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ohdeerfully · 3 months

Note

hi! I have a request, I've never really done this before but I'll give it a shot. so my request is that Charlie is tasked by heaven to watch over a very special human soul via a device that is like a full 360 VR kind of setup and this soul just so happens to be Alastor's immortal wife (he didn't know she was) whom he thought had died with him during a bad event and wound up in heaven but she didn't and She stayed the same since the 1930s like her looks stayed the same and her love for Alastor stayed too she never once tried to move on even when her new friends in this time tried to get her a guy but she just refused still wearing the wedding ring her gave her

I hope it's not too much to ask it can be changed to whatever you see if you have full creative control over it!

thank you for your brain anon

theres a couple awkward POV shifts in the story and im super duper sorry about that D: im not good at those

An Eternity

alastor x reader (angst) TW: reader is female, reader gets a lil drunk and drives but shes fine(i do not condone this pls dont drink and drive im so serious), yearning goes ouchie ):

join my discord!

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Alastor rarely, if ever, talked about his time alive. He saw it pointless; a waste of time and energy. How could it benefit him if somebody else knew his history? If anything, it would only open up weak points. And, being an Overlord, he couldn’t afford that.

The only hint of his past was a band on his finger that he never took off. Even after decades in Hell, nobody saw him without it.

People often asked, of course, because how in the Hell did the Radio Demon get hitched? Even in life, he was probably just as unusual and off putting. These questions were always met with a dismissive wave and a laugh, but anybody who knew him—which wasn’t many, truly—would recognize the strain in his voice as he brushed them off. Whatever the story was seemed to only grow more painful with time.

He was deep in thought, humming absently as he trailed through the hotel. He ended up meandering by Charlie’s room, which was cracked open. He took this as an invitation to let himself in, cheerfully grinning as he saw the girl sitting on the edge of her bed looking extremely confused.

“Hello, dear!” He announced himself, standing up straight and fixing his bowtie with one hand. “What does this afternoon have in store for the Princess of Hell?”

“Heyy, Al,” Charlie responded, still frowning at the contraption in her hand. It was a rather bulky thing; an unappealing piece of new technology, Alastor decided. Still, he loomed from behind Charlie with a curious bend in his neck. Her shoulders were stiff, and he couldn’t tell if it was from frustration with the thing in her hand or discomfort at him watching her.

“What is that peculiar thing?” He finally asked, since Charlie made no attempt at explanation. She seemed too focused to really pay him any mind.

“Something Heaven gave me to watch some curious soul they can’t control,” She murmured, fiddling with a couple buttons and knobs. “They’ve got me doing some ridiculous things. I mean, some human soul shouldn’t even concern me. But, they promise these favors will help with my hotel.”

Alastor hummed in response. He of all demons would recognize a manipulation tactic when he saw one—convincing a powerful demon princess to do your chores and promising to help her desperate project in return seemed like something the angels would do. He didn’t care one way or another, as long as Charlie’s naivete didn’t get in the way of his own goals.

He took a few steps back when Charlie stood, seemingly finished with setting up the box. He grinned, amused, when she pulled it over her head. It wasn’t the most flattering thing, and pretty bulky on her face. She looked ridiculous, honestly.

“Modern technology,” He sighed dramatically, leaning down onto his cane as he continued to observe her. “Only getting uglier.”

Charlie didn’t respond to his comment, looking around at what Alastor saw as nothing. She played around with the settings again, and adjusted the straps on her head again, before looking around again. She let out a successful sounding “hell yes” before pulling a remote of sorts from her pocket. She pushed on a joystick.

“What are you doing?” Alastor asked plainly, the building curiosity finally becoming too much. “Why do you have a box on your head?”

“It’s like…” She began to explain, trying to think of how to make sense of it to him. “Like… imagine you were looking through the eyes of somebody else, but still standing in the same spot..?” Her voice tilted at the end, unsure of her explanation.

Yeah, no, Alastor had no clue. But he dismissed it as unnecessary, as he often did with any technology he couldn’t understand.

“I’m seeing… Earth, I guess,” Charlie explained more. “Following around this girl.”

Alastor was only partially listening, humming quietly to himself as he just observed. He wondered if he should just leave—nothing interesting was happening. He was curious to see what antics Heaven was pushing on the Princess of Hell, though.

“Wanna try?” Charlie offered, lifting the headset up away from her eyes. Alastor immediately scrunched his nose up and narrowed his eyes.

“And look as ridiculous as you? Hah! No thank you,” He sat down on a chair near the wall, leaning against the back of it. He threw one leg up over the other. Charlie shrugged in response, and pulled the contraption back down.

Alastor sat for a while, absently thinking about what he wanted to do later as he waited for something to happen.

“Oh! Hold on,” Charlie suddenly said, causing Alastor’s ears to straighten to attention as she reached up and pressed a button. A holographic projection appeared out of nowhere, manifesting through some strange magic. “Forgot I could do that. This is what I’m seeing in here.”

Alastor stood and walked closer, leaning forward on his cane as he studied the projection. It seemed like some kind of bar. He mused at how different modern bars looked from the speakeasies he would frequent during his own life.

“What heavenly task are you doing in a bar?” He joked, trying to find something interesting in the projection. It just seemed like generic bar business. Loud, flirtatious women and boisterous, over confident men. That, at least, was the same from his day.

“Like I said earlier,” Charlie explained, looking around the room. The projection seemed to follow her movement, and Alastor recognized that he was basically seeing through her eyes. How curious. “There’s some… soul they lost control of. And they want me to report to them about her.”

Alastor was very curious to see what kind of soul broke from control of literal heaven. He watched rather intently, leaned forward against his cane to watch the projection.

Charlie turned another knob, and the sound of tacky pop music and loud chatter began to emanate from the bar scene. Alastor wasn’t a fan of newer music, but he was often forced to listen anyway in the hotel lobby.

“Is it possible to turn down that dreadful noise?” He complained to her, announcing his dissatisfaction.

“No. I need to be able to hear what the woman is saying,” Charlie answered stubbornly. Alastor’s microphone of a cane began to obnoxiously play a song of his choice for a moment in retaliation, but died down after a few moments. After all, Charlie ignored his attempt at aggravation, so there was no point in keeping it up.

Charlie looked around the bar, searching. Finally, her gaze settled on a fancier booth with half drawn curtains. From her angle, she could only see a woman. She looked frustrated.

“---get out of your shell! It’s about time you start talking to some guys for once,” Charlie caught the tail end of the woman’s statement. She was gesturing wildly around, exasperation evident in the jagged movements. “I’m sick of watching you pine for somebody who’s been gone for ages.”

★

“Ten years isn’t ages, Mechiele,” You drew your finger against the table, making shapes with the rim of water that the condensation from your glass left. Nearly a hundred years, more like, You commented to yourself. You never told anybody that you were an immortal being. Nobody believed you when you did, anyway.

You sat your cheek against the palm of your hand and lifted your gaze to your friend, who looked at you with a sharp frown. You shot her a weak smile.

“Can you just drop it?” You asked, nearly pleading. You didn’t want to cry tonight, being a little tipsy—you were an emotional drunk. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself blabbering about a dead husband.

“Come on,” Mechiele said impatiently, pushing your pleas aside. “There’s so many hot guys in here, I bet one would just love to take a piece of work like you home and-”

“Mechiele.” You hoped your tone was enough to shut her up.

You should’ve known better, honestly. Mechiele was already abrasive when she was sober, but with the amount of drinks she’s had tonight…

“No, no, no! You bum! Get your ass up right now and get out there! And take that ring off while you’re at it!”

Mechiele quickly lunged at you, a much too playful look in her eye considering how pissed you were right now. You yanked your arm away from her grasp, cupping your hand protectively with the other, shielding the golden band on your finger from her.

“Fucking drop it!” You snapped at her, standing from your seat. “I’m going home. You’re too drunk. I’ll drive.”

“You’re so fucking lame,” Mechiele droned, falling back into her seat. She wouldn’t budge when you urged her to stand and come with you. “He’s fuckin’ dead! Get a new man, already! Alastor’s not-”

Mechiele stopped abruptly when you smacked her. It wasn’t an incredibly hard smack or anything, barely enough to leave a red bloom on her cheek, but it was enough. She looked at you through narrowed eyes. You returned the same expression.

You left the booth and stormed off, cursing under your breath about it all. About Mechiele, about this stupid bar, about the tipsy feeling in your head, about Alastor—

You folded your arms together as you briskly walked to your car, yelling in frustration at your heels and ripping them off your feet. The ground was a little wet and cold, but you didn’t care. After making it to your car, you threw yourself in an switched it on.

You thought for a few moments. You were lightheaded after a few drinks, but you really didn’t want to wait for a taxi. You’d probably be fine, yeah? Sure. Against your better judgment, you began to drive.

It was a long drive, but it gave you some time to think.

You missed him. You pined for him. Nearly every night was agony, missing the presence of the only man you’ve ever fallen in love with.

You cursed whatever higher power there was for making you this way—immortal. How cruel it was, to make you live forever to suffer this longing. You didn’t even notice when you ended up in your room, but you let yourself fall face first onto your bed, curling up into a ball.

Even more, you cursed yourself for ever falling in love. You should’ve known it would only lead to an endless torture of heartbreak. You would never love anybody the same; although, you don’t think you’d want to, even if you could.

You were born to suffer. To spend an eternity in life without him.

★

Charlie continued to watch in shock for a few moments, her mouth dropped at the mention of the Radio Demon’s name. The previously hidden woman stepped from the bar, a furious look in her eyes as she stormed away. Mechiele was left with stubbornly folded arms and an empty glass of alcohol.

“Heyyy, uh, Al, how common is your name..? Do you know…” Charlie asked a bit awkwardly. She got no response. She lifted the headset, and realized he was gone. Even still, there seemed to be a lingering feeling of intense static, and the air somehow felt a bit heavier than before.

★

This had to be some cruel, sick joke, right? Heaven had to be toying with him, finally finding a way to torture his soul. His wife—she was dead. It had been nearly a hundred years since he died, and even if she had lived till she was old—

Alastor was pacing his room, ears pinned and eyes wide in frantic thought. Oh, how he yearned for her. He had managed for so long to push the memory of her away, to lock up his loss in a tight cage as he climbed the ranks of hell; it had all come rushing, barreling, torrenting back when he had seen her—or, no, somebody that looked like her—step out of those curtains. It was only a coincidence that that woman looked like his wife, and only a coincidence that she had a dead husband that shared his name.

His wife was in heaven, no doubt; which was where she belonged, of course, but Alastor had spent the last decade pining for somebody who he could never see again. If given the choice, Alastor wasn’t so sure himself if he was kind enough as to not tear her soul from Heaven and down to Hell by his side. Alternatively, even if Charlie’s idea of redemption were to work, Alastor was truly irredeemable. It was all wistful thinking, anyway.

Alastor’s claws dug into the curtains of his window, staring out into the streets of Hell in an attempt to concentrate on one steady stream of thought.

When billions of people touch the Earth, it’s only natural that coincidences like this rise. Right? He tried desperately to convince himself of different possibilities. It just made no sense.

A knocking at his door made Alastor’s grin curl in deadly malice. He really wasn’t in the mood.

He paced to his door, opened it just enough to fit his body in the frame, and glared down at Charlie. She was wringing her hands together nervously, and only seemed to grow more timid as the heavy, almost palpable ambience of his radio static filled the hallway she stood in.

“I’m busy,” Alastor said bluntly. His lips were curled in a sneer.

“I can tell,” Charlie responded. "I know you don't like talking about yourself-" She began to ramble on about him talking to her about his feelings and whatnot, but Alastor didn’t listen as he shut the door again.

Though, the interruption did give his mind a chance to slow. He sat on a chair in the corner of his room, and opted to fiddle with the radio on the drawer next to him. He tuned it—or, more just magically infused it—to play some jazz to try to keep his head level.

It would take some time to rebuild the dam that held back the memories of his wife. Even just the mere thought of her made him feel weak, and he hated it. The only soul he was capable of falling in love with—gone, forever.

Alastor never took the whole “eternity of damnation” thing seriously, considering the power he held and how comfortable he really was in Hell. However, when he remembered her—

Hell truly was torture. And he was cursed to spend his eternity in death without her.

#ohdeerfully #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader angst #angst #mutual pining OM NOM NOM NOM #i love angst im sorry guys

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quizzicalwriter · 7 months

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omg could u do a fic where dallas has been trying to call y/n all day only to find out that she’s sick and he takes care of her

Fever

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dallas hasn’t seen you all day, so he drops by uninvited. Don’t worry, he’ll take care of you - the best he can, anyway.

Warnings: None! Fluff and cute Dallas.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 2.5k

It was an agonizingly hot Friday morning, one where you’d spent the better part of your morning resting your cheek against the cool porcelain of your bathroom sink instead of getting ready. The morning whirled on around you, radio softly humming from your bedroom where you’d begrudgingly slapped at your alarm clock, somehow failing to turn it off but being too tired to do anything other than stagger toward the bathroom.

You somehow managed to take care of your necessities while the weatherman droned on about the lovely temperatures, you groaned in response - either he was lying, or you were getting sick. The thought had crossed your mind yesterday when you’d hardly been able to concentrate as an older woman asked for another cup of coffee, too preoccupied with the overwhelming exhaustion settling heavy in your bones and the pounding headache that’d made its home in the back of your skull - neither of which had faded over the night.

Stubbornness ran deep, and it certainly did in you. So you decided to disregard the nausea settling in your stomach as you got yourself dressed, only dry-heaving once as you started the trek to your workplace. Usually, you’d call Dallas to drive you to and fro - not that you needed him to, it was only a fifteen-minute walk, but he insisted and you weren’t one to deny a free ride. But the thought of getting into a car and breathing in cigarette smoke only soured your stomach more, so you walked alone and clocked in for your shift only five minutes late.

The hours passed, time murky as your brain swelled within your skull, pressing against the confines of bone as you scrawled down another order for coffee and eggs. You’d been halfway into your shift before your manager pulled you aside, concern written over his face as he helped you to sit down. Your manager wasn’t normally kind, a rugged older man from an era where surviving wasn’t the easiest, and it showed on the lines across his face and the look in his eyes. For him to show you kindness worried you somewhat, but the sweltering of your skin underneath your uniform pushed away any other feeling besides exhaustion.

He drove you home, talking your non-listening ear off about things you could do to ease your fever, and how he’d have your coworker cover your shift. You tried to listen, you really did, but the bumps along the road and the scent of passing restaurants readying their ovens for the day filled the air with an aroma that would’ve been pleasant to anyone who wasn’t currently battling the urge to void their stomach of its contents. He reached your house in less than five minutes, something you were sure was due to him not wanting to catch whatever the hell you’d caught. You gave him a brief nod and wave, one he returned with a smile before peeling off back toward the diner.

You fumbled with your keys, managing to unlock your front door after two failed attempts. Thankfully the air conditioning in your house had kicked on, keeping it much cooler than you’d left it only hours prior. You kicked your shoes off, not bothering to make the small walk to your bedroom in favor of the living room couch that seemed to be calling your name. You collapsed onto the cool leather with a groan, your eyes squeezing shut as you willed yourself to sleep.

What you’d forgotten to do was call Dallas, leaving him alone and frustrated as he watched everyone pour out of the diner. He noticed some of your coworkers, all smiling and laughing amongst each other as they piled into their cars as the next shift trudged toward the building. He flicked the built-up ash off the end of his cigarette, contemplating if it was worth it to go inside, figuring you were likely in the restroom or gathering your stuff.

That was until your manager spotted him, the older man’s brow furrowing as he made his way outside and toward the thunderbird that revved to life enough to annoy the living hell out of him - much to Dallas’s pleasure. Dallas waved the hand he had draped out the window, exhaling a lungful of smoke toward the man as he approached the driver's side.

“She’s sick. I drove her home earlier.”

Dallas clicked his tongue against his teeth, lifting his hand to place his cigarette between his lips as he started the car back up. Your manager jumped back onto the curb as Dallas peeled out of the parking lot, half pissed that you hadn’t bothered to call and half worried that you were so sick that you hadn’t had the energy to do so. Deciding to play on the side of caution, he dropped by the gas station on the way, snagging a few items he’d heard helped - or at least he hoped helped.

He parked along the street, not bothering the fix his parking as the front tire scraped against the edge of the sidewalk. With a hefty paper bag of everything he could manage to grab he made his way toward your front door, only to find it locked. He sighed, tilting his head back to look toward your neighboring houses, ensuring nobody was looking at him as he snuck around the side. He’d been with you long enough to know you always kept your bedroom window unlatched, it was always a mixup of whether it was going to be sweltering or freezing in Tulsa, so you kept it unlatched in case you needed it cracked in the night.

After a quick peek into the darkness that shrouded your bedroom, he pressed the glass upward, grimacing at the wall of cold air that smacked into him as he ducked into your window. Your radio softly played, older music hits that you’d usually have turned off when you woke up in the morning. Dallas sighed, closing the window gently behind him, taking a second to shut off your radio before moving through the frigid house.

“Doll?” He called, worry settling like a pit in his lower stomach. “Got you some stuff.”

When you didn’t reply to his call his worry grew deeper. He sped up his steps, nearly knocking over the bag of medicinal supplies he’d snagged as he tossed the paper bag onto your kitchen counter. His worry faded as he entered your living room, finding you draped over the expanse of your couch, arm draped over the side, fingers skimming the carpet below as you slept.

With a quiet laugh, he moved toward you, whispering a greeting as he scooped you into his arms. His scent was something you recognized instinctually, even in your fever-ridden mind. Your hands grasped at his jacket, face skewed up in a small grimace as he carried you down the hall toward your bedroom. It wasn’t often that Dallas was soft with you, he tried, but he was always a rugged man and it showed in his actions and thoughts.

“Real sick, huh?” He asked, voice barely above a murmur as he shifted near your bed, bending at the hip to help you lay down. You only mustered a nod in reply, body burning and mind nearly numb from the steady headache that coursed through your brain.

Your half-opened eyes watched as he kicked his shoes off, jeans following suit before he moved toward you, gently pushing you toward the center of your bed. You grumbled, causing him to stifle a laugh as he moved beside you, wrapping an arm around your middle.

