” he smiles attempting to lighten the mood.

His smirk drops as your face remains stagnant, clearly unamused. He sends you a more genuine smile, taking a seat on the curb patting the ground beside him.

"It must be really bad if you've lost your taste for my impeccable sense of humor" he adds as you sat next to him indulging his invitation.

“I knew him in life..he’s kind of the reason I ended up here.” you confess wiping the ghost of a tear from your face

“Oh.. y/n I’m sorry” Angel slings his arm around you offering a bit of comfort.

“No-no don’t be I don’t want to ruin your fun with my sh-”

“Y/n you aren’t ruining things,” He says resolutely, grabbing your shoulders with a playful shake "Just talk to me..if you want” His eyes house a desperation you were all too familiar with. Each shimmery pink spoke of his iris held tightly against your skin, begging for a fragment of honesty.

“It’s fine really…He just.. didn’t have many nice things to say,” you mutter out, tearing away from his gaze and settling your own against the floor.

“Shit, that’s rough.” He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, a half-hearted smile tugging at his lips as he tried to mask his discomfort with humor. He was never great with words, but that would never stop him from being there for you.

“Tell me about it” you laughed attempting to distract from the unmistakable break in your voice.

“That’s definitely a drinking to forget kinda night..” He let out a short laugh in response, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of genuine sympathy before they darted away to the ground between the two of you. His brow furrowed as he searched for the right words to say.

“I didn’t mean to get so upset with you..You’re your own person and obviously, you can handle yourself-you just aren’t used to this scene and I didn’t want you to end up in situations you’ll regret tomorrow- like I used to do..” He sighed deeply, running a hand through the fluff of his hair.

“Angel,” You said softly, your hand reaching out to gently touch his arm.

“You’re better than I am y/n…I just didn’t want anything to happen to you..” His voice wavered rendering it nearly unrecognizable. His casually confident demeanor dropped, as he reflected on the details of his past. Your eyes met his in a moment of understanding, your smiles stretching within them, it was clear you cared for each other even if you had a hard time expressing it.

“I’m really not. If anything you’re better than me, at least you know when to quit” You chuckle lightly. You take a deep breath unsure of how to accurately express much of anything. The whole night had been a rollercoaster packed with invisible turns and twists divulging into one fucked up experience. “I’m sorry Angel. I shouldn’t have said any of that to you..You’re my best friend it’s important to me that you know that”, your voice softens as you try to convey how much he truly meant to you.

“Don’t go all soft on me Toots, it’s just what friends do.” He says, his overtly confident tone returning as he playfully nudges your shoulder “What do you say we head back to the hotel and raid the bar? It doesn’t matter how shitfaced you get in the comforts of your own home.” The act he so obsessively put on would never drop for longer than a few moments, but it was always comforting to be within his company when it did. You could be yourself and who you had to be all at once as long as you did it together.

“Self-destructive and Safe? Oh, count me in” You giggle, pulling a few small shot bottles you had smuggled out from your pockets. He takes one, clinking it against the one in your hand.

After a slight walk, the two of you arrived at the steep entrance to the Hazbin Hotel. It had clearly seen better days, although not the eyesore it used to be, it still projected an aura of delapidation. Not that the two of you cared, it had been a long night and you weren’t done yet, this was just another place to keep the party going. Between stumbling fits of giggles you slumped against his side, taking his hand in yours he opened the large wooden doors into the building.

“Welcome to The Hazbin Hotel a place where sinners don’t sin for a place to stay unless you ain’t being watched then anythings free game” Angel smirked lifting his arms out like some sort of circus showman.

Alastor stood on the balcony of the hotel, his gaze fixed on the foyer below. The dim light from Hell’s perpetual sunset illuminated the scene, casting long shadows across the marble floors. He couldn't quite remember how he'd gotten back here after the fight. Each haunting memory of the argument was hazy, fractured like a broken radio transmission. One moment, he had been facing you, anger flashing between you both, and the next, he found himself back at the hotel.

“Must’ve been some form of magic,” he thought, though magic had never been something he entirely trusted, it was a necessity. Magic is synonymous with power, any and all magic was of use to him—he had long since mastered every trick of the trade—but you, you were something else entirely. How had you managed to fly under the radar for that long if your power was great enough to transport an overlord like himself against his will.

His eyes narrowed slightly as his shadow slinked from the corner of the balcony, creeping along the edges of the stone like a living thing. It murmured softly, darkly.

“You could use this one, you know. A means to an end. You’ve already hurt her once…she could never love you again but you could still have her.." it hissed.

Alastor scoffed, shaking his head. “Do you never tire of your incessant suggestions, my dear shadow? She is more than that. Much more.”

"You could still use her to your advantage. She's weak, vulnerable, and she's already in your grasp..."

Alastor’s lip curled in irritation, a deep chuckle escaping him. “Do you ever shut up, you little wretch? She is no pawn.”

But the shadow’s words stuck with him, like a splinter in his brain. He could use you, he knew that. But something about it felt wrong, something he couldn’t quite explain.

He wasn’t naive. He could see the way the world operated—power was everything here. Yet as his eyes moved to the figure below, standing in the center of the lobby a pang of something softer tugged at his chest. It was you, severely intoxicated you, but still you. Always appearing when he least expected it. You had this uncanny way of showing up, out of nowhere, like some divine force ensuring he never quite lost sight of what he wanted.

And you were so... gorgeous. More so than anything he'd ever seen in this twisted hellhole.

The sight of you—draped in dim lighting, your features a perfect mix of both beauty and something darker, something uniquely you—left him breathless. His heart pulsed in his chest, almost painfully, as he watched you. He loved you, deeply, madly. The thought of it was strange, disorienting. For a being like him, who had long since abandoned all notions of softness, of attachment, it haunted him. Unfamiliar. But undeniable.

So there he stayed, out of sight and watching you with an intensity that could only be described as obsession. Your presence had shifted something in him, something he couldn’t quite control, and for once, that didn’t frighten him. It was almost... comforting.

The sound of footsteps echoed on the grand marble floors as you and Angel made your way toward the bar, Alastor watched you both intently from the balcony. The hotel loomed over you like a cathedral of excess, its luxurious interior drenched in shades of red velvet and deep crimson. The carpets were stained with the color of blood, and the chandeliers overhead seemed to catch the light in strange, angular ways, like broken glass. Despite the decor’s opulence, there was something unsettling about it all, a sense that everything here was just a little too perfect.

And then there were the windows. Stained glass windows lining the walls, depicting flowers—strange, foreign flowers whose forms never quite seemed to align with anything you knew. They were beautiful in their own right, yet so alien. They spoke of a beauty that was unattainable, untouchable, much like the lives you led here, in this place. They didn’t belong here... or maybe they did.

From your perspective, the hotel felt both too real and not real enough. It was alive in a way that made you uncomfortable, yet at the same time, it felt like you’d stepped into a delightful dream, one where you didn’t quite belong, but didn’t wish to leave.

Angel, sensing your quiet discomfort, nudged you with his elbow. “Relax, doll. It’s just another night in Hell. Let's grab a drink, yeah?”

His voice snapped you out of your trance, and you nodded, your gaze flicking back to the bar. Husk was sitting there, nursing a drink, his tired eyes flickering up at the two of you as you approached. He didn’t say anything but there was a knowing look in his eyes that made you wonder if he knew more about your situation than you did.

“Hey Husk, this is my dear friend Y/n who is in desperate need of a good drink” Angel practically yells grabbing a seat in front of the all too familiar bar of the Hazbin Hotel.

“You’re just bringing everyone home these days” Husk mutters sarcastically glancing your way as he grabs three glasses from the shelf and a variety of bottles from the back of the bar.

“Oh shut up, she’s a good one” Angel’s body slings over the bar as he speaks, he begins giggling at nothing or so it seems. Husk’s typically bored eyes catch on the curve of Angel’s smile and the messy tousled hair that framed it.

There is nothing more cruel in hell than the prospect of love. His eyes filled with a pure haze of adoration, teeming in unyielding clouds of desperation. His smile grasping fervently at the raw precipice of vulnerability; entangled in the fear it could all slip away into the abyss of logic. These moments of observation became his own clandestine affair, a silent ache for an authenticity that Hell would never allow. He knew the way he felt for the spider demon was nothing short of love, yet their hearts were forbidden to intertwine openly. Angel had Valentino to deal with, and he had to deal with Alastor. It could never be anything more than lingering stares and passing glances, but oh how deeply he craved it.

“How’d you wind up with this one? He’s not exactly a peach to be around.” Husk asks, tilting his head in your direction as he slides a glass to each of you.

“He’s the one good thing to come from working with Val” You boasted patting Angel’s head lightly.

“Yeah yeah I’m great I know” Angel cuts in wrapping an arm around your shoulder “But how did a bombshell like you end up with a shitbag ex? I’m dying to know” Angel teases tousling your already messy hair.

"We met when we were basically kids," you said after a long pause, your eyes never leaving the glass. "Teenagers, you know how it is." you shrugged, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. "It sort of just went from there."

Angel's gaze sharpened, his smirk widening. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms with a knowing look. "It’s always the ones you know the longest that turn out the shittiest."

You rolled your eyes, chuckling dryly "Right? We worked together later on his stupid show," you added a bit more forcefully, as if the words themselves could push the memories away.

Angel made a low noise, almost a scoff, and took a slow sip from his glass, his fingers tapping lightly against the rim. "Well, you should’ve known better than to mess with someone in show business."

you glanced up at him, your brow arched in amusement. "We're in show business."

"Exactly." Angel’s smirk was quick, knowing, and laced with the kind of dark humor only he could pull off. “go onnnn” he says with a slight shimmy.

You slump back against the bar, your glass swirling in your hand as the ice cubes clink together. The amber liquid inside your glass has begun to lose its chill, but you don't care. You've had enough to drink to not give a damn. You can feel the heat spreading from your chest, and for once, you don’t mind it. It’s been a while since you’ve felt anything other than numb, and tonight—well, tonight is different.

“Well, there really isn’t much else to say,” you mumble, staring into your glass. Your fingers circle the rim absently as you speak. “I’d loved him for years… I don’t know if it was love, but that’s how it felt. I guess you can’t really call it love if it doesn’t go well. You know how it goes. Eventually, people leave…” Your voice falters for a second, and you can feel the weight of the words like a stone in your gut. You take another drink, feeling the burn slide down your throat. “I’ve never been good at that part, so I waited. A lot of good that did.” You laugh bitterly, staring at the glass in your hand like it holds all the answers. “Eventually, I had to find someone else. Worst decision of my life, but I’d make it again every single time.”

You take a deep breath, then lean your head back against the bar. Your head spins slightly, the liquor mixing with your emotions, making it all blur together. You hear Angel shifting in his seat and you feel the heaviness of Husk's eyes on your form. The weight of the silence seems to press in around you.

“On the house,” Husk grumbles from behind the counter, his voice rough as always. “Take whatever else you want. Just don’t touch my whisky. It’s late as fuck, I’m going to bed”

“Bye,” Angel mutters, not even bothering to acknowledge Husk’s sarcasm. He flips his cigarette between his fingers, eyes glinting as he focuses on you instead.

Your attention shifts back to Angel, and you lean in, squinting your eyes like you’re trying to make sense of him. “So, you and the cat demon?” you ask, a teasing edge in your voice. “I think it’s you who might have a type.”

Angel huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Shut up, Y/N.” But there's a softness in his words, like he’s not as defensive as he wants to be. You catch it, and it makes you press him further.

You tilt your head, genuinely curious now. “What’s going on with you two? I didn’t think you cared about anyone like that.”

Angel leans back on the bar, staring at his cigarette like it’s the most interesting thing in the room. He drags in a slow breath before answering, the weight of his words sitting heavily between you. “I don’t know, okay?” He mutters with a shrug. “I just think he’s cute. That’s all. It’s stupid, I know. But when I’m around him... I don’t feel like just an object. Like I’m not just some... disposable thing to be tossed around.”

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. You weren’t expecting that—that vulnerability in Angel, the crack in his usual cocky facade. You lean forward, trying not to let your surprise show too much. “You think that’s stupid?” you press, watching his eyes flicker as he looks away. “I don’t think it is. I think you deserve to be treated like you're more than that"

Angel doesn’t meet your gaze, instead fiddling with the edges of his empty glass. He lets out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know. I’m just... maybe I’m just hopeful. Maybe one day it’ll turn into something real. But who knows, right?” He lets the words trail off, his tone growing quieter, almost uncertain. “It’s dumb, I know.”

Before you can say anything more, Angel stands up and heads to the shelf, grabbing another bottle of whatever's closest to him. But as he moves, his elbow jostles the shelf, knocking something off the counter. You both watch in horror as Husk's prized bottle of whisky tumbles off the edge of the counter and crashes to the floor, the glass shattering into a dozen pieces.

“...He is going to be so pissed,” Angel says, his voice almost panicked as he stares at the mess. He turns to you, a nervous laugh escaping his lips. “Do you want to hide out in my room for a bit?”

You don’t hesitate. The last thing you want is to deal with Husk’s wrath, especially not with the way the night is going. “Yes, of course,” you say, grabbing another bottle of liquor as you push yourself off the barstool. You head for the stairs, Angel following closely behind. The idea of getting away from this scene, just for a little while, feels like the right decision.

But as you reach the stairs, you realize something.

“Shit-I forgot my bag,” you murmur, turning back to Angel with a small shrug. “I’ll be right back. Don’t wait up.”

Angel nods distractedly, already heading up to his room, and you hurry back down the stairs. You push through the hallway, your footsteps echoing off the walls as you make your way to where you left your bag. Your mind is still spinning, and the alcohol isn’t helping, but you need to get it—need something familiar to hold onto.

That’s when it happens. You’re rushing, trying to get in and out quickly, and you don’t see the vase on the floor. Your foot catches it, and the next thing you know, the world explodes with a deafening crash.

The sound of breaking glass fills the hallway, and you freeze. “Shit,” you mutter, dropping to your knees as you scramble to pick up the pieces. You glance around, heart racing. The last thing you need right now is someone catching you in the act.

But then, from the shadows, you hear it—a soft, almost deliberate rustling. You tense as Alastor appears from the darkness, his sharp eyes gleaming as he watches you for a long moment.You freeze. Alastor. Of course, it’s him. In your hazy, frustrated state, confusion takes over. Your vision is still blurry, and you’re not sober enough to deal with this. Why is he here? What does he even want from you now?

“Why are you here?” Your voice comes out more hoarse than you intended, but it’s sharp enough to make the air between you crackle.

“I live here, dearest,” Alastor responds smoothly, his usual theatrical charm present, but his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place.

"I heard she sang a good song"

“Since when?” You stare at him, trying to make sense of his words. He wasn’t here before... Was he?

“Never mind that,” Alastor interrupts, a faint flicker of something darker crossing his features as he steps closer, his shoes clicking rhythmically against the marble floor. “Just let me help you.”

You scoot back instinctively, pushing yourself up from the floor, the shards of the vase still scattered around your feet.

You can't think straight—your emotions are too raw. Without thinking, you say, “I’m leaving.”

But before you can take a step, Alastor’s eyes catch something on your hands. His gaze sharpens. There’s a softness, an unexpected concern, as he moves toward you, his usually composed demeanor slipping for a second. He notices the faint scratches on your hands—small but still enough to catch his attention.Before you can react, he reaches out and softly grabs your arm, pulling you back a little to inspect the damage. The gentle touch is disorienting, but you don’t pull away.

“Please, mon cher,” Alastor says quietly, his voice softer than you’re used to hearing, but it carries the weight of sincerity. “Just let me help you... It’s the least I can do after all I’ve..caused you. Let me help you, and I’ll stay out of your life as long as you wish me to.”

"I heard she had a style"

Your brow furrows, suspicion creeping up again, but you don’t pull away from his grasp. “Is that supposed to be some sort of deal?” you ask, your voice sharp, your words coated in disbelief.

“Not at all,” Alastor responds, his tone almost too calm. “Just an agreement. It doesn’t need to fall into writing. Besides, in your current state, I doubt you could accurately hold a pen.” His lips quirk into a half-smile, the usual teasing glint returning to his eyes.

“Shut up.” The words are out before you can stop them, frustration boiling over.

Alastor’s smile falters slightly, but only for a moment. He releases your arm, though his eyes stay fixed on you.

“There’s no need to be rude, dear. I am merely trying to help.” The words are gentle, but there’s a coolness underneath, like he’s waiting for you to take the first step.

You don’t want to engage. But still, you can’t help yourself. “And what good would that do? You’ve already told me all I need to hear.” Your voice is brittle now, the cracks in your tone betraying the hurt you’ve been carrying.

Alastor’s expression shifts, a flicker of frustration crossing his face before he sighs, leaning back slightly. “You said some pretty nasty things too, dear, if I recall.” He huffs, a playful edge to his voice that’s trying to cover up the heaviness between you both.

“Nothing unwarranted,” you reply, a small bitterness lingering in your words.

There’s a brief silence as Alastor steps back, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveys the mess at your feet. He eyes the broken vase with something resembling disdain but then looks back at you. “Let’s call it a truce for now, Y/N,” he says with a smirk, his voice smooth and composed again. “It’s the least you can do after breaking such a valuable decorative asset on my property.”

"And so I came to see her, and listen for a while"

You blink, confused, your eyes narrowing as you glance back up at him. “You own this place?”

Alastor chuckles lightly, his gaze drifting toward the ceiling for a moment. “I think of myself as merely a benefactor. But yes, you could say that.” He looks back at you with a glint in his eyes, his smile returning, this time with a little more sincerity. “A truce for tonight, and we can go back to being at each other’s throats tomorrow morning. What do you say, dear?”

You’re about to protest, but the exhaustion finally catches up to you, and you sigh, slumping your shoulders in defeat. “Fine. Let’s just clean this up.”

You both move silently to gather the broken pieces, each of you moving in tandem, a strange sort of quiet cooperation filling the space. Every now and then, your hands brush against each other as you both reach for a shard, and though you try to ignore it, it doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you.

Alastor catches your eye as you shiver involuntarily, the chill of the lobby creeping under your skin. Without a word, he shrugs off his coat and gently drapes it around your shoulders. The soft fabric is warm against your skin, but it’s more than that—it’s a gesture of care that you didn’t expect.

“That should do it for the mess, dearest,” Alastor murmurs after a moment, his voice quieter now, as though he’s aware of the fragile truce between you. “Now to get you cleaned up.”

"And there she was this young girl

A stranger to my eyes"

You blink, feeling more disoriented than ever, before the world around you shifts. Without a second’s warning, Alastor teleports you both—your surroundings blurring, the air suddenly thick with the scent of damp earth and moss. When you open your eyes again, you’re no longer in the sterile lobby. Instead, you’re standing in a room that seems to stretch beyond its walls into a lush, almost dreamlike forest.

The scene around you is breathtaking—towering trees draped in moss, thick vines curling around branches like old friends. The atmosphere feels alive, warm, as if the land itself is breathing, and the soft whisper of the wind through the leaves is so familiar, it aches. It reminds you of home—Louisiana, the bayou. The air smells of wet earth, pine, and the faintest scent of honeysuckle. It’s not just a room; it feels like a part of you, like the land that cradled your soul in life.

You walk carefully toward one of the trees, reaching out and brushing your fingers against the moss that coats its trunk. The sensation is calming, and you feel a small lump form in your throat. “It’s just like home,” you mutter softly, your fingers tracing the edges of the moss, which decorates the trees like lace trim on an evening dress.

"Strumming my pain with her fingers"

Alastor steps up behind you, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Indeed it is... it helps me feel... real.” There’s a rare vulnerability in his voice that catches you off guard, his usual radio demon facade beginning to crack, just for a moment. He steps aside and moves toward the other side of the room, his demeanor shifting back to its usual composed self. “I’ll fetch you some water... and a painkiller.”

"Singing my life with her words"

The silence that follows is deep, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. The only sound is the soft rustle of the bayou outside. You’re not sure how long you stand there, but the stillness makes your thoughts feel sharper, like you can hear your own heartbeat in the quiet.

Finally, you break the silence. “Why wasn’t I good enough for you?” The words slip out before you can stop them, and the rawness in your voice is so vulnerable, so unguarded. “Why couldn’t you just say that? I understand why someone like you wouldn’t want me... Did you think I was too weak to talk to about it?”

"Killing me softly with her song"

Alastor freezes. His back is turned to you, but you can feel the shift in the air as his posture tightens. He says nothing for a long moment, and then, his voice breaks through, quieter than you’ve ever heard it before. “No one will ever be good enough for me not if they aren’t you.”

The words hang between you like a fragile thread, and you can hear the underlying sadness beneath his calm facade. But you need more. “Then why didn’t you stay?” you ask, the question a raw echo of everything that’s been haunting you.

Alastor’s shoulders tense as he turns slowly to face you, his eyes unreadable, though the weight of his silence speaks volumes.

"Killing me softly with her song"

The night air is thick with the sounds of crickets, their steady chirping filling the silence between you and Alastor. The aftermath of the broken vase still lingers in the hallway, but it feels insignificant compared to the weight of the moment between you two. It’s one of those rare moments when words hang heavy, the space between them charged with something deeper.

Alastor stands a little apart from you, the soft glow from the distant lights casting long shadows across his figure. The red in his eyes has dimmed slightly, but his presence is still undeniably imposing. The air feels charged with the weight of everything unspoken, and it presses in around you like a thick fog. You can feel it closing in as he finally speaks.

"Telling my whole life with her words"

“I couldn’t, Y/N… I died.”

The words land like a heavy weight, and you freeze, the chill of them settling over your skin like ice. Your chest tightens, the breath you didn’t realize you were holding slipping out in a slow exhale. Your mind spins, and for a moment, it feels like time has stopped.

The crickets continue to chirp in the background, a constant reminder that the world is still moving, even though you’re stuck in this small, suspended moment of time.

“Oh... I... I didn’t know that.” Your voice is quieter than you intended, the confession stirring something raw in you that you weren’t prepared for. The realization that Alastor had died—that the man you once loved had been gone all this time—hits you harder than you care to admit.

“That’s entirely my fault.” Alastor’s voice is softer now, the edges of his usual control slipping. He seems almost… remorseful. “It was a bit of a hunting accident, as you know I’ve been involved with... some unsavory things.” His words trail off, like he’s trying to give you space to process the details. But you don’t need them. You’re already piecing it together—the life he must have led, the dangers of his world. “Quite frankly, I made a mistake. But there was not a second of this afterlife that I did not long just to see you again.”

He steps closer, and the shift in his presence is enough to make you look up, meeting his gaze. There’s something in his eyes—vulnerable, open, raw. It’s a side of him you haven’t seen in what feels like a lifetime.

“I am a vile and selfish man, Y/N,” Alastor continues, his voice low, tinged with regret. “Being here has only exacerbated that. But you... you make me different. I don’t know how else to describe it.” His shoulders sag slightly as if the weight of his own confession is a burden too heavy to carry alone. “I feel like I have purpose again... just knowing you’re here too.”

The words hang in the air between you both, the soft whisper of the bayou outside suddenly feeling miles away. For the first time in a long while, you feel the urge to speak, to let the thoughts and emotions that have been building in you come spilling out. It’s reckless, and yet, it feels necessary—like the truth you’ve buried under layers of hurt and bitterness is finally clawing its way to the surface.

You lean against the wall, your head spinning with the alcohol coursing through your veins, your tongue loosened by it, and the raw honesty that comes with it.

“I just figured you went and found something better,” you mumble, almost to yourself, though the words hang in the air for him to hear. Your voice is quieter now, quieter than you intended, and a small laugh escapes you—a bitter, hollow sound. “Out of the two of us, you were the one who had potential. I was just your assistant. I figured you went and found better.”

"Killing me softly with her song"

The words leave your mouth like a confession, as if it’s something you’ve held in for far too long. You can’t quite tell if you’re seeking closure or if the alcohol has just made everything too raw to keep inside. Either way, you can feel the vulnerability in your chest, heavy and uncomfortable.

Alastor’s posture stiffens, and for a long, painful moment, neither of you speaks. But you notice the shift in him. His broad shoulders sag just slightly, and for a brief moment, you can see the crack in his polished facade. Had he known that his death, his disappearance, would instill so much doubt in you—would leave you questioning everything between you both—he would have found a way back to you. There’s no other way to put it. If he could have, he would have crawled his way out from the depths of hell to find you.

His eyes soften, and you see the conflict in them. His words—those dark, twisted truths—make him feel like he's trapped in the aftermath of his own actions. The power he gained in this afterlife, his position in Hell—it had all made him feel secure, yes. But that security didn’t mean anything without you. It never had.

None of it mattered in the way it should have. Not if it meant leaving you to carry all that doubt, to wonder if you were never good enough to hold his attention. The weight of it presses in on him like a vice, but he’s too proud to show it completely. He is a demon—he doesn’t show weakness. But in this moment, there’s no mistaking it.

“You were always and have always been so much more than that.” There’s an intensity in his words, a plea beneath the calm exterior.

You can feel the air between you both shift. The space between you shrinks with every passing second, each of you wrestling with the emotions that have lingered for too long. You want to say more, ask him more—but all you can do is stare at him, at the man who’s been gone from your life for so long. The man who came back from the dead, and yet, somehow, it feels like he’s never truly left.

You swallow hard, unsure if you’re ready to hear more—if you want to hear more. But you know that the truth, no matter how painful, is what you both need to face.

“Y/n.. for god's sake we were almost married, from the moment you tumbled into my life, you’ve flipped everything I thought I knew upside down in such a beautifully tragic way. Your voice even if it holds animosity, is pure music to my ears. It calls such a deep desperation within my heart to the surface. I wish I could capture the essence of your smile in stone, that way it would never fade or change. In your presence I feel alive in a way I never thought possible. I truly do love you, and I truly am so very sorry I said those things to you. It is the most important thing in this world to me that you know that none of it was true..I am so sorry for what you’ve been through. I wish there was something I could do or say to erase it all bu-“

You cut him off capturing his lips in a desperate kiss. For a moment, he leans into your touch. Reveling in the warmth of your form and the subtle caress of your thumb against his cheek. Your lips brush lightly against his his eyes closed tightly. As he begins to consciously process what was truly happening he pulls away pushing you further from him.

Your eyes swirl with tears as they fill with hurt, you could not comprehend why he would say such things and then reject your affections. He places his hand on top of yours, sending you a loving smile.

“My dear, please do not misunderstand me..I want nothing more than to bask in your affection, but it isn’t right to do so currently. You aren’t within a solid frame of mind..If you still desire to do so once your mind returns I will welcome it wholeheartedly, you are all I want, just not like this.” His hand travels to your face, his thumb pushing the tear from your cheek.

“oh okay,” You whisper out. “I’m sorry” you muttered unable to pull your eyes away from his crimson ones.

“Please, don’t be, you haven’t done a thing wrong.” His apology stretched further than the situation required. Its melancholic timbre expressed decades of regret in a single instant. The words held you in the palm of their hand offering a comfort that you had not felt since his disappearance.

“I’m going to try and find something different for you to wear alright?” He added before his expression could find the opportunity to fall. Reputation was his only strength and he would not dare disregard it, it was all he had to hold onto with you still at a distance.

“What you don’t like my outfit?” You say slightly rolling your eyes, gesturing to the lace lining the bottom of your skirt.

“No, on the contrary, I think you look lovely, I just assume it wouldn’t be the most comfortable to sleep in” He shrugs “Let’s get you cleaned up” He adds taking your hand and leading you up to a spare room.

With a snap of his fingers, a comfortable set of silky carnelian pajamas appears along with a silver-plated hairbrush and a warm cup of tea. He hands you the cup as he wordlessly runs the brush through your tangled hair. Naturally, it reminded you of the life you used to live together, he had taken the time to learn how to care for your hair and committed it to memory. It was an aspect of your nightly routine you had forgotten how deeply you missed. The porcelain teacup warms your hands as he hums a familiar tune. A few minutes passes and for once silence feels comfortable. Finally, he twists the newly detangled h/c strands of your hair into two neat braids, tying them with matching red ribbons. With another snap, he manifests a cloth and a bowl of water wiping the smudged sparked eyeshadow from your face and the red-stained gloss from your lips.

“I’ll leave these here for you to change into if you’d like dear.” He says setting pajamas into your arms before placing a key in your hand. “I’m just next door if you need anything, this will unlock it. Nothing is too large or small darling.” His smile radiates in authentic charm as he closes your hand around it and his own. “Sweet dreams Y/n” He whispers before closing the door hoping you don’t notice the soft blush painting his cheeks a lovely shade of pink.

“Goodnight Alastor” You murmur as a smile of your own creeps onto your face. You quickly discard the (quite frankly stained) ensemble you had worn to the club in favor of the pajamas he had given you. The room feels a great deal larger without him here, however, exhaustion overpowers your newfound loneliness. You hold the key in your hands for a moment before placing it down on the bedside table and crawling into the downy sheets that had been calling your name since the moment you had seen them.

Your body drifts within the realm of the subconscious, losing itself in each kaleidoscopic illusion of memory it pressed upon you. Your ex-husband, the dreams that had plagued you since his death, nothing more than thoughts and feelings to the conscious mind divulged into a twisted wasteland. Each flickering falsity fractured into the dissonant landscape. The shadows of your past contorted into grotesque faceless caricatures sketched with ghostly whispers and regretful choices. The figures fought against the edges of your sanity pushing you deeper within the disquieting chaos. You felt the blood soaking your dress corrode your skin until it shattered into the image of his body against the floor. His green eyes glint with the weight the irreversible act bore. His mouth parted to match the ill-fitting angle his head spun itself in. The halo of deep crimson spread from his center like the delicate spines of a cornet clashing against the fading carpet.

The moment rewinds, twisting into another distorted tapestry before you can resist.

“Without me, you’d be nothing. You owe me this”

The man you had regretfully married screamed into your ear, shrill and desperate. His words form tendrils around your wrist, dragging your hand to the kitchen knife clenched into your fist. His gasps polluted the air in whiskey-scented poison as you punctured his skin. His body falls in a cascade with your distorted thoughts, blurring the thin line between paranoia and relief. His eyes, once drenched in an ocean of fury now rest in a gossamer pool of milky white.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean it- I didn’t mean to-“ his body made contact with your floor before you could stutter out the end of your sentence. The hypnotic image swirls within a hypoxic cacophony, suffocating you in its remorse-ridden blaze.

Before the flames could truly engulf your form, your eyes shoot open meeting the deeply concerned ones of the radio demon. His ears lay flat against his head, gently wisped in vulnerability. Your trembling arms reach up and cling to his without another thought. He sits down beside you gently guiding you into his lap.

“It’s alright dear, I promise you are safe. I won’t let anything happen to you. It was just a nightmare mon coeur.” He whispers into your hair as he holds you close. You sob helplessly into his arms, your face pressed into his shoulder. You weren’t used to the aspect of comfort after a nightmare, you clung to him as if he would suddenly dissipate if you didn’t hold the pieces together.

“My dear..please, it was just a nightmare. You’re safe now I promise you” His tone is softly desperate, wanting nothing more than to take this away from you. Somehow, he manages to pull you closer into his arms with a tenderness you had yet to experience within your expansive time in Hell.

"Would it be helpful to talk it through?" Alastor asks, his voice calm, gentle in a way you rarely hear from him. His eyes flicker with that strange, unsettling depth, as though he’s anticipating something, but he isn’t pushing. He’s merely offering.

You hesitate, unsure if you even want to go there. Your heart is still racing, the lingering echoes of your nightmare digging at the edges of your mind. It’s hard to focus, hard to make sense of everything swirling around in your head. You glance down at your hands, picking at the edges of your sleeve, avoiding his gaze.

"I don’t know…" You swallow hard, trying to calm the sudden tremor in your voice. "I’ve never really talked about them before." The words feel strange in your mouth, like you’re admitting something you’ve buried for years. "I don’t even know why it affects me so much. It just does."

There’s a softness in Alastor’s eyes as he steps closer, but still, he doesn’t try to touch you. It’s as if he’s giving you space, waiting for you to find the words.

"If you wish, I am here to listen." His voice is steady, like the gentle hum of a distant radio, but there’s a sincerity in it. Something rare, something you’ve never expected from him.

For a moment, you just sit in the quiet. The weight of the past is pressing down on you, and you almost feel like you’re suffocating. But there’s something in Alastor’s unspoken presence—something that draws you in. Maybe it’s the way he seems so patient, so understanding despite everything between you. You take a deep breath, your mind still racing.

"Alright..." Your voice comes out softer than you expect, barely a whisper. You wipe your hands on your pants nervously. "It’s nothing really... I don’t know why it affects me so much." You shake your head, frustration making your words come out faster. "It’s just a reminder of why I’m here. Why I ended up like this."

Alastor doesn’t interrupt, just watches you closely, his sharp eyes never leaving your face. His head tilts slightly, like he’s trying to understand something deeper—something you haven’t said yet.

"How do you mean, dearest?" His tone is curious, but it’s not prying. It’s soft, inviting you to share without forcing the issue.

You exhale slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze on you like a heavy blanket. Your chest tightens, the memories threatening to rush in all at once, but you push through them. For some reason, talking to him feels... different. Almost like he understands, in a way no one else ever did.

"After you left…" You pause, trying to steady your voice, trying to get through it. "I got married." You don’t know why you say it like that—it sounds so... final. But it was, wasn’t it? A chapter of your life that should have ended long ago, but you never knew how to turn the page. "Things weren’t great." You shrug, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. It feels too absurd to even mention.

Alastor doesn’t react, just stands there, waiting for you to continue. He doesn’t need to say anything—he’s not pressing you, not making you feel like you have to hurry. He’s simply giving you the space to speak. And somehow, that’s the hardest part. It’s easier to keep quiet, to bury everything. But now, with him standing there, watching you with an almost disarming patience, you realize it’s time to face it.

"It was purely out of necessity." Your words come out clipped, almost too fast. It’s like you’re rushing through the confession, trying to distance yourself from the pain, but you can’t stop the words from tumbling out. "I didn’t love him. I’m not even sure if I’m capable of such a thing anymore."

The air in the room feels thicker now, charged with the weight of everything you’ve just said. You realize how heavy those words were, how long you’ve carried that silence.

"That... that doesn’t sound like a life well-lived." His voice is quieter now, more thoughtful, saturated with regret. He speaks as though he’s reflecting on your words rather than speaking from his usual position of authority.

“He was cruel in ways description can’t really do justice to. We had a child together, my daughter, Elise.. He never laid a hand on her..not usually. I would never allow it, I figure it’s better me than her...I’m the part of the reason why she existed in the first place, Its only fair I take that on.” The nightmare still lingers like a fog in your mind, and the silence around you feels both suffocating and comforting at once. Your gaze drifts aimlessly across the room, but you can't quite focus—everything feels distant, almost dreamlike. A knot tightens in your chest, but you force a slow breath to steady yourself. You want to look at him, to see if there's any understanding in his eyes, but you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze. Instead, you trace the edges of your nail with your finger, the small, repetitive motion grounding you, keeping you tethered to the moment.

“I don’t really know what happened, but it sort of changed one day. She was nine or so.. He had come home drunk as he often did and things turned violent. She was only a child, naturally she couldn’t withstand as much as I could..And.. and He had killed her..and so I returned the favor.” You open your mouth to say something else, but the words get stuck. Instead, a broken, strangled sob escapes your lips—soft, almost imperceptible, but heavy with years of hurt. It's not the kind of cry you can control. It’s hollow, void of all the sharp edges of pain you'd grown used to; just a quiet, numbing release of everything you’ve kept locked inside. Your chest feels tight, your breath shallow, but the tears don’t come in a rush. It’s like your body can’t remember how to mourn properly. All you can do is sit there, head hanging low, shoulders trembling with that quiet, aching sob that feels as if it’s made of pure exhaustion. You want to scream, but you can’t. You can’t even look at him as the silence presses down on you, suffocating

Alastor's sharp gaze softens as he watches you. He’s used to control, used to being the one in command of every situation, but this—this is different. Your fragile, broken sobs cut through his practiced exterior, and the smallest flicker of something unrecognizable crosses his face.

His body is torn between wanting to comfort you and not knowing how to offer it without making everything worse. His voice, when it comes, is low and almost strained, as if he's fighting the instinct to raise it—something he’s done to keep his own emotions at bay.

"Y/N..." The name falls from his lips like a whisper, the sharp edges of his usual tone dulled, softened by something far more human. He reaches out, but hesitates, his fingers just shy of brushing your shoulder. He doesn't touch you, but his presence looms—close, suffocating in its weight. "I didn’t mean for it to be like this." His voice cracks slightly, a faint tremor you wouldn’t normally hear. "I’m… sorry. For what it’s worth." He’s not used to offering comfort—it feels foreign to him—but the sight of you like this, unraveling in front of him, tugs at something deep inside him.

“Please don’t be..I’m not. I regret so many things.. but I can’t force myself to truly regret those actions, and yet their memory haunts me.” You whisper as tears well in your eyes once more. The weight of your confession hung heavily above your head, threatening to crush what was left of your fragmented heart. You let out the yawn you had been holding in, revealing your tired state.

“Perhaps it’s best to try and get some rest” He softly laughs out, lifting you from his lap and placing you onto the bed. As he stands, his eyes can’t help but linger within your own. A few moments pass as you each have the first true chance to observe how vastly you both have changed. His hair still held the same wave it used to, flopping delicately around his face. The curled strands framed each expression that wandered onto his face in a deep softness unlike any you had encountered before. His smile, however, was nothing more than a diaphanous veil. His eyes drenched the rest of his face in a somber sodden mask. His eyes drifted to the ground as he turned to walk out the door.

“Wait” Your voice is small as you grasp onto the cuff of his sleeve. “Please don’t go” His eyes bore into yours, his soul reflecting the love he held for you through the crimson-boarded windows of his eyes. His smile was soft and genuine, like those he used to give you so often in your time on earth. He ponders this proposition for a moment before he lets out a small breathy laugh.

“Of course mon coeur.. I promise I will stay as long as you wish me to” He took your hand in his squeezing it lightly.

“However, you may not remember this whole ordeal in the morning as well as you do now. Considering our previous argument, I think it’s best I maintain a small bit of distance to not worry your sobered self in the morning.” He whispers placing a soft kiss on the top of your head. He sat himself within the slightly tattered scarlet chair that was placed next to the bed.

“M’kay” you murmured out sleepily. The exhaustion of the night had finally begun to enrapture your form as you tucked yourself under the covers. Before you could protest, your eyes began to droop into a more peaceful slumber.

Alastor kept his promise, he remained perched in the armchair beside your bed throughout the night. His hand found itself placed against your back. He began to trace the lines of your history together into your skin, as his thoughts started to shift to the past.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1929: The bookstore next to Rosie’s shop.

(shush they’re alive at the same time on the grounds of I SAID SO also Rosie's Dialogue is pink in this segment!)

Alastor’s legs carried him to the bookstore faster than he could commit to telling them no. The shop was their secret meeting space, it offered the close comfort of a good book and the privacy Rosie’s store could never offer. Rosie was a slender woman who despite her youthful age and progressive spirit, was a ghost of his past. They had grown up together, she had watched the disillusioned spirit of his youth rot in tandem with her own. With each passing year, their golden facades had been tarnished, corroded by the cruel hands of experience. Their connection flickered with the dimming light of nostalgia and the glow of understanding.

If he was conflicted, there was no reality in which he wouldn’t rush to her opinions and overwhelming honesty, and boy was he conflicted. The object of this confusion was none other than you. Something about your presence seemed to reverse the rot in his heart. It made him softer in ways he didn’t truly understand. He would cancel every meeting and appointment within his schedule if it meant he could spend another few moments with you. On some level, this was normal. He had always held a drastic level of care for you, but through the years it had begun to shift to something more.

He twirled a small golden ring in his fingers each movement dancing within the fabric of his coat pocket. It was almost as if the ring had begun to solder itself to his skin, constantly conducting the electricity of the desire and love that coursed through his veins. He would tell himself the only reason he had bothered to purchase such a thing was a drunken mistake. He had drunk a bit too much on one of your dates years ago, and had purchased it on a whim…that was all, or at least that’s all it could be. It was unrealistic to think something along those lines would work out between you two. Yet, he still kept the damned thing in his pocket, maybe you would mention marriage in passing, and maybe that would be enough to lift the ring from his hand and place it onto your own.

He knew thoughts like that were silly and unprecedented. Marriage could never be the result of his feelings, it would make them too real. He couldn’t seem to get rid of them, no matter how deeply he knew it would benefit you. If he did marry you, there was no reality in which you would not discover the horrors of his secret life. He had always been selfish on some level, but in this situation, it would never feel right. He could never hurt you.

His conflict had driven him to Rosie’s doorstep and promptly next door to the bookstore. If anyone would know how to deal with this, it would be her. She knew you both evenly, naturally her perspective would hold some merit. He had brought you to one of his weekly lunches with Rosie a few years prior after you mentioned an interest in meeting his other friends. The two of you were practically attached at the hip from the moment he introduced you. If anyone would know how he should proceed, it would be Rosie. She was far more trustworthy than most gave her credit for, he wouldn’t have to worry that she would tell you his thoughts like he would if he had spoken with Mimsy or one of your friends.

The bookshop was quaint, filled with antique furnishings and the scent of aging paper and well-weathered leather. Dust dances lazily in the golden beams of the sunlit window behind him. Alastor sat restlessly in the reading nook anxiously fiddling with his hands as Rosie browsed the books in the store’s eclectic collection. She kept a subtle distance as she knew he would have an easier time with honesty if he did not have to meet it face to face. He kept his eyes trained on the floor as he rattled on about his dilemma.

“She’s my Terpsichore Rosie…She could command me to drown myself with her song and it wouldn’t have mattered because I would have already done it anyway…Everything about her just entrances me. That’s dangerous…I’m dangerous. I can’t involve her with something that could bring her harm..especially if I would be its catalyst… I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself from her. Perhaps I need to remove myself from her company for the safety of-“

She cut him off turning abruptly, as she placed the book in her hands back on the shelf.

“Alastor- Darling you should do anything but. You can’t be so caught up in the past that you miss your future”. She sat next to him on the aging loveseat. Her eyes did not meet his, instead, they remained focused on the world behind them through the window.

“Rosie I don’t think you fully understand my “tendencies” He murmured, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He nervously twisted the ring in his pocket, a silent reminder of the question that begged to burn into reality.

“I know all about the little stunts you pull darling. I just think you’re giving them too much power over you” She replied gently, shrugging her shoulders. “Y/n is a wonderful girl, she is the kindest and most understanding person I’ve ever met this side of the city. Don’t let the right person slip away because you are determined to make it the wrong time. If you don’t want to hurt her, then don’t hurt her. It’s that simple. Even if you are “dangerous” then make the choice not to be for her, she is worth it.” She said firmly, her words embalmed with conviction. She gingerly placed her hand onto his shoulder in silent support of his uncertainty.

“I hadn’t thought about it that way” He mumbled, mulling over her words. As he thought on this, the tension in his body began to dissipate. He took a deep breath, finally able to release the weight he had packed so heavily onto his shoulders.

“Of course, you hadn’t-“ She giggled, getting back up to fetch her book. She flipped through its pages as she spoke.“What better place to protect her from so-called “dangerous things” than from by her side? You might consider yourself to be dangerous, but there are people in this city that could do far worse to her.” Her words were nonchalant but their meaning resonated within his mind with great urgency.

“I need to see her” Alastor declared. The surge of desperation in his voice was almost palpable. His heart pounded harsher than it ever had before at the intensity. He flew from his seat and rushed towards the door.

Before he could leave, Rosie called his name dragging his attention back to his current location. “Oh one more thing, Alastor?” Rosie spoke plainly with a hint of malice tucked in her tonality.

“Hm?” He hummed, confused as to what she could possibly want at a moment like this.

“I swear to god if you harm a hair on that sweet girl’s head you’ll end up worse off than your victims” She smiled fiercely, and he returned it. He hurriedly closed the door behind him with a soft thud, the bell on top of it reverberating within the space. He had no intention of letting any harm come your way, especially not of his own volition. Tonight would be the night he finally allowed himself to fully care for you without his own self-determined repercussions.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You let out a soft hum in your sleep snuggling deeper within the sheets. He glanced back at your sleeping form, your softened breaths filling his ears as his heart tinged once more in his eternal regret. He brushed a strand of hair that had fallen into your face behind your ear, and for the first time in decades, his plastered-on smile truly felt real. In that moment he had allowed his soul to fully tie itself to your own. Even if you would never accept his apologies, he was going to love you until his body betrayed its physical form and faded to dust, and if it were possible he would love you long after. He would revert hell to nothing more than ashes and rebuild it in your image even if you could not bear the sweetened saccharine of his words or the touch of his hand…He would suffer through any despicable action just as long as it granted you a fraction of happiness.

It didn’t matter if forgiveness was within the cards, even if it meant bargaining his soul, he would help you get your own back.

so y e a h that happened! uh that was lowkey kinda garbo but yk what im back upon my bullshit so y u h its fine (the sad part on a personal level is that 95% percent of this was already done i just had to add like 5-10 action lines and a couple of descriptions here and there-)

#hazbin hotel #alastor #radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader angst #alastor the radio demon #god my digital footprint is never going to recover #oh my god im going insane #help why did this take so long #also not my one friend on this godforsaken app disappearing..miss you and your writing pook :)#husk shows up for two seconds #cherri bomb #hazbin rosie #not me tagging for characters here for TWO SECONDS- i need to be put DOWN

26 notes · View notes