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lokidiabolus · 4 years ago

Text

The Deal - Chapter 1

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel (web series)

Pairing: Alastor / Angel Dust

Warnings: human!Angel Dust (Anthony), Deal with a devil AU

Summary: Sometimes you had nobody to spend the Christmas with. Sometimes you didn’t want to. Sometimes you took a chalk and drew a pentagram on the floor fully ready to deal with anything that would come out as an alternative to self-pity occurring otherwise.

The time when Anthony thought if he can't get anybody to love him properly, he can just make a deal with a devil and find out what affection feels like. Alastor thinks this mortal is pitiful beyond belief and concede. Cuddles happen.

Can be found on Ao3.

Notes: I'm absolutely new to Hazbin Hotel, watched Addict first (thanks youtube) and was like holy hell, is there more of it somewhere? What is this?! And then found the Pilot and here I am. This is just me indulging in what my mind threw out one day, and while it's not very canon compliant, it's just my tribute for this intriguing universe and sort of a comfort fic, I guess (although there is one darker bit, but yeah). I read several fics before even writing this and kind of got stuck with the "deal with a devil" one as a starting point, even though I much more prefer settings in canon version. Yet somehow this was basically writing itself, so maybe next time :')

Also, English is not my first language. This is not betad and there is this thing with Alastor's proper speech I basically just winged by not shortening anything lmao. Therefore apologies if it's not very accurate - the same thing with Angel and his accent. I plan to add more to this and even a bit of a "in hell" part, but so far I'm just winging it.

Unbetad!

***

2019, 24th

Christmas was a day full of magic. Day majority spent with their loved ones, with their family, their spouses, in peace and joy. TV promoted Christmas as if it was the only day that ever mattered in the whole year way back to October, where people were still wondering what costume to wear for Halloween, yet already seeing Christmas ornaments and ideas of presents that were overpriced but pretended to be on sale. It was a day of good food, relaxing atmosphere and snow falling from the heavy clouds while flames were crackling in the fireplace, warming homes of the blessed.

The blessed were not as numerous as the TV would give out, obviously. Rarely anybody had a fireplace at home. Rarely anybody considered Christmas as the best day in the year because it stressed them with tons of preparations and last-minute calls to distant family members not attending the scarcely enjoyable Christmas dinner. There were quarrels, there were misunderstandings, there were old grudges coming to life and sometimes it ended in tears instead of happy evening it advertised.

Sometimes you had nobody to spend the Christmas with. Sometimes you didn’t want to. Sometimes you took a chalk and drew a pentagram on the floor fully ready to deal with anything that would come out as an alternative to self-pity occurring otherwise.

Anthony finished the outer circle of the pentagram with a light tap and peered once more into the book he drew it from – a leather bound journal he got on his 21st birthday from an acquaintance that thought satanism is the right answer to his plight – ironically he only knew a sliver of it back then. Maybe if he heard the whole story, he would give him the whole devil with a big knife to help, who knew. Anthony forgot about the book for 10 years while it rested stashed in the topmost drawer in the bedroom, waiting for life to get hard enough to pop back into Anthony’s conscience.

Well, now it did. When Anthony went through the yellowed pages, it felt surreal somehow, like a forbidden knowledge taking place in the back of his mind. There were no incantations, no summoning words that would specify or make this feel like from a bad movie – it was just the pentagram, two circles, and five symbols at the peaks done neatly on the wooden floor. The only huh, this may be a real deal addition was the blood Anthony had to provide for the summoning to complete, as the journal stated.

The blood of the desperate soul will seal the deal with the answering.

Anthony thought it was good enough, he was desperate plenty. And if it didn’t work, he would just have to do some cleaning, because who knew how badly the blood would stain the wood. He put down the chalk and the journal on the sofa and stood up, admiring his work from above. The living room sure did look more interesting with the pentagram gracing majority of the floor now, with armchair and the table pushed away to make space.

Anthony reached for the knife he prepared for the occasion, a small sharp thing he normally used for cooking rather than himself (unless it was an accident while cutting veggies) and peered again at the pentagram. The TV buzzed behind him with Christmas songs and snow was falling heavily outside, padding the streets with fake diamonds.

God rest ye merry gentlemen Let nothing you dismay Remember Christ our Saviour Was born on Christmas Day

He took a deep breath and gently touched his palm with the edge of the knife, adding pressure and then easing it back down, his heart slowly picking up the pace. Sure, nobody knew what would happen. Maybe nothing. Probably nothing. But maybe something, right?

To save us all from Satan's power When we were gone astray Oh tidings of comfort and joy Comfort and joy Oh tidings of comfort and joy

He tried again and the sharp edge bit into his skin almost unexpected, leaving behind a cut quickly filling with dark red, flowing Anthony’s palm like a well. He closed his hand with a sigh and turned it down above the circle, staring at the red streaks forming at the peak and then dropping down into the middle of the pentagram, splattering against the wooden boards like rubies.

In Bethlehem, in Israel This blessed Babe was born And laid within a manger Upon this blessed morn The which His Mother Mary Did nothing take in scorn

Anthony watched the red forming a small puddle, his eyes taking in the shape and the colour and counted his breaths in wait. He took a note of every odd noise and every change of air, but nothing came but the song from the TV, buzzing at the edge of his mind.

Oh tidings of comfort and joy Comfort and joy Oh tidings of comfort and joy

He gulped down the disappointment and turned his palm back up, ending the blood flow like a tap on the water with a tissue. What was he expecting anyway? There was no higher power to end the misery or to lift it, only bitter life until the heart stopped beating and the flesh rotted away.

Fear not then, said the Angel Let nothing you affright This day is born a Saviour Of a pure Virgin bright To free all those who trust in Him From Satan's power and might Oh tidings of comfort and joy Comfort and joy Oh tidings of comfort and joy

What a mess, Anthony thought, looking down on the floor. The buzz of the TV twitched slightly, and he reached for the remote control with a sigh, turning it off. He felt tired despite not doing anything, but the thought of leaving the blood behind until morning and then dealing with it would definitely work against him.

The TV buzzed again, the song filling the room once more and Anthony froze, turning towards it in a glacier pace when he heard the chorus picking up too many voices. The room grew dim all of sudden as if shadows where climbing the walls all the way to the ceiling, swallowing up any light in the process.

Ğ̸̤̳o̶̪̪̿̽d̵̨̢͛ ̵͕̜̔̐r̵̖͘e̶̜͎͛s̶͓̫͂̿ť̸͎͘ ̵̻͇̈y̴̺̆̒e̷̫̤̍̒ ̶̫͔̾̎m̷̝̠͆e̷̲̊̓r̴͈̅r̷̛͜ẙ̷̥ ̵̙̜̀g̴̯̀e̴̳̫͝ň̷͕̑t̵̮̞̓̿ľ̶͎̑ē̸̙͔̿m̴͔͊e̸̦̳͐͘n̶̢̠̈́,̸̻̗̾ ̸̢͋̒ľ̵͙ͅe̶͈̻̕͝ṱ̶̛̗̽ ̶̺̒̚ň̵͎͗o̴̧͛ţ̷̗̾̚h̵̛͚i̶̭̅̇n̷̞̋g̵̢̹̿͂ ̴̱͉̑ÿ̸̜̳́o̸͙͖͐û̴͇ ̷̧͊͘d̴̨͐i̶̛̤͙s̷͕͔̚m̷̗̯͆̎a̵̞̒̓y̴͍͚̏͘.̸̜̏͝ ̴̢̤̅R̷̘̚ͅē̶̗̆ḿ̸̖̲é̴̯͖͠m̴͉͓̈́̃b̵͈̺́e̶̠͒͊r̷͔̠͌̌ ̴̺̻̒̽C̷̡͘h̷̥͆r̵̜̳̓ḯ̷̞͍̀ș̸̐̀t̶̜̑́ ̵̨̈́͠o̵͙̪͐͠ṵ̶̇̋ŕ̴̟̌ ̸̡̜̑͋S̷̜͐ͅå̵͇̳v̴̛̙̒i̷͚̊̌ơ̸̬u̶̠̎r̵͈̬̔̓ ̷̯͓͊̌w̵͕̄̚ḁ̶̐s̶͙̏̇ ̷̥̱̄̍b̵̛͖̔o̷͉̠̅̏r̸̠͈͌̅n̷̤͊ ̷͇̐ͅo̵̠͐n̷̹͗ ̷̺̙͒͋C̸̫͝h̵͎̮͒r̷͎̝̈́i̶̡̒̿s̴̠̣̚t̴̰̍m̸̨̟̑a̶̼̒s̶̭̝̔͝ ̸͉͌D̵̂ͅa̷̾̆͜ÿ̶̢̠́̚ ̶̱̈́ţ̵̫̽̿o̴͕̘͆ ̴͖̔̂s̴͕͂͊a̶̞͑v̸̙͑̈́e̵̛͈͙ ̷̝̲̄͐ȕ̶̪̠̐s̶̠̃ ̴͉̱͋̅ã̵͈̀l̵͉̮͑l̷̥̔̀ ̶̯̆̕f̷͓͚͑̕r̵̼̽ȍ̴̹͉̑m̸̡͔̒ ̸͚̔̚Ș̶͍̂a̴̝͆t̶̮͑ͅȁ̸̯̅ņ̵̿͊'̶̟̚͝s̵͌͠ͅ ̶͕̍̓p̴͙͝õ̴̢̐ẇ̴͓e̶͈͘r̷̝͍̅̽ ̵̼̈͑w̴͙͒͝h̸̜́e̸̠̫̚n̷̮͊ ̷̝̺̕w̸̛̗̣̓ę̶͂͌ ̸̣̃̑w̶̱̓̈́ͅè̸̪̈́r̴̓́ͅe̶͓͌ ̵̮̙̃g̴̩̻̉͝o̷̠̜̿n̷͕̭͋̿e̶̜͔͋ ̶̮́̔å̴̧̹͂ṡ̵̲ṫ̵̬r̷̝̅̌a̶̖̬͊͘y̸̨͋̄.̷̡͖̈͊ ̷͇̇̉Ò̸͖̏h̴̥͎͝͝ ̷̲͚́͝t̷̘́̔ȋ̵͈d̴̳̬̃i̵̝̹͗̀n̷̺̋g̵̗̒̔s̸̘̰̾ ̵̻̘͛̄ő̶̅͜f̷̗̍̔ ̵̺̲̀c̵̼̒͌o̷̮͝m̶͍̕f̶͍̱͐o̵͇͆̏ṟ̸̏͜ṯ̴̓ ̴͈͒ạ̷̈́͆ṇ̴̛͙d̷̼͋͝ ̴̰͎̚̕j̶̼͉̔̽ŏ̸͎͐y̵̦͖̋,̶̦̓ ̶̖͐̕c̶̙͝͝o̸̫͇̓͌m̸̧͗̃f̶̞̎ọ̸͗r̷̃̇ͅẗ̵̛̳̱́ ̵̥̐͂͜a̴̫͛ṅ̶̤͠d̷͎̔̏ ̶͐ͅj̵͕͇̎ò̵̳̪̇y̶̩̓͜.̴̪̜̇̚ ̸̘̣͑Ō̷̫̓h̸̥̄͘ ̵̩̖̆t̷̻̏ï̷̙ḑ̴̋i̶͈͂n̶͓͎̿̇g̵̳̓ͅs̶̭͎̕ ̵͚̖̌̚ȍ̸̤̬̚f̵̦̭̈́ ̶̙͕͝c̷̺̒ô̸̩m̴̝̠̐ḟ̴̲̠̃ò̷̤͔́r̶̛̞̳̀t̴͈͚͛ ̶͓̅̿ả̸̠̣̔n̴͔͔͑d̷̬͍̊ ̴̧̯̉̈́j̷͓̫͒̈o̵͎͎͊y̵̛̫̾.̷̠̿̔

The TV gave another set of buzzes and then died out, the room falling into creepy silence.

“What a lovely song,” a staticky voice rang through the stillness and Anthony forgot how to breathe for several seconds. A voice meant somebody was in the room. In the room where he summoned a devil. So that meant a devil was in the pentagram right now, right? A real deal. Expecting anything, from a winged abomination to a devilish imp, Anthony turned back towards the pentagram and… found it empty.

“What?” he breathed out, confused. Was it just a broadcast? It sounded like an old radio or something.

“Sixteenth century, I believe,” the staticky voice rang again and Anthony realized it was on his left instead and when he looked that way, he sure did find a body it belonged to – a man sitting on his couch, legs crossed primly, crimson eyes locked to Anthony’s frozen form in the middle of the room. He was fully dressed in pinstriped red suit with black accents, his gloves looked like they had claws at the end, tapping against a cane he was holding with light clink clink clink against the metal. Anthony couldn’t decide what to make of his face – was it handsome or scary? The red, unblinking eyes were staring right into his soul and his mouth was split in a grin he couldn’t place as happy or pleasant, more like unnerving. The red hair framing his face were trimmed right at his chin with black ends that continued shorter to the back, probably giving him an undercut, though Anthony couldn’t see that from the angle he was sitting. Despite all that he didn’t look that… devilish as Anthony would think he would.

“This version is much nicer, I have to admit,” the man spoke again and then the TV buzzed once more with crackling static, filling the room with old recording of the same song, but definitely not as clean and enjoyable as the version playing before. “1917 Edison records recording. Very Christian.”

“Oh,” Aidan realized. Of course Christmas songs were Christian and he had them playing while summoning a devil – he could have sprayed everything with holy water and it would be the same welcoming sight. “Sorry.”

“You are forgiven,” the man remained seated on the sofa and Anthony glanced back towards the pentagram. The blood was gone from the centre.

“Shouldn’t you be in there?” he pointed towards the sign and the man tilted his head, his smile widening.

“No, this spot is much more comfortable,” he responded in kind and there was a laughing track afterwards. Did he have a radio with him? His voice sounded like was talking from one, but here he was, sitting in person in the room with no radio in sight. “But thank you for the treat nevertheless.”

Which was probably the blood. Anthony decided not to question it.

“Now tell me what you desire.” The question fell between them like a lead and Anthony felt the despair he managed to contain until now grow. He played it in his head several times – how he would word it, how to ask, what tone to use. Several scenarios playing the moment he decided to summon this being, but now, standing here with the opportunity, he couldn’t find his voice. He didn’t expect a normal looking person sitting on his couch like a therapist ready to take notes on his condition, despite all the red and radio going on with him. Were it an unholy picture of a demon with wings or horns or more (or less) eyes than was considered normal, it wouldn’t be so difficult.

“How about you sit down first, then?” the devil-incarnate gestured towards the armchair on his left and Anthony heeded the advice and dragged himself towards it, sitting down heavily. Now being on the eyelevel with the creature made it even more surreal. Were those antlers on his head? It didn’t look like horns he normally saw devils depicted with. They were almost hidden between the tufts of hair sticking up, but definitely present. Actually, his whole hairstyle was impressive, denying gravity like that.

“There, much more comfortable, is it not,” the devil crooned a let the cane touch the floor, resting his hand atop of it. Or, wait, was it a microphone? “Yours a troubled soul indeed. It is quite a heavy burden you are carrying.”

Anthony looked away, his throat tight. No, this definitely didn’t help, he felt like there was a hell file of him now, like the devil read the dossier and thought oh boy, this boy is fucked up beyond help and came to deliver a judgement worth hell and beyond.

“Maybe you would like to dispose of him?” Came a question. Anthony looked back at the man with wide eyes. “Or maybe torture him instead. He hurt you quite a lot. A simple death might not be enough satisfaction.”

A searing pain, blood, the stench of sweat and come, a chain and never-ending humiliation, a caress on his cheek, smearing the tears, suffocating, suffocating, suffocating-

“No,” he choked out, curling to himself.

“Would you like to do it yourself then?” the man in red gestured with his clawed hand and Anthony shook his head.

“No death,” he mumbled, his body shaking. “I don’t… I don’t wanna think about him. Or anything ’bout that. It’s gone now, it’s in the past.”

“If that pleases you,” his guest conceded.

It definitely didn’t please him but nothing about it would do any good anyway.

“Is there other wish then?” An inquiry. His voice was rather soothing, despite the static background, like a radio host.

“I just want…” Anthony started, his chest tight. “Love.”

“Love?” the man repeated, the confusion apparent in the tone.

“Love and affection and… home with someone, I… don’t wanna be alone,” Anthony let the words fall out while hugging his knees tighter to his body. “To have somebody to be with me. To love me. To care?”

There was no response and Anthony gulped down the tears that threatened to spill out. When nothing came out for a whole minute, he risked a glance towards the man and found him staring back with a raised eyebrow.

“Love and affection,” he finally repeated after Anthony, tone bewildered. “You do realize you summoned a demon, not a fairy god mother, yes?”

Anthony nodded.

“Love and affection cannot be wished upon anybody,” the demon tilted his head to the side. “Ironically by nobody, even fairies. They can make somebody infatuated, like a fever that hazes their brains, but that also disappears after a while, and usually does not have much to do with… affection.”

“Oh,” Anthony let out in disappointment. “Then… can ya kill me?”

The demon stared even harder now.

“Kill you,” he repeated.

“Painlessly?” Anthony added quietly. “Like… put me to sleep I wouldn’t wake up from?”

The demon sighed and uncrossed his legs so he could lean closer towards Anthony, his face frowning a little.

“Let us put death aside for now,” he said afterwards. “I came to an understanding this day and age opens unlimited possibilities for people to meet and have… affection spark. You are flattering to an eye, my effeminate fellow, surely finding a partner is not an obstacle in this day?”

“A man,” Anthony uttered in a response and the demon made a vague gesture.

“Does not change a thing, my dear,” he continued, the echo of the static buzzing. “Internet, was it? Open possibilities with establishments and support. This century is welcoming.”

“You mean dating apps?” Anthony scoffed, unhappy and the demon actually looked curious when he nodded. “All ya get from there is sex.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

“Not what you are after?” the question seemed peculiar and Anthony decided not to take it in a bad way.

“I don’t mind sex, but after all that…” he tried to explain quietly, but words were failing him. It was a part of how fucked up he was anyway. Normal person would never ever touch or let others touch them after all the abuse he went through, yet he was still pretty much open for anything sexual. It was something he was good at, even. It just felt… so empty. Like staring into an aquarium without a single fish in it.

“Understandable,” the demon leaned back to rest against the sofa, the invisible audience aaahed. “Surely not impossible to find somebody of the similar mindset though?”

“I’m…” Anthony took a breath. “Filthy.”

It took the demon back by the look of it.

“Beg your pardon?” He looked him over. “Filthy?”

Anthony nodded, hugging his sides again to stop the tremors.

“Having the baggage I have… it makes me undesirable. It’d come out sooner or later. Anybody learning about it would leave. Left. Will leave.”

The demon seemed to ponder that a bit, his expression thoughtful.

“Rather than put an effort into the search, you wish to make somebody fall in love with you instead?” It sounded accusing, but not wrong. Anthony couldn’t really deny it. It wasn’t like he wanted somebody concrete. He just wanted to experience it at least a little, without the endless worry about the truth coming out and the spell disappearing.

“And since it cannot be done, you wish to die,” the demon concluded, and Anthony hummed in defeat. His life was a series of failures, pains and loneliness. This kind of life… it was not worth living. Depressions, anxieties, states of utter self-hatred, drug hazes that ended with more self-loathing, he didn’t want this. If it made him weak, so be it. He deserved being looked down upon. He was like this since he was a child.

“What a silly, pitiful mortal,” the demon finally stood up. “But at least you made my job easy.”

And with that, everything faded to black.

***

Anthony woke up with a start, like a cold water roused him from depths of unconsciousness just to threaten him to plunge him back in with a heart-attack. He sat up straight like a bolt, chest heaving and cold sweat drenching his clothes before he took in the surroundings and realized it was just his bedroom drowned in darkness of the night, his own bed and nothing more.

Was it all just a dream? Or was this afterlife? A punishment for trying to escape the bitterness of living by plunging him into the same misery, but never ending? He felt cold but at the same time thirsty and that in the end pushed him out of the bed, despite risking a limb or two if this was some kind of purgatory and monsters were hiding under his bed.

He met with no surprises when he stepped into the living room, the floor was clean with no sign of blood or chalk, with furniture in the right places and cold night from the snow falling outside seeping through windows.

“Oh…” he let out quietly, gazing across the peaceful living room like nothing transpired there just a moment ago. Or was it an hour? A day? A lifetime? Or just a figment of his imagination? He shook his head and padded quietly to the kitchen. The knife he used to cut his hand with was resting peacefully in the knife holder and when Anthony opened his palm, there was no wound in sight. In a sense, it was rather disappointing. It’s not like he wanted to die and then endlessly suffer in hell for his crimes, but it wasn’t like he wanted to live either, like he was stuck in a limbo, waiting for something bigger to crush him under its heel.

He shook his head and filled the glass with water to drink it on the spot. Maybe it was just a strange, real like dream that would disappear in the morning without a trace, along with the red-clothed demon talking to him in a surprisingly soothing voice about killing a man that made his childhood and most of his teenage years a living nightmare. He kind of hoped to remember him though – for a demon he was rather nice.

He walked back to his bedroom with a sad sigh and almost screamed when he realized somebody was sitting on his bed, legs crossed and holding a book.

“You do seem rather unhappy with the fact you are still alive, dear,” sounded the staticky voice of the demon and Anthony cleared his throat, not daring to take another step. He was reading the leather-bound journal Anthony used to summon him and apparently didn’t mind the fact Anthony was gaping at him like a fish out of water.

“Well,” the human shuffled on his feet nervously. “I certainly didn’t expect to wake up, I suppose.”

“Terribly sorry to disappoint,” the man responded, obviously not sorry at all. “I just put you to sleep to have some time to think about your wish.”

“The death wish?” Anthony asked while trying to suppress the cold seeping into his bones. Well, he did stand there just in the shorts and a tank top with bare feet on the floor, so there was no wonder, but seeing the demon sitting on his bed, he didn’t want to risk going closer, even though so far he probably didn’t really have a reason to fear him.

“The affection wish,” the demon closed the journal with a quick snap and regarded Anthony with an evened stare. “While it is virtually impossible to grant it, there are roundabouts that could eventually lead to the outcome you seek.”

Anthony blinked, not sure what to say.

“Didn’t ya say killing me made your job easier?” he settled on a simple question and the demon stood up and gestured for him to come closer. Anthony hesitated, but the cold was starting to annoy him, so he left the spot at the door and walked towards the bed, where he promptly sat down.

“And it is not wrong,” the demon finally spoke when Anthony hid his feet under the covers. “It definitely would make this go fast and easy. But then you would be completely useless to me, and that kind of defeats the purpose.”

“What do you mean useless?” Anthony raised an eyebrow. “I’d be dead.”

“And in Hell,” the demon reminded him rather sweetly and Anthony paled. “You did not think summoning a demon would grant you a passage to Heaven, did you?”

Quite frankly Anthony didn’t give it much thought. The pressing matters were now, when he was alive, and what was after his death was a problem for dead Anthony. Sure, he didn’t expect to be welcomed in heaven anyway, since duh, gay, drugs and attempted murder, but he didn’t care as much, until the demon told him.

“Didn’t think I’d go to heaven anyway…” he mumbled more to himself than the demon, but the man chuckled anyway.

“Good, good,” he nodded in agreement. “Honestly… a weak-willed person makes a weak-willed demon. The more his psyche is disturbed, the less of a form and power he manifests in the purgatory. Those lesser shades are at the end of a food chain, useless even for a simple pawn. I have no use for these.”

Anthony tilted his head to the side, not quite grasping the concept. It didn’t look like the demon cared though.

“Therefore, granting you a quick death while you feel blue would not benefit me at all,” he continued while starting to pace through the bedroom. He looked rather excited, honestly, wildly gesturing as if he was telling his grandiose plans. “Which led me to your first wish, and as I said, while I am unable to grant it for you in its entirety as you would probably imagine it would go, I can make a deal with you instead.”

“Alright?” Anthony raised his knees under his chin and the demon finally stopped, looking right at him.

“I would be your partner,” he stated victoriously while the invisible audience behind a secret radio cheered, and Anthony blinked.

“Uh…”

“While I refuse to participate in anything sexual or intimate,” the man in red continued, “which apparently is not that big of a deal for you, I can provide, as you mortals call it, a human warmth. Which is a form of affection, yes?”

A human warmth, Anthony repeated in his mind. Was that a formal word for something or…

“Oh. You mean cuddling,” it dawned on him suddenly.

“Cuddling,” the demon repeated like he was tasting the word. Then nodded. “Yes, I assume that is the word.”

That… didn’t sound bad, really. Sleeping with a person without fear of needing to open his legs at the end of the night to be able to stay was something Anthony could get behind.

“Alright,” he agreed, making the demon smile widely again. “But.” The smile fell a little. “This is for the cost of my soul, right?”

“Why, yes, indeed,” the man in red didn’t sugar-coat it. “Or more precisely, your soul would belong to Hell, but your heart would belong to me.”

“Which means?” Anthony re-seated and crossed his arms on his chest. His guest watched him for several seconds from under black eyelashes, and then leaned closer, smiling wickedly.

“That you would be mine for eternity,” he purred sweetly, and Anthony felt rather conflicted on how to feel, because somehow it scared him, but at the same time it sounded kind of reassuring? “It is like an unbreakable contract. You would have to do my bidding.”

“Forever,” Anthony added.

“Oh yes. Forever or until you get eradicated.”

“Eradicated?”

“The dangers of Hell are numerous,” the demon retreated again, standing straight. “Which is probably not coming off as a surprise. But yes, your soul can be destroyed completely, which prevents you from being reborn. Or something like that, details are useless. Being reborn from Hell is more like a myth anyway.”

“Let’s leave it at… my heart will be yours sort of thing, alright,” Anthony nodded, which apparently pleased the demon, since he smiled again. “So, cuddling. But that’s not enough, the price is quite high.”

“Indeedy,” the demon fiddled with his microphone, twirling it between his fingers, and the audience clapped again. “Glad to see you are not a complete pushover, at least.”

Anthony rolled his eyes but didn’t comment on it.

“I want to eat dinners together, at least three times a week,” he lay down his first request and the demon seemed to ponder that. “And every second weekend I’d like to spend it together somehow too. Like… going out somewhere, or… even staying home, I mean, just… with the company. Watching a movie or ya know.”

It made the demon bark out a soft laugh, which quite frankly suited him. He was rather tall and intimidating from the get-go but laughing with sincerity softened it marginally. Anthony liked that kind of setup.

“This is the most bizarre wish I have ever granted,” the demon commented in amusement, but didn’t refuse, so Anthony considered it a green light. “But alright. Three days for dinners and then every second weekend. Does the three days count into the weekend or do they have to be separate days?”

“Separate,” Anthony immediately shot out, earning a thoughtful nod. “Also, rainy days.”

“Rainy days?” the red-haired man repeated. “Are those special somehow?”

“Somehow,” Anthony mumbled, “depressing.”

He earned a hum, which probably meant alright, and was glad when he wasn’t pushed to elaborate.

“Is that all then?” the demon prompted when Anthony kept quiet for too long, and the human hesitantly nodded. It wasn’t like he wanted much, honestly. Pretty sure any kind of relationship with a normal person would crash and burn in days anyway with all the insecurities he packed. But this man… he knew – if not all of it, then at least the worst of it – and he didn’t want anything from Anthony, except of his heart and not in a romantic sense. A deal like that… it sounded fair. Just having somebody to spend evenings with, easy and domestic.

“Actually…” he tried, and the demon gave him a questioning look. “What’s your name?”

“Call me Alastor.” The reply indicated the name was not real. “How uncouth of me, not introducing myself during all this time. Pleasure to meet you, Anthony.”

He offered his hand, clawed, with gloves red and black like the rest of him, and Anthony reached for it without hesitation.

“Anthony,” Alastor’s voice stopped him just a mere inch from touching. “Do we have a deal, then? If you take my hand, you cannot back out. Ever.”

A green sheen of light filled the room, menacingly reminding him Alastor was not a human and the deal wasn’t money or goods, but the cost of his soul and afterlife. There would be no backing out.

But was there ever?

Anthony smiled and closed the gap, tightly gripping the gloved hand in his.

“It’s a deal.”

Alastor’s smile widened and the green shine disappeared, leaving Anthony somehow exhausted. The demon seemed to take a note of that – or maybe it was normal when closing a deal with him – and pushed him back to the bed, which Anthony happily obliged with a tired sigh. He saw in the corner of his eye how his guest took down his red coat, folding it neatly on the back of the sofa near the bed, then slowly took off his shoes (Anthony couldn’t even be mad he had shoes on in his flat, it was far above his energy levels) and socks (red), unfurled the bowtie and opened first three buttons of the red shirt and then finally turned towards the bed, scanning it thoughtfully. Anthony rolled on his side, looking at him with half lidded eyes.

“Comin’?” he breathed out with a chuckle and Alastor nodded but remained on the spot, as if he were doing some advanced math on sleeping in one bed with another dude. Which he actually might have.

“Al..stor?” Anthony yawned and the demon finally stepped closer.

“I would like to sleep at the wall,” he requested simply, pointing at the steep angle of the partition that probably made the corner of the bed look like a safe spot. Little he knew any sudden movement up was going to meet his forehead, but Anthony didn’t feel like warning him for now.

“Sure thing,” he shuffled closer towards the open edge of the bed and that finally made Alastor move in, gracefully stepping over Anthony’s legs and then sliding into the vacant spot on the mattress, under the covers and towards his companion. A hand snaked around Anthony’s waist, pulling him back against Alastor’s front, and yeah, okay, the guy was quite warm indeed, that was nice.

“Comfy?” Anthony asked after few moments when the shuffling stopped and Alastor made a humming noise. Then: “No.”

Before Anthony could ask why, Alastor was pulling him back and turning him towards himself like a sack of potatoes, then grabbing him by the waist and almost suffocating him when he pushed Anthony’s head against his chest.

“Gee, warn a guy next time,” the human groaned into the red shirt. “Or is this an elaborate plan on how to kill me immediately after striking a deal, by suffocating?”

“Hmm,” Alastor hummed again. “Not really. This is not comfortable either.”

This time he only flipped himself on his back, wiggling up and down, completely ignoring Anthony’s bewilderment at the actions, until he finally stilled and grabbed the human by the back of his neck and pushed him again against his chest, where Anthony landed with a quiet oof.

“Ah, yes,” Alastor finally stated. “This is just right.”

“Fuckin’ finally,” Anthony huffed and dragged his body higher, draping his legs over Alastors’ while resting his head on the demon’s shoulder. Then finally let out a breath and melted into the warmth like ice cream.

“I am a hard man to please, you will find,” Alastor pitched in. “But I am sure we can find a compromise.”

“Your compromising seems rather one-sided so far,” Anthony jabbed, and it made Alastor chuckle.

“Not wrong.”

There was a clawed hand on the back of Anthony’s neck that moved towards his hair, combing through them slightly. The movement was pretty nice and if Anthony was a cat, he’d have purred for sure.

Speaking of hands… “You healed my wound?”

“Why, yes, I sure did,” Alastor answered easily. “No reason for it when it filled its purpose.”

“Thank you,” the human whispered into the red shirt and the hand in his hair patted him. “Sleeping now.”

“Please do,” the demon responded rudely, but there was not enough consciousness for Anthony to get back at him somehow. The waves of sleep claimed him like a spell casted by a demon in red, sealing a deal for eternity.

***

Anthony woke up to a warm but empty spot in his bed, smell of coffee waffling through air and sun peeking between clouds to his bedroom. The snow stopped falling but the ice drew crystals on the window, signalling the temperature outside was rather low, despite the sunny lie.

He sat up groggily but surprisingly well rested and his head had to take a five to catch up with everything that transpired at night, which quite frankly still felt like a dream. But then the dream was standing in his kitchen again fully dressed, sipping a cup of coffee (Anthony’s favourite cup, a black wide and low beauty with golden accents and a handle, even though he never used it for coffee) while reading a newspaper. Where he got one was a mystery, since Anthony definitely didn’t have any at home, but then again – a demon. He could probably snap one from thin air.

“Ah, Anthony,” he immediately spotted the human standing in between the doors, “my good fellow, good morning. I took the liberty of using your coffee machine, thought you could do with wider variety of blends.”

“I don’t even know I have a coffee machine,” Anthony yawned and shuffled into the kitchen while absentmindedly scratching his belly under the tank top. “Or blends on that matter. Where did ya even find it?”

Alastor pointed at the cabinet that was obviously fiddled with and it only assured Anthony that he had no idea of its contents. Somebody must have left the coffee here, he mused, while reaching into the cabinet himself and pulling out a tea box.

“Not having a knack for coffee?” Alastor asked while watching the human pouring water into a kettle and then filling another cup with four spoons of sugar.

“Don’t like bitter stuff,” Anthony mumbled while hanging the tea bag inside.

“I can see that,” Alastor commented, pointedly looking at the cup with enough sugar to sustain Anthony through morning and cause anybody else a cardiac arrest. He obviously wanted to nag him for it, but was nice enough to keep his mouth shut, which was a smart move.

“I have to leave for now,” the demon announced after the water finished boiling and Anthony looked at him wordlessly. “Busy as ever, I am afraid. But,” he snapped his fingers and there was a retro-looking radio standing on the counter, just appearing out of thin air, “I will leave this here. Consider it… a Christmas gift.”

“A radio?” Anthony stared at the contraption in confusion and Alastor patted the radio gently.

“Yes, indeed!” he happily announced and tuned it so that smooth jazz started to play. “It is more of a… communication device for you and me though. Not saying it can always reach me in Hell, but it usually can. And I can reach you here as well if the need arises. Sounds fair?”

“Sure,” Anthony eyed the radio suspiciously. “So, what’s with ya and the radios anyway?”

“No time, we can talk later!” Alastor pushed his empty cup into Anthony’s hands and with another snap of his fingers his microphone appeared, and he spun it in his hand. “I am not able to make it today for sure, but let us start the dinner routine tomorrow, how about that?”

“It’s fine, but Al-,”

“I will see you later then, my dear fellow!” And with that, Alaster poofed out of thin air like a goddamn David Copperfield on a good day, leaving Anthony gaping like a fish once again.

***

2019, 25th

The Boxing day was quiet and mostly for kids anyway. The joyous squeals of children when obtaining their dream toy filling households only lasted for a while until kids went out to play. Anthony saw the lot of them outside in the snow, throwing snowballs around and letting their parents take a breather or two.

Anthony never wanted kids. Hell, he couldn’t even have one when the only woman he ever loved was his mom, and she was probably in heaven, unless she fucked up somewhere on the road and the elevator went down. He wondered if Alastor would know of her, if she ended up in hell. Or anybody, really, if Anthony asked.

Hey, you met my pops in there? The old fucking homophobic bastard? Hope he’s squealing like a pig on a roaster.

Yeah, no. Maybe Alastor would know and would tell him and Anthony wouldn’t like the answer. Not to mention it wasn’t in their deal anyway, exchanging information from Hell and beyond. But he still wondered, now when he knew hell really existed and everybody who did bad things ended up as a demon in there. If they never struck a contract with a demon while alive, did they just arrive there free to roam about until somebody eradicated them? Or picked them up? Was it all about deals in hell? Dog eat dog? It would make sense, probably. But he still thought it’s purgatory with everybody being tortured by having their organs ripped out and eaten and then growing them back out just to do it again the next day, that sort of vileness. Maybe having a pineapple stuck in their ass too, just as a good measure of their sins.

He glanced towards the kitchen, the radio perfectly visible from his spot on the couch, just sitting on the kitchen desk like it was no demonic contraption that could call his owner in hell. It was like those old dandy radios before TV was invented, vintage and possibly kind of nice looking, yet completely out of place in Anthony’s flat. Was it Alastor’s checking on my investment sort of thing? A spyware but old fashioned? All about Alastor was a bit old timey, the way he talked, the way the never-ending static around him buzzed and played all kind of reaction tracks, even the way he dressed. Though Anthony had to admit that kind of fashion was more timeless if anything else. The static noise that surrounded him and even coloured his voice was strange, and Anthony didn’t know what to exactly think about it. He never stopped emitting the sound, even when they were sleeping, the static was still there. Anthony didn’t mind, it was a white noise sort of background he fell asleep to even normally, but the question still stood.

“Maybe I should write the questions down,” he mumbled to himself. Alastor was not coming tonight and Anthony was prone to forgetting things fast. If he wanted to know, it was easier to make a list.

***

2019, 26th

“You made a list?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Anthony batted Alastor’s hand away when he tried to grab the paper. He was primly seated at the table, legs crossed, and his grin ever present. “You’re the first demon I’ve met. Of course I have questions and there’s lots of them, so I wrote it down.”

It was seven in the evening, Thursday, 26th. Alastor appeared out of nowhere in the living room approximately at 18:30 and scared the shit out of Anthony who was attempting to do some yoga after half a year, which obviously caught him in an embarrassing position with his butt sticking in the air and a not very manly shriek following when he heard Alastor ask about the occasion.

They decided to make spaghetti. Or better Anthony decided and Alastor didn’t argue. And then it came to the questions and Anthony remembered the list and that obviously piqued Alastor’s curiosity.

“Fair enough,” the demon conceded and folded his hands back on the table. “I suppose I can indulge you.” He didn’t look any different from the last day Anthony saw him – the same suit, the same hair, and it probably made sense, being in hell and all. Dead didn’t have many people to impress with wide variety of clothes, unless sinners had keen fashion sense down there. The time also may flow differently in hell, right? Was the time even a thing in there?

Anthony peeked into his list, then returned to the kitchen counter where he was cutting tomatoes.

“Do you know Lucifer?”

It was the first thing that occurred to him when he tried to think back to Christianity. Lucifer the Morning star, he was supposed to rule hell, right? Or was he a fairy tale?

“Yes,” Alastor responded easily. “Everybody knows the King of Hell. Or at least know of him.”

“I mean… personally?” Anthony peered at the demon over his shoulder and Alastor nodded.

“We have met. He quite enjoys the polka music.”

“Lucifer the Morning star enjoys the polka music,” Anthony repeated with a snort while scraping tomatoes into a pan. “Sure thing.”

“He can play variety of instruments as well. Very proficient,” Alastor added and Anthony seriously couldn’t say if he was fucking with him or if the King of hell played harmonica at dinner. He shook his head and let it go – if Alastor wanted to make fun of him, nobody would be able to stop him anyway.

“Are you summoned by humans often?” he continued with another question while moving around the kitchen and by the corner of the eye saw Alastor leaning against his palm.

“Not exactly,” the demon admitted. “Rarely anybody knows how. Of course, there are attempts to summon something, but simple mortals lack imagination when it comes to it. They just think it is oh so fun to try and ruin the party with powers that should not be trifled with. Unless they use right signs, they usually cannot summon anything. When they are at least partially right, they may get a vengeful lesser shade which may cause enough trouble for them to get hurt. Or die.”

“Oh,” Anthony blinked in surprise, then got back to tasting the sauce. “I was lucky to get ya, huh.”

“Why, yes, lucky indeed!” the cheering background made Anthony snort.

“Making deals with humans is not really a norm for you then. Or do you venture here by yourself?” he asked another question and heard Alastor behind him shuffle. When he glanced towards him, the man was standing already, reading the list Anthony left on the table. “Hey!”

“Merely curious what kind of thoughts you had in my absence,” the demon masterfully avoided Anthony’s snatching hand and circled the table with two long steps, putting a barrier between them. “Oh dear, those are quite intrusive questions you have. Half of them are unanswerable.”

“Yeah? Why?” Anthony gave up chasing him and crossed his arms on his chest. “Is it some kind of hell code?”

“More like I do not feel like telling you, is all,” Alastor responded sweetly and sheesh, his nice and understanding personality from yesterday must have been just a fluke, since he was rude. “Personal information is dangerous to give. Especially to an underling.”

“Not your underling yet, big boy,” Anthony sent him a wink which seemed to take Alastor by the surprise, judging from his wide eyes.

“Alright. Underling eventually,” the demon huffed and twirled the list in his hand. “Ah, this one I can answer. Is hell only about torturing sinners – no and yes.”

“Very eloquent, thank you for enlightening me,” Anthony rolled his eyes and returned to the stove where he pulled the sauce off the flame. “You just want to keep me in suspense, huh. Wait till you get there, my good fellow!”

The laughing track was a bit insulting, but alright. Maybe it was a rather presumptuous question anyway.

“Every sinner is different, therefore every sinner’s experience in Hell is their own,” Alastor walked to the radio he left the there the other day and patted it. Jazz started to play in the background and Anthony gave out a huff before walking to the living room and turning off the TV that played until now. Guess it was Alastor’s way of saying he liked music better.

“For lesser shades… I imagine hell must be quite a purgatory. But honestly? It is but another life in another city where good intentions do not exist,” Alastor looked out of the window at the snowy New York, his eyes half lidded. Seeing him standing there like that made him look almost normal. “Nobody will help an old lady to cross the street. Most likely will try to hit her by the car if anything else. Nobody will do you a favour if you are in a pitch, simply because good favours are not repaid. Unless you have power… you are nothing in Hell.”

“So, like in a real life,” the human mumbled and Alastor made an agreeing noise in the back of his throat. “No chains or anything? No eternal suffering by having your organs eaten and then regrown to have them eaten again?”

“How colourful!” Alastor laughed from his spot. “I assume there are places like that too. Business where chains are used, and organs eaten… everything is possible in Hell. Maybe you can start that by yourself once you are there. It’s quite a way to make a living!”

Anthony refused to get unnerved and instead commanded his guest to sit down so he could serve the food to him. He didn’t miss the gleam in Alastor’s eyes at his refusal to comment on the topic.

***

“Are you usually busy in hell?”

“Of course I am,” Alastor answered the question like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Maintaining status in Hell is a full-time job.”

They were seated in the living room, the sofa dipping under their weight. Alastor was good at his word and had Anthony sitting next to him while having an arm around his shoulders in a cuddle. If felt a little stiff but he tried, and Anthony didn’t complain. The TV remained off, Alastor seemed to have an aversion to it for some reason, but the radio still played music from the kitchen. He was glad Alastor seemed to like his cooking at least, since he ate everything Anthony gave him and even praised him for a splendid Italian experience, even though it wasn’t exactly anything special.

“But now ya gotta be here for three to five days a week. Doesn’t that cause problems?” Anthony folded his legs under him and cuddled a little closer to Alastor’s warmth which made the demon stiffen even more for several seconds before he eventually relaxed again. Definitely not used to touching, this one. Striking a deal like that must have taken quite a big deal of self-control. Anthony was wondering how far he could push him before he’d show it.

“I have ways to secure my constant vigil,” came a vague reply. Probably his underlings as Alastor had put it – who knows how many of them he had, how may deals he made. What did they want in exchange for their souls?

“What’s the most wanted thing in your deals?” he inquired next while sneaking a hand on Alastor’s knee. The demon’s whole body became rigid and Anthony bit back the laugh.

“Not affection, I assure you,” the demon pried Anthony’s hand off, then apparently realized what he had done, so he awkwardly held it in his gloved hand like a baby on fire until Anthony took a pity on him and wiggled out of the hold. “Most of the time they want money or fame. Sometimes revenge.”

“Did you make somebody super famous? Like a singer or an actor?” Anthony continued like nothing happened and for a while it seemed like Alastor was back to his relaxed self. “Like Brad Pitt or somebody?”

“Well-,” Alastor stopped immediately once Anthony put the hand back on his knee. Then glared. “You are doing this on purpose.”

“A little.”

Another glare, surprisingly not very scary because it was ridiculous – the man was manhandling him yesterday in bed without ounce of shame with the cuddling and suddenly couldn’t relax into a normal side-to-side couch snuggle, and a simple knee touch almost sent him out of the room? Talk about overreaction out of nowhere.

“Ya hate being touched,” Anthony sat straight, putting a distance between them, looking at Alastor pointedly. “Yer stiff like a board, holy shit. Is this some kind of hell practice? Like ya gotta torture yourself at least once per month somehow?”

“Do not be ridiculous, Anthony,” Alastor rolled his eyes and the invisible audience booed. “The deal is perfectly fine in all standards and does not cause any torture on my part.”

“Uh huh,” the human voiced and slapped his hand back on Alastor’s knee with a loud smack. The rigidness immediately followed. “I can see that right ‘ere.” Alastor did nothing against it with stubbornness of an oaf, but then Anthony dragged the hand higher up the leg and at that point his wrist was caught in a vice grip and pulled away again.

“The deal said nothing intimate or sexual,” the static got a little louder around his voice. “Is that right, my dear?”

“Touching your knee is hardly sexual,” Anthony gave him an unimpressed look. “Dear.”

The grip got tighter and the static almost deafening and he would have sworn he saw shadows getting taller and darker. That was an obvious cue for Anthony to concede unless he wanted to be evaporated, probably. With a sigh he raised his free hand in defeat and the static returned to normal and music resumed from the radio in the kitchen like nothing creepy just transpired. Alastor let go of his hand and leaned back against the backrest and raised his arm for Anthony to come back closer, without a single comment.

“You’re really somethin’,” the human shook his head and returned to his position next to the demon. This time Alastor relaxed marginally, but Anthony would swear the claws on his shoulder bit down more than they should have.

***

He woke up alone again the next morning but this time to an empty flat. There was no trace of Alastor making coffee in the kitchen either, the cup safely stashed in the cupboard and no lingering smell of coffee beans remained. Anthony leaned against the counter with a deep sigh, wondering if the deal they made wasn’t another catastrophe waiting to happen, like any other relationship he had in his life, romantic or not. Sure, this thing was more of a… body pillow status than anything else, but then there were still dinners and weekends spent in the same vicinity and if the demon came to dislike him enough, wouldn’t those be a complete disaster?

“New year can’t come soon enough,” Anthony mumbled to himself while reaching for the kettle to fill it with water and sighed. He was at work the whole night on New year and it usually worked well enough to get nasty thoughts out of his head for the time being. It wasn’t like he totally loved his job, but he didn’t mind it as much either – it gave him money and the money gave him the rest. Even when he had to fend off drunkards and touchy-feely customers, especially on a costume day. The pub he worked in wasn’t the fanciest joint but sometimes they had fun events where all waiters wore the same costume, no matter the gender, and if they looked cute enough, the customers weren’t shy to put some bank notes in the clothes with patronizing smiles. Some thought it bought them few touches too, but unless they went straight for the crotch or wanted more, Anthony didn’t really mind. The girls on the other hand were a bit less inclined to be groped at work, which made some patrons grumpy. Served them right to be slapped across the face though.

He stopped in front of the radio, eyeing it unhappily, and then fiddled with one of the black buttons until it started playing a tune. Swing, probably, judging from the tempo, and he wondered if Alastor had it only tuned for an old-time music he liked and nothing else or if it was the only music available in hell. He left it be and waited for the water to boil until the radio buzzed oddly and swing stopped.

“Ah, Antho-y-are up,” Alastor’s voice leaked out of the demonic contraption and Anthony froze, staring at the radio with wide eyes. No matter the demon told him they could communicate through it, it still came as a surprise to hear Alastor from the speaker.

“Mornin’,” he responded a little dumbly, not even sure if the radio went both ways, since normal one definitely did not.

“Apo-gies for le-ing ea-ly,” Alastor’s voice said with enough interference it almost made it impossible to tell what he was saying. “Duty ca-d.”

“It’s fine,” Anthony assured him with a small frown. “Can’t hear fuck though, hell has pretty bad signal.”

“No mat-r!” Alastor sounded cheery enough though, even with all those interruptions. “-ll try to c-e to-ght, but--pro-ses!”

“Whatever you say, Smiles,” Anthony sighed, patting the radio as if it could help the signal to correct itself and the buzzing intensified until it smoothed out and only the lyrics of Peeping Tom slithered out of the speaker.

“Fitting,” Anthony snorted and got back to his breakfast.

***

2019, 30st

Alastor didn’t show up for four days apart from some staticky messages through the radio, through which Anthony only caught about half of what had been said. Something about a war – which was probably bad? War in hell. Or maybe pretty normal? And then something about a lord, which maybe was Lucifer. Alastor attempted to ask normal questions, Anthony thought, but very often the conversation, if not hardly understood through the interference, was interrupted by screams that sounded like somebody was being torn apart, and that usually made Alastor shut up, then sigh, and then say in a cheery voice: “I’ll be right back, dear.” And then another talk happened the next day the earliest.

Anthony didn’t really blame him. Lord wars or whatever was happening down there didn’t sound like a picnic, and Alastor was probably in one of the higher places in the hierarchy, so maybe it was like his job to get all the sinners under the control – like with a whip and high heels… or something. That image actually got Anthony through the day because he laughed every time he imagined Alastor in red latex.

It was in the evening of Monday 30th when Anthony was going through the shifts roster his boss sent him on e-mail, sitting on the couch in the living room with TV on, and heard the radio in the kitchen spur to life once more.

“Al?” Anthony dragged himself off the couch towards the kitchen and then let out a scream he didn’t know he was capable of. Slithering out of the radio was a black shadow with evil blue eyes and wide raggedy smile, filling the room like an imposing nightmare and Anthony hit the table with his back when trying to back out.

Was this also a gateway? Could another demon use it to get here? For whatever reason it might have? Was this how Anthony was going to die �� eaten by some shade-like monster? In a complete fear stupor Anthony couldn’t even turn around to flee, he just stared at the abomination and the abomination stared back at him for about twenty seconds, then it tilted its head to the side and fucking bowed to him.

“What the…” the human wheezed, his heart thumping wildly, and then it hit him. This thing. It had huge antlers on its head, not like those small things Alastor normally had, but fully grown antlers of an imposing width – actually its entirety of a head looked like the red-clothed demon, like his fucking shadow just slithered out of the radio by itself to say hi.

“Are you Al…?” he asked a little dumbly and the shadow made a vague hand gesture that could only mean half and half. Fucking half and half, was his shadow acting by itself normally? Was it a demon thing?

“He still can’t make it?” he tried to make a conversation and his heart was finally slowing down again to a normal pace. The shade nodded and on the wall behind him a shadowy show appeared, explosions and flying body parts and then also miniature Alastor standing on a tower or something? Silently laughing at the mayhem.

Ah, so it was probably a fun war then, Anthony mused. Or maybe Alastor just liked chaos and blood. Which was possibly normal – for a demon. When the scene disappeared, the Shadow Alastor turned back to Anthony and the big smile widened even more.

“I suppose you’re not really here for dinner though…” the human trailed off when he saw the Shadow pick up a frying pan from the hanger and put it on the stove. “Holy shit, you can actually touch things too?”

In a blink of an eye the shadow disappeared and reappeared right behind Anthony where he lifted the human with ease and then moved him towards the stove like a damn figurine in a clothes’ shop. That thing didn’t really feel warm or cold, it was like being held by a paper bag. Just there. At the job well done it grinned at the human like it wanted a praise and all Anthony could do was to stare.

“Well fuck me, this is even weirder than the whole deal thing,” he finally stammered out. “Can you eat too or…?”

The Shadow shook its head.

“So, you just want me to cook for myself?”

The Shadow nodded.

“Alright then,” Anthony glanced at the frying pan. He wasn’t really thinking of what to cook even if Alastor actually arrived, but since now he sort of had to and it was only for him, he decided to settle on an egg omelette with mushrooms he had in a fridge and hoped they were still edible and not covered with mould. It happened to him too many times to count, since he rarely had an appetite to eat unless Alastor would grace him with his company. He looked back at the Shadow, which was expectantly hovering on his left and cleared his throat. “How about you get me eggs and mushrooms from the fridge?”

He couldn’t say if it really wanted to do something or had been acting on orders, but the shade actually slithered to the fridge and grabbed the pack of mushrooms, brought them to the kitchen counter and then got back for the eggs, turned around and tilted its head.

“Three of them,” Anthony understood the silent question, at least hopefully it was what it meant, and the Shadow opened the package and took three eggs out – then started to juggle them around.

“Oh, so ya a fun guy, huh,” Anthony watched him with amusement. “Not like your owner.”

“Depends on what you expect of fun,” the Shadow spoke in low voice that made Anthony shiver involuntarily, and it gently put the eggs on the counter while grinning wildly.

“Can also talk,” Anthony commented with a hitch of a breath.

“When I feel like it,” the Shadow changed locations again, this time he hovered on the right side of Anthony, like he was playing with him.

“Wait, so are ya a separate being from Al? Like… yer supposed to be his shadow, right?” It was a weird question to ask, probably, but Anthony couldn’t wrap his head around a shadow being its own thinking entity without some sort of setback.

The Shadow tilted its head, not answering.

“Don’t feel like talking often, I see,” Anthony huffed. “Fine. Keep ye secrets. I know Al doesn’t like to talk about himself cuz he’s scared I’d stab him in his back in hell once I die.”

The Shadow remained silent but dramatically manifested a knife in his back and then dissolved into a dark puddle on the floor before materialized on the other side of Anthony again. Obviously a theatrical animal, the human thought with surprising calm, and just left him be.

The cooking took him only half an hour and since the Shadow seemed to hold his tongue for the rest of the evening, he took the plate to the living room to watch something on TV while eating. The Shadow followed him like an obedient dog and once Anthony seated himself on the couch and dragged a fluffy pink blanket over his legs, it appeared right next to him, peering at him expectantly again from a way too close.

“Hi,” Anthony said into its grinning face and the smile widened. Probably liked being acknowledged. “Ya here to cuddle me instead of Al too?”

That seems to perk it up and Anthony barely managed to save his plate before the Shadow threw itself on Anthony’s lap, seating itself right on top of his legs while completely blocking not only the view at the TV but the access to the plate and the rest of barely functioning brain cells Anthony had. Then it looked down at him expectantly, his huge antlers by some miracle so far didn’t destroy anything.

“Alright…” Anthony took a deep breath and put away the plate with food for later somewhere near him on the couch, since he couldn’t reach anything else over the black mass of the shade sitting on his lap like this. “Not what I had in mind, but sure, whatever… floats your boat, I suppose?”

Obviously, it did float the Shadow’s boat since it didn’t move away and instead of that hugged Anthony closer to its chest and its shadow-y claws started raking through his hair. Which was quite nice, honestly, if the situation wasn’t so bizarre. The true Alastor would probably bristle like a cat at this though, judging from the knee incident, so Anthony kept his hands to himself. The Shadow itself wasn’t heavy – Anthony felt him, sure, but like… with almost nothing to weight him down, even though it felt very palpable, very here, yet somehow not as real. He let his eyes close, only concentrating on the movement of the claws on his scalp and felt sleep tugging at his consciousness.

“Hey,” he piped, and the claws stopped for a fraction of second before resuming their movement. “Tell Al I’m at work whole night tomorrow… okay? In case the lord war or whatever you guys do down there would miraculously end itself.”

“Yes, Anthony,” the Shadow purred above him and then in several next minutes Anthony’s consciousness faded away.

***

2019, 31st

It was only lightly snowing in New Year and the temperature didn’t really drop as low as Anthony expected. He arrived to work at 17:00 on dot and the girls greeted him with wide smiles and winks, which meant the costume for today was going to be something lewd – but not completely or they’d riot. Maybe a maid uniform, he mused while walking to the changing room and greeting other waiters on the way.

Then it made sense – a Honeybee themed outfit with fishnets was about to end his whole career, he was sure of it. Several girls in the locker room were already dressed up and applying makeup, and the moment he entered the room they all had that gleam in their eye which meant the only thing: They wanted to see him in the costume and do his makeup like a hive minded coven.

“I suppose boss didn’t have mercy on me, huh,” he commented when there was a carefully wrapped costume hanged on his locker. Girls around him shook their heads with a giggle. “I have no ass. This is going to be a disaster.”

“You have no tits either and still walk away with most of the tip on busy nights,” one of the girls smirked at him. “Quit whining and get it on. I’ll do your hair.”

“Yes m’am,” he kept the sigh for himself. It was going to be a long night for sure.

New Year’s nights were always busy in the pub. Hell, in probably all pubs around the world, people were so willing to drunk themselves into the stupor it felt like it was the only joy they had that year. Anthony didn’t know how many times he already said Welcome to the honeybee inn, sweetie during the night but it definitely kept any other thoughts at bay when he had to remember orders, faces, and keep his smile on all the time. It didn’t stop him from thinking about Alastor though, just wondering if New Year’s had any effect on Hell or not. Maybe they all had a day off from hellish suffering?

It was very close to midnight already when he twirled around tables with another set of shots, putting them in front of a group of middle aged men and one of them took a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and waved it in front of Anthony like a bait.

“How about you sit on daddy’s lap for a while, honey?” he asked him in a slightly drunk tone and Anthony eyed the bill for a second before gracefully sitting on the men’s knees, snatching it from his hand and putting it behind the cleavage.

“Of course, daddy,” he wounded an arm around the man’s shoulders. “Are ya enjoying your time with us?”

“Now I definitely do,” the man responded, his hands immediately went to the groping mode as expected. Anthony let him do whatever he liked – for a hundred he bought it as long as he avoided his dick. His equally drunk friends were laughing and then stopped other waitress and ordered more shots for Anthony to drink with them, passing him around their laps like a groping doll.

Well… it’s fine. It’s the only thing I’m good for anyway.

One of them was a sloppy kisser and other one had a thing for his thighs. At least he heeded his warnings of not to rip his fishnets, which was a small miracle. Anthony wasn’t sure how many shots he was made to drink, but he clearly recalled being called pretty and a slut.

He blacked out eventually, but he heard the countdown and New Year fireworks in the back alley behind the pub.

There was nothing happy about it though.

***

The tiles in his bathroom were cold as ice. Anthony heaved one more time and there was already nothing but disgusting bile coming out. He felt sick, dirty, and miserable, and the rumpled money that fell out of his costume at home were so not worth it, even though it was almost 1k. Filthy, disgusting money, the same like him.

It was a miracle he was strong enough to take a shower, even though he sat in there for twenty minutes while ugly sobbing, and then passed out in his bed still in a towel and with wet hair and smudged mascara.

Why didn’t he insist on Alastor killing him when he had a chance? This was the lowest of low for him, the fucking rock bottom of his pride shattering.

Pride? What pride. Did he even have any? Doubtful.

He woke up at 3 in the morning, his stomach was hurting, and his head was splitting. He wobbled out of the bed on unsure legs, holding the towel barely up, and rummaged the cabinet for Tylenol he by some miracle still had. The water from the tap in the kitchen was cold as fuck and it woke him up a little when he was gulping the pill down and praying it would stay there.

He leaned against the counter to take a deep breath and then his eyes fell on the radio quietly sitting on his left. His hand absentmindedly fiddled with one of its buttons and it cracked several times, but no music came out.

“Figures,” he mumbled, defeated. “Hey Al. Ya there?”

Nothing but crackling static.

“Al,” Anthony repeated. “I dunno if ye can hear me. Just wanted to talk maybe. Or see ya. Or Al Junior maybe? I don’t mind that one either, haha… both of ye are… fine.”

Crackling buzzed through the kitchen with no words. Anthony slid down against the counter and remained seated on the wooden floor, fighting against tears that were coming up all of sudden.

“You know,” he sobbed quietly. “This night was fucked up, huh. Was it fucked up for ya too? How’s hell during new years anyway? Do demons drink alcohol even? Hey Al…”

He sniffled and rubbed the back of his hand against his face. It came out blackened from the mascara.

“Oh man. Al, I fucked up again,” he let his head fall back with a thud against the drawers. “I wonder if there’s a way to even get better? Like this… I’d be so fuckin’ useless to ya down there. I kinda wanna die already, but I know ya wouldn’t like me being this way so...”

A sigh. He was babbling. His stomach hurt like a bitch. Some of the drinks must have been spiked, he knew this withdrawal feeling.

“Hey Al. Are drugs down there? In hell?” It sounded more like a whine. “I guess it’s the best way how to destroy a person, ya know. Just make him an addict. Fun times for a while, then pit of snakes.”

He quieted down, hot tears streaming down his face. Would Alastor be angry if he just took a knife and slit his wrists? Probably. Would he just double kill him once he’d land in hell for being such a pathetic weakling? He sure wouldn’t want to be reborn with the same shit soul again anyway.

“I…” he raised his voice, then sobbed again. “Hope it’s fine. Down there. With ya.”

“There, there, Anthony,” the radio suddenly cracked to life and the human bolted up and almost lost his footing before catching the edge of the counter. It was Alastor’s voice, no doubt. “You sound like you are in very low spirits for such joyous occasion.”

“Ha, yeah… sort of…” Anthony smudged the mascara even more, judging from the state of his hands, and reached for a tissue with a frown. “It’s been a shitshow here, but what else is new.”

“That much it ended in tears for you?” the demon asked from the other side, for once the transmission clear and easily understood, and Anthony forced down the sob that was trying to get out of his throat.

“Kinda…” he admitted quietly. “I thought maybe… you’d have time. Tonight. It’s been a rough day.”

“Today-,”

“Or your shadow pal,” Anthony quickly interrupted what sounded like a refusal. “He’s pretty nice the other day. Not that chatty but still nice. Would be fine if you can’t. Unless he can’t either.”

There was silence on the other side for a while and Anthony feared the transmission was interrupted again. But then the static sound filled the kitchen once more.

“…my shadow pal?” Alastor repeated incredulously, apparently not liking the nickname. “I see.”

“I know it’s whiny,” Anthony couldn’t deny that simple truth, but he refused to back down now. “But I really could use a body pillow right now.”

“A what now?”

“A cuddle,” the human wiped his face to the tissue, and it came dirty as hell. Damn, his face must have been a mess. He wiped it some more until nothing black remained and threw the dirty tissues to the bin with a fed-up sigh.

Silence again and Anthony braced for an inevitable refusal.

“You sure are a handful, Anthony,” sounded behind him suddenly and he almost dropped the towel he was holding around him, and that definitely wouldn’t help the situation. Alastor was standing several steps away from him and looked exhausted. There was no other word for it, his shoulders were slouched, he had huge dark circles under his eyes and his coat was rather tattered on the edges – although if there was a war it was still in a pretty good shape, considering.

“And you look like shit,” the human commented, even though he really didn’t mean to. There was a saying that beggars can’t be choosers for a reason.

“Oh, that is rich coming from you, dear,” Alastor tilted his head to the side, taking in Anthony’s state. “How about you dress yourself first. Then we can talk business.”

“Smart,” the human admitted and wobbled back to his bedroom to change into pyjamas. The night was cold and fluffy clothes sounded like a great idea; he was already half a popsicle from the time on the floor.

When he got back, Alastor was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, and crimson eyes fixated on Anthony the moment he appeared. It looked like both of them had a rough night, so maybe a good night sleep wasn’t that bad of an idea even for the demon. Although maybe he preferred sleeping in a coffin or something, Anthony didn’t know.

“Much better,” Alastor said pointedly and stood up. “Now we can sleep. Or talk, whichever you prefer.”

“Looking at ya, I think sleep would be the better option,” Anthony shrugged, and he didn’t miss the displeasure that showed on Alastor’s face for a second. Probably didn’t like when people saw him weak, although Antony doubted it made him any less dangerous. He let the demon lose the coat and the shoes first before Alastor climbed to bed and once he was lying on his back, Anthony sneaked in next and remained resting on his side, not touching him anyhow. For some reason he looked like a timed bomb and any touch could set him off, unless he would initiate it.

“Ya could’ve just send the shadow again,” he mumbled quietly. “If this is not a good time.”

Crimson eyes switched to him, searching.

“Busy now,” he said simply. “No matter. We had a deal and I neglected it, which is not going to happen again.”

He was lying there almost motionless, stiff like a board. Anthony wondered if the war ended badly. Alastor looked like in a bad mood.

“I said it’s fine,” he assured the demon. “Whatever lord war was going on, I’m sure it needed all your attention.”

“Lord war?” One eyebrow went up and Anthony shrugged.

“Or something,” he uttered. “The transmission was so bad; I heard every third word. Or scream.”

“Ah. The interference must have been displeasing,” Alastor sighed. “My apologies.”

“No biggie.” He wanted to ask what kind of war it was or how it ended, but somehow couldn’t bring himself to. Alastor didn’t like talking about himself and this seemed to fall under the same category. So, he just lay there, breathing in and out and sometimes a bit more deeply when the pain shot through him again.

“You are in pain,” Alastor noticed immediately and turned towards him on his side. “Are you hurt?”

“Just my pride,” Anthony gave him a weak smile. “Or what’s left of it.”

Red eyes seemed to take more of him in, as if he was searching for any kind of a visible wound. When he found nothing, his shoulder seemed to finally relax.

“Are you hurt?” Anthony repeated the question and Alastor shook his head.

“Just my pride,” he repeated Anthony’s answer as well, smiling a little bitterly. The war ended badly then. “The end of the year is… unpleasant. More for some, less for others. Never good though.”

“Oh,” the human let out. “More than usual bad hell things?”

“Much more.”

“So better not dying on New Year’s, huh,” he joked and Alastor actually chuckled at it.

“Unless you want to get immediately eradicated, not really,” he concluded with a sigh. Then he raised his hand and gently swiped Anthony’s hair off his forehead, like he didn’t make a scene few days ago about a knee touch. Complicated guy. “You were crying in the transmission.”

“I have my moments sometimes,” Anthony responded meekly. It was probably a little embarrassing. “Thanks for coming to my rescue though. Nice of ya.”

“I would hardly call dis a rescue,” the demon took his hand back, much to Anthony’s disappointment. His eyes seemed to be extra tired now and his voice slipping. “We talked about dis. You were right I wouldn’t like it if you died like dis.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m glad you didn’t do it.” The static of his voice was flickering in an out, like he was forgetting about it. Anthony didn’t comment on it, Alastor just must have been so tired. It made him feel a little bad for dragging him all the way here.

“Yeah well. Me too, now,” the human said softly, and it made Alastor’s face relax. His hand reached out again, this time latching onto Anthony’s biceps and tugging slightly. Anthony could only imagine it meant it was time to cuddle, so he slowly inched closer until the hand reached for the back of his head and gently pushed him against Alastor’s chest again.

“Ça c’est bon,” he heard the demon say, no static, no interference, just human voice slipping out while his eyes closed slowly, and Anthony held his breath for a while to not break this ambience. Alastor’s breathing evened and the room got swallowed by untypical silence, free of any static whatsoever.

***

2020, 1st

Anthony wasn’t sure what woke him up. When he opened his eyes, there was nothing pressing that wanted his attention. The phone was silent, nobody screamed outside, his neighbours were probably still away or passed out in the bathroom, so it was only normal silence and evened breathing.

It took him about a minute before he realized the breathing wasn’t just his, but Alastor’s, who had his face buried in Anthony’s chest, arms locked possessively around Anthony’s waist like a body pillow, sleeping deeply. Normally it would be the demon who was up first, but the New Year’s toll must have drained him enough for the morning not having any power over it.

It made Anthony smile though – for a guy who seemed to be not that big on touching he was pretty cuddly when it was his initiative. He risked his luck and gently raked his fingers through the red hair and damn, it was fluffy as fuck, what the hell? It could have a been a great example of a pet therapy, just pet this damn guy’s hair and all worries were out of the window. Not to mention it didn’t even stir the demon out of the slumber so Anthony could touch it even longer until he got to the tuffs on top of Alastor’s head. He gently touched the tips and his eyes widened – those weren’t fucking hair. Those were his ears.

“What the…?” he whispered, quickly letting go. But when Alastor still didn’t wake up, his curiosity got best of him and he touched the ears again, gently, until it suddenly flicked and Alastor hummed something and then breathed out again.

So, this guy… this guy had antlers, okay. And then he had those ears too. Like a deer? Was he a deer demon or something? Did he… did he have a deer tail too? Anthony gulped down and checked Alastor’s still sleeping face. No change.

The blanked was draped around them both, but got dragged almost as low as Alastor’s waist, so if he could just lift it… to peek… But then again, he did see him without the coat right. Wouldn’t he notice if there was a tail? Did he even ever saw him from the back? Or dared to actually look at his butt?

No, definitely not. Self-preservation won, probably.

He took a deep breath, then another. Then gently raised the blanket from above Alastor’s behind, straining his neck to see… a fucking tail, holy shit, he had the tail, alright. He let the blanket fall to squash down the urge to touch it and probably lose a hand in the process and just silently whined to himself. Damn scary and bloodthirsty demon having a cute Bambi tail and ears, how was this even fair? What was he supposed to do with that knowledge now anyway? Just stare at it longingly when Al is around?

He risked one more head pat and that made Alastor stir, if the fucking mmrrrp he did was any indication.

Holy shit. Too cute, illegal, deadly. Anthony wanted to cry.

“Mornin’,” he tried to somehow mask his exciting discovery and Alastor wiggled a little before breathing out again, apparently comfortable on top of Anthony.

“Coffee,” came out staticky-less and sleepy.

“Sure, will make ya some,” Anthony grinned, liking this clingy Alastor a ton. “Black, right?”

“Mmm.”

“Okie,” he tried to sit down but Alastor didn’t move an inch. If anything, he just clamped on his waist harder. “Al... if ya wanna coffee, ya gotta lemme go.”

“No leave, just coffee,” came a muffled reply and Anthony had to bite on his fist to stop himself from making an embarrassing squeal. This KO move was too powerful, so he remained lying on his back for a while longer that seemed to be enough for Alastor to fall asleep again.

It was a sin, to dislodge from that kind of hold and leave Alastor alone in the bed, but he was going to hell anyway, and thankfully the sleep made the hold lax and Anthony was free in a second. He looked the scene over once more, gulped down another squeal and tiptoed to the bathroom to clean himself up a little, then to kitchen to make the requested coffee. Maybe if Al was still asleep by the time he’d get back, he could still sneak back to the bed and act like he didn’t leave at all?

***

He couldn’t sneak back. The absence of warmth was what probably woke Alastor up eventually before Anthony was even done boiling water, and he felt a little guilty for it, since Alastor obviously needed the rest and could have slept much longer if Anthony didn’t crawl out (maybe, it wasn’t one hundred percent adamant theory).

But he appeared in the kitchen already in his coat and looking surprisingly prim and tidy and not dishevelled at all, even though he should have because Anthony might have messed up his hair a lot more than he thought.

“Aw, you woke up,” Anthony greeted him with a smile. “Didn’t even managed to finish the coffee.”

“It is the thought that counts, dear!” Alastor replied cheerily and aw, the static was back and the prim voice too. Guess he only slipped when really tired, but it was adorable anyway.

“Slept well?” he turned around, watching Alastor fiddling with the radio to get some tunes out and then sitting at the table properly. He looked composed, the dark circles under his eyes much less prominent, his posture straight again.

“Quite well indeed,” the demon nodded, and it actually sounded sincere. “I see you are also feeling better?”

“Yeah, feelin’ great, thanks.” Anthony didn’t even lie. Yesterday was a whack, one of the really bad days and his psyche was on verge of breaking, but Alastor’s presence literally turned his frown into a smile and that counted for something. Sure, maybe it was just endorphins talking, but it was legit.

“Now, I have a question for you,” Alastor thrummed his claws against the table and Anthony froze a little. Was he going to get scolded for touching the ears? Or seeing the tail? Was he awake after all?

“Sure, shoot,” he gulped down the nervousness while fiddling with the black cup Alastor used before, waiting for the verdict.

“Yesterday, you mentioned my shadow,” thankfully nothing about touching the untouchables, “that it came here instead of me one night.”

“Yeah, through the radio,” the human pointed at the device on top of the counter. “Made me cook dinner for myself, then refused to let me eat it.”

By sitting on his damn lap, by the way, but it wasn’t something Alastor wanted to hear. He probably knew anyway but better letting sleeping dogs lie.

“How uncouth of him,” Alastor commented and the tapping got faster. “But other than that. No problems?”

“None whatsoever, except of scaring the shit out of me at first,” Anthony shrugged, and the water finally boiled. “It’s fine if ya wanna send him over instead though, on busy days or something. I mean obviously I prefer the real thing, but ya know. Beggars can’t be choosers.”

The tapping stopped.

“Noted,” Alastor finally said. “Then if you find it amendable, it may sometimes happen. Not often, but as we both know by now, Hell is unpredictable.”

“So is life,” Anthony reminded him and suppressed the shiver running down his spine when he recalled last night. No, not thinking about that now. Happy thoughts. Deer ears and tails. Fluffy, fluffy ears and a tail.

“Very true,” Alastor agreed and thanked him when Anthony put the cup of coffee on the table right in front of him.

If somebody asked what his favourite start of a New year was, he would definitely say 2020 with Alastor drinking his coffee and the knowledge that under that well-tailored coat was a cute furry Bambi tail.

#hazbin hotel #radiodust #alastor x angel dust #AU #The Deal series #human!Angel Dust

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trashyslashers · 5 years ago

Note

Part two for soulmate AU ??? ❤️❤️❤️

Here it is!! Sorry it took so long, I wanted to go more indepth with the AU instead of just doing general headcanons. This came out a bit longer than I intended it to lmao. Part I here

Freddy’s is a little…. open to interpretation at the end. Do what you will with that information.

Michael Myers:

The months subsequent to the meeting on Halloween were full of nothing but trepidation and unease. You’d called in sick to work more times than you cared to count (with it being the time of year that colds and viruses were running rampant, no one really could complain about your absence), and your friends and family had questioned your sudden social withdrawal more times than you had fingers on your hands.

Regardless of how many times they asked you what happened or what was wrong, you dismissed their concerns with lies about you just being sick, seasonal depression, fatigue, and the like - all further from the truth than you’d care for them to know.

Hiding the fact that you’d met your supposed soulmate was an entirely different story, though; the absolute last thing that you wanted to be public knowledge was the fact that Michael Myers was, apparently, the one you were destined to be with. You had to lie your way through that; pretend that you weren’t aware of what color an object was, or how the sky looked that day. A few friends and relatives of yours had already met their soulmates, so you had no choice but to play stupid and keep up your act of “I have no idea what that’s even remotely like” constantly.

Alone, though, you were a complete wreck. Why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be a fucking serial killer, of all possible options? And why did it have to be you? You kept yourself up at night, your stomach churning, your body tense with anxiety as you mulled over the shitty fact that you were inevitably going to have to come to terms with the truth. Were you ever going to see him again? Was he going to stalk - and, probably inevitably - kill you now? Surely he had to realize what was up - unless he’d never even learned that that was a thing that happened. Is it why he was following you in the first place, or were you just randomly chosen to be his next victim who so happened to be his soulmate? Regardless of what the truth was, you tore yourself apart mentally while trying to figure out what to do.

Months passed, and you’d managed to bury the event in the back of your mind as best as you could. You’d since gotten used to the color change of your surroundings and playing dumb, and your life was made leagues easier by pretending you’d seen a completely random person that sparked the change as opposed to Michael Myers. It was late, late autumn, and the news was filled with reports about the fact that Myers still had yet to be caught after he managed to escape Smith’s Grove last Halloween.

You, of course, remained on edge as the holiday grew closer. You refused to walk to or from anything; your funds running low from you constantly filling your car up with gas and dishing out gas money to those who offered to drive you places. Your plan was working as you’d had yet to see any sign of Myers again, and you began to believe that you were in the clear.

At least, until you were met with some mighty unfortunate circumstances on the actual night of Halloween.

It was near 7pm, and you were left shit out of luck for transpiration. You’d forgotten to fill your gas tank up enough to get you both to and from work, and a coworker was generous enough to offer you a two-way ride - until they informed you that there was a family emergency and they had to dip early. Of course, you were more concerned about their situation than you were for your own, but you couldn’t help but dread your walk home. Dread it or not, life was unfair and you had no choice but to take it.

Much to your relief, though, you’d made it home with absolutely no issue - in fact, the walk wasn’t bad at all. The atmosphere was the exact opposite of how it was last year (which made sense considering it was Halloween and not the night before) - the town full of laughter and shouts from the children and teens running around in costumes, the streets illuminated by the soft orange and yellow lights that were emitted from the countless jack o’lanterns and decorative lights that the houses were adorned with. You’d been setting your keys and belongings down on the counter while you debated on dressing up and calling up a few friends to go out with when you glanced out the window and about had a heart attack.

Your back yard wasn’t exactly large or anything, but it melded into the yard of your neighbors and as a result was quite full of trees and coverage. Towards the back of your yard, near the shabby fence that existed to block your house off from some creepy alleyway, you saw him. You almost laughed; for a brief second you thought you’d spotted some teen or adult just trying to play a prank, but the fact that it would’ve been quite a fucking coincidence that they ended up in your yard of all else’s threw that thought right out of your head.

There was no hesitation from you as you sprinted from the kitchen, down the hallway of your house, straight into your bedroom - just like the idiots in horror movies that you always made fun of. You made a reach for your back pocket to pull your phone out so you could phone the police - only to realize that in your daze of fear you’d forgotten to grab it off the counter. Upon remembering that, the realization that you’d forgotten to lock the door you’d come in hit you like a truck as well, and you couldn’t stop yourself from groaning out of both fear and annoyance.

Turn the lights off! Hide! Quickly!

You didn’t bother with flipping the switch on your lamp, and instead opted to just yank the cord straight from the wall, resulting in sparks. Hastily, you clambered over your bed and down into the small space between it and the wall so you could hide under the less-obvious side of the bed.

You’d made that move just in time, seeing as the second you settled into your spot, the door of your room creaked open.

Your mouth clamped shut, your hand flying up to cover it in attempt to muffle any noise you may inadvertently make out of fear. Your breath remained caught in your throat as you laid there silently, listening to the floor creak under the weight of Michael as he crept through your room. Your eyes were burning from a combination tears and the fact that you refused to shut them, instead staring out towards the dark wall that was directly across from you.

It felt like hours had passed once the sound of his heavy footfalls faded into another part of your house, and you took that as the opportunity to wiggle yourself out from your spot so you could - hopefully - manage to stealthily pry open your bedroom window and get out through it. Your movements were awkward as you tried to be as fast as as humanly possible while simultaneously staying quiet, and you were lucky as you’d managed to get the window open wide enough that you could probably shove yourself through it you did it the right away.

Before you had the opportunity to even stoop down and plan how you’d climb through it, you were yanked back from your spot and straight into a tall, solid mass while a hand clamped itself over your mouth to muffle your scream. Before you could think of anything better to do, you opened your mouth and bit down on his hand hard enough that he pulled it back, and you took advantage of the lapse in his grip to give his stomach a solid elbowing and broke free from his arms, turning around and sprinting out of your room, down the hallway.

But alas, you were far from from being graceful while in a state of distress and your foot caught on the edge of your living room carpet, causing you to trip forward and tumble to a stop awkwardly on your stomach. You scrambled to your feet, taking about a hundred glances over your shoulder as you watched Michael leave your room, his stance tense as he slowly closed the gap between the two of you. While the hallway was dark, the lighting in your kitchen and living room were enough to illuminate it just enough to cast shadows on him and the eerie lighting did absolutely nothing to improve the situation.

Michael was right in front of you by the time you fully regained your balance, and you were trapped between him and the small wall that sectioned the kitchen off from the living room. Your voice was caught in your throat, not even as much of a whimper could be heard as you stood before him, staring up at him with eyes wide with fear and tears. Any attempt to speak was met with choked sobs and stutters from you, and when he made a slight movement towards you you recoiled so hard you’d almost tripped backwards into the wall.

When he made a reach for you with his hand, you’d finally been able to force yourself to speak.

“W-wait!” It came out much more aggressively than you’d intended for it to, but it would have to do. When he didn’t make another motion towards you, you took that as the opportunity to swallow your fear and actually confront him.

“What do you want?” The obligatory question that anyone being stalked by a serial killer is legally required to ask, despite there being no use for it. It’s not like he’d answer you anyway. “We can figure this out - you don’t have to kill me or anything like that, please..”

Now really wasn’t the time to try and reason with him, seeing as he was probably about to make you his next victim, but what other choice did you have? Running wouldn’t get you very far, and you had no doubt that he’d find you soon enough.

You noticed the ever so slight droop of his shoulders, his posture relaxing marginally - a good sign, you hoped, and continued to speak.

“Did you see it too?” It came out more like a whisper than anything, but it was loud enough that he heard it as indicated by the tilt of his head. Whether that was a yes or a no you weren’t sure, but the fact that he hadn’t attempted to kill you yet was relieving. You were still absolutely petrified, though, and when he took a step closer to you, you instinctively threw your hand up to try and put some sort of futile shield between the two of you.

“Please don’t -” your plea for mercy was cut short by a sudden grip around your wrist, accompanied by a sharp tug which pulled you almost right up against him. Your efforts at pushing against him were fruitless, but before you could start screaming for help, his other hand quickly returned to press against your mouth, effectively silencing you. Fear induced tears welled in your eyes as you realized that with how pressing his hand was you wouldn’t be able to rely on your bite to free you this time, and as you were about to give up and just let him end your life, you noticed the ever so slight shake of his head- “no”.

Of course it wasn’t actually spoken by him, but it was as if he was able to read your mind and was answering. No, he wasn’t going to harm you. No, he wasn’t going to kill you. No, there was no reason for you to scream and cry for help.

While every nerve in your body screamed no, no, no!, you slowly brought your free hand to his that was covering your mouth, and much to your surprise, he put up no resistance when you moved it away.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

———————————————————————————————————–

Freddy Krueger:

You’d about mastered the art of waking yourself up every time you felt yourself dozing off. After countless nights spent awake, drinking copious amounts of coffee and soda and busying yourself with literally anything you could get your hands on, the urge to sleep was becoming far too much to resist and once you began experiencing minor hallucinations you’d decided that enough was enough and you needed to do something about it.

First you started setting alarms for every 90 minutes so you wouldn’t get into a REM cycle and dream - but eventually you worried that Freddy would be able to actually pull you into dreams at will, and so the alarms were then set for 20 minute intervals instead. While that worked for a bit, eventually you began to find the call of sleep entirely too alluring and accepted the fact that sooner or later, you’d succumb.

In the nights spent awake, part of your time was dedicated to figuring out just what the hell you were supposed to do when the inevitable happened. You had no doubt that once you fell asleep and began dreaming that Freddy would be waiting for you, and not knowing what exactly was going to happen only worked to make your apprehension worse. Would he kill you immediately? Would he toy with you, then kill you? Did he even give half a shit about the whole soulmate ordeal? The last words he’d spoken to you - “Gotcha” - indicated that he was aware of what was going on - but didn’t he already have a soulmate? Didn’t he used to have a wife? That’s what everyone said about him. Unless, her death had turned his world back to black and white again, or she wasn’t actually his soulmate.

Christ, none of it made sense.

A friend of yours, Nancy, caught on to what was going on after you’d showed up to class late one day, the dark circles and sullen look on your face giving everything away. While you didn’t tell her the extent of what was going on, you just clued her in that you were struggling with some serious nightmares that were making it hard for you to sleep, and it was really beginning to take a toll on you both mentally and physically.

Nancy, though, like the angel she was, let you in on a small not-so-secret; a new drug that’s come to the market that her own somnologist and psychiatrist prescribed her, an experimental sedative called Hypnocil that could suppress your dreams. You swore you could hear the chorus of angels singing when she told you about it, and you wasted absolutely no time in asking her how you could get your hands on some.

Life wasn’t fair, though, and turns out it was incredibly rare for a doctor to even mention it to a patient. Upon seeing the look of distress plaster itself onto your face, Nancy leaned in a bit closer to you and whispered a little something to you:

“As long as you don’t tell anyone… I don’t mind giving you a few.”

It’s not like they’re a controlled substance, right? And it was only a few - a week at most, no one needed to know.

And so it was done, and you were back to sleeping almost-normally in no time. One pill, by mouth, once a day 20 minutes before bedtime, and you were set - and it was working! You had no nightmares, no dreams even, and you no longer dread nighttime and sleep. Despite the relief of finally being able to get a good night’s rest, worry was gnawing at the back of your mind about how eventually you’d run out of Hypnocil, and how it would be unfair of you to assume Nancy would fork over her own personal medication for your use.

That was a worry for another time, though, and you wasted no time in pushing it to the back of your mind. You’d cross that bridge when you got to that.

———————————————————————————————————–

You’d always complained about how it felt like time was flying by entirely too fast, and now was certainly no exception. Almost a week later, you’d been completely out of Hypnocil and left on your own, left to defend yourself. You’d about had a panic attack that last night once you realized the baggy of small blue pills was empty, and just like that you found yourself dreading sleep again.

You knew Freddy would be waiting for you - you had absolutely no doubt about it, and you weren’t ready to return to your old ways - you were just starting to feel rested again! You were debating on calling around to any offices you could - doctors, psychiatrists, somnologists, anyone - to try and get some sort of help - but how would you even explain what was going on? They’d probably think you were delusional if you called, begging for a medication that was new on the market while claiming that you were being stalked in your dreams.

Night came quickly, and you’d tried to prepare yourself. Alarms set to be as loud as possible at 20 minute intervals were lined up, and every time you’d wake up you’d stand up and do jumping jacks to get the blood flowing and wake yourself back up enough so that you wouldn’t immediately fall back asleep. As you laid there in bed gazing at the dimmed lamp on your desk, you found yourself hoping, praying, that in the unfortunate circumstance that you met Freddy again, your, most likely inevitable, death would be swift. A small part of you wondered if you’d even see him again, and as you dozed off you wished for that to be the reality.

It wasn’t.

As soon as your eyes closed, it became evident that your body had had absolutely enough of you depriving it of sleep, and you slept through three of your alarms, slipping into dreams with ease. The first handful were pleasant; warm memories, weird happenings, nothing out of the ordinary. As the night went on, though, your dreams began to change. Things were out of place, things weren’t right. The new colors weren’t right - people sounded different, looked different. You found yourself wandering down the hallway to your small bathroom, probably planning to get water or something, but once you entered it, the smell of rust and blood hit you like a truck.

You were back in the boiler room, and the raucous cackle echoing throughout the corridor scared you enough that you whimpered.

You turned around, reaching for the doorknob of the bathroom only to realize that the door was gone, and the once off-white wall of your bathroom was now a chipped, brick wall that was hot to the touch.

You also noticed the lack of any pipes around - your go-to method of escape by burning yourself wouldn’t work this time, it seemed.

His laugh was closer this time, and you knew deep down that he liked to see you scared. That was part of his whole shtick, right? Nightmares, scaring people - it was what he liked, and he enjoyed seeing you terrified.

“Nowhere to run now.”

His voice was deep, gravelly, and as unpleasant as you’d imagined it would be. Your eyes were locked onto his bladed hand, and you couldn’t stop imagining how cold and sharp they’d undoubtedly feel piercing your stomach or slitting your throat. He seemed to take notice of this, and raised his gloved hand up so you could get a better look at it, waggling his fingers in a way that caused the blades to scrape against each other.

Before you could stop yourself, you found yourself blurting out the only thing you could think of.

“Those knives are pretty big - are they supposed to be compensating for something?” It was your turn to taunt him, and much to your surprise it seemed to… entertain him?

Immediately, you clamped your mouth shut and couldn’t bring yourself to look away from his gloved hands. You were waiting for him to shove them into your abdomen, and you felt your eyes water as you couldn’t pull yourself from your spot to run.

The way he cackled in response sent chills down your spine, and you found yourself equally as uncomfortable with the situation as you were afraid. He took a few more steps towards you, leering up at you from under his worn out fedora as he closed what little space there was in between the two of you. You, in response, pressed yourself back up against the wall as much as you could to try and gain more space, but that proved to be absolutely fruitless as he practically stood up against you. Though he was on the shorter side for most men, he stood taller than you, and as a result you were forced to stare at the tattered material of his sweater - something he didn’t seem all too pleased with as soon you felt the cold metal of his blades push lightly under your chin hard enough to force you to look up at him without actually drawing blood.

“You aren’t stupid, so quit acting like it.” His voice trailed off as he spoke, one of the blades brushing against your cheek as his eyes bore into your own. You could feel his breath on your face as you stood there, frozen with fear. Why wasn’t he killing you?

“It… It’s all color now.” You all but whispered, your brain completely failing in the department that served to produce complete, intelligent sentences, thus leaving you with such a vague statement. You really had no clue what else to say other than stating what was blatantly obvious, hoping that he’d have at least some idea of what was going on.

A sneer crossed his face as you gathered the courage to reach up and push his hand away from your face. “That’s more like it.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

He spoke up again, his voice cutting yours off before you could even open your mouth to speak.

“I’ve got no desire to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna.. let you go again. I’ve got you right where I want you,” He said as his gloved hand found it’s way to your neck, his palm pressing lightly against your throat as the blades brushed along your jawline. “- and I’m not about to just let you leave easily.” He punctuated his words with a short flick of a blade, just enough to scratch your skin ever so slightly.

“We’ve got something to talk about, and now that I’ve got you, I want to have some fun.”

You had a feeling you wouldn’t be waking up any time soon.

#request #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #slasher imagines #Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger #freddy krueger x reader

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kamino-ink · 6 years ago

Text

Burn | Seo Changbin

genre ⌁ vampire!au, supernatural!au, gothic horror, angst,,, angst,,, kinda fluff lmao

summary ⌁ your little brother, full of pure innocence and blooming life, was kidnapped by a cult on a remote island - your deadbeat dad doesn’t care to pay the ransom, leaving you to even make sure jeongin is still alive so you can rescue him. the cult is strange, but what’s even stranger is one of the oldest members of it - a mysterious man by the name of seo changbin.

word count ⌁ 8.3k

warning ⌁ violent at times, blood, - I mean it’s inspired by Apostle (great movie it’s on Netflix plz watch it 11/10)

Check out my masterlist!

Luggage was a pain in the ass, to put it simply. You were forced to rummage through your closet for clothes decent enough for a destination you weren’t even sure had a proper weather broadcasting system - would it be a spot of frequent storms, or would it be covered in the shadows of thick clouds while the sun peeked weakly over the horizon? The problems of travelling to a remote island in, essentially, the middle of nowhere were agonizingly obnoxious and cruel.

And having to carry the somewhat heavy bag all the way through the main hub of town, where most everyone recognized your face in seconds? That was pure hell - most of the time. Though, considering the circumstances in which you were leaving, the people who would probably question your motives for leaving town stood idly by on the sidewalk, watching you pass by their shadows silently. Everyone knew why you were leaving, though they didn’t expect for you to come back... alive, that is.

“Please put your bags aside and hand us your tickets for the ship. Once we clear you, please go below deck and take a seat. We are scheduled to leave in about an hour.”

Your solemn gaze lifts from the wooden panels of the dock at the bay, drifting towards the older gentleman stood by a shattered post that tied the small carrier vessel to the docks. His lips were curled into an oddly bright smile as he dutifully started to scan the tickets of each boarding individual, as if he was looking for something.

Shit.

You glanced down at your cream colored ticket, comparing it to the one the man in front of you was holding loosely behind his back. While his was quite normal in appearance, sporting the same cream color and signatures, yours had a red stamp on the bottom right corner - it was the symbol of your family name, which was always stamped onto official certificates since your family name was the one that kept the town running. Having your father as mayor was not working out for you.

As if some other deity was looking out for your own well being, the woman behind you for some reason decided she had to shuffle through her luggage a couple feet away - though she clumsily dropped the papers she’d been holding under her arm.

“Here, let me help.” You offer to the brunette, startling her after you’d quietly crouched down beside her arched back.

“Thank you, mam - I accidently stuffed my cash into a pocket. I’m going to try and make a good first impression by tipping all of the staff.” She explains to you, a complete and utter stranger who is likely about to ruin any chance of her being treated as an equal on the island. Her airy voice rang in your ears as she continued to babble on and on about how excited she was to leave the mainland and join the island colony, something about her husband dying years ago and how she found solace in their scriptures.

Well, it appears as if you were just another hurdle in her life. Since her attention was solely on finding the green wads of cash in her suitcase, the frail woman didn't even seem to notice that her ticket had been snagged under her shoe. You hoped that she wouldn’t notice how you leaned in just a bit closer, your hand going to quickly tug the slip of paper from under her foot; you switched it with your own, holding it and waiting for her to be done.

She thanks you warmly, graciously taking what is technically your ticket before she gets back in line. Now feeling a bit more safe, you can only pray that nothing goes wrong when you calmly hand the switched ticket to the gentleman clad in a blue dress shirt and black pants. A droplet of beaded sweat dribbled down the back of your neck as you waited patiently for him to give you passage - what if you were found out? What then? Would you ever get to see your brother again-?

“Alright mam, you’re free to board the ship. Please make sure to keep hold of your luggage during the trip.”

You were free to go. After this ship ride to the island, you’d finally be able to start the hunt for your little brother.

You had to find him.

The island wasn’t as beautiful as you had been expecting it to be. Then again, you weren’t quite sure how to picture a cult running a colony all on their own.

The coastline was small, just barely enough sand for more than four people to stand on at a time before they had to be sent uphill. The rest of the island’s otherwise sandy blemish held pillars of cracked stone, creating a sort of eerie gray wall around the bottom section of the island itself.

The soles of your shoes sink into the grainy yellow sand as you step off of the pathetic excuse of a dock, your long trousers just short enough to not brush against the sand. Unlike most of the other passengers, you’d packed everything messily into a bag you could sling over your shoulders - which you silently patted yourself on the back for while watching as the first four struggled to roll their suitcases uphill or carry the weight of their luggage with their fingers. For a brief moment, you forget of the ticket swap, heading towards the end of the coastline towards a path of grass that led farther up the hill. Then, you look back for just a split second.

The woman you’d switched tickets with is being held back from the crowd of new arrivals by the entire crew from the ship, the pack of them surrounding her frail figure.

There was no time to feel guilty - you had done what you needed to do.

Choosing to brush off any hint of guilt or pity for the widowed woman, you make your way up the hill until you’re stood beside one of the other passengers, a burly, plump man with a skewed mustache that oddly resembled a rat’s tail. Just ahead was the village, with young children running amuck and laughing freely, their parents busying themselves by doing laundry outside or chopping firewood. Not one person there seemed remotely interested in any of the new arrivals, though you didn't think it was too big of a deal. The less attention you could draw to yourself, the better.

Eventually someone led your group of about nine people further into the village, mentioning how the church was at the very end of the stone path and the trading market had been closed down for a short while - although he neglected to explain why. Right in front of their church there was an older man with brown hair sat at a table, a single paper and pen resting neatly on it’s surface.

“This is where you’ll tell our village leader, Junmyeon, your names and he’ll give you the keys to your rooms. Since you’re all new, you’ll be group together in a bunker of sorts - don’t worry though, you’ll be able to have your own homes soon enough.” The man hummed, gesturing for the first person to approach the leader waiting patiently at his post.

Without thinking you step forward, not expressing any emotion as you come to the edge of the table where the leader was waiting. He looked up at you briefly, making eye contact before he grabbed his pen and started to ask questions. “What is your name?”

“Y/N.”

“No last name?”

“I was in an orphanage, sir. My caregivers never told me of my surname, nor did I ever try to find it.” That little comment wasn’t too much of a lie, in all honesty - for a good majority of your life, you’d been holed up in a pathetic orphanage that didn't even have running water. Even now, as young adult, you never knew what your surname from birth had been; you’d taken the name Yang from your father, instead.

Junmyeon nods in silence, not opting to pry further into your life story. “What can you provide for us, miss? We already have many women who do the cooking and cleaning-”

“I can chop firewood or do construction.” You interrupt, “I am a working woman, sir. I can handle labor.”

He pauses, quirking an eyebrow in fascination. All the other women, while extremely intelligent and hard workers, tended to choose work such as laundry or cooking simply so they could be closer to home with their children. “I can’t guarantee you’ll get a spot, but... I can have Kris evaluate how well you do with it all tomorrow.” Junmyeon slides one of the keys from the pile across the table, the dingy golden material scrapping a bit on the rough surface. “This is for the last room on the right. After you get settled, I might suggest getting to know some of the other townspeople or relaxing, as tomorrow will be the start of seeing how well you work.”

“Thank you, sir.” You utter quietly, turning your back to him.

“No - thank you, miss Y/N. Welcome to your new home.”

You had concluded with very little hesitation that this place was entirely, one-hundred percent - almost normal.

At first, mostly due to your inner rage and turmoil of knowing your brother was being kept captive somewhere on this god forsaken island, you has assumed that the cultists residing in the quaint but bustling village would be like those you read about in the storybooks your father kept in his study for church. The words scrawled along the thick paper of the books would describe in horrifying detail how cultists of any kind would make inhumane sacrifices to their deities; from cutting off the heads of lambs to burning babies alive while they chanted haunting mantras into the night sky.

But... that didn't seem to be the case at all.

Everyone was friendly, not one shrouded soul of anger in their midst. Many of the women in the village had made it their duty to approach you first and make good will with you, helping you adjust to life on the remote island by cooking you meals and offering to sew you new garments. One of the women, well, girls - her name was Yeri, and she was maybe a year or two younger than yourself. Each morning for the next five days she would make sure that you got out of bed and went to work (which had been approved of by the second leader, Kris) as you had a very close bond with your bed; mainly in which you never wanted to leave.

She was Jeongin’s age, too. Every time she’d make a silly joke or play an innocent prank on one of the older women, you’d be reminded of why you’d even come here in the first place; to find your brother - hopefully alive and well.

Though, one thing you had learned very quickly was that the village was not doing too well. Their crops would leak a sickly black goo sometimes, and a majority of their livestock would mysteriously die in the middle of the night when no one was allowed out of their rooms. You’d easily figured out that the whole ransom issue was brought on by their lack of supplies and goods, but of course that didn’t convince you to pity them any further.

“Y/N? Aren’t you going to eat?”

You’re snapped out of your inner monologue by Yeri, the blonde haired girl tilting her head cutely to the side in amusement. The wooden spoon held between your fingers was lifted almost instinctively up to your chapped lips at her question, as if to reassure the younger girl that you hadn’t forgotten about your meal. “Sorry, I suppose I dozed off.” You hum, quirking an eyebrow when an all too mischievous smile starts to work its way onto her pink lips.

“You’ve been staring at him for at least two minutes, obviously you dozed off!”

“I was not staring at anyone-”

“Yes you were, Y/N! Now he’s staring at you, too.” A giggle escapes her lips as she discretely points across the front of her porch, directly towards the hut across from her own. Your eyes drift over to the hut, only to make sudden eye contact with a man donning a long black trench coat and beige trousers. His hair was slicked into a strange hairdo you had never seen a man sport before, part of the curled fringe swaying in the gentle wind. His eyes seem to almost glisten in the sunlight, appearing almost... red.

And then he turns away, walking back into what you can only assume is his hut.

You're not sure why, but small flurries of goosebumps had dotted your skin after the eye contact had been broken. You choose to ignore the chill that ran up your spine, instead glancing back over to a now widely grinning Yeri. “Who - who was that? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

“Hm? Oh-! That’s Seo Changbin, he was one of the first people to come here about... I believe three years ago?”

“Three years? He doesn’t look a day over twenty.”

“I don’t know, honestly. Apparently he came here when he was about seventeen.”

You nod in understanding, turning your attention back to the bowl of soup that was only growing colder the longer you waited to finish it. As you lift the spoon back to your waiting lips once more, you swear that you spot a flash of red eyes staring you down from inside the hut the man had gone into.

Still you ignore it, sipping on your soup before it was time to go back to work.

“You’re miss... Y/N, correct?”

You just about jump out of your skin at the intrusion of someone's voice, low and raspy right beside you. With a turn of your head you recognize the man from before - Changbin. “Y-yes, sir. Can I... help you with anything?” The question slips past your lips easily, wondering if he was going to ask why you’d been subconsciously eyeing him down the other week.

For some reason the man, not too much taller than you, grabs onto your shoulder and tugs you closer - to the point your chest is almost pressed against his own. Your eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t seem to care; too focused on looking around to see if anyone was paying too much attention to the pair of you nearly inches apart. He leans down suddenly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You would do well to inform me as to why you haven’t been participating in the bloodletting, doll. I am well aware that you’ve been taking blood from Kevin Moon’s jar.”

Fuck, the bloodletting.

Since this entire colony was founded upon the belief of some otherworldly deity, the townspeople had to pay their respects somehow - and in this case, they would spill some of their own blood into mason jars once a week each Sunday and place them outside of their doors, presumably so that they could offer their blood to their god.

You... really didn't care much for their beliefs; one, because they were a goddamn cult, and two, because you believed in the supernatural before you would a bloody god. And the man was right, you’d been pouring some of your neighbor’s blood into your jar so you wouldn't have to use your own.

“How - you have no proof, sir.” You object tersely after a moment of stunned silence. Yet he remains authentically calm, his eyes narrowed into slits as he slowly pulls his head back from beside yours.

“Proof? Doll, I have proof that you’re Yang Jeongin’s darling big sister - would be quite a shame if Junmyeon, Kris, or Minseok found out.” He hisses, as if he was growing impatient. “Do you understand the gravity of your situation, Yang Y/N? One slip up and you could be set to be purified tonight.”

You can feel them, the hint of tears starting to pool into the corners of your shaking eyes. How? How had you been found out? Were you too careless? Was Changbin just that good and deduced that the woman you’d switched tickets with was the innocent one in all of this? “I - please, sir, I just want my little brother back home - I beg you, don't say anything!”

Not once did you ever picture yourself close to tears, bowing to a man you barely knew and begging for him to have mercy on you - or rather, Jeongin.

“If you could let me finish, doll, you’d know that I have no intention of outing your sins to those men.” He murmurs, furrowing his brows in surprise when you make a move and there’s a sharp blade at his throat within seconds, just before he’d finished talking. “You couldn’t hurt me even if you tried - not with that pathetic blade, that is. Smart, though.”

“Should you plan to keep my secret then that must mean you want something in return. Not to offend you sir, but I won’t be on my knees for a man like this.” You grovel to him, a bit of confusion squandering your brain at how he hadn't flinched or made a move to push you away.

“While you are... extremely attractive, miss Y/N, I’m afraid that I am a good man and wouldn't ask for something so - risqué.” The dark haired man snorts, a hint of amusement painting his soft chuckle before he spoke again. “Keep that pesky blade at my throat if you might feel more comfortable, but all I ask of you is to follow me into the woods. There’s something I think you might want to see for yourself, and it involves your little brother.”

Now that caught your attention.

“Show me, now.”

“Whatever you say, doll. Come along then, we need to stay out of sight...”

You felt like you had been walking for hours, with Changbin ahead of you just by a couple feet. Your shoes crunched against the orange and yellow leaves scattered across the grassy ground of the dense woodland, the moon slowly becoming more prominent through the treetops as the sky began to grow darker.

“Stop here. Don’t make a sound.” Changbin instructs you out of nowhere before crouching down towards the ground, seemingly shifting through the grass and colored leaves until he grabbed what looked to be a stone. You do as he advices, stopping completely in your tracks.

His fingers grip tightly onto the gray stone in the palm of his hand, then he’s pulling his hand back and throwing the stone towards a tree trunk a few feet away. Within seconds of the stone hitting the bark covered trunk and making a loud bang, you hear another set of feet walking close by.

From behind a tree not too far away from where the two of you stood in utter silence emerged a grotesque figure - if you could even call it that. The body, which was absolutely torn to shreds with dead skin hanging from the bones and loose organs shifting around in its gut, lurched to where the sound had come from. A bag had been tightly tied over the thing’s head, effectively covering its likely mutilated face.

Changbin makes a sign for you to wait when he goes back to crouching where he had been just moments ago. The grass was suddenly pulled from the ground up, stuck to the top of a panel that he’d lifted up quietly. He gestures for you to go in, which you do, albeit with a bit of reluctance. You soundlessly drop down into what appears to be a short tunnel, at the end of it there was an oddly warm light seeping into the otherwise pitch black area.

“Sorry about that little fright back there,” Changbin mutters apologetically after he’d dropped down beside you, making sure the rusty ladder hadn't broken off the rocky crevice before he goes to stand in front of you yet again, “usually I can detect when it’s around - I suppose I got distracted.” This time he glances over at you quickly, reaching down to grab your wrist with his own cold fingers.

“What you’re about to see may feel... fake, or strange at first. But if you want your brother back you’re going to have to trust me on this entire thing.”

A soft noise of agreement bubbles from between your lips, knowing that you didn’t have much of a choice since he knew of your deadly secret. Seemingly satisfied with your consent, the man leads you through the thin tunnel and makes sure that neither of you accidently bump into a sharp rock jutting out of the walls. You eventually reach the end of the tunnel that seems to round out at the end into a cavern of sorts, Changbin’s grip tightening slightly on your wrist as if he was... worried.

When you walk inside the dimply lit cavern, you immediately understand why he had given you a bit of forewarning beforehand.

The wall to the left was drowning in dying vegetation, sickly looking vines tinted an ugly gray color drooping from various cracks in the stone. A patch of once beautiful red roses hung to the cold floor, their shaky petals close to dust as they brushed against the ground with even the smallest of breaths. In the center of if all was a deathly looking boy - he couldn’t have been any older than Jeongin and Yeri, at least by much.

His hair was an odd mix of faded orange and gray, dust riddling the top of his head like a powdered wig. His cheeks were stained with a thick layer of grime that hid what appeared to be little brown dots spread all across his nose. The corners of the boy’s lips were curled down, dried blood crusting over the chapped pink skin of his mouth.

“C-Changbin-” You start to whisper in concern for the boy, wanting desperately to rip the plants off of his skin and rid him of all the disgusting grime riddling his body.

The man shakes his head, letting go of your wrist as he takes a step closer to the boy, who clearly reacts to his presence and lets out a soft whine that makes you want to cry in sympathy. “This... this is their so called god. He was - part of my clan, but one day he and one of the other younger fledglings decided that they wanted to travel the world. They swore to keep in contact, but we never heard from them again - even after two years.”

He goes to crouch in front of the boy who he knew, grimacing at his disheveled state. “Felix is his name. Jisung went with him, though I can only guess he died a long time ago, as Felix chooses not to speak of him at all. Before all of us could leave to search for the boys together, another clan attacked and destroyed our homes. I watched my only friends burn alive as they told me to run and find our boys.”

“It took me about a year to find out that Felix had purchased a boat at the same dock you came from - it’s the only one those bastards use. I bought one as well, only to come here and find a shitty cult worshiping the corpse of my friend. Course they don’t realize that feeding him so much blood at once is only making him weaker, nor do they realize that he’s just a simple boy - not a god.”

The boy, Felix, lets out what sounds like a strained growl at Changbin’s last statement, causing him to roll his eyes. “You may believe that you’ve been blessed by a goddess, Lix, but there is no god here. There never has been, nor will there ever be.”

“Why can’t you just... take him away?” You ask almost inaudibly.

“Trust me, I’ve been trying to for years now. I don’t know why, but if he leaves this cave then he starts to - to burn alive.” Changbin explains gruffly, standing from his previous position on the floor to stand by Felix’s side. “Mixing so many different blood types together and forcing him to drink it all at once is toxic to our system. There’s only so much our bodies can take. Only reason this kid is still alive is because I help him.”

Mixed blood types? Fledglings and clans? Helping him?

“Changbin, what - holy shit!” You nearly choke on your own breath at the sight of the man leaning down to Felix’s shoulder and sinking his teeth - no, his fangs into the boy’s graying skin. As if paralyzed in shock, you can’t move your body or your stunned gaze away, quite literally forcing yourself to keep watching as Changbin… drains blood from Felix’s body.

When he pulls away, pearly white fangs now dripping with bright red blood, you’re quick to notice how the frail boy’s skin starts to become a bit more noticeable and clear, as if the green and black grime was slipping off of him. His hair was no mostly orange, albeit still faded, but there wasn’t any speck of gray or dust on his head. The brown spots spread across his cheeks and nose like little constellations were much more noticeable now, shining in the dim streaks of light from the single lantern hung on a crevice.

“I take some of the blood those bastards force him to drink so that he can live even a little bit longer... I once asked him if I could just, you know...” He starts to choke up a bit, clueing you in on what he’d been suggesting. Without thinking about the fact that you’d just witnessed the man drinking blood from another person, you step close to him and comfortingly place a hand on his tense shoulder, to which he relaxes just a little. “But Lix refused, said he’d haunt me if I killed him before he decided it was his time to go. He says that he needs to wait for something, and this is where Jeongin is involved.”

Your gaze meets the otherwise mute boy still tangled in the vegetation, which has now started to bloom again in light of being relieved of the blood. “... I’m listening.”

“Felix says that he can sense everyone, up there, that is. He can tell that Jeongin is pure - so pure that his blood can heal this place, the island. I don’t know why Lix wants to wait, in all honesty, but... because your brother’s blood is essentially pure, a vampire would have to have the human’s consent before drinking their blood if they wanted to use that healing power for themselves.”

Oh right, they’re vampires.

“I know I won’t be able to convince your brother to help Felix on my own - hell I can’t rescue him by myself. He’s trapped in the church cellar, and I... can’t go in, for obvious reasons,” he sighed, running his fingers through is slicked back hair, “we can help each other, Y/N. We get your brother out, get him to feed Felix some of his blood, and my friend can finally rest. Please, for the boys.”

Save Jeongin, help a vampire’s other vampire friend by feeding him your little brother’s blood, then leave.

“Jeongin will listen to me, I swear it. I’ll help you - and Felix.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t come with us, Changbin. We have a nice home in London with plenty of space.”

Changbin sighs softly at your confused pout, reaching over to ruffle your already messy head of hair in amusement. He pulls back to grab one of the tiny carrots off of his wooden plate, effectively shoving it between your lips as if to shut you up, much to your displeasure. “I - that does sound nice, doll, but since I’ve been feeding off of Felix who’s somehow connected to this damned island, I am also connected. I’ve tried to go with the other men to get supplies from the mainland, but my skin starts to burn and peel.” He mutters, his thin lips turning into a remorseful frown.

You wince at his sudden gloomy mood, chewing on the orange carrot before you place a hand on his thigh in comfort. “I’ll find a way to come back and take you home, I promise.”

“Home is wherever you are, doll.” The words slip through his lips with no hints of hesitation, surprising both of you to the point you’re positive your cheeks and his resemble that of a ripe tomato. “This place... it’s hell, and I don’t want you to stay any longer than you need to - or come back. When you and Jeongin leave they’ll know who you are; if you even took a step onto the docks ever again they’d spear you without blinking.”

“Enough of this depressing talk - let’s talk about the festival.” You respond after a moment of comfortable silence, leaning back against the wooden planks of the hut. Ever since the weeks had started to pass, you and Changbin had been devising a hopefully foolproof plan to rescue your brother and help Felix. Each passing hour, the church was guarded by two people in the front and with one guarding the door to the cellar where Jeongin was kept hidden away from the outside world. Since Changbin couldn’t step into the church himself, he had to create a plan where the guards would be gone long enough for you to sneak inside and free Jeongin - enter the festival.

At the last day of each month, the village would throw a giant festival to celebrate their god - Felix. What made you suspicious, though, was how the leaders were really pushing the success of this particular festival, especially since they’d been struggling to have a decent harvest and everyone had to ration the meat into thin slices that barely filled anyone up. Changbin guessed that they wanted to make sure everyone was in attendance so they could search the rooms of all the newcomers without arousing suspicion themselves.

It made sense, of course - but you’d fallen into a simple routine just like the other villagers; hell you’d moved in with Changbin after days of him insisting it was safer in case you were caught somehow. Having a vampire as your housemate was - oddly normal. He didn’t need to go prey on the villagers directly, as he got his blood supply from Felix, technically. It’s not like he was entirely different from a normal human much like yourself, although there were times where he would have to ask you to leave the room “because of your scent being too fucking strong,” whatever that meant.

“They’re going to be having two of the regular guards out front with them while they search the rooms. We should hopefully have at least thirty minutes to maybe an hour, if we’re lucky. I don’t know how you’re going to get past the guy by the cellar door, though...”

“I have a plan, don’t worry about it.” You reassure the quiet vampire, lowering your voice as a group of noisy kids starts to walk by the hut. “I can pick the lock on his chains and be out of there in just ten minutes, maybe fifteen if my plan doesn’t work. We need to think about how we’re going to sneak all the way to the docks.”

Changbin hums in agreement, crossing his arms over his chest as he thinks. “Most of them will be at the festival, of course, but we do need to be as careful as possible. I’ll be on the lookout for guards when we get there.”

“... I wish you could come with us, Changbin.” Your voice comes out a bit hoarse, raw emotion spilling into your words as you look over to the man with a somber gaze. He chuckles softly, going to wrap one of his arms around your shoulders, his cold touch comforting against your warm skin.

“So do I, doll. So do I.”

You weren’t too sure why you had to wear a dress to the festival - hell you were going to be leaving it as soon as Changbin gave you the signal. You look in the mirror with a huff, twirling around slightly and admiring the pretty dress clung to your body. Yeri had leant it to on behalf of her older sister, Irene, since the older woman had outgrown it over the years. It was quite cozy, being made of thicker material; faded yellow sunflowers decorated the cloth nicely, adding a pinch of uniqueness to the traditional dress.

“You look beautiful, doll.” Changbin tells you warmly as he steps into the bedroom, going to stand just inches behind you, his soft breathing fanning out onto the top of your head. He’s wearing a simple black suit with a yellow bowtie to match your dress color, the material a bit ruffled and loose on his body; though the look suited him quite well. His normally slicked back hair was allowed to breathe for once since you’d finally convinced him to “let the natural soft hair free.”

He looked good - too good.

“And you look dashing, Binnie.” You hum, snickering in amusement at how his nose scrunches in a playful annoyance.

“I told you to stop calling me that, doll,” he whines cutely, unbeknownst to himself as he drops his chin onto your shoulder, looking at your lonely reflection in the mirror, “I’m a creature of the night that feeds off of your kind’s blood, I shouldn’t have such silly petnames.”

“It’s adorable though, Binnie~ and you’re about as intimidating as a caterpillar, by the way.” You giggle.

He huffs in faux agitation, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Mm, you’re adorable.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the compliment, and you just about choke on nothing when the vampire lets his sharp fangs trail across your neck down to your shoulder, all the way up to the strap of your dress. He repeats his actions when you say nothing in response, checking on your reflection in the mirror to make sure you aren’t showing signs of being uncomfortable; but this time around, he does it even slower and adds his lips into the mix. The sensation of his lips and fangs grazing your skin sends chills up your spine, the feeling something similar to euphoria.

You spin yourself around so that your face is now just an inch or two away from Changbin’s, the tables being turned when he seems to stutter a bit at your close proximity.

“Doll - I want to... to...” He tries to speak, though his small stutters are perfectly clear to you.

“Then do it, Changbin.” You urge him on quietly, blushing furiously when you feel his chilled fingertips dig into your hips through your dress.

“If I kiss you now, then I’ll be addicted, doll. I’ll be struggling to keep my hands off of you all night, and we have a job to do.” He breathes out against your lips, but you know full well he’s going to let it happen anyway by the way he leans in closer. “We might not see each other again after tonight, Y/N. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course not, Binnie. I want you to come home with us - but I will find a way to bring you back one day,” you say determinedly, shushing him when he begins to protest, “no - no arguments. Just... kiss me, please.”

“As you wish, doll.” He gulps, complying to your wish by finally closing the distance between your lips. His lips, much like the rest of his body, are frigid to the touch - but if anything it heightens the euphoric feeling more so than before, the way his cold lips move slowly against yours. Your hands find solace around his neck, with his fingertips still digging into your hips as if he’s trying to pull you even closer - it wasn't physically possible, but damn it all if he didn't try.

You stay like that for what feels like years, slowly kissing each other and occasionally fighting for dominance, with Changbin teasingly biting down on your sensitive lips using his fangs while you would retaliate with a move to poke your tongue between his lips. All good things must come to an end, though, as made evident by the town bell ringing to let everyone know the festival was beginning. You both reluctantly pull back, your lips slightly swollen if inspected close enough.

“Go ahead without me for now. I need to double check and make sure we have everything.” The vampire man breaks the silence, clearly resisting the urge to smash your lips together again.

You laugh softly and peck his lips, not being as strong willed as him, before going to leave the house. “Yeri will probably try to drag me off to dance, so just look for her if you can’t find me.”

Changbin nods in understanding, turning his back to you as he rummages through the bag.

“Oh my gosh Y/N, you look stunning! Changbin is going to want to eat you up!”

If only you knew, sweet little Yeri.

“May I remind you that we live together, you silly girl?” You tease her lightheartedly, flicking her nose with a laugh as she pouts and puffs out her cheeks. While you certainly wouldn't miss the townspeople, not including Changbin and the every quiet Felix, you had a soft spot for the girl.

The shorter girl sticks out her tongue childishly, crossing her arms as a mischievous glint flashes across her brown eyes. “You know, I bet he asked you to move in because he like-”

“Am I interrupting, ladies?” Your savior pipes up in quiet amusement from beside you, easily wrapping a hand around your waist and giving it a gentle squeeze; everything was ready.

Yeri blanks out for a good second, gaze snapping onto the way the man has so comfortably pulled you closer to his body. “Oh my god I have to tell Irene, she owes me now!” She squeals in excitement, turning away to sprint through the crowd and find her older sister.

“Did they... bet on us?” You breathe out in disbelief, shaking your head fondly as the bubbly girl leaves the two of you behind.

“It appears so, doll,” Changbin snorts, going to discretely pull you into the shadows and away from the growing crowd, “I went ahead and put the bag by the stairs leading into the front door. You do whatever you need to do, then give me the signal and I’ll toss you the bag.”

You nod as he goes over the plan for the fifth time that same day, his arm still secured tightly at your waist even when you reach the church. “Y/N, if anything goes wrong, run out of the building so I can pummel the bastard-”

“It’ll be just fine, Binnie. Now, shush and let me do my part.” You effectively shush him by placing yet another peck to his lips, leaving him frozen to the spot by the front door while you quietly open it and waltz inside, swaying a bit. The guard, a man you recalled to be Jackson Wang, raised his chin to come off as more intimidating while he gripped onto his spear.

“Mam, you are not permitted to-”

“Oh shush, Jackson,” you say snootily, boldly walking closer and closer until you’re maybe a foot away from his tense form, “you know better, call me Y/N. We are... friends, aren’t we?”

“W-well I-”

This is too easy.

“Good boy, Jackson! Now, I need a favor from you tonight - and tonight only.” You hum, innocently playing with the ends of your hair. Jackson’s mouth gaped open at your sultry attitude and you could see how his grip on the metal spear loosened a bit as he started to relax with your presence - for more than obvious reasons. “You know how I live with Changbin, right? Well, the shorty is seriously strict and won’t let me have any men over - in fact, he locked the door so I couldn't bring anyone home while he’s out in the festival.”

“But... I do know for a fact that you live alone. Maybe you could... go home and wait for me?” You ask him with a childish pout of your lips, taking it a step forward to speed up the process by placing your hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “Just one night, baby, that’s all I need... although, I might need another. And another. And another-”

“O-okay!” The muscular guard breathes out shakily, bringing a hand to your cheek and caressing it. “Wait here for a few minutes though, okay? If Junmyeon finds out I ditched for you he’d kill me.”

“No problem, baby. Now, shoo!” You giggle, sending him a wink as he rushes out of the church doors. You wait a moment before waving through the window, signaling Changbin to toss the bag into the now empty building. You catch it effortlessly before you open one of the hands that had been in his pockets.

Getting the key was far too easy. Poor Jackson is going to have a shitty punishment tomorrow.

You twist the key in the lock to the trapdoor, feeling your heartbeat start to accelerate in your chest when you flipped it open. In just seconds you’d be able to see him again - your baby brother. With that thought in mind, you practically leap down the ladder, turning to look around the extremely cramped cellar.

“Y-Y/N?”

God you missed his voice.

“Jeongin - oh my god-” You rush over to him, pulling him into the tightest embrace you can muster and attempting to hold back the waterworks.

You missed him, so much.

“How did you - why are you?” His voice is strained, likely from dehydration. You don’t fail to notice how sunken his normally plush cheeks have become, nor the creaking of his bones as you unlock his chains with a hairpin and cut off the unnecessary restrains binding his legs and wrists together with a knife from the bag.

“Angel we need to go, but I promise I’ll tell you everything soon.” You mutter quickly, helping the malnourished boy stand from the cellar flood. He struggles to stand on his own, so you boost him up the ladder and rush to follow him. “I need you to listen to me Jeongin - I have a friend who needs your help before we leave. It’s hard to explain, but I swear no one will hurt you.”

Jeongin nods weakly, leaning against your side for support as you lead him out of the church. “O-okay. It’ll be fine as l-long as you’re there.” He whispers hoarsely while you help him down the steps, though Changbin is quick to crouch down and force your brother onto his back.

“Kid, wrap your arms around my neck. We gotta do this fast, alright?”

“A-are you my sister’s boyfriend, mister?”

“... I can see why Yeri reminds you of him, doll.” Changbin snorts under his breath, careful to look around for any stray festival goers. The two of you walk through the woods in mostly silence, with you watching Jeongin so closely you’re afraid you might burn holes into the side of his sunken face.

“Shh, it’s close.” The vampire mutters quietly, clearly sensing the terrifying monster that protected the secret door of the tunnel close by. Since his hands are full, you opt to lean down and pick up a hefty rock, slinging it into a tree a good distance away. Almost immediately the creature wanders towards the sound, unable to see you opening the door and helping Jeongin down to the floor.

You quickly follow him, hoisting him up with an arm while you look up and wait for Changbin to follow. He peeks over the edge, offering a cheeky smirk before he stands up to climb down.

Bang!

Why is there blood on your face...?

Why was Changbin not climbing down...?

“Y-Y/N! Run, there’s ‘nother tunnel behind the lante-” The man shouts down at you through the tunnel entrance, giving you no time to process what the ever living fuck was happening before he slammed the hatch shut.

You can feel it - the dread seeping into your bones. The way your heart starts to clench and unclench madly in your chest even though you try your hardest to regulate your heavy breathing as you struggle to lead an exhausted Jeongin down the tunnel and into the cavern.

You see Felix, bound in his haunting garden of half-dead plants, waiting for you to arrive. When he sees Jeongin, his white eyes start to tear up - he knows that he’ll finally be free. You help Jeongin over the bundles of flowers so Felix is close enough to reach his neck, but you hesitate a little. “Angel, are you sure? You don’t even know wh-”

“I don’t c-care, Y/N, just let hi-him do what he needs t-to do.” He silences you with a single statement, to which you oblige. With a soft nod from the human boy, Felix sinks his fangs into his neck, letting out a whine of satisfaction - in seconds you could see the difference in how he appeared. His skin quickly changed into a honey-kissed color, his lips became smoother and red, and his normally faded orange hair brightened considerably. With a ‘pop’ he retracts his fangs, comfortably sinking into the garden that had now flourished from your brother’s blood.

“I am a god now, you know.” He speaks up suddenly, making you jump in shock at the resounding echo of his deep voice hinted with a foreign accent. “Changbin believes me, he just never wanted to admit it.”

You laugh in disbelief, helping Jeongin up from the flower patch. “I - I don’t understand, Felix.”

“I could only communicate with Changbin through our vampire connection, but I was far too weak to speak properly.” He explains softly, sending Jeongin a thankful smile. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Y-yeah, no problem.” The brunette breathes out shakily.

Felix looks back to you, lips curling into a bittersweet frown. “He’s critically injured, but not dead. He was shot by Junmyeon, but the creature took care of that.” He lets out a soft sign, inhaling the aroma of all the flowers around him. “Before you leave, please burn me. Use the lantern - when you lift it the secret passage the leaders used will open. Changbin is waiting for you.”

You nod in silence, helping Jeongin towards the wall. The second you take the lantern off of it’s perch another door opens, to which you gesture for the younger to go on ahead - for his sake.

“Felix... Changbin thinks of you as his little brother, and as a big sister I can vouch for him in saying that he will miss you, a lot. Forever, actually.” You tell the boy softly, looking him in the eyes as your grip on the handle of the burning lantern tightens in sorrow. “And I just wanted to say that - that I’ll make sure to come back for him.”

“Sweetheart, did he not tell you?” Felix asks you sincerely, rolling his eyes playfully at your confused pout. “The island is going to burn - it’s like a reset button. As I die, the island dies with me. Changbin might be able to leave before it happens but... he is destined to be the next god of this land.”

No.

“He’s to proud to admit that he is to be a god, and too concerned for your own well being to tell you the truth. He won’t be restrained like me - the colony did this, no one else. I was only lucky enough to be blessed by the last goddess of this land, she saved my life.”

“Whatever happens to him, know that Changbin loves you dearly, Y/N. He never would have gone to such lengths for anyone else in his life. Now... it is time for me to rest, please.” He finishes with a warm grin, keeping eye contact with you as you raise the lantern and finally throw it onto his body and the garden surrounding him.

You don’t stay long, worried about Jeongin and the supposedly waiting Changbin - but you do hear Felix’s last breath; a deep sigh of content.

“Changbin you bastard!” Is the first thing you say to the bleeding vampire when you emerge from the tunnel, though you still make the effort to hoist an arm under both him and Jeongin’s shoulders. “I cannot believe you didn't tell me about the whole god situation!”

“Damn kid, I told him not to mention it...” The injured vampire wheezes, clutching hopelessly at the gaping wound in his chest, “you need to go, the village is already burning. You have to reach the docks before the crowd does so you can both get on the ship-”

You huff in defiance, standing up straighter as you walk faster through the woodland, smelling the burning land close behind. “I am not leaving you, Binnie. We already established this. Lix said there’s a chance we can make it before you have to stay.”

With that final rebuttal everyone falls silent, not including the occasional grunt of pain from the vampire or the heavy breathing of your exhausted brother. Eventually you reach the top of the hill by the coastline, looking down to see that not too many other people had made it to the boat just yet - and two people were anxiously waiting just a few feet away... wait-

“You’re finally here- oh my god, what happened?” Yeri screeches in a panic at your limping trio, going to help Jeongin even though she didn’t know who he was to you. Irene is quick to follow, adjusting Jeongin as he starts to whine in pain as well.

“Long story, I’ll tell you later - help me get Ch- Changbin!” You’d turned your head to the side, only to watch in rising horror as he collapses from your arms onto the dead grass, a pool of his blood spilling onto his chest. You crouch down beside him, ignoring the growing blaze that only seemed to inch closer and closer with each passing second. “B-Binnie, please!”

He takes a struggled inhale of fresh air, reaching up with a hand to brush a tear from the corner of your eye. “Yo-you have to leave m-me ‘behind, doll. Go home with-”

“Home is wherever you are, Binnie.” You breathe out with a whimper, leaning down even closer as the flames lick the grass just a yard away.

You can hear the other three screaming at you to hurry, but you pay then no heed - not yet. You had to taste him one more time, you had to feel him one more time - because you never wanted to forget him.

You smash your lips onto his, crying softly as he weakly holds your cheek with his bloodied hand. An explosion of love and fireworks erupts between your moving lips, a new sort of euphoria rushing over your body. Underneath your closed eyelids, both you and Changbin’s eyes have started to glaze over in a white color. His blood, now pooling onto the grass, spurts into giant vines that burst through the ground and manage to intertwine into a protective dome around both of you and the three onlookers just inches away from helping you up.

The fire never touches you.

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