“Grumpy.” He stated, words closer to a taunt than anything. You hadn’t the energy to fire back as you normally would, so you sufficed with a quick swat to his arm. One he laughed at after feigning being hurt, relenting in his attitude with a soft kiss to your temple. “Proving my point, y’know.”

Despite the nausea souring your stomach, you couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled in your chest at his words. You wanted nothing more than to goof around with him as you normally did, but the most you could muster was a nod and a short-lived smile as you tried to quell your pounding brain with the warmth of his touch.

“Here-“ He huffed out, helping you to turn over. You pouted, your signature move whenever you were forced to do something you didn’t want to do, one that made Dallas roll his eyes. “It’ll help, shut up.”

You were about to complain until his hand slunk underneath your shirt, fingernails gently tracing along your spine. The touch was featherlight, goosebumps following wherever his touch went. An involuntary sigh fell from your lips as you sunk into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut, the only sound besides your breathing being a triumphant laugh from Dallas.

“Learned this from a girl.” He mumbled out through a yawn, the words causing you to look over your shoulder toward him with a scowl. He returned the look with a joking scorn of his own. “I was sixteen. So jealous.”

“Shut up.” You chuckled, scooting closer to him. His thumb brushed against the nape of your neck, fingers smoothing over the curve of your shoulder before trailing his fingertips back down your spine. His touch was soft, so incredibly soft. You’d hardly noticed you were falling asleep until you felt the warmth of your bedsheets pulled over you, followed by a chaste kiss to the nape of your neck.

Hours passed before you woke, at least you gathered it’d been hours due to the moonlight pouring in through your bedroom window and the absence of Dallas beside you. While your headache wasn’t as prominent as it had been earlier, nausea still made itself known in your stomach, seemingly exacerbated by your lack of eating. With a groan you pushed the bedsheets off of yourself, hands wiping the sleep from your eyes as your feet found the cool hardwood floor beneath you.

You’d half expected that Dallas had left, but the thought was wiped from your mind when you’d nearly tripped over his shoes that’d been perched at the end of your bed. As much as you wanted to be irritated over having tripped, you only felt relief over the fact that he’d stayed. The house felt warmer than before, a savory aroma wafting through the air - both most likely Dallas’s doing.

The television sounded from your living room, sports scores echoing down to your bedroom as you walked down the hallway, arms wrapped loosely around your middle. It wasn’t loud enough to be burdensome, roughly the volume you’d keep it whenever you were cooking and didn’t want to miss out on anything. As you rounded the corner into your living area you spotted Dallas in the kitchen, face a perfect picture of focus as he cooked something on your stovetop.

“Hey.” You murmured, causing him to jump. You laughed out an apology as you moved behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle as you rested your cheek against his back. He was always so warm, it even seemed to help your subtle headache. He reached his hand behind himself to pat your thigh, wordlessly acknowledging you as he continued cooking.

“Got this from the DX, didn’t realize it needed to be cooked.” His voice sounded almost defeated, but by the way the air smelled you gathered he’d done it right. You hummed in reply, placing a short kiss on his back before moving around to inspect his handy work.

“Most food does.” You chided, earning you a grunted-out laugh from Dallas. “It looks good, thank you.”

He gave you a brief smile, leaning over a fraction to grab the now-empty can before handing it to you. Somehow he’d snagged your favorite kind, or at least the type you tolerated the most. You couldn’t remember ever talking about soup with him, but it’d be on par for Dallas to remember something so small.

As if sensing your confusion, he responded with, “Last time you were sick you mentioned liking it. Figured you’d want it, y’know?”

It was sweet, sweet enough to leave you smiling despite the nausea. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, not wanting to kiss his cheek or his lips in case what you had was contagious. He waved you off with feigned annoyance, moving over to your cabinet to grab a bowl before pouring out a serving for you. You peeked over his shoulder, soon taking his place as he moved over to your refrigerator to grab himself something to drink.

Before you could grab the porcelain bowl he’d swooped in front of you, shooting you a dirty look for even having considered carrying a bowl while you were sick. You followed beside him with a scoffed-out laugh, the television soon becoming louder as you both moved to sit down on the same couch you’d passed out on when you’d gotten home.

“Here-“ He muttered, giving you a moment to get yourself comfortable before handing over the bowl along with a water bottle. You gave him a brief smile in return, screwing off the top of the water bottle before downing a few mouthfuls.

You scooted closer to him, legs folded beneath yourself as you spooned some of the still-hot broth into your mouth, eyes glued to the television. He didn’t care enough about being sick to push you away, after all, you’d taken care of him when he’d had the stomach flu for nearly a week, so he let you rest against him as you both watched the game.

“Did you want to go to the doctor?” He asked after a moment, gaze flickering down to you. You thought for a moment before shaking your head, cooling off another spoonful of broth. He sighed, eyes rolling as he returned his attention to the television with a quiet, “Stubborn ass.”

“Expensive.” You retorted through a laugh. “Besides, I probably have the flu or a stomach bug. Don’t want to waste money on it.”

He lifted his hips then, freeing his wallet from his back pocket before plopping the leather down into your lap. You leaned forward, placing your bowl onto the coffee table before fumbling with his wallet. Whenever you’d come into financial trouble, Dallas had always been able to help. You’d never questioned it, knowing that he did risky things for money and to simply survive.

“Dallas-“ You started, finding your words quickly cut off with a hush from Dallas. He looked over to you, hand moving to brush back your hair as he responded with a gentle, “I’ve got it, don’t worry about it.”

That was that, you knew him well enough to know there was no use arguing with him. You were both stubborn, especially when it came to each other. You leaned up onto your knees, pressing a gentle kiss to his jaw before retrieving your bowl, and settling back into his side.

“I’ll pay you back.” You replied, words earning you a gruff laugh as Dallas shook his head.

“Just let me take care of you, doll.”

You relented, chewing at the inside of your cheek as you fought back a smile. You’d find a way to pay him back, maybe not with monetary means, but you’d find a way. For now, you’d savor the feeling of being curled into his side, both of you sucked into a sports game, truly comfortable in each other's presence.

A/N: More fluff!! I hope you guys enjoy this one! Thank you so much for the continued support and love you show me and my work, I appreciate you all so so much!! As always, you can find my work over on AO3 under the username, “Unscriptural.” Thank you again!

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bad-and-drawn-that-way · 3 months

Text

Electric Love - Full Chapters

Want early chapters? Read on Ao3!

Chapter 1: Not What I Expected

Notes: Support me by reading on Ao3! Kudos and comments help motivate me to see multi-chapter fics through to the end! I'll be posting announcements for the updates here. Chapters will come out on Ao3 BEFORE tumblr.

Some shit in this will probably be really OOC, but it's fanfiction so who cares? Enjoy!

Word Count: 6090

It was a day in hell like any other. Flashing cameras, idiots who came to Vox with questions below his caliber, the whole works. The overlord was half tempted to cancel any appointments he had after the current debut he was waiting to go on stage for. The only thing he wanted was to go home and eat an obscene amount of junk food while he zoned out to reruns of one of the shitty soap operas that ran on one of his channels.

He could hear the crowd of anxious paparazzi and ass-kissers just past the stage as he pocketed his phone with a deep sigh. Ignoring the concerned crewman who signaled it was time for him to go on stage, Vox grit his teeth and stepped onto the stage, immediately adopting an entirely different persona with a practiced smile.

Cameras flashed and the crowd got louder as people cheered, shoved each other out of the way and paparazzi rapidly fired questions at him with microphones pointed his way. Vox resisted the urge to roll his eyes. You’d think that any experienced reporter with half a brain cell would know the chances of getting a response to such behavior was zero to none, and yet he was so familiar with the approach that it was boring.

Despite his disdain, Vox waved and grinned proudly as he stepped up to a podium in front of a large screen. "Hello my loyal audience and fans,” he speaks with a clear and confident tone. “Today we at VoxTech have quite the exciting announcement to make. For too long, we have been limited to regular television and radio media, well no more! Introducing VoxTube, the new innovative way to stream content and enjoy it at any time.." the crowd cheered and whistled louder at the sound of the word 'streaming' and then they all gasped at once during the reveal.

Vox paused to dramatically look away from the crowd for a moment, his eyebrows arching and the corner of his mouth curling up slightly, before looking back towards the crowd again with a smug grin on his face. "And now.. for the moment you've all been waiting for... the grand reveal!" Vox said as the crowd grew even louder with excitement.

Just as the screen behind him shifted to reveal the new platform, the screen flickered before showing a logo that was very much not his. In fact, it was the logo of the damned rival company that had been a thorn in his side for the past few months. “Oh for fucks, sake, not this again,” he muttered as he looked to the side to see his production crew scrambling behind the scenes to shut down the takeover.

The large screen was supposed to be demoing the “new” platform that was really just a rehashed regurgitation of an older platform. This was supposed to be just a quick cash grab, but now it was just a problem. Vox glared at the stupid halo logo as an unfamiliar, but jovial voice seeped through his speakers like a virus.

"Tired of being controlled? Tired of not being about to tell if your information is being leaked or if VoxTech is brainwashing you?" The voice asked as it revealed distasteful footage of mindless sinners in front of VoxTech products. "Then try Eternal Entertainment. Your anti-Vox streaming and video platform, completely free of VoxTech networks. Take back control of your experience!"

The crowd was silent as the screen played a jingle before going dark. It took all the self-restraint Vox had not to glitch out on the stage when he knew the cameras were still rolling. Immediately, the crowd had their phones out, downloading the new app. Reporter cameras were flashing as sinners got as close to the stage as they could. Microphones were shoved in Vox's direction as a dozen voices asked him about the new competition.

"Ah-ah-ah... Now, let's not be so hasty, hmm?” Vox turned to the crowd with a strained grin. “This so-called 'Eternal Entertainment' is merely slander propaganda! There’s no history, nor a face to the name of this company. There’s nothing to trust! At VoxTech, we care about users' safety and provide hell-wide coverage that this ‘competition’ simply can’t beat." Vox said, trying to convince the crowd that it was a mistake to download the rival platform.

"What about the rumors of Vox programs being coded with hypnotic influence?” A reporter asked as they shoved down another. “This new rival platform promises protection from the threat of corporate dating mining and influence. What do you have to say about that?" A reporter asked.

"Hypnosis? No no, no.. that’s ridiculous!" Vox scoffed, shaking his head as he tried to sound convincing. "It’s already been proven that any rumors about such malware were nothing more than scandalous lies created to discriminate against the powers of tech demons like myself,” Vox said, theatrically shaking his head as he played the card his PR team had him prepared for at all times.

“Look, you know you can trust and rely on the wonderful VoxTech. We have been nothing but honest and transparent... unlike those frauds at 'Eternal... uhh..'," Vox tried to remember the name of the rival platform.

"Eternal Entertainment!" Someone from the crowd yelled. "It already has 300,000 downloads!"

"See? That’s nothing!” Vox laughed with a strained smile. It was something. Low numbers for a platform overall, sure. But to already have that many downloads mere minutes after the hijacked debut? Yeah no, Vox was freaking the fuck out.

The crowd continued to get louder, and Vox felt anxious electricity thrumming through his veins. Everything was getting overwhelming and he only had so much bullshit he could come up with on the spot before he started contradicting himself. He continued to smile as his magic pulsed through the nearby cables of the stage as he searched for anything he could use as an escape. He found a security camera in an alleyway a few blocks over and put on a professional grin. He just needed a closing statement, and he'd get out of there. Easy.

"Well then," Vox cleared his throat and put on his best, most charismatic smile. "I promise you all, this so-called “Eternal Entertainment”, is nothing but a passing fad! It's just a desperate attempt by the competition to try and take you away from the best hell has to offer. The very best streaming and media..." Vox's eyes narrowed as he looked around at the crowd and his smile slowly faded. "Me."

The chaotic crowd suddenly fell silent as his screen flooded their vision with red and black spirals. The sound of a pin dropping would be deafening compared to the frantic clamoring that had filled the space only moments ago as Vox flooded the crowd’s minds with VoxTech propaganda and affirmations. Once he was content, Vox used the camera to teleport to the alleyway while the crowd was left temporarily mindless.

“F̸̛̫̝̉u̴͑͜c̵̮̀ḱ̷̩̆î̴̩͘n̴̯̬͐g̷̮͌̚ piece of shit m̷̨͙͗o̴̲͎͐t̸͉̜͒h̷̙̃e̶͎̦͋r̵̟͘f̷̱̄͒û̸̥ć̵̙ͅḱ̶̡́ę̷͎̄ŕ̵̠̳ś̶̝͗,” Vox swore as his screen glitched hard the moment he was out of sight. He continued to swear and vent out his frustrations as he kicked an empty paint can on the ground next to a dumpster. Fortunately, there weren’t any sinners passing by to witness his tantrum. He wasn’t in the mood to drop another fucker until they were brain-dead.

Once Vox got the rest of his frustrations out of his system, he collected himself and sighed. He pulled out his phone and opened the app store, cringing as he saw the rival app rising in the trending downloads. He closed his eyes and focused his abilities as his power surged through the network and hunted down the source engine running the app. With so many devices accessing the network, he was able to narrow down the location quickly.

"Perfect,” Vox said with a sinister grin. “Now to take care of this problem once and for all."

Any time he’d tried to hunt down Eternal before, Vox had run into dead end after dead end. He couldn’t track down the sinners running the rival software, nor could he track down any of their host servers. The hubris of his newfound enemy would be their undoing. Anyone in the entertainment industry worth their salt knew how easily things could be exposed upon release. By loudly announcing their debut when they hijacked Vox’s presentation, the company had left themselves wide open for him to latch onto the smallest flaws and hunt them down properly.

Vox wanted to destroy the place and make sure that their platform never gained any kind of popularity or power in Hell ever again. He finally pinpointed the location where the platform was being hosted and was pleased to find it wasn't anything impressive. There was no polish. The building didn’t even look like it was any sort of office or official business. If anything, it looked uninhabited. He pulled up the address on his screen to see what he could find out about the location’s history.

The building was a rundown observatory run by some random sinner he couldn’t care less about before one of the biggest exterminations of the past century. The neighborhood the building was near had been so thoroughly gutted by the angels that the entire area was abandoned due to superstition. Well… as abandoned as any corner of the overcrowded ring of hell could be. It was the perfect place for unsavory types to hide in the shadows.

Vox scanned the exterior and his smirk only grew as he took note of the lack of any sort of security. "This will be easy..." Vox said to himself as he locked on to a computer screen he sensed inside of the building. Wanting to get the drop on his cocky competition, he teleported his way inside the old, abandoned observatory. Vox was expecting a potential fight. Maybe guns. Probably a lab full of desk jockeys. What Vox didn’t expect was for his feet to barely touch the ground before he found himself suddenly in agonizing pain. His vision was clouded over with purple smoke and he heard the sound of glass shattering as his entire body short-circuited hard from the overwhelming pain.

Vox screamed, dropping to his knees as his systems malfunctioned from the icy-hot burning sensation shooting across his skin. His face bluescreened and his vision went dark. The last thing he heard as he lost consciousness was the sound of someone swearing and footsteps rapidly approaching him as he passed out.

----

Vox gasped as he felt his systems finally reboot. He ran an internal diagnostic as he sat up to look around, dazed and disoriented. The burning sensation had faded, but his head was pounding. His vision slowly cleared as he took in his surroundings. It looked like he was in some sort of office.There was a large, overflowing bookshelf by an open window and a desk with an impressive computer set-up on it. Vials filled with purple, sparkling mist were scattered around the entire room, all with different labels on them. The space was messy, yet somehow… cozy. At least, it felt more comfortable than the majority of the sleek areas of hell he was more familiar with.

Vox looked down and quirky an eyebrow as he held up the soft blanket draped over his lap. He tried not to think of what sort of diseases could be lurking in the old couch he was lying on as he processed the situation.

"W... what..? Where am I… How did I get here...?" Vox said as he blinked a couple of times, trying to remember what had happened before he lost consciousness. "What the fuck is this place?"

"Oh shit, you're awake!" A voice startled Vox and he tossed the blanket off of him as the door to the office pushed open. He hadn’t noticed that it had been cracked open, nor had he noticed you waiting for him to wake up out in the hallway.You’d been leaning against the doorframe and scrolling through social media as you waited for him to regain consciousness.

You stepped into the room, smiling sheepishly as you pocketed your phone, “Sorry, I didn’t want you to wake up alone and be confused, but it also felt weird to just sit in here. How are you feeling?”

Vox didn't know what to expect when it came to his new rival, but he couldn't have imagined you. Hell was full of sinners of all shapes and sizes. Vox had seen some crazy shit, but he’d never seen someone as… soft as you. You weren’t dressed to the nines or in some wild costume like most. Instead, you were just wearing sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with your hair pulled back in a messy bun. You looked like a burnt-out college student rather than a sinner trapped in hell.

“You know,” you smirk. “I may not have been the one running the campaign against you, but you may have wanted to take that whole anti-Vox thing a bit more seriously before just barging in here.”

"You're... the owner of the rival platform..?" Vox said as his eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes and no," you cringe. "Normally, I’d be chasing you out of here with a broomstick, but I might have royally fucked up and have no idea what I’m doing," you admit.

“What?” Vox asked flatly. He had been expecting tech bro assholes who would monologue at him in an attempt to piss him off. He’d been expecting the run-of-the-mill hellish power-hungry welcome he’d come to love tearing to shreds any time someone was stupid enough to try to overthrow him. He expected literally anything else but this.

“It… would probably be easier to just show you,” You sigh as you walk over to your computer and wake up the idle screen.

Vox stood from the couch and crossed the small office to look at the screen. It revealed that millions of sinners had already made accounts on Eternal Entertainment’s new platform, and a decent amount of accounts had already started uploading content. To say it was successful would be an understatement.

"Millions..." Vox muttered under his breath, feeling more and more threatened by the platform as he saw the success it was already having. "How the hell did you manage to pull this off?"

You chuckle, rubbing the back of your head nervously. "Yeah, uh, about that... I don't... know."

"You don't k̴n̷o̵w̵?̴" Vox flipped on you with a spark. His eye twitched as he tried to pick apart your game. Were you bragging? Were you about to threaten him? Were you a fucking idiot?

"Excuse, the fuck, me?” Vox growled as he grabbed your hoodie and pulled you forward. “Do you mean to tell me this was just some fucking pet project or some shit?"

"Yes and no?," you cringed as Vox made it clear how fed up he was getting with that answer.

Normally, you wouldn’t let anyone yank you around, but you’d dug yourself into some pretty deep shit. The guilt that came with that kept you complicit for the time being, but you still pushed his hand off of you.

"The truth is, I… made the platform,” you admit sheepishly. You’re quick to defend yourself as you see Vox’s expression fill with rage. “But I’m not the one who released it and I don’t work for Eternal. I swear!”

“You realize how fucking fake that sounds, right?” Vox growled as he felt his claws itch with the desire to rip you apart.

“Yup,” you swallow. “I understand the shit sandwich I landed myself in very much, Mr. Big Scary Evil Overlord Sir.”

“But,” you say as you pull back your desk chair and pull up your browser. “I have proof. If you don’t believe me after you look at it, you can kick my ass to your heart’s content. But I think you’ll quickly realize I do not know what the fuck I’m doing and I couldn’t have made this shit the way you’re thinking I did, even if I tried.”

Vox squinted at you with distrust as he looked between you and the chair. He grabbed the back of the offending furniture far tighter than was necessary and yanked it out of your hand as he sat down with a grumble.

He started scrolling through the history of your browser and clicked through the tabs you’d left open for him. It looked like you had signed up for some sort of coding workshop and had no idea what you had signed up for. What was poorly disguised as a hands-on tutorial for beginner video game coders to learn how to make mock platforms for marketing was a trap to lure in people to do Eternal’s dirty work. It was the sort of thing that would never pop up on Vox’s radar. It was obviously a scam to the trained eye and a weak attempt at throwing suckers like you under the bus.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” he said as he looked up at you incredulously.

Your face flushed and you looked away from him with an embarrassed frown as you crossed your arms. “Oh fuck off,” you grumble. “I’m broke as hell and it was a free course in an area I need to learn to make my games. It sounded too good to be true.”

“Because it was, dumbass,” Vox snorted as he shook his head and kept digging. He followed the data trail of the domain the workshop was hosted on and pulled up a few unrelated tabs that you hadn’t already pulled up from him so he could figure out how you’d discovered the suspicious content in the first place.

“Hey!” you gasp as you try to stop him.

“If you don’t want to end up an electrified shish kabob on the floor, you’ll let me work,” Vox said, not taking his eyes off the screen for a second as he installed some of his searching software to run in the background of your system.

You huff, watching him continue to dig through your computer before you turn on your heel and walk out. “Just don’t move or delete anything.”

Vox rolled his eyes as he continued his search. He quickly understood where your worries stemmed from. He hadn’t paid too much attention to your mention of it earlier, but it was obvious you were some sort of video game developer. There were folders filled with concept designs, dialogue chains, and amateur attempts at programming. It seemed while you thrived in the creator side of things, your tech knowledge was severely lacking. A quick invasive peek at your bank account showed that your funds were as well. You had big visions for someone with only yourself as a resource.

He paused as he opened a folder in your files that was filled with what appeared to be pictures of you and what he assumed were your friends. His eyes widened as he recognized several faces smiling innocently compared to the lewd expressions he’d seen them make in Valentino’s films. What caught his attention even more was the multiple pictures of you with Angel Dust and his little cyclops friend who had a knack for explosives.

Before he could dig any further into your personal life, several windows popped up to let him know the diagnostics had finished running the background.

Vox’s leg started to bounce with anxious energy as the reports from the programs he’d run earlier started to flood in. He immediately followed the trail of information and found several other websites connecting to Eternal that eventually led him to a secluded forum with all sorts of shady shit. He opened several threads that related to himself and the other Vees and inhaled sharply as he started to read through everything.

"Anti-VoxTech underground network…?" Vox whispered aloud. An anxious thrum of energy ran through him as he tried not to freak out. What if this person used the platform to spread propaganda against him or to leak information from his networks? What if this person was trying to destroy him from the inside out? His paranoia began to intensify and he felt small sparks licking at his skin when suddenly, a coffee mug was thrust in front of his face.

He looks up at you as you hold out one of two mugs to him. He takes it slowly from your hand as you look at him unimpressed, yet expectantly. “Thanks…?” He says slowly as he is once again thrown off by how much you didn’t match his expectations. He looks down at the liquid in his hand before looking back up at you distrustfully. For all he knew, your weirdly casual demeanor could have all been a trick. Poisoning him in the afterlife wouldn’t kill him, it’d just be a major inconvenience. Even so, he hesitated.

“Oh for fucks sake,” you roll your eyes as you realize why he was hesitating. You stick your pinky in his cup and pop it in your mouth to show him it was safe. “It’s just hot chocolate,” you huff before you take a sip from your own mug. “I was going to make one before you just zapped your ass in here and it felt rude to only make one for myself.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked the bewildered overlord over. “Shit, but your face… Can you even…? Wait no, that’s also rude. Fuck.”

Vox burst out laughing as you verbally tripped over yourself. Yeah no. There was no evil ploy here. You were just a weirdly endearing dumbass.

“I can drink,” Vox grinned as he finally lifted the cup to his lips. His eyes widened as he took in the unexpected taste. While he could eat and drink, he unfortunately had lost his sense of smell with his afterlife form. He wasn’t expecting the slightly sour tinge of raspberry syrup that mixed with the more standard flavor of the drink.

You watch him curiously and his eyes lock onto yours in an instant. Your face flushes and you turn away as you try to not-so-smoothly play over the fact that you had been trying to see how his mouth worked. “S-So, did you find anything?”

Vox sighed and set his mug down as he turned his attention back to your computer. “Yes, actually. Surprisingly enough, I’ve found more on your very shitty and outdated computer than my team has in the past six months.”

He ignores your offended protests about the quality of your setup as he looks through one of the forums. He ignores the way you lean into his personal space as you look over his shoulder and read the comments yourself.

“I just don’t get why there’s this large of an interest in working around my products,” Vox grumbled as the two of you read through the conversations.

You raise an eyebrow and peer down at him. "You and the Vee's don't exactly have the best rep with lower-class sinners. It may be hard for a big powerful dude like you to comprehend, but believe it or not, some people like their privacy."

Vox frowned as he begrudgingly sipped on his drink. He would never admit out loud how much it was soothing his nerves. “We’re in hell,” he reasoned. “Surely dating mining which pornos the average sinner watches to increase ratings and production quality isn’t the top concern these idiots have.”

You roll your eyes and sigh as you sit on the edge of your desk. Your hips carelessly pushed some things back, but you paid it no mind. “It goes deeper than that and you know it. Hell, I know it and I think this entire experience has proven how much of this shit flies over my head.”

Vox’s eyes drift to the vial you bumped with your hip and he pauses as he considers just how harmless you really were. While it was clear you weren’t the most program-savvy, Vox hadn’t forgotten the abrupt welcome he’d gotten when he tried to sneak in. Whatever that mist he’d been enveloped in was bottled and stashed all over the place. He still had more digging to do.

Sensing the shift in Vox’s attitude, your eyes follow his gaze and you cringe as you tuck the vial out of sight.

“So you’re not a complete idiot then,” Vox said as he placed his empty mug on the table and stood over you.

“That’s different,” you mutter as you shrink in on yourself and avoid looking him in the eye.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Vox hummed as his eyes sharply searched your features like a shark drawn to blood in the water.

His clawed fingers wrap around your jaw and he slowly makes you turn towards him. His grip was firm and the sharp edges threatened to break skin, but he was also somewhat gentle, after all, you had gotten him this far. A looming threat if you suddenly decided to stop cooperating.

“You deleted your visits to those forums in your browser history before you let me access your computer,” Vox said slowly as he watched your every expression carefully. You were avoiding his eyes, which meant you knew what he was capable of. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say slowly as you try to keep your breathing even. You couldn’t afford to panic. “I probably just accidentally cleared it when I was wiping my cache or something. Aren’t you supposed to do that every now and then, or something?”

Vox quirked an eyebrow, looking completely unimpressed. “You’re not a good liar.”

“Oh fuck off,” you frown as you look up at him without thinking.

Vox grins and his eyes immediately spiral as he tries to pull you under his spell. You gasp and for a moment he thinks he has you… only for the spirals not to reflect back at him from your own eyes.

“What…?” Vox blinks as his grip on you loosens.

You smack his hand away and dive out from under him as you try to get away. Vox growls, whipping around and grabbing your arm before you can slip out of the office. You let out a startled yelp as he slams you against the wall and twists your arm behind your back.

“What the hell is going on? Who are you, really?” he interrogates as he twists your arm harder.

It didn’t make any sense. You were a walking contradiction. He genuinely didn’t sense any malice directed at him from you. Your search history barely skimmed anything relating to him. If anything, you had done more research on Velvette and Valentino, which he had to admit, in any other scenario may have bruised his ego a hair. You accidentally helped a rival company launch an attack against him and let him search your system without any hesitation, yet the second he locked in on those vials, you changed your tune completely.

Not only that, but you were somehow able to resist his hypnosis. He’d seen the faintest flash of connection in your eyes that told him you weren’t immune. Yet you had somehow managed to slip out of the hold he’d tried to cast over you within seconds.

“Let me go, asshole!” You shouted as you tried to slip out of his grasp. You hiss in pain as his sharp claws dig into your arm and draw blood.

“I don’t think so,” Vox growled as he tightened his grip and drew more blood. “What the hell is in those vials? And why were you on those forums in the first place? Tell me or I’ll rip your arm off.”

You bark out a laugh despite the fear, “With those fucking twigs? I’d like to see you tr-AH fuck! Alright alright!” You relent as he slams your head against the wall with his other hand.

Vox loosens his grip ever so slightly, but watches you like a hawk.

“Everything I’ve told you so far is true,” you start with a sigh. “I don’t know jack shit about most of your area in things, but I only found the workshop because I was on the forums.”

“And why would you be there?” Vox frowned. “You don’t have anything my company would care about on your systems. You’re a shit liar, but get any ideas of telling me it was for privacy out of your head.”

Your eyes dart and he can tell you’re trying to think of a way to weasel out of telling him the truth. Whatever it was, you really didn’t want him to know. Which meant he needed to know.

“Tell me,” Vox growled as he pressed you harder into the wall.

“V-Valentino,” you whimpered as the pain started to wear down your willpower. You weren’t exactly accustumed to this sort of experience despite your time in hell. You kept your head down as much as you could. You only dared to kick up dust for one reason and you’d done your best not to get caught for it up until now, but you had been careless.

“What?” Vox blinked as his grip relented.

“I,” you open your mouth, only to cringe. You really didn’t want to tell him, but if you double died without at least trying to pull something, it would only leave the very people you were trying to protect in deeper shit. Vox would figure it out after killing you anyways. Spilling the beans and trying to figure something out in the process was your only hope.

“The mist wasn’t mean to hurt you,” you say slowly. “I’ll talk, so fucking let go first.”

Vox watches you distrustfully, but releases your arm and steps back. He stands between you and the door, so he’s willing to play along if it means he’ll finally have the full picture.

“I don’t… pay much attention to hell’s politics,” you sigh. “I don’t care about power, I don’t care about overlords, but I do care about my friends.”

For the first time since Vox had gotten here, he saw something familiar flash in your eyes. The dark twisted bloodlust he’d seen in most sinners. “I don’t use my powers much,” you say as you walk over to your desk. “I’m not really trained to fight like most people down here. I’m cooped up in here most of the time, so it’s not like I’ve ever really had a reason to start shit.”

You pick up a vial and hold up your other hand as a small portal opens above your palm. “This is about all I can do,” you say. “I had a buddy who liked to research sinners abilities and I didn’t really care if he looked into mine.”

You had to bite down the fond smile at the memory of Baxter’s pestering. “He discovered that at low enough levels of activation, magic could be collected like a liquid or a mist with all his fancy tech shit. Again, you know how much of that flies over my head.”

Vox looked between your hands and nodded silently, watching you carefully as he waited for you to put together the pieces for him.

“Using the residue of my abilities, he tried to replicate that love potion shit you guys sell. He wanted to see if he could recreate it and then make a repellent.”

Vox’s eyes widened as he looked at the vial and it finally clicked. “It’s a repellent against Valentino’s magic.”

You wave away the miniature portal above your hand and nod with a frown. You hated every part of this, but at least he hadn’t killed you yet. “Like I said earlier, there's a high demand for slipping out under the Vee's control."

“Is that how you resisted my hypnosis as well?” Vox asked carefully.

“No,” you shake your head. “That’s something else entirely. No schemes or any fancy shit like that involved there.”

“Then why did the mist hurt me?” Vox frowned.

“Well, for starters,” you smirk at the memory. It had freaked you out pretty bad in the moment, but after the shit Vox just put you through, you kinda loved that he’d gotten his ass handed to him. “The guy I told you about was here and was trying to make a new batch. You literally teleported in the middle of us making the shit and knocked over the batch we’d been producing so it was heavily concentrated.”

“Secondly, you’re around Valentino all the time. When is that guy not blowing his slut smoke all around you?” You cross your arms.

“That…” Vox thought back to how often Valentino smoked his pipe around him. How used to seeing the pink smoke around him he’d gotten. He didn’t have a sense of smell so he was entirely immune to the effects. So much so, he had no reason to notice how it was completely seeped into his clothing and probably coating his entire body in an unnoticeable residue.

"Yup," you sigh. "If I had to take a guess, then that’s why.”

"And the reason you’d help your friend make this…” Vox trailed off as he remembered the pictures he’d found on your computer. You were friends with a lot of Valentino’s sex workers, including Angel Dust. Vox was a business partner, a friend, and sometimes a lover of Valentino. Valentino was notorious for the abuse of his sex workers. An abuser of some of your closest friends.

You frown, turning away from Vox, your body language acknowledging him as a proper enemy for the first time since he's broke in. "You get it now.”

He knew about Valentino and his history of abuse towards sex workers. He had seen his behavior first hand and knew the moth’s behavior was vile and repulsive. But the worst of it was never directed at Vox himself. Some of it, yeah, but… Vox hadn't really cared about anyone else. He had better shit to think about.

"I see…,” Vox hummed as he picked up another vial off the floor and twirled it between his claws. You really could benefit from some basic cleaning around the office. “So you’re planning on beating him at his own game." Vox said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you with a mix of suspicion and admiration. "Clever... very clever.."

You cross your arms, watching him sharply as you wait to see what he'll do about it.

"You got the information you wanted." You say flatly. He knew who was attacking him with your software now. The Eternity shit he’d found on your computer was a solid lead. However, he now knew of your efforts against Valentino. You weren’t a fighter, by any means, but you were prepared to protect yourself if you had to.

Vox's eyes narrowed as he looked at you in a new light. Your lack of personal interest in politics and the standard hell powergrabs had him intrigued. He wondered just what you’d be capable of if you did play the same game that everyone else did. It was clear you were resourceful and crafty, yet you directed those efforts towards something so… mundane.

"You’ve proved useful enough so far, and I thank you for that. Depending on your next answer, I may even let you keep your insides where they belong. So, let me ask you this..." Vox said, continuing to look at you with his eyes narrowing. "If those experiments are unrelated to my influence entirely, then how are you able to resist my hypnosis?"

Whether he meant to or not, Vox just handed you the key to your survival on a silver platter. Your eyes widen and you try to hide the excitement at the opportunity as you level your best poker face. “It’s pretty simple actually,” you say as you inspect your nails nonchalanetly. A bit too theatric, perhaps, but you were trying to play it cool. It didn’t matter that you weren’t actually succeeding.

“Hypothetically, I may or may not have discovered how to counter your hypnosis,” you hum as Vox’s eye twitched. “Hypothetically, I could sell that information or simply just post it to the Eternal forums. I’m sure everyone would love to know how not to get sucked into your marketing schemes.”

"You want to make a deal," Vox realized, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly and dead pixels flickered to life under his lip. This just got so much more interesting for him.

#vox x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel vox #electric love series

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gapsbetweenlovers · 1 year

Text

the way to his heart: part three

——

The brazen question Carmen just posed nearly sends you into cardiac arrest. Your heart suffers an emotional beating during the ensuing silence you offer him. Pangs, punches, and paralyzing shockwaves complicate your breathing pattern and render you speechless.

What's the other option?

Well, given that Carmen is taking your reticent reaction with a downward tug of humiliation on his lips and an awkward clearing of his throat, you suppose you could dwell on the logistics of his question while he patiently, albeit pitifully, lingers in your drawn-out bewilderment. You should stutter out some sort of coherent response, anything, but your unintended form of slow torture is kind of what he deserves for springing such an abrupt change of pace on you after months of radio silence.

Option #1: Take him home like you originally planned to. You still remember where he lives since the brain doesn't allow people to forget places once suffused with painful memories. Despite the strange feelings that would no doubt be dug up if you saw the lonely place in which he hides himself, the overall process would be harmless and devoid of muddling things any further. It's simple — You can drop him off, and if he invites you inside, you will politely decline and soften the blow with a parting embrace that could be the last one.

Option #2: Give credence to what he's insinuating. Or, at least, what you think he's insinuating. He... wants to kiss you, right? The closeness in which he currently sits next to you is too warm and inviting to be solely a coincidence. And he's been staring at you differently all day, his sunken blue eyes holding your gaze so intensely, it's like they're trying to tell you something he can't quite verbalize himself. Then there's his lips. You had the gift of making them lift into a smile more than once today, and whenever they did that remarkable thing, it was hard not to imagine kissing them greedily.

Basically, there's a safe option and a this-could-potentially-ruin-everything option.

You stare at Carmen's side profile in deep contemplation, weighing the two hypothetical outcomes of such an unexpected end to your night. And he was the one to initiate it, which is mind-boggling in itself. This emotionally distant man you've held onto in hopes he'd let his defenses down is now suddenly creating an opening to fully love him again after an excruciating wait.

Then again, you could be totally wrong. Maybe the other option Carmen is thinking of involves you leaving him alone on the beach so he can smoke and wallow in his woe.

"I can drive you home, so you don't have to take the bus," Carmen says quietly, the sound of the ocean waves almost overpowering the dejected tone in his voice. You notice it anyway. He's ashamed he let himself become so vulnerable, but he should know by now that that's all you could ever ask of him.

"No, stay," you insist, grabbing his arm before he can begin fleeing the scene. Panic surges in your chest. "Stay and talk to me. You were doing so good."

Carmen shakes his head a little. "Doesn't matter what I have to say," he murmurs while anxiously tapping his thumb on his knee. If only he had a spoon to occupy his fidgeting fingers.

"I care about every word that comes out of your mouth."

When his gaze shifts to yours for a split second, he appears mentally tormented. "Why are you so empathetic toward me?"

"Because it's what you need," you say gently. "Plus, believe it or not, empathy can help with the healing process."

Carmen shrugs semi-passively. "I guess."

Silence transpires. It's challenging to carry out a fruitful conversation when he sets up mental blockades in fear of wandering into sensitive territory. You don't ever attempt to knock them over, though. Patience is a virtue, and you know he'll one day find the means to reopen his wounds in his own time and allow himself to experience grief in all its raw, unpredictable glory.

The misery of grief is that there's no endpoint. It's a never-ending cycle that only wears a person down over time. It may get easier as the seasons change, but it always lies in wait like a predator camouflaged in the tall grass, ready to ambush and tear open the flesh of wounds you thought were healed.

Just when you're about to speak again, Carmen, with that broken look in his eyes, asks, "Do you remember Mikey's funeral?"

Caught off guard, you tilt your head curiously and reply, "Yeah, of course I do. Why?"

——

Carmen looked devastatingly handsome in his black tuxedo and matching bowtie. He stood next to his parents and sister in the funeral home while a long line of people offered their sympathies one by one. You observed from afar, watching him give fake smiles and handshakes. There was inconceivable grief simmering underneath the surface, and the bags under his eyes were sorrowful enough to show he was hurting deep in his bones.

His hands were calloused and restless. His soul was shattered and bereaved.

When you finally approached Carmen as the last person in line, the tears you forcibly kept settled in your waterline spilled over with a gut-wrenching amount of condolence. You saw Carmen blink abruptly like he was lost in an insensate stupor and flinch back to the present before you were thrust into his arms. He didn't cry. There were no choked breaths or sniffles, no drops of wetness on his skin. He was hollow.

You, however, were inconsolable and filled to the brim with mournfulness. Sobs racked your body, and you tried to keep them as quiet as possible, but the ache in your throat needed too much release. Carmen softly shushed you as you wept, one of his hands reaching up to cup the back of your head while the other wrapped around your trembling shoulders.

You should have been the one comforting him. You loved Mikey dearly but had only known him for a fleeting time. Carmen grew up with him. They were brothers together, and they didn't get to say goodbye. Why were you the one falling apart?

"I'm sorry," you managed to vocalize, giving him weak solace. "I'm so sorry, Carmy."

He took a deep breath that seemed to drain everything out of him, then exhaled tiredly into your hair. "So am I."

——

"I didn't shed a single tear that day," Carmen says, a shaky, self-deprecating sigh escaping him. "And I-I thought about that for a long time after. Felt really guilty."

"Everyone grieves differently. You were numb and hadn't processed it yet."

"But he was my brother. And there was just... nothing. Complete emptiness."

"Don't beat yourself up over it. I'm a very sensitive person," you admit matter-of-factly. "It doesn't take much for me to get emotional."

"I know." He swipes back a gold-tinged curl that fell over his forehead. "God, I know, and it fascinates me."

"It fascinates me too. I'm pretty sure I've cried over a sunset before.

Carmen gawks at you like you just confessed to a prison-worthy crime. "What? Seriously?"

You grin, admiring the moon and how it reflects off the rippling lake. "There's nothing quite like a Midwestern sunset. Sometimes, they're so breathtaking that I just sit and tear up over how beautiful this world can naturally be. How lucky are we to collectively experience such a spectacle? And it's different every day. Imagine how dull Earth would be if we were handed the same sky repeatedly."

He accepts your random soliloquy by pursing his lips and nodding slowly. "Heard."

"Anyway, I used to despise how sensitive I was. It took a lot of time and effort to embrace my fragility. But now I'm glad simple things like a sunset can trigger those emotions and make me feel alive."

You've learned that being sensitive is not a weakness. The inner strength and intuition that comes with feeling things profoundly have led you far in life. Now, you can hopefully guide Carmen, who's lost in a labyrinth of his own affliction, to the same place.

"I think maybe... you're my sunset?" It leaves his mouth as an uncertain question, and a disgusted grimace quickly overtakes his face. "Wow, that's the lamest thing I've ever said. Never mind. Jesus Christ."

All at once, your heart pounds, expands, and takes flight. This is what you've always craved from Carmen, this soft side that seldom sneaks out. His cheeks are flushed with adorable chagrin, and the correct choice between your two options is so fucking obvious.

"Just kiss me if you're gonna say stuff like that."

Carmen's eyebrows rise higher than the goddamn exosphere. Good. It's his turn to be sent into cardiac arrest. You don't know how you expect him to react to your boldness. Right now, he's looking dangerously close to the vicinity of your lips with the slightest hint of a smile.

Then he laughs and says, "You're such a dork."

"Well, am I—"

Two of his fingers are suddenly hooked under your chin, and before you can take your next breath, he lurches forward and connects his lips to yours, shutting you up in arguably the most effective way possible. Your nose slides perfectly in place beside his, and your hands travel to the sturdy slope of his shoulders. You hang on tight, scared to let him go. He needs this. You need this. It's been too long since the last kiss. The last one was painful and left seeds of sadness in the grooves of your soul.

Carmen's lips are chapped, but you quickly mend them by delicately parting his mouth using your tongue. The instant taste of cigarettes and oranges makes you groan with pleasure, and Carmen slides his tongue over yours, drinking your sounds. It's muscle memory the way you move with him — the physical dance of romance, the push and pull of sensuality. It leaves you longing for more when he eventually retreats his touch to get some air into his lungs.

Your skin ignites as you chase after more of his affection. Carmen's mouth ends up near your ear, his fingers fiddling with the fabric of your dress. "Missed you," he whispers, swallowing thickly. "I didn't mean to cut you out of my life. I love you. I do."

The hug you give him speaks a thousand truths. "It's okay, Carmy. Shit happens. You're working through it."

He hums in agreement. "And, uh... thanks for not giving up on me. I know I'm a bitch to deal with, but having you here makes me want to be better."

You kiss his warm cheek, then stand and offer him a hand. "We're turning over a new leaf starting tomorrow. You and I have some serious things to discuss — the prospect of therapy, your concerning smoking addiction, and the status of our relationship, just to name a few."

"All right, boss." Carmen slides his hand in yours and hoists himself up with a groan. He then pats his lower back. "Piggyback. C'mon."

You don't hesitate to climb on his back, snugly wrapping your arms and legs around his buff frame. It's awfully familiar. Back in New York, on his rare nights off work, you'd both get wasted and stumble out of bars or clubs with you clinging onto his back because you didn't want to walk in your heels, and you'd rather not walk barefooted on the filthy streets. He'd carry you wherever he felt like, the city alive with neon lights and the darkness failing to catch up. It was a time when you could both forget about the crushing reality of life.

"So, where does kissing fall on your list of things we need to discuss?" Carmen asks, effortlessly hauling you toward his car.

The moon should be envious of how brightly and beautifully you smile. "Oh, we can get a head start on that right now."

When his blissful laugh echoes around Chicago, the grief slowly becomes replaced by a swelling wave of catharsis.

——

#the bear fanfic #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto fic #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto angst #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto #the bear #jeremy allen white

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saltysskin · 9 months

Text

Radio Silence Signal

könig finds out f!reader is bi (fluff//flirting)

It was almost 11:30 at night when I heard a soft knock at my door, “Hey D, why is the Colonel outside, asking for you?” my roommate asked, popping her head into my room. “Shit,” I hurried to throw on some kind of clothing, he came unannounced. I carefully made my way through the dorm I was currently sharing with 2 other medics. Opening the heavy door, I see him, waiting. He’s still in his work attire, mask and all. He turned around to face me, putting his arms down by his side, “Colonel,” I stated before noticing him staring at my outfit. I had a big tshirt on, with old army fatigue pants that were cut off at my thigh, I had two different color socks on as well as my work boots. “You look, like a—what is the word?” König’s German accent was almost as thick as my southern one. “Do I even wanna know the word yer lookin’ for?” I complained, “I got dressed in the dark, okay?” I continued. “What do ya want anyway?” I crossed my arms, hiding my chest from the cold air. “A redneck!” König exclaimed, finally remembering the word he was stuck on. “I’ve been called worse,” I leaned against the doorway, unamused and tired from the day. “That’s a word Americans say, no?” He laughed to himself, ignoring everything I just said. He’d been on an American base for a few months now, lapping up the culture. “Yeah we gotta word for Austrians too but, you won’t like it,” I joked, while pushing my hair behind my shoulder away from my face. He scoffed at my remark, which made him squint his eyes at me, finally focusing on the task at hand. “I have a few questions,” König confessed, getting closer to me. I looked up at him with tired eyes, a building of a man. He looked into my dorm, then down the hall, “Shall we?” He insisted, I obliged. We walked down a long corridor, then out a door that lead to outside. He sat down on a bench that neared the door we just came through. I stood in front of him, keeping my arms crossed. Since he was sitting, he was finally at my eye level, making this hard to get through. He never breaks eye contact, and it works my nerves like a live wire. He was very animalistic but yearned for connection, he was like a rouge animal cast out from his pride. I’ve heard what they say around campus, what they call Colonel König. The stories they make up about him, just to keep him isolated. “I have to ask,” He began, I wasn’t worried before, but I am now. Being alone with him made me feel exposed, he could make me disappear and that’d be the end of me. “Have you had any men in your dorm?” His voice was stern, he was still in work mode, but my brain was shutting off. I furrowed my brows at the question, waiting a moment before answering. “No, sir,” I answered honestly, that was only a problem if it were after hours, anyways. “Any women?” He asked, his question hung in the air, like he already knew. I straightened my posture while he stared at me, “We’ll, my roommates—,” I tried explaining, before he interrupts. He scoffed then waved his hand at my comment, “Why?” I asked in a defensive tone. Offended by his harshness, “Because I heard otherwise,” König had leaned back where he sat with his arm resting on the back rest of the bench. “You read my file?” I accused him, only for him to shrug in response. I had a fling with a good friend of mine, we were caught, and I was written up for it. So there it sits, within stacks of papers and he managed to find it. My face was bright red, burning me alive, I was embarrassed recoiling into my clothes trying to hide. “What’s your point, König?” I snapped at him, retaliating for the embarrassment. His eyes widened from hearing me say his name, I could see him deciding to ignore it, for now. “Do you only like women?” He asked, looking away from me for a moment, “What?” I hissed, annoyed by him prying, “Do you only desire women?” He repeated his question, making my body tense up. “I-well-,” I stuttered unable to find my footing, I didn’t say anything for a moment, I decided that since someone was asking, that I’d answer. “I’ve desired men before,” I replied, my hands tugging at each other.

This was a topic I’ve spoken to no one about, now suddenly here I am; saying it out loud. I do favor privacy, less chance of the judgement that inherently comes with humans. He shifted where he sat, not able to look at me anymore, “Don’t tell me, ya drug me outta bed to have a conversation about my sex life,” I scoffed at him. He looked back over at me, “You haven’t pursued any other men on base—,” He tried to explain, before I interrupted, “Their not really my type,” I answered, before turning my view away from him. As if I haven’t heard that before, I’d been on countless dates and not one of them stuck. “Type?” He breathed out, before rubbing the back of his head with his hand. He studied me for a moment, making us both sit in silence. He stood up from the bench and approached me, I backed up naturally, after his shadow swallowed where I stood, I looked up at him with wide eyes. He towered over me, blocking out the only light that came from a nearby streetlamp. “I’m different from them,” He purred down at me, turning into a flirt before my eyes. How long has he been alone? Can’t be longer than I have. “I know you are,” I said up at him softly, before he picked up my hand with one of his. I held my breath from the shock of human touch, König’s fingers played with mine for a moment, I was smitten with how gentle he was. My hands only covering most of his palm, my fingers stopping where his began. He took off one of his black cloth gloves, then grabbed at my hand again, allowing his skin to touch mine. I shivered from it, getting goosebumps at how warm blooded he was, radiating heat like a furnace. He corrected his posture while keeping his eyes on our entangled hands, “It’s film night in the mess hall tomorrow,” His voice was low, like he shifted into another gear. “Will you join me?” He purposed as he continued to play with my fingers. I looked up at him with a small smile, with his eyes meeting mine I looked away again, trying to keep my cool. I nodded my head, “Okay,” I accepted, “I’d like that,” I gushed to myself silently. As he walked me back to my room he stayed close by my side, instead of behind me. “Thank you for your time,” He cooed at me, making me smile in response, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” I said nervously while leaning against my door. “I’ll save you a chair,” He insisted, playfully, before looking down at me again. “Goodnight Colonel,” I cooed, giggling from his English phrasing. Hearing a faint, “Gute Nacht,” slip out from behind his mask along with a few other German words I didn’t understand. I laid in my bed that night wracking my brain at what had just happened, going over every detail in my mind. I failed at picking up on his energy towards me. Aside from catching him staring at me, multiple times. We’d only shared about a dozen words between each other. This all felt out of the blue, but maybe I haven’t been paying enough attention. I was so use to being unavailable I didn’t realize; until now. I’d been alone, on my own for way too long to remember what it’s like being with someone. Sharing my time, my love with them, was something I’d prayed for in the past. I hear what the others say, and with each sickening comment on a woman’s body I recoiled more and more out of their view of sight. I made myself undateable, so they couldn’t hurt me the way they told their friends they would. I seemed callous and checked out because I was, because I was made to be, unapologetically.

#fanfic #könig call of duty #könig x reader #könig cod #könig #könig modern warfare #könig mw2 #könig x you

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integra1127grimmreaper · 5 months

Text

The Replacement - Part thirty-three

Negan Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 32

Warning: violence

Negan was extremely anxious as they followed behind Gabriel and Aaron in search of Maggie and Daryl. Coming to the entrance of a room in the abandoned building; his anxiety multiplied when Gabriel jerks his weapon up suddenly at the presence of someone in the room, immediately lowering it with a sigh of relief.

"Look who we found..." he remarks as you and Negan enter after Aaron.

A shocked Maggie looks behind you and Negan, "where's Hershel?"

"His with Elijah, Annie and the others. He's hidden and safe" you answer reassuringly.

"He's good, Maggie" Negan assures her.

"We're here to take out shithead and the dick-brigade."

"I understand you being here" Maggie replies, looking toward you then.

"But why are you here? It's too dangerous for a heavily pregnant woman to be in the middle of this."

"My fighting abilities may be limited but I could be the perfect distraction for an ambush" you retort confidently.

Maggie looks at you in disbelief, turning to Negan then, "you allowed her to come?"

"Not like I had a fuckin' choice" he grumbles out.

"Would have made her own way here if I didn't."

"Ya always were too stubborn for ya own good..." Daryl softly chuckles at you proudly nodding at Negan's words. Pointing out then.

"Besides, we might need her strategic brain."

"We should go back to the Commonwealth first, get our people out and then deal with Hornby together" Gabriel argues.

"No, Gabe. He probably already radioed back; you know that" Aaron points out as Daryl scans the outside from the window.

"Look, he knows us. We're never getting through those checkpoints."

"And if he has his people go after our families in the meantime?" Gabriel continues to argue. The two continue to argue for a bit until Daryl steps in.

"Wait, wait... Hold up, hold up" Daryl waves his index finger deep in thought.

"We can do all of this..." he points toward Negan then.

"They never seen your face before."

Negan silently looks at you for a response.

"Right... you saying, I just walk right on in there?"

"Yeah. That's exactly what I'm saying" Darly replies, looking to you then.

"Ya know it's good plan. Probably thinking about it too."

"It is" you nod in agreement.

"That's why I'm going too."

"No, you're not going" Negan hastily shuts you down.

"Only one of us needs to go into the belly of the beast. Hey..." he attempts to make you see reason when you shake your head in disagreement.

"I need you to be safe. Besides, I am fucked either way" smirking at you, Negan remarks then.

"Hey, ya not getting rid of me that easily..."

"Me being with would make them let us in even easier..." you argue as a last attempt.

"Any other time maybe, but with them being on high alert ain't guaranteed" Darly points out.

"It's too risky."

Negan gives you silent 'I told you so' look at Daryl's words, causing you to sigh in defeat.

"Ok, fine."

With a faint smirk, Negan gives you a silent wink, turning back toward Daryl with a more serious look then.

"Alright so, what's the plan?"

Negan waited passively in the interrogation room he had been led to after arriving at the Commonwealth gates, when a largely built man in bright orange armor entered.

After silently observing Negan as he rounded the table, the man enquires then, "You know me?"

"Yeah... word gets around in the wasteland" Negan remarks nonchalantly.

"So, no" the man comments.

"Friend told me about you" Negan replies.

"Said that I should ask for you when I came for... April. When I came looking for April."

The man instantly sits down at Negan's words then.

"Do you know what happened to her?"

Negan silently stares at him through narrowed gaze, "I think you asking me, means that it can't be good."

Mercer lips twitch, "why are you really here?"

Negan faintly smirks, "ran into some trouble. Some shirt-and-tie-wearing-shit and his clamshell-assholes he runs with."

Mercer pauses for a second, "get him some water, now", he orders the guard in the room with them.

"Alright, who sent you?"

"I think you know who sent me..." Negan responds.

"Daryl. So, listen... this Hornsby prick, he's been cutting us cup out there. And we're dealing with it. You see, the problem is, we got people in here to protect too."

"That's my job" Mercer comments.

"And yet, I was sent here anyway..." Negan smirks in response.

"I can't just let you in" Mercer retorts.

"We got rules here."

"Oh, rules...?" Negan purses his lips in thought.

"Right. Well, if no one else is playing by those rules, then why are you?"

"Charlie-whisky-actual, Charlie-whisky-actual, this is field unit Bravo..." a Commonwealth soldier attempts to make contact over the radio.

"Copy. This is actual, go ahead..." a response comes back.

"Actual. This is field unit Bravo, OTB, message from Hornsby as follows..." the soldier states but is interrupted by a sound coming from around the corner.

"Can you help me, please...?" you softly whimper while slowly staggering toward him as you clutched your stomach.

Caught off-guard for a second, the soldier stares at you in shock. Realizingly something seemed off; he goes for his gun but is stopped by Maggie stabbing him in the back.

"Told you; a pregnant woman would be the perfect distraction" you smugly remark as Maggie proceeds to destroy the radio.

After Mercer had allowed Negan into the Commonwealth, he had come across Jerry, who then took him to see Carol. Once Negan had let them in on what had been happening on the outside; they had devised a plan for insurance of the safety for those still on the inside.

"Alright, what are we looking for exactly?" Negan remarks, entering a filing room behind Carol.

"Uhhh, blueprints, schematics, plans for Union Station have to be here somewhere" Carol replies, beginning to search.

"Uh-huh, and what else?" Negan comments, stepping up to begin searching as well.

"The person that I'm looking for was in the building right before people started calling for his head. So, he may have stayed."

"So, he stayed and they're looking for him? Then he has one hell of a hiding spot" Negan remarks.

"Yeah" Carol responds as they continue searching.

"Yeah, did I tell you, I got married" Negan suddenly remarks.

Carol pauses for a second as she side-eyes him, "why are you telling me this now?"

"Well, I don't know, because... because she is out there, and she's carrying our child... and you know her."

Carol pauses for a second at his words, looking at him then, "Y/N? She left with you?"

Negan nods, exhaling heavily, "she's supposed to give birth anytime."

"It's gonna be ok" Carol assures him at seeing the fearful look for your safety on his face.

"Thank you" Negan responds.

"Yeah" Carol comments as they continue searching.

You, Gabriel and Aaron meet up with Maggie and Daryl again after having split.

"Anything?"

"He's dug in up ahead with half his men, we wouldn't get close" Gabriel informs them.

"The others are flanking us from behind..." Aaron adds.

"We should go east before they pin us in."

"Is there any way to get behind them?" Maggie enquires.

"Not without them spotting us" Gabriel answers.

"What if they never see us coming?" you state, eyes concentrated on the sewer grate a few steps from the hiding spot as everyone looks to you then.

Your group makes the descend into the sewers, Maggie being the final one down.

"You ok?" she walks up, when you placed your palms under your belly to relieve some weight off your back.

"Yeah, just you know..." you exhale heavily after releasing the hold on your belly.

"Yeah, I do..." Maggie comments understandingly, offering then.

"Do you wanna take a minute?"

"No, we should keep going" you shake your head, smirking then.

"Good thing my morning sickness is gone or I'd a goner with the smell."

A faint smirk crosses Maggie's lips at your words as she nods in agreement to continue.

Two Walkers slowly make their way toward yous but Daryl and Aaron quickly makes away with them, and everyone continues; making their way through a large opening on the side of the wall to looks to have been an underground hideout.

"That way and we'll come up right behind them" you point to the right. Another Walker suddenly appears and Daryl stares at it, then upwards.

"Maybe we can get them to come down here to use."

Maggie looks at Gabriel then, lifting his gun; he lets off a few shots into the air as everyone covered their ears.

Part 34

tag list: @rockey258 @ultrasweetnephilim @twd-fanfics @starry-night-20 @dellsdeath @vaaalexandra @thatgirljayy @aleemendoza2425-blog @conrzd @tonysterco @igotmajordaddyissues

#twd negan #twdfanfic #twdlovestory #negan x reader #negan x y/n #the walking dead #jeffrey dean morgan #negan #jdm

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knybits · 1 year

Text

THE HATING GAME — 4

PAIRING —

↳ kochou shinobu x reader

SUMMARY —

↳ Geniuses within the same field yet rivals within each other’s eyes, your colleagues wonder when the sexual tension will break so that you two will become the department’s powerhouse couple so that they can enter you two into the couples contest against the other departments. Some things might have to be done by force.

WARNINGS —

↳ cursing

[ Navigation ]

—

Shinobu is one more car ride away from giving you a lobotomy.

Sure, you’re dutiful to your responsibilities, but the rest of the department is slowly starting to question the relationship. She can tell by the way they blink in confusion when the two of you split up upon entering the lab. They see how quick you are to take your hand back the minute you think no one is looking.

They can also tell by the way they pull up next to your car at a red light, and there’s music blasting so loud there’s no way you two can hold a conversation. You look disinterested on the road, but Shinobu’s patience is pulled so thin that they can tell she’s pissed even though she smiles in the passenger seat.

When her friends ask her if everything’s okay, Shinobu would laugh lightly and wave them off, claiming that everything is just peachy (though her fist is clenched by her side and is a perfect imitation of the Arthur meme.)

The first date over the weekend was fine.

But that’s it.

Just fine.

Pick up at 5, have dinner at 6, watch a movie at 8, drop off at 10.

No words were exchanged and the only time you two spoke was when you came face to face with someone from college. Painted smiles and palms burning because holding hands with Shinobu meant death.

The car ride back to her apartment was loud (you two fought for who gets to control the radio station.) And when she stepped out of the car, she knocked on the window. Thinking she forgot something, you rolled the window down only for her to lean in with a smile before she said, “What, no goodbye kiss?” You stared at her blankly before rolling the car window up and slowly pulling out of the driveway.

She didn’t appreciate how you flipped her the bird as you left.

In the past week, you’ve gotten good at misdirection. Or, you hope you’re good.

When people walk up to you to ask about Shinobu, you steer clear of the topic. Araceli is starting to give you weird looks and she’ll kick your shin under the table whenever you say, “Nevermind that,” because Shinobu is not a ‘ithat.’

“If you don’t start treating Shinobu better then I’ll snatch her right up,” Araceli warns and a big part of you wants to yell “g o f o r i t.” Araceli can tell that Shinobu wants to strangle you for being so cold and distant.

At this rate, her plan as well as the rest of the department’s will crumble like ash and she’ll do anything for $7,000 (the reward money continues to go up every few days.) On days where Araceli decides to just walk around campus and talk to her peers, they ask how Shinobu and (Y/n) are doing, and Araceli will give them a thumbs up.

She might have to give them a thumbs down next time.

Araceli groans to herself when she watches you split from Shinobu the second you two walk into the lab, and her brain quickly wracks up a plan to save this nightmare of a relationship.

“Hey. Shinobu!” Araceli smiles widely at the woman, who turns her head to give her undivided attention. “Why don’t you come over to (F/n) and I’s apartment after lab today?”

You head whips to your best friend at the speed of lightning and you beg Shinobu with your eyes to say “no.” But of course (cue a shitty impression of Shinobu’s high pitched voice) “I’m not that nice,” and Shinobu graciously accepts.

“Oh fuck me,” you grumble, and Shinobu passes by you before whispering, “Been there done that,” under her breath. You damn near throw a beaker at her but Araceli holds you back, yelling something about abuse.

The rest of your time in the lab goes uneventfully, much to your pleasure. Rama helps Shinobu, paging through her thick bound notebook with eyes boggling at what she wants to try in the near future. You think you hear him mumble something about an illegal substance, but you try not to pay it any mind since Shinobu doing dangerous things isn’t a surprise.

But in the final few minutes before you’re done with today’s progress in your experiment, Araceli breaks your concentration and you fumble with a beaker.

Eyes turn to you and everyone holds their breath at the sound of a loud clinking, but nothing shatters and that’s the best case scenario. Unfortunately, the substance in the beaker spills onto your coat sleeves and you click your tongue in annoyance.

“Oh my god we need to call an ambulance,” Araceli grabs you, but you yank your hold from her grasp with a roll of your eyes.

“It’s just water, chill,” you reassure her and she continues to apologize. Anything else and you might have died, but you haven’t had the chance to handle anything too dangerous yet. Araceli can rest easy knowing that you aren’t too interested in performing too many life threatening experiments.

At the tapping of heeled shoes, you raise a brow when Shinobu holds out a handkerchief to you. It’s not common for someone to just have a handkerchief on them, so you can only assume that Shinobu is either super prepared for everything (typical) or handkerchiefs are normal in Japan (respectable.)

Either way, you stare at the cloth in her hands warily and she sees your distrust. Shinobu huffs in annoyance, shoulders bunching together as she forces the handkerchief into your hands with a roll of her eyes.

“Just take it,” she sighs out, and you begrudgingly thank her for her service.

Araceli takes her time to stare at the two of you with patient eyes, and a soft smile crosses her lips as the thought that this might actually work out crosses her mind.

—

“I don’t know like don’t break the sink and throw your shit on the couch I guess.”

Nevermind.

Shinobu chucks her bag at you instead (“sorry my hand slipped”) and Araceli covers her ears when you start yelling, and then Shinobu starts attacking you with just as much bite (though with the amount of control that Shinobu holds over her tone of voice, Araceli has to admit that she’s much more scared of Shinobu than you.)

In Shinobu’s eyes, the apartment is… plain, to say the least.

There isn’t much evidence that you really live in the apartment. It all feels like Araceli, and when Shinobu glances into what she assumes is your room, she can’t pick up an ounce of life in it. It’s unnaturally cold, and she continues on her way to the bathroom.

You’re fully aware of how drab the apartment is too. Within the 10 minutes of shame that was you scrambling to dress yourself after that one night stand you took notice of how well decorated Shinobu’s apartment was.

It irks you how she might as well be an interior designer too.

True to her daily butterfly clip, the theme is purple with little butterfly decorations spread around. It’s a dainty look and you have to pay attention to detail to notice the small butterfly theme. Lilac purple sheets and greenery with wisteria flowers hanging in the kitchen to give a breath of life to the room.

There’s a big, round, gold framed antique mirror hanging near the entrance way that practically screams “I’m a boss ass bitch,” which would explain where Shinobu gets her confidence from. And when you fell into the bathroom to snatch your underwear back you saw bottles and sprays of multiple skincare products.

She’s meticulous in everything that she does and her apartment goes to show for that. The only sign of student life that you can see from Shinobu is her lab coat hanging from a (rather elaborate) coat hanger near the doorway.

But other than that, it just looks like an apartment fit for a queen.

Your own apartment, on the other hand, has a fucking bunsen burner in the kitchen. And sometimes you boil hot water for your cup ramen with it. Araceli hates the way you live, but as your childhood friend she puts up with the most.

“Hey, do you want some coffee or something? I’m heating up the burner!” You call out, struggling to click the lighter one (it’s 2 years old and you don’t want to spend the time going to the store to buy another one.)

When Shinobu doesn’t say anything you furrow your brows in confusion, and Araceli shrugs from her spot on the couch when you give her a look. You decide to give up on the burner (lighter won’t do its fucking job anyway) and instead slink down the hallway, cracking doors open to see where she’s gone.

At the end of the hallway, you find your door open the tiniest bit, a sliver of a golden ray from the setting sun peaking through. The blood rushes from your face when you realize where Shinobu is, and you’re quick to open the door.

There she stands, big doe eyes wide with wonder at the way the gold medal in her hand shines. You click your tongue at the sight of the medal and Shinobu finally snaps out of her trance, glazed eyes clearing and processing the words engraved on the back of the medal.

“Fuck, I forgot to throw that one away,” you snatch the medal from her hands and Shinobu blinks in surprise. Not by your brash and rude actions- she’s used to your asshole-ish tendencies now- but what the medal commemorates you for.

“Most outstanding athlete award?” Shinobu mumbles out, pondering over the idea.

Truth be told, Shinobu can’t even imagine you kicking a soccer ball. She can’t see you jumping to dunk a basketball. Hell, she can barely imagine you running a solid mile.

In the few years she has known you, the closest thing to physical activity that she has seen out of you was when you were running late for a class freshman year and power walked across the lawn (and even then you were late.)

Shinobu actually found the medal within a packed box in the corner of your room, dusty and sun bleached after years of being left untouched. Almost like an unburied treasure right before anyone’s eyes to see, but forgotten for a reason unknown.

She sees other trophies and plaques in the box, thrown in with a few awards broken due to lack of care. And yet, they still glow proudly, but the look on your face seems ashamed to be basked in its light.

“Uh, yeah, I dunno I fucked around with sports in high school I guess,” you play off, tossing the medal back into the box. Shinobu winces when she hears a rather aggressive clanking noise and she’s afraid that something broke, but you seem like you could care less.

“Why don’t you take care of these more? There’s so many! Surely you have something in here you’re proud of,” she huffs, crouching down to rummage through the box. She tries not to pay attention to the two silverfish she just saw scuttling around at the bottom.

There’s “Best Scholar” award and “First Place Tennis Champion” and “First Place Debate Team.” Shinobu finds a two-tiered soccer championship trophy that’s been broken in half to make space in the box, and she learns that you speak fluent enough Spanish to have won some speech contest.

All this hard work and dedication stored away in a tiny box, and Shinobu’s heart twists to see the state you’re in today. Because you could care less of a shit about hard work and dedication, and you care more about just looking smart with no effort.

In all honesty, you’re kinda just… there.

Known to be at the top of the class but unwilling to help your peers. Only there for the bare minimum or work required and not an ounce of interest shown towards extracurricular (Shinobu’s in four clubs and even she thinks that’s overkill.)

The final straw for her is when she sees a thick paper certificate, complete with a golden seal and an extravagant blue bow. It’s coffee stained a little and it’s been ripped in half, but there’s tape holding it together. It’s written proof that you took an international test for chemistry (Shinobu remembers entering this competition herself) and you actually won.

You beat Shinobu Kochou.

You beat the whole world.

“Wh- Why?! What happened?! Why did you just... Give up?!”

You shrug, hands tucked into your pockets with a bored look on your face. But just by looking at you the reality sets in for Shinobu and suddenly the way you act makes sense.

Because, “I dunno… When I started college I kinda fell out of love with the world and everything in it.”

You turn away from her dropped jaw and glossy eyes. There’s a weight on your chest that reminds you of everything you’re doing wrong. And now your enemy knows your most stupid secret.

Shinobu can’t help but feel sorry for you.

She sees a burnt out flame sputtering, barely glowing with life and being consumed by the dark. Inky black against a half hearted orange. The only time this flame seems to spark is when you have to gather yourself to enter a verbal fight with Shinobu, and she’s a fool to see how that’s all that’s left for you.

Her eyes cast its way back down to the box, and her nimble fingers gently fold the flaps back in on themselves. She’s not particularly fond of this treasure.

So Shinobu decides to do what she does best.

“Let me make you dinner tonight,” she smiles up at you from her place on the floor.

Your head whips to face your fake partner before you can even stop yourself from saying, “Ew. No. Why. You’re gonna poison me.”

And then she laughs.

Like, actually laughs.

It’s the first you’ve heard her laugh this genuinely before, her eyes closed and more than just a small chuckle. This laugh echoes throughout your cold room and makes a home in it, a warm laugh that makes you feel like you’ve eaten butterflies.

“No,” her laugh slowly dies down and she stands with grace, “but as a witch I’ll cast a spell so that you can start loving the world back. And we’ll start with my mean omelet rice,” Shinobu pumps and arm up, patting whatever imaginary bicep she has before skipping out of the room.

And now there’s another thing you hate about Shinobu Kochou.

Although this one is an indirect hate.

Still hate, though.

Anyway, you hate how you can’t fight the stupid grin off your face right now.

—

[ Next Chapter ]

#shinobu #kochou shinobu #shinobu kochou #shinobu kocho #kocho shinobu #kochou shinobu x reader #shinobu x reader #kocho shinobu x reader #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

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greatstormcat · 8 months

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Whumptober Prompt ‘How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?’

TW: torture, pain, humiliation, sleep deprivation, brain washing

(Written in a hurry, sorry)

Soap’s head rolled forward at they secured him into the chair again. The familiar cold feel against his skin becoming so routine it was nearly a comfort. His head was strapped back against the support so he had no option but to look forward.

The room was dimly lit, cold. Thankfully it was quiet, the only time they let him have peace was in here. The rest of the time he had constant fucking noise blasted into his ears: radio static, hammering, fucking babies crying. Constant noise played through headphones so he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t rest, couldn’t think straight. All while he leant up against the wall on his hands and blindfolded. If he fell from exhaustion they beat him and made him kneel up instead with the same fucking noise playing….

The door opened, snapping him from his thoughts and The Bitch walked in. He had no idea what her name was, no one but her ever spoke in here. Her face was covered in a balaclava all the time. He’d have to tell Simon someone was trying to steal his thing… Simon…

“Hello again John,” she said. Always so bloody polite to start with. He grunted in response, waiting for The Question. She always asked The Question and it made him want to scream. His breathing automatically increased in anticipation, muscles tightening and sweat breaking out on his body waiting for what he knew was coming.

“You’re getting worked up early today,” she observed as she sat in the chair in front of him, her plain black overalls making her look like a sinister shadow. “We will get right to it today.”

She held up her hand, three fingers raised, and Soap screwed his eyes shut. “Open your eyes John, and tell me; how many fingers am I holding up?” The same question every time.

“Yer holding up three fingers…” his voice was hoarse, a whisper. He braced for what would follow next, as it always did when he gave the wrong answer. The guard behind him pressed electrodes to either side of his shoulders and an electric current passed through him, causing him to scream, muscles shaking and burning.

“Try again, how many fingers? Tell me I am holding up four fingers,” she said calmly, almost disappointed like a parent finding out you’d been seen smoking at school.

“It’s three fingers you bi..” his words were cut off when the current was sent through him again. This time he felt tears fall down his face. He was tired, so tired. Every part of him hurt.

“Just tell me the truth John, tell me I am holding up four fingers. All I want is the truth, stop lying to me,” she urged him. “Then you can finally sleep, eat… just tell me the truth.”

He panted, strapped to the steel chair, mind reeling. “The truth?” He whispered.

“Yes, tell me the truth. How many fingers am I holding up?” Soap sniffed, snot streaming down his face and tears on his cheeks. He blinked, trying to see her hand through the blur. There were three fingers… three fingers….

“Three….” he whispered and clenched his teeth in readiness. The electric current burned through him again, his bladder emptied itself and a wave of humiliation spread with the creeping warmth. He wept openly now, wept for the pain, the tiredness and hunger.

“Shhh it’s okay John, all you have to do is tell the truth. How many fingers am I holding up?” She said softly, leaning closer and holding up her hand. He shook his head, refusing to speak now, eyes squeezed shut. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his ears.

“Take him back to the cell,” she muttered.

Another day…. or was it two… of constant screaming noise in his ears. Limbs shaking and spasming as he was forced to stand up without rest. No water now either. He tried to think of Simon and Gaz and Price. Simon who wore the balaclava… how many fingers?

No, Simon didn’t ask him that… how many fingers?

“How many fingers, John?” His eyes snapped open. “Tell me the truth, tell me I’m holding up four fingers” she whispered, holding up her hand with three fingers raised. “Tell me the truth and the pain will stop.”

He shook uncontrollably against the restraints as he stared at her hand.

“F….four,” he croaked, she was holding up four fingers his brain screamed despite what his eyes saw. “Four fingers…”

“Well done, that’s good John,” she praised him, and he felt warmth spread through his chest. “Now tell me where your team are.”

“Okay…” he smiled glassily, eager to please.

#if you know where this if from #we can be friends!#whumptober #whump writing #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #soap modern warfare #john soap mactavish #cod mw soap #cod mwii #cod mw22 #soap john mactavish #cod 141

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helloliriels · 1 year

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Sleepless in London

“DADDY!!”

Rosie squealed as he opened the door, and the blindingly bright lights of their kitchen stung his eyes after such a long walk in the dark.

Rosie and Sam had spread out TONS of the letters, into neat stacks all over the countertop.

John blanched.

“WE FOUND YOU A SOULMATE!” Rosie danced around Sam and came bouncing up to John with a letter carefully ensconced in BOTH hands!

“Read it! Read it, Daddy!!”

But John was frozen in horror.

He had been relatively assured this evening by Sarah's behaviour, that no one else at work knew about the radio program! And now this!?! … He could hardly get his brain to play catch up!

“We have them sorted by ‘She/Her’, ‘He/Him’, or ‘They/Them’ responses; relative age - by guess; region of the commonwealth; and estimated level of education,” Sam replied, nodding to all the stacks.

“Thank you …?“ he managed at last, realising he was just standing there gaping … and took the letter from Rosie, absentmindedly sticking it in his pocket.

“But Da- ddy! You GOtta READ it!!!” She was jumping up and down.

“Later, kiddo! We have to let Sam get home?!” He laughed it off, glancing at Sam’s far too observant eyes, and forced himself to not flush beet red …

He refused to be embarrassed in his own home.

“There’s a considerable range of responses,” Sam commented, sounding impressed.

“Thank you-!” John finally got his brain to work, and had NO intention of going down this rabbit hole! “-SO much for being available on short notice, Sam!” He pulled out his wallet and counted out the agreed upon amount per hour … “I hope this -” he waved his hand indicating the letters “-and this-” tapping Rosie on the head as she grinned up at him, “-were not too much trouble?”

“None at all,” Sam smiled. Eyes notably looking him up and down and then back at the letters.

Now he really did blush.

“Is Sherlock a girl’s name?” Sam asked, head tilted.

“I-I don’t-t? Really know?” John managed in answer to this non-sequitur … He grabbed a mug from the cupboard and began to make tea. Something to ground him again to safety and normality … “Who is Sherlock?” he asked, behind him.

No one answered.

Rosie was begging Sam to come over again, and generally being rambunctious. Amped up as she was, from having a visitor. The house felt too bright and too loud. John started to walk around, shutting out lights and turning the tv down a notch.

Sam grabbed up her bag and her jacket, and headed towards the door after Rosie let her go.

“Sherlock could be a girl’s name?” she asked, rhetorically, from across the room.

John followed her out with a quiet, "thank you, again-”, still determined not to engage.

Then stood stunned in the hall as she turned around, just as she was shutting the door … and winked.

"Don't worry," she reassured, "secret's safe with me."

John wasn’t sure if she meant the letters? The radio program? ... or was she ... implying he was 'maybe-not-as-straight-as-we-once-thought’ …? He gaped, turning to see if Rosie was listening. She wasn’t.

“I’m not gay,” he whispered.

That unnerving sparkle in her eye was undimmed. He felt the hallway quietly throwing those words back at him ... as he glanced back again at the piles of letters ... a not insignificant amount of which had been decidedly not female ...

Sam merely raised an eyebrow, before shrugging, “well I am.”

And with that she was gone ...

He stood there another five minutes after he heard the door *click* shut. Wondering …

. … what had just happened here?

. … and ...

. ... who was Sherlock?

(to be continued) Subscribe on Ao3 | Cover

@johnlocky @fluffbyday-smutbynight @chinike @rhasima @mydogwatson @kettykika78 @mxster-jocale @cupidford @meetinginsamarra @peageetibbs @calaisreno @7-percent @john-smiths-jawline @anyway-kindness @swissmissing @inevitably-johnlocked @totallysilvergirl @kittenmadnessandtea @topsyturvy-turtely @safedistancefrombeingsmart @colourfulwatson @holmesianlove @kabubsmagga @peanitbear @copperplatebeech @tiverrr @pocketwatchofmycroft @mutedsilence @2smach @loki-lock @daltongraham @amyreadsandstresses @raina-at @discordantwords @gregorovitchworld @bluebellofbakerstreet @sarahthecoat @reveling-in-mayhem @masterofhounds @missdeliadili @mysterythecat @jrow @iamjustreading @midgemao @ileenhaddockhawkins @storytellingdreamer @fuckcannibals @cortinita @a-clithridiate-in-my-heart @salmonsown

#sleepless in london #johnlock fan fic #NEW chapter!#helloliriels #sleepless in seattle #YES more is coming!!! haha #💋 xoxo LOVING the comments on this fic!#(im just as confused as you)#(how in the hell does this au work?? lol)#(for srs)#(mfeo)#sherlock x john #in any universe #i am johnlocked #join me!

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orangetintedglasses · 8 months

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@jazzkiller said: He's honestly just strolling along, minding his own business and doing what amounts to vocal stretches for him; whistling and stretching the note to different tones and pitches to keep his abilities in shape. Pretty much all of it is out of the range of normal human hearing anyway so its not like he's even attracting any attention. At least not from humans. No, the one attracting attention is the blond who's suddenly found himself face down in the dirt. (Jazzkiller ;3 )

Taking a walk could never just be normal lately, could it? Get some fresh air, enjoy the feel of getting his blood moving... spy someone walking a little further up ahead that's a little oddly dressed, but who is he to judge? The guy looks like he's whistling and walking, seemingly enjoying himself-- he'll get a friendly smile and an acknowledging nod all the same as they pass each other like two ships in the night, on their merry way...

... but before any of that-- before there's barely even ten feet between the two of them --a sound catches his ears, and forces something like a shiver through his body. Not just down his spine, but from the soles of his shoes, rocketing all the way up to the top of his head then back down again as his limbs just sort of... stop? Fall asleep? Whatever it is makes his legs turn to goo and give out from underneath him, falling over gracelessly and lying face-down like a slug.

"Hhh... hh?"

Now, he can't move. He can't speak. He can't even turn his head to get his mouth and nose out of the dirt, and he has no idea why, his body just isn't responding to any of the panicked signals he's sending-- hopefully the guy walking past is feeling charitable today and can help him??

#face to face;; ( ic ask )#midvalley the hornfreak // ( jazzkiller )#( 'oh what a beautiful day for a walk that guy seems like he's having a good day *COLLAPSES* )#curtains up ✧〗( ic )#radio waves to the brain ✧〗( ask response )

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zaebeecee · 14 days

Text

Blitzø’s 13 ••

Written by @fletchingbrilliant and ZaeBeeCee

Chapter 2: The Bruiser & the Pickpocket

First chapter | Next chapter

Read on AO3

•••

Mild CW for canon-typical Crimson homophobia.

•••

“Give me the rundown of the current situation.”

“Yessir.” He was so much taller than she was. It was hard for her to keep up as he strode along the long hallway, not even gracing her with a downward glance. She practically had to jog to keep up with him, tablet balanced on her arm and eyes divided in focus between the words on the screen and where she was walking. At least people always cleared a path for him wherever he went, and she could take advantage of that herself.

It was exactly the same here as it was at VoxTek: nobody with a working brain cell wanted to get in Vox’s way, because that was a sure way to get his left eye turned on you. In many ways, Millie respected the drip, not that she would ever tell him that.

“Invitations have gone out t’all of th’ Princes,” Millie said, scrolling through the details and glancing over them. “Positive responses have already come back from Asmodeus, Mammon, Satan, and Beelzebub. His Majesty warned us that Belphegor probably won’t respond at all, but she’ll still show up, and that Leviathan won’t respond until we send three more assurances. Also, selective invitations have been sent t’ th’ Houses of the Ars Goetia, namely House Paimon, House Vinea, and House Belial, with a special inclusion for House Beleth, which recently passed t’ Prince Vassago. We have left an openin’ for House Zagan if he, y’know, finds out they weren’t in th’ first round.”

She could hear Vox roll his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “Well, if President Zagan does attend, we may be able to convince him to turn whatever spilled blood we have into wine.” He opened the door to his office and she followed him inside, closing the door behind herself and standing in front of his desk as he settled in his chair. Millie kept her eyes on either her tablet or the screen that was her boss’s face, keeping her gaze off of the bank of screens behind him and the glass aquarium wall to her left, where she knew several hellsharks were silently swimming back and forth as a threat to anyone who questioned the head of security at Lucifer’s Palace.

Millie cleared her throat as Vox watched her expectantly. “Th’ only affirmative response we’ve gotten from the Ars Goetia is from House Paimon, specifically Prince Stolas, his family, and his contingent, including the arctic marquis. But we’re expectin’ all of them and have accounted for a total of two hundred and fifty hellborn for the event.”

Vox nodded in vague approval. “What about the sinners?”

Millie swallowed. This was the part she wasn’t looking forward to in the slightest. “Well, invitations have been limited t’ th’ overlords at His Majesty’s request. Miss Rosie has agreed to provide caterin’ for us, and requested a finalized menu by th’ end of th’ week. Miss Carmine has agreed t’ send Odette and Clara a month in advance t’ collaborate with your engineers on th’ heavier side of th’ security systems. Mister Zestial sent a real ominous message back that we’re almost positive was a yes. And, of course, Mister Valentino and Miss Velvette are makin’ arrangements for VoxTek’s management while they’re at the event. Mister Valentino asked you t’ call him when you’ve got a minute.”

“Regarding?”

Millie shrugged. “He didn’t say.”

Vox rolled his eyes, grimacing and waving his hand. “Alright, I’ll deal with it. What about the other overlords?”

Millie hesitated. “…there was, um, insistence that invites go out to every active overlord.”

Silence greeted that statement. Vox stared at her, his left eye twitching. “Every… overlord?”

“Yessir.”

“Do you mean to tell me that an invitation has been issued to the Radio Demon, and I was not informed of this immediately?!” Vox snarled, his voice getting louder as he spoke; he rose to his feet, digging his claws along his desktop.

Millie squeaked, raising her tablet as an ineffectual shield between the two of them. “P-Princess Charlotte is a big fan of Mister Alastor’s radio program,” she said quickly; no matter how physically strong she was, she didn’t stand a chance against the television overlord. “She named him specifically when giving her own invitation requests! But he hasn’t responded and we aren’t even sure he’ll receive it at all, much less actually show up!”

Vox narrowed his eyes, then closed them, sinking back down into his chair. When he opened his eyes once more, his expression had been schooled; he was only missing his public relations smile, which he almost never wore without an audience anyway. “If the princess wishes,” he said, and Millie knew that statement had to cause him physical pain. “But you will inform me the moment any message comes back from him.”

“Of course, sir,” Millie said, feeling like she had just narrowly escaped with her head on her shoulders.

“Send me the guest room plans,” Vox instructed. “I want to see to the arrangements myself. I don’t want another situation of Mammon and Asmodeus being placed on the same floor.” He sighed. “There will be sinners among the hired entertainment, correct?” Millie nodded. “Then we’ll have enough to deal with as far as mixed company goes without also dealing with inter-Ring feuds.”

“Yessir.” Millie looked down at the tablet again and tapped a few buttons to send a file to her boss. “I have most of th’ entertainment lined up, it just requires your finalization. Mister Valentino was, um, very involved in the selection process.”

Vox rolled his eyes again. “Fuck’s sake,” he muttered. “Is it that fucking stripper again?”

“He’s… on the request list, yes.”

“I do not understand his obsession with that queer little prostitute,” Vox said, glancing down the list Millie had sent. “But if it gets Val off my back, I don’t care.”

Millie nodded. “Mammon also sent back confirmation for Fizzarolli t’ give at least one performance, so the largest entertainment slot’s booked. Everything else isn’t in our court right now. We’re waitin’ for responses on most of it.”

“Very well. Go ahead and check on the progress of the pavilion and let me know if there have been any delays.”

“Yessir.”

Getting out of that office was a relief, and Millie let out a massive sigh, catching her breath for just a second before heading away from Vox’s office as quickly as dignity would let her move. Without the television overlord leading the path, people didn’t just part the seas for her anymore, but Millie was small enough that flitting around their legs wasn’t too complicated.

Lucifer’s Palace was enormous, more so than she had been led to believe just seeing it from the outside. It was a misleading name; while it sounded like a residence, Lucifer’s Palace was much more like a Hell resort, and one very worthy of the Pride ring. It contained dining halls, ballrooms, a large game room, and floors and floors of deluxe suites. The Morningstar family didn’t actually live within its walls, and as a matter of fact, it had been a very long time since anyone had seen the King of Hell in any capacity whatsoever.

However, Millie couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the time that Lucifer finally entered back into the blood red sun and reinstated his position.

When Millie had first heard about this job, she hadn’t known where it would be or what exactly it was for, simply that it was a security position at VoxTek. Once she’d been accepted, however, she’d been given the details, and she had never felt more in over her head than she did right now.

It was no secret that VoxTek had recently accepted a security contract at Lucifer’s Palace, one that Vox himself was personally overseeing. It also wasn’t much of a secret that, in two months, the Palace would be hosting a large party that would be attended by the most elite entities across all the rings of Hell. Millie had been placed as the head of floor security for said event, which also made her the event coordinator working right beneath Vox.

Then she had discovered what it was: a seven day and seven night soirée for Princess Charlotte’s official debut into Hell society. There were murmurs among the staff of what this meant. Was Lucifer returning? Was he abdicating his throne to his daughter? Was he even still around? Nobody knew anything… except, of course, that it had to be perfect.

The pavilion was coming along fine, and with nothing for her to do, Millie was ecstatic about finally clocking out and getting the Heaven out of there. She didn’t want to hear anything else about parties or catering or strippers or construction for the next eight hours; she just wanted her cozy little apartment, some takeout, and a terrible horror movie before she crashed. It was already almost ten, after all, and she hadn’t even started her unwinding process yet, so she was feeling grumpy.

Despite that, Millie didn’t turn her work phone off, aware that Vox might need to get ahold of her at any time. Reluctantly, she turned the ringer on, then slipped it into her bag and pulled out her own personal phone to turn it back on. It sang a happy little tune as it powered up, followed by a tiny ding to tell her she had a voice mail. She stopped and looked at the screen, but it wasn’t a number she had in her contacts. Frowning, she tapped the message, pleading with any higher demons that might be listening that it wasn’t Chaz needing to be picked up from somewhere yet again.

Immediately, a very familiar voice filled her ears. “What up, bitch. You know who it is. Gimme a call when you get this, I’ve got something that will interest you.”

Squealing, Millie tapped the number and bounced on the balls of her feet as it rang. After a few seconds, she heard the click. “Hey, Millie-Billie!”

“Blitzø!” Millie said happily, shouldering her bag and continuing to the nearest noodle shop. “Holy shit, it’s been forever, hi!”

Blitzø laughed. “It must have been if you’ve forgotten enough about me to be excited to hear from me.”

“Oh, shut up, you negative little whore.” Millie grinned as he laughed again. “What’s up? You causin’ trouble again?”

“Not yet. Just planning it. You still living it up in Wrath?”

“Nah. I got a job in Pentagram City so I moved my ass out here. You still in Imp City?”

“Living out there, yeah, but I’m gonna be in Pentagram City tonight. You busy? I don’t really want to get into this over the phone.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Millie said, filling out a takeout card. “…wait. I mean, no, I’m not busy. This yer permanent number?”

“Nah. Still got the old one. Text me your address and I’ll stop by.”

Millie really wanted to ask why he was calling her from a different number, but she just shrugged. “Okie-dokie. I’m pickin’ up dinner and then I’ll be home. Y’want anything? It’s noodles.”

“Spring roll me, bitch.”

She grinned. “Gotcha. I’ll see you in a bit.”

•

Millie had only been home for about fifteen minutes when she heard the knock, and she launched herself over her couch, wrenching the door open and tackling Blitzø into a hug right in the hallway. “Hi!!”

“Holy fuck—!” Blitzø stumbled under the sudden affection, but he patted her head. “Okay, okay, it’s good to see you too, stop touching me.”

Millie smiled and refused to apologize as she released him. “C’mon in.” She stood out of his way and closed the door once he had passed, taking a moment to look him over. He hadn’t changed much in the year since they’d seen each other, but he looked… different, somehow, in a way she couldn’t put her finger on. “You look good,” she ventured, motioning for him to follow as she headed to the couch and sat down again.

“Do I?” Blitzø asked, sitting near her and accepting the pack of spring rolls she handed him. “Guess prison’s good for me.”

“Oh, fuck’s sake, you got arrested again?” Millie asked with a frown.

Blitzø shrugged, unconcerned. “Got out this morning. Just got back from Greed, actually.”

Her eyes widened. “You were in a Greed prison??”

“What? No. I was in Pride, I just went to Greed for a while. Visiting someone about the same thing I contacted you about, actually,” he said evasively, tossing one of the spring rolls up and snapping it whole out of the air with his tongue.

Millie frowned at him. “…you’ve been out for, like, a handful of hours and you’re already plannin’ a job.”

Blitzø frowned, licking crumbs off of his claws and speaking around the food in his mouth. “When the fuck did I get so predictable?”

“What in th’ seven rings is wrong with you?” Millie asked, exasperated. “Ain’t you got enough goin’ against you without tryin’ t’ get yourself in trouble?”

“Apparently not,” Blitzø said, giving her a bright grin. “But I have a great plan! And I think this is right up your alley.”

“Why’s that?” Millie asked suspiciously.

“I know about your new employment~”

They stared at each other for a few moments before Millie held up her index finger in his face. “No.”

“I didn’t even tell you what it is yet!”

“You don’t hafta tell me more’n you just did. No. If you know my job, you know my boss, and ain’t nobody crossin’ the Vees without endin’ up dead.” Blitzø smacked her hand out of his face and her frown deepened. “Whatever you’re doin’s gotta be dangerous. Can’t you just, I dunno, get a normal job for a while or somethin’?”

“Boring,” Blitzø said dismissively. “Come on, at least hear me out.”

Millie sighed. “…ten minutes. Go.”

Nine and a half minutes later, Millie was halfway through her dinner and listening, enraptured, as Blitzø finished his spiel. “…and we could probably get away with more than just that,” he concluded.

“You’re nuts,” Millie said, awe-struck. “Of everyone you could be robbin’, you wanna knock over Lucifer’s resort.”

“I do.”

“Knowin’ that VoxTek has set up shop there.”

“Yes.”

“And knowin’ that the place is gonna be filled with Hell’s elites while you’re tryin’ t’ pull this off.”

“Absolutely.”

Millie looked down at her half-full container of noodles, spinning some onto her fork and then continuing the rotation without lifting it. Her mind was spinning in much the same way as she considered the implications, the problems, the threats… and also how much she hated her boss and didn’t want to have to kiss anyone’s ass for a living anymore. She was an imp, so it was either a lifetime of being a sycophant… or…

“…what do you need from me?”

Immediately, Blitzø grabbed her shoulders and kissed her cheek roughly. “You are my favorite.”

Despite herself, Millie felt herself blush and giggled, shoving him away. “I damn well better be.”

“Right now, I need basics,” he said. “Guest list. Floor plans. Schedule. Anything you can tell me about the security arrangements. Things like that.”

Millie nodded, thinking. “Most of that’ll be easy to get you. I’ve got access to it, anyway. The hardest part will be figurin’ out how to keep Vox from finding out that I’m makin’ copies of ‘em.”

“You’re precious and perfect and I can’t believe you’re still single.”

Millie snorted. “I ain’t, actually. You gonna tell me who else you’ve got in on this?”

Blitzø stared at her, and she realized that changing the subject had definitely tipped him off. “You’re not.”

She groaned. “Blitzø—”

“You are not dating fucking sexual harassment shark boy again!”

“It ain’t like that! It’s fine, Chaz is better, it… it’s good, it’s fine! Really!” Millie cringed at the disbelieving look he was giving her. “…I barely see him. He ain’t exactly a taxation on my time, iffin you catch my meanin’, and this means I don’t have t’ try an’ muddle my way through a breakup that I ain’t got the time or the emotional capacity t’ handle right now. Besides, I’m serious, it really ain’t that bad.”

“Why did you start dating him again?”

“Look, you ain’t never met him. He’s very persuasive, okay? Now, enough about my love life before I start grillin’ you about—”

“Other recruits, right, got it. Fizzarolli, so far.”

Her eyes widened. “The clown?” Blitzø nodded. “Which is why you were in Greed. …you talked t’ Fizzarolli. How the actual fuck didja swing that? He ain’t exactly overburdened with free time, from what I hear, and he’s Fizzarolli.”

“We’re old friends,” Blitzø said with a loose shrug, like it wasn’t a big deal that he was on speaking (and plotting) terms with one of the biggest celebrities Hell had ever seen. “I won’t be telling everyone everything, but you’re a coordinator, so you’re going to have to know… most of it.”

Millie sighed, setting her food down. “This is heavy. Way bigger than anything else you and I did back in the day.”

“Isn’t it great?” Blitzø grinned.

She laughed. “I gotta be off my rocker if I’m agreein’ with you on that.” When she turned to him, her expression was serious again. “You ain’t just goin’ in with three of us, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Blitzø said. “I’m currently figuring out what all we’re going to need on a team.”

Millie thought. “…I’m in charge of floor security,” she said. “I don’t have authorization for a bunch of the back areas. You’re gonna need cards for that, and if you want cards, you’re gonna need a better pickpocket than you.”

Blitzø raised his finger. “First of all, that’s fucking rude. Second, I’ve got a line on that. Someone low profile by both effort and nature, don’t worry.”

She snorted. “Good, because so far you’ve got the coordinator of the event you’re crashin’ and the most famous clown Greed ever turned out besides Mammon himself. And you ain’t exactly low key yourself,” she said.

“Don’t worry. Let me handle it,” Blitzø said. “He’s a good thief that’ll probably be hard up enough to take any offer I give him.”

Millie raised an eyebrow. “You sure he’s good?”

Blitzø wiggled his own eyebrows at her. “He’s good with his hands, at least, and we love an impressionable and neurotic little twink who’s paranoid enough to keep his eyes out for any threats.”

“Shit,” she said, laughing. “Okay, fine, you have fun with that. What else do you need?”

Blitzø shrugged. “At the moment, to get the rest of my shit together.”

“Blitzø…” Millie frowned at him, but she couldn’t glare. “You sure you’re okay?”

Blitzø’s smile was as cocksure as she had seen it. “As always.”

Millie didn’t push, because it wasn’t her business, but really… that was what she was afraid of.

•••

“You wanted to see me… sir.”

Moxxie stood straight, firm, and utterly defeated in the large and imposing room. No matter how many years he was trapped in this terrible place, it never stopped having a crushing effect on him. And the imp he stood in front of, seated at his huge desk in his huge chair… Moxxie never stopped feeling so small and frightened by him, no matter how far into adulthood he got.

After a bold string of attempts to make things work—both with and without a certain jackass of a boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend, depending—Moxxie had no choice but to go crawling back to his father.

Had no choice. That was a laugh. He would have had a choice, if he had ever grown a spine.

The firelight behind the desk cast Moxxie’s father into deep relief as he sat forward, elbows on his desk, hands folded together just below his chin. “That I did, boy,” Crimson said in his most loaded business voice, the one that either meant Moxxie was about to be treated like a real son or that he was about to find his own horns mounted on his father’s wall. “We had a visitor earlier this evening. I’m sure you’re aware; eavesdropping has always been a speciality of yours, hasn’t it?”

He felt a stab; not of guilt, but embarrassment. “...Yes sir,” he admitted. It was better than trying to lie to the man.

Crimson’s expression didn’t change. “I’ll get to the point. There’s going to be a party in the Pride ring a couple of months from now, at Lucifer’s Palace. All of Hell society will be attending. Mammon extended an invitation to our family as part of the representation for Greed. You’ll be coming.”

That wasn't what Moxxie was expecting. He smacked his chest with his hand. “M-me? But sir, I… I thought I was too much of a–” don't say it, don't give it power “–of an embarrassment to be seen at public functions.”

“Why do you think I’m telling you this far in advance?” Crimson asked, raising an eyebrow at him. “Ever since Chazwick’s… departure, I’ve been considering how you can best mend your previous mistakes. We need more cash flow through the family. And you—” he pointed at Moxxie for emphasis, “—are going to make that happen.”

It was way too obvious what Crimson was saying, and Moxxie paled, blurting out a retort before he could stop himself. “You're trying to marry me off?!”

“No shit,” his father said, clearly communicating that he thought Moxxie was a complete moron without having to give voice to the opinion yet again. Crimson leaned back in his chair, watching Moxxie over steepled fingers. “This place will be swarming with nobles, princes, overlords, all manner of worthwhile targets. And there’s bound to be a hundred rich homos there; always is at soirées like this, and a gaudy place like that palace is bound to attract the queers.” The dig at Lucifer was clear, but left unacknowledged. “I don’t care what guy you bait, Moxxie, so long as he has money and you finish out the week at least solidly engaged.”

He felt a tightness in his throat. It was pointless to try and explain to his father what bisexual actually meant; he'd made attempts before. It never ended well. And he knew he didn't have a leg to stand on now, either. But that didn't make him any less bitter.

“Are we that hard up for cash, father?”

“Irrelevant. You haven’t been doing your part since that unfortunate incarceration of yours,” Crimson said, his face unchanged. “It seems that the only way you’re capable of providing a meaningful contribution is as a piece of ass that can bring in someone else who’ll do that job for you. And if that’s all you’re good for, it’s what you’ll do, capisce?”

Moxxie turned his face as though Crimson had physically struck him. He gritted his teeth, but even harder he gripped his palms with his clawed fingertips. They popped the leather in his fingerless gloves and pierced his skin.

“...Yes. Sir.”

“Good,” Crimson said, narrowing his eyes sharply. “Get back to your room. Look at your wardrobe. You’ll need proper clothes for seven days and seven nights of events, so figure out what you need made.” Apparently, that was the only thing he felt Moxxie needed to be concerned with.

Once, Moxxie’s room had felt like a kind of escape. There was a time he could get away with having things in it that he actually liked. When his mother was trying desperately to give him something, anything all, that brought some shred of happiness. Now, it was a stark and cold place, with only the trappings and decor Crimson approved of. Fine and expensive paintings of beautiful (female) demons, one of an overtly sexualized (male) demon was his attempt to accept Moxxie’s sexuality – for his own purposes, not for his son’s sake of course. And then there were the plaques. Many, many plaques, all empty and awaiting trophies. All, that was, but one.

Above his door was a plaque bearing a pair of imp’s horns. They didn't belong to anyone Moxxie knew, and the nameplate was left without an engraving. But he knew why they were there. The poor demon was killed for one reason and one reason only. Their horns had a familiar shape and pattern about them. Moxxie couldn't remove it. He'd tried. It was sealed there. So instead it tortured him every moment he spent in this room.

He stoked the fireplace, wincing as it sparked to life. Green hellfire was too hot, but it was the only thing that would ignite properly in the Greed Ring. The green light was so sickly and wrong. Moxxie sometimes wondered if it would burn more happily if they had a prince who actually gave a shit about any of them.

He sat on the edge of his bed, feeling the heat of the small fire even here, his hands stuffed between his knees and his hooved feet kicking sadly.

Get married. He had to get married. This was what it had come down to. Crimson had finally given up on trying to make anything tangible of his weak sad sack of a son. And what was so sickening about it all was that if he failed to find someone, to actually woo someone to marry him in just seven days, that would be it. His father would have no use for him at all.

But to imagine those who would actually want this, in such a short span of time… they were the last sort of people Moxxie wanted touching him.

His shoulders trembled. His clenched jaw couldn't hold it in anymore. Tears fell from his eyes, and once there was one, the others poured forth that much more easily.

As Moxxie cried in the only thing he could even remotely call a sanctuary, his breath caught strangely. It sounded like a distant rattling, oddly inorganic for a sob. But when he heard it again, he realized it wasn’t him; rather, it sounded like it was coming from outside the window on the other side of his room. Moxxie heard something clatter—maybe there was an animal on the trellis, it wouldn’t have been the first time—before suddenly his window was hauled open and a shadow fell through it with a heavy thud and an “Ow, fuck…!”

“What in Hell?!” Moxxie hopped to his feet, sure that Crimson had decided not to wait for the party and just have him killed now. He backed slowly to the fireplace and retrieved his rifle from where it sat snugly in a compartment beside the mantle. Hands shaking, he switched off the safety, pulled the bolt, and raised it.

“I'm armed!” he called out, careful not to raise his voice too much. “So… so don't try anything!”

“Oh, fuck my throat by way of my entire ass,” the shadow said in distinct aggravation, in a voice that was suddenly… very familiar. Moxxie could see the figure standing, and it looked distinctly imp-like, if taller than he would expect. “I’m not armed, Moxx, take a fucking benzo or something.”

The figure moved into the light, and Moxxie found himself looking at Blitzø, complete with his characteristically ‘sarcastic and unimpressed’ expression, his hands loosely held up in a perfunctory and unthreatened compliance with Moxxie’s stance. He stopped immediately out of the ring of Hellfirelight, and he stayed there.

Moxxie lowered the rifle, staring in total shock. “Blitzø? What the… why are you… what are you… how do you know where I live??”

“I got connections,” Blitzø said, giving Moxxie a lazy grin and lowering his hands. “Didn’t know this was your bedroom, but hey, looks like my intuition makes me cooler than I thought. I came to talk to you, and since I don’t have your fucking number anymore, you get me breaking in.”

Moxxie didn't set his gun down, but let it hang in one hand as he crossed the room to face his former cellmate. “Well I don't know what you want, but breaking in here is kind of really fucking stupid. Do you have any idea whose house this is?!”

“Uh, yeah,” Blitzø said, giving Moxxie a look that said ‘are you a fucking moron or something’. “It kinda came with getting the address in the first fucking place. Why do you think I didn’t knock?”

“Right. How silly of me,” Moxxie said with a flat expression, narrowing his eyes when Blitzø immediately grinned. “So what do you want to talk to me about? Make it quick or Alessio will notice something's not right.”

“Would you believe me if I said I have a desperate need for your extremely talented fingers?” Blitzø’s smile had taken on an undeniably lecherous edge as he leaned forward, just a little.

Moxxie could feel the heat in his cheeks as he hopped backward. His teeth gritted, and he tried not to freak out. And after the evening I've just had! “Th- the fuck are you talking about? I'm not– we're not–”

“Oh, fucking Heaven, your face,” Blitzø cackled, and to his very minor credit, he at least appeared to be trying to keep his voice down. “Chill the fuck out, Moxx, I wanna hire you for a job. Not for a sex thing.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” His cheeks were glowing now, that soft bluish color that his father hated so much. “What… what kind of job?”

“Y’know, standard shit. I’m planning a heist and I need someone who can lift. Specifically, and don’t let this go to your head, I need someone who can lift like you can.”

Moxxie finally stashed his rifle, folding his arms and frowning. Nothing good had ever come from his brief time spent with Blitzø. He reminded himself of that very firmly. He had to. Otherwise… it really was hard to want to say no to him. Not that I'll ever—EVER—admit that to him or anyone else.

“You're either trying to butter me up with that compliment, or it's actually not standard shit and is something that's probably going to get us both killed.”

Blitzø let out a long breath, looking upwards in that ‘okay hold up lemme think’ way that he did. “Okay. No. It’s not standard. But your part wouldn’t be anything you’ve never done before! You know, security keycards, codes, that’s all!”

Moxxie sagged his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “Okay, just… When is this job supposed to go down? Because I've got kind of a… busy schedule coming up.”

“We have a while to prepare,” Blitzø said, looking at him sharply, calculating, clearly immediately interested in prying. “Couple of months.”

Immediately the math played out in his mind and Moxxie frowned, growing evasive. Somehow whatever nonsense Blitzø had in mind sounded way better than what his father was forcing him to do. “Not sure I’m gonna be of any help. I’ve got a… a pretty big commitment in two months. No getting out of it either.”

“Oh yeah?” Blitzø tilted his head, one hand on his waist. “Your dad throwing your debutante ball finally?”

He glared at the taller imp. “Cute. No, my dad’s making me–… he's gotten an invitation to an event. It's a big deal, you've probably heard about it. At Lucifer's Palace. He's demanded that I be in attendance as well. It's a weeklong thing, real fancy.”

“…no shit,” Blitzø said, his eyes widening. The next moment, one of his more manic grins cracked his face and he was suddenly in Moxxie’s space, his hands on the other imp’s cheeks and squishing his face. “Oh, fucking yes, Moxxie, that is perfect! You have an in!”

“I hav a wut now?” Moxxie said, his voice distorted into a nasally mush. His eyes widened. “Yoor wobbin Woosifur’s Bawiss??”

Blitzø made a weird, long snort-laugh low in his throat and chest. “Oh my fuck I wanna keep your face like this forever if it makes you talk like that.” Despite the fact that it really did sound like a threat, Blitzø released him. “And keep your voice down. See? It’s not a conflict at all! It might even make your whole obligation bullshit a lot more bearable!”

Despite his growing hysteria, Moxxie did lower his voice (while internally cursing Blitzø for his hypocrisy). “You are not going to rob Lucifer’s Palace, and I am certainly not going to help you get an invite!”

“Oh, I am robbing Lucifer’s palace,” Blitzø countered with a grin, putting his hands on his knees to get eye level with Moxxie. “I’ve already got people signed on, and I’ve got a meeting scheduled with a potential backer! But I can get my own invite, I’ve got plans in that regard. So come on, you’re going to be there anyway, why not have a little fun and also possibly get a massive fucking payout?”

“Because…” He crossed his arms and looked away, his expression darkening. “...Because I'm going to be… busy. My father's going to be on my ass all week.”

“Busy,” Blitzø repeated, leaning back and folding his arms. “You’re gonna be at a seven-day hedonism orgy, how ‘on your ass’ could he possibly be?”

This is a nightmare. I’m dreaming, it's just a nightmare… a nightmare from which I can never awaken. Moxxie gave his former cellmate as severe a warning look as he could. “If I agree to help you as much as I can, will you agree not to pry into my personal business?”

“…mmmmmnnnnnnrrrrrrfhghfine,” Blitzø groaned, closing one eye and rolling his head. “Fine, fine, I’ll respect your personal boundaries so hard they’ll feel like we’ve been married long enough for all the passion to go out of our relationship. That good enough for you, Moxx?”

“Ugggh you are the worst,” Moxxie snapped back. But then he sighed. There would never be a good way to describe Blitzø. Never a good way to define what nebulous thing existed between them. Not one that he'd be able to cope with contemplating. “Yeah, we're good, Blitzø. Now… now get out here before Alessio makes the late rounds.”

“Perfect.” Blitzø grinned deviously and grabbed Moxxie by the shoulders, dropping his voice into a near-comedic gravel. “Don’t worry, baby, Daddy’ll call you soon,” he said, right before he kissed Moxxie on the cheek. He then released him and hopped away to the sill before the other imp could retaliate, swinging his legs out the window. He cast Moxxie a grin over his shoulder, saluted with two fingers, and then vanished into the darkness.

Moxxie watched Blitzø’s tail whip around the glass panel, then waited several more minutes to make sure he was really gone before crossing to the window.

What the fuck am I thinking? Why did I say yes?? There's no way he's gonna pull this off, and even if he does, it's not going to make my position any easier. And if Crimson figures out I'm doing anything other than whoring myself out to some rich asshole…

His fingers curled around the windowsill so tightly they dug into the wood. Blood pushed against the tiny wounds he'd stuck into his palms and threatened to break the clot.

“I'm such an idiot!”

Moxxie growled and slammed a closed fist into the window frame, grimacing in pain at the same moment an alarm began to blare.

How the fuck did Blitzø get in without setting it off???

In moments his door flew open and Alessio charged in, tommy gun raised.

“Where's the intruder, sir?”

Moxxie sighed and slumped against the wall, too tired to freak out. “It was just me, Alessio. I ah, I bumped into the window frame.”

The familiar bodyguard shark paused, blinked a few times, then lowered his gun. “Oh. Well, that's fine, Mister Moxxie. But you gotta keep that window closed. You know how much it worries yer pop.”

“Right.”

Moxxie pulled the window shut while Alessio left him alone. He'd gone out this window a few times throughout his life, seeking an escape. That was why Crimson put such sensitive security sensors in his window. He was just a commodity, and his value was teetering on the edge of a plummet, and after that, he wouldn't be a commodity anymore. And to Crimson, anything that wasn't a commodity was a liability. His mother had become a liability. The display above his door was meant to always remind him of that.

Mom… I don't wanna do this anymore.

•••

Fizzarolli. Millie. Moxxie.

That isn’t anywhere near enough for this. Even if I can get the Radio Demon on board, there is way too much to cover.

Fuck. Who do I even know who isn’t mad at me? …or, at least, not mad at me enough to agree to talk to me?

Blitzø had always prided himself on being the kind of guy who could get what he wanted. It was a unique skill that he had—disgustingly, unfortunately—inherited from his father. Cash Buckzo was a thousand detestable things (Blitzø assumed, anyway, since he had no reason to expect the universe had done him a favor and his dad was dead), but he was also a fantastically persuasive speaker, and Blitzø had apparently taken after him in that regard.

Looking at his criminal and interpersonal record, probably in more ways than just that.

Blitzø’s sigh was labored as he trudged up the stairs towards his apartment, his mind still on how heavy Moxxie’s expression had been the entire time they’d talked. He’d known the younger imp had some home difficulties, particularly regarding family expectations and their mysterious ‘business’, but fuck, he made it sound like his father didn’t care what happened to him as long as it meant money for the family.

But what could Blitzø even say to something like that? That he was sorry Moxxie was going through something so hard? That it was bullshit, abusive, manipulative? That he knew how Moxxie felt, at least to a point? None of those things were him, not anymore.

I could offer to shoot Crimson for him. That’s pretty in character for me.

It was almost two in the morning, the trip from Greed back to Pride always feeling longer than going to Greed in the first place, but Blitzø wasn’t even positive he would be able to sleep. His mind went back to the letter that was stashed away in his desk, along with two of Stolas’ feathers and that… photograph. Whenever Blitzø found out who the fuck had sent it to him, he was going to gnaw their face off. He pressed his forehead against the wood of the door as he dug out his keys, unlocked the apartment, and let himself in. He was hungry again. There were frozen meat-of-some-kind nuggets in the kitchen. Did he have to cook them first? Would he die if he didn’t?

He was contemplating the potential consequences of putting mystery frozen meat lumps in his face hole when the front lock clicked again, and the door opened. Blitzø heard a familiar low feminine sigh, and the even more familiar sound of large paws padding over hardwood.

The door swung closed, then the walking stopped.

“Holy fuck. You're home.”

Blitzø turned around and found himself staring up at Loona. It had been optimistic of him to hope she was already asleep, he supposed. “…yeah. Hi, Loonie.”

She looked largely the same. Her huge swoop of silver hair was a bit less well kept than he remembered, and she looked really… really tired. She had a take out bag in her hand, and her old messenger bag over her shoulder. “...Hey.”

This is awkward.

Blitzø clapped his hands together once, which was supposed to alleviate the tension but just served to underscore that awkwardness. He cleared his throat. “Got released today. Er… yesterday, I guess, at this point. I thought you might be sleeping or something.”

“Oh. Yeah. I'm not.” She looked at her feet, scratched the floor a little with one claw. Then she raised her bag. “You, ah, you hungry? I got meat.”

“That’s a lot better than frozen something nuggets, yeah.”

Their apartment didn’t have a dining table of any sort—never had, mostly because they didn’t have the space, but partly because they wouldn’t have used it for anything but stacking and ignoring mail—so they ended up on the couch. Blitzø brought two beers over from the fridge and used his claw to pry the caps off. “So…” He offered one out to Loona. “How’ve you been, sweetie?”

She raised an eyebrow at him while she accepted the beer. It was definitely about the ‘sweetie’ thing. But then she just shrugged, taking a swig. “It's been whatever. Been hanging around. Working.” Her eyes darted to and from his when she said that.

“Working, huh?” Blitzø raised an eyebrow at her, putting his elbow on his knee and his chin on his fist. “Please tell me you’re not charging less than a hundred fifty an hour, these assholes’ll try to rip you off at every opportunity.”

“I'm not a prostitute, Dad,” Loona growled, tossing a styrofoam container at him. It smelled like spiced meat that was definitely only lightly cooked.

Blitzø gasped as he caught the container with both hands, holding it to his chest. “You called me Dad!” he said with all the enthusiasm he could muster on such short notice, even as he felt a pang of guilt and unsuitability, the same as he did every time.

“You're getting meat juice on your jacket,” she said in lieu of any further complaint, opening another container as he cursed and put the container on the coffee table, using his blanket to wipe his jacket clean. Loona started picking chunks of roast out with her fingers and cramming them into her mouth. “What are you planning to do now that you're out?”

“Oh, y’know, the usual,” Blitzø said in a way he hoped wasn’t obviously evasive, opening his own container and skewering a piece of meat with his claw. “Gonna pick up some jobs here and there. Keep the cash flowing and all that fun, capitalistic shit.”

He could feel Loona squinting at him. “You already have something planned. Something… something fucking stupid.”

“What? No,” Blitzø said immediately, not making eye contact. “Come on, I haven’t even been out for twenty four hours, why would I do something stupid?”

“Because you are stupid.”

Blitzø gasped dramatically, looking at her. “That is so unfair. I have done at least four smart things in my life.”

“That so?” She smirked then, the expression unexpected and almost… soft. “Must've all been before you adopted me then, huh?”

“Adopting you was the fourth one,” Blitzø said, dropping back into his casual tone as he smirked at her. “Think the effort ate my last brain cells. So,” he skewered another piece of meat, hoping his demeanor had avoided further emotional burdening for Loona’s sake, “you gonna tell me what this sketchy work of yours is, or do I get to keep guessing? I can make it pretty outlandish, believe me.”

She sighed, but the tension was lifting. “It's not a big deal. Just playing guard dog for some courier setup. It's kinda inconsistent but it pays well… I upgraded our internet.”

“Oh yeah? That’s pretty sweet. You get to knock some heads around, protect important packages and that shit?”

“You're real good at making shit sound more fun than it actually is… So what's your big idea that's gonna get you thrown right back in prison?”

“I’m not gonna get thrown in prison, Loonie,” Blitzø said. If I fail, I’m definitely not going to live long enough to see prison. “…It’s just a basic smash and grab, and I won’t be alone. Okay? It’s nothing to stress over.”

She leaned in right up to his face, eyes glowing, and she flared her nostrils and sniffed. “I smell bullshit.”

“Buy better takeout, then?”

Her free hand—covered in sauce—was grabbing his lapel. She pulled him forward so that their noses were crushed together. “Tell me what you're doing or I'm gonna be on your ass every second of every day until I find out.”

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Blitzø tried his best to lean away from her, but god damn she was strong. “Okay! Okay, you win! Just— just take a couple of breaths, Loona, I’ll tell you.”

Once she sat back, still glaring daggers at him and looking ready to launch herself at him again, he began cleaning his lapel off. Gross. Meat product.

“I just got a line on someone who’s looking to pay a pretty high price on a well-protected artifact. It’s not for a couple of months, I’ve got a great plan, and it’s… just kind of a thing at Lucifer’s Palace,” he added in a quick mutter, looking up and away as he prepared to launch himself away from her if she attacked.

“What, for real?” Loona didn’t attack, she didn’t move outside of blinking her wide eyes, but then she barked out a laugh and she grinned. “Dude, you are so totally dead.”

“I’ve been doing a great job not dying so far,” Blitzø said. “Besides, I wasn’t lying about not going in alone, I’ve already got some people convinced and I’ve got a line on finances. But it’s so sweet that my widdle Woonie-Woo is so worried about me~”

She growled, but it was without heat. “I won’t have to worry about you if you let me in on it.”

“Oh. Ohoho,” Blitzø said, and it was his turn to laugh, though it was more disbelieving than her bark of dark mirth. “Oh, fuck no. You’re not coming.”

Immediately she fell into her typical teenage complaining mode, the one she still hadn’t quite grown out of. “Oh come on, I handled myself just fine in all the time you were gone! All on my own! And I wasn’t beaten or kidnapped or murdered or anything!”

“Uh-huh, you weren’t, and I’m very proud,” Blitzø said sincerely. “And at no point, when I was gone, did you attempt to rob the King of Hell. Look, Loonie,” he said, hoping to cut off any further protest (even though he knew it wouldn’t), “you want in on a job sometime… fine. You’re right, you can handle yourself, you’re old enough, but I wouldn’t start you out on this job if Asmodeus gave me his entire harem for it. Absolutely fucking not.”

“I'm so much not a kid anymore, Blitzø,” she said, punching the couch in just the way a kid would do. “You implied that you're gonna need all the help you can get, how many people do you really think you're gonna find who are actually willing to go along with this?”

“At the very least, people who’ve done more than lift a candy bar at a corner store and immediately feel a nagging sense of guilt because they think the count will be off and the cashier will get in trouble.” Blitzø sighed, putting his head in his hand. He knew he was being too harsh. He knew. “Fuck. Loona, I just— you’ve never done anything like this before, and I’m not going to be able to keep an eye on you. Nobody is. I can’t drag you into Lucifer’s Palace. I won’t drag you into Lucifer’s Palace.”

“Tch.” Loona folded her arms and looked away. She wasn't acting out, or hitting him. She looked… pensive. “...If you die I'm never forgiving you.”

“I’m not gonna die, Loonie. I promise.” Blitzø rubbed his hands together as he looked at her. “And like I said, it’s not going to be for a couple of months, okay? I also promise that I will get into minimal trouble until then.”

“You better.” Loona set the food aside. “...You, ah… you hear from anybody since you got out? Like, besides your cohorts, I mean.”

“Talked to Fizz yesterday,” Blitzø said, looking away. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then blew out a breath. How did he say ‘I wasn’t expecting anything else’ in a flippant way? “Got some pretty familiar robo-calls from Greed trying to sell us tickets to an event they had six years ago.”

Loona nodded, appearing to accept what Blitzø offered, a silent agreement to take it at face value that there were no feelings attached to anything. “Cool, cool.”

Then there was silence. Neither of them ate anymore, but neither seemed able to come up with anything else to say. The pattern settled in, the one he and Loona had been forming since he first adopted her: both of them having a multitude of thoughts and no justification to let themselves open a single one of them to the outside world, let alone to each other.

But this time, it was his daughter who broke the silence.

“...You wanna watch a movie?”

Blitzø felt that warm bubble inflate in his chest, the one that emerged out of a box labeled ‘Loona wants to spend time with you’, and he always had to metaphorically shove it down before he got too enthusiastic and she changed her mind. “Hell yeah! Whatever you’re feeling is good with me.”

She actually smiled, her lip curling in that way it did when she wasn't too self conscious, showing off her back teeth (that she always complained were too big and bulky). “Get ready to cringe then, Dad, cuz this is gonna be the lamest flick you ever saw.” She turned on the TV.

“Oh, you’re gonna have to go a long way to find something more cringe than I can handle,” Blitzø said with an excited grin, only bolstered by the fact that she called him ‘Dad’ with no sarcasm or immediate retraction. He wouldn’t point it out. It needed to stay exactly like it was: somewhere that he could remember it, and where he could never touch it, because touching it would lead to nothing but ruining it.

I’m sorry, Loona. I really am. I know how you feel, but this thing is dangerous. And I already might… He could—…

Fuck. I can’t risk losing you, too. I just can’t.

•••

Next chapter

#my writing #helluva boss #hazbin hotel #helluva blitzo #helluva millie #helluva moxxie #helluva loona #helluva crimson #hazbin vox #hellaverse fanfiction #helluva boss fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #stolitz

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ladyravenblack · 1 month

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Part 2:

Months had passed since I started my job as Alastor’s assistant and more and more I began to wonder if he was our un-caught killer. Drops of blood on his trousers that I’m sent to clean, late nights out and constantly arriving at my house in the day before clothes in the morning, knowing more than the police every released but *he’s a radio host and just knows these things*.

As time passes, I watch his moves. How his lunch is always home made and he’ll never share, if anything he’s extremely irate if you even ask. *this is my food darling* he had spat through clenched teeth the one day I forgot my lunch. The shiver of fear penetrated my body the whole rest of the day. His inhuman smile and how it would grow whenever he reported on the killer. *the audience can hear a smile and they need comfort dear* he reassured me, his smile still plastered to his face. A few times he came into work he would have cuts on his hands but he would wave it off, *you know I hunt darling, comes with the game*.

He wasn’t a very romantic man, many women came for him and drowned him in wants, but he always refused their advances. Waving them off with a cheery smile and soft apologies.

‘Why turn every beautiful, young woman down?’ I asked one day over afternoon tea. He seemed lost in thought for awhile and I was just about to take it back when he spoke.

‘None of them suit me’ he had said calmly, the big smile still marking his face. Despite this reply of clearly no interest in anyone, and my lack of interest in him, my heart had tightened in response.

‘You have never met another who you want to woo and marry?’ He shook his head.

‘No darling, I am far too busy’ he sounded sinister almost but I ignored the tone, thinking I had simply been mistaken.

I feared him for no reason other than the chill that went down my spine every time he spoke or passed by but I also felt such comfort. Maybe he could cause me harm but he would also keep me safe. He had proven that.

‘Dinner Alastor really?’ I had teased over our little outing into town. He brushed his glasses up his nose and nodded.

‘I have kept you so busy and you have not once complained! A gift of gratitude is in order’ he had spoken with confidence and walked me to this little bistro. Soft jazz filtered through the radio on the counter as we ordered and sat down. It was nothing fancy but it was a welcomed difference in pace.

When we left it was dark and storm clouds brewed on the edge of the forest, strong winds whipping our hair around and pushing us together. Some men crowded at the end of the street stared and seemed to snarl with hunger at me, that chilling sensation of danger gripping my being. Alastor led me away, back to the station and they followed. Fear was stinging me like needles but Alastor seemed so unaware, like he couldn’t hear the whistles, the boots hitting the mud, or the murmurs of what they would do to me but he pulled me closer his smile never falling but becoming stretched, thin and terrifying. He had that same hungry look but it was distant.

Those men turned up dead weeks later and when I mentioned it to Alastor I thought I heard him say ‘for you darling’ but I must have been mistaken. I pushed every thought of Alastor to the side. Was he our killer? No, what a silly imagination. Do you like him? Never, he is my boss after all. Would he hurt you? I never answered this one, just shoved it down into the deep pits of my brain ignoring its existence. I longed for every bit of paperwork I could get my hands on, anything to rid my mind of new murders, how the timing always lined up with his morning walks, how I no longer ever felt alone.

After a long day of work, I walked home alone for the first time since starting my job. Alastor had not shown for work, I had unlocked the station and gone about my work, getting off at a decent time since no more was added through the day. I had worried, but Alastor was the boss not me and I had no reason to worry if he chose to not show one day. Right?

Once home I went about my routine; brushing my hair, teeth, showering, donning a red nightgown and dancing aimlessly to some music as I sipped my night tea when a pounding came from my door. My head whipped around, it was far too late for visitors. My breath trembled as I walked towards the door, I place my teacup haphazardly on a table and flinch as it falls, shattering against the floor. The handle was cold to the touch as I turned it barely opening the door an inch before Alastor burst through and shut it behind him.

He was truly a mess. Dirt, leaves, and twigs buried in his hair, his glasses askew and cracked, ragged breathing, and blood splattered about his clothes.

‘What a mess’ I whispered staring at the man who had never lost composure in the whole time I knew him, not really, shake and laugh in front of me. ‘Hunting?’ I asked, my voice low but I knew already. He wasn’t hunting any animal.

His head snapped towards me, his eyes catching mine.

‘Darling….may I stay for just a while longer and clean up?’ His smile was still present, the body racking laughter nothing more than soft occasional giggles now.

I nodded, I was calm now and I hated it. A man I’d only known maybe six-seven months had pounded down my door late at night covered in blood, laughed like a maniac, and asked for a shower all while I stood there like this was normal. I needed answers.

‘Answer me first’ my voice was a little shaky, I swallow and steady my voice ‘Hunting?’ His eyes bare into me, like he is telling me I will not come back from this question, and he nods.

‘Yes hunting’

‘Hunting what?’ That same stare, as he brings himself to his full height but I keep my ground ‘hunting what’ I speak with more force.

‘Rabble’ his voice is cold, no hint of the warm radio host I know but I nod.

‘What is going on?’ Too calm, why am I so calm?

‘I got messy..’ I nod again and point to the bathroom.

‘Shower, no one will know you were here and if someone sees, then we are working’ he cocks his head slightly, uncertain but goes to the bathroom and as the door shuts I lock my front door and close the curtains. What was I doing?

Four days had passed since Alastor had appeared at my door and we had said nothing to each other about it. He emerged from the bathroom clean, his suit scuffed up but the deep blood splatters no longer visible, his glasses cracked but perched on his nose perfectly once again and nothing was said. I had cleaned up my shattered tea cup, given him a coat, and bade him farewell for the night, a sting of worry piercing me as he left. I did not go to the police the next morning, I walked out to find Alastor waiting to escort me to the radio station.

We discussed the weather of late, how it rained the night before, and made everything new. Something I did not miss was the smile that spread across my face at the knowing he would not be caught. I kept it to a minimum, not wanting him to notice how giddy I was becoming at the knowledge of him getting away.

Every morning for the past four days he’s been at my doorstep when I wake and when I go home. I want to beg him to tell me everything but keep it to myself. Searching for an opening instead of just pestering him.

‘Are you walking with me to ensure I tell no one?’

‘If I wanted you to tell no one, I would kill you’ he spoke so matter of fact like that I almost pulled away from him. A look of shock and fear on my face as he seemed to grip me tighter.

‘Thank you for not killing me’ I mumble softly.

‘Mumbling is not very polite darling’ he had said staring at me, it felt like he could see into my soul and how I had started to feel a thrill with him. Something I did not want to admit to anyone but myself, and barely even that, but he seemed to know.

At the station I busied myself; paperwork, meetings, phone calls but I kept catching myself glancing at him and whenever I did he was staring right back at me sending those deep chills up my spine. Around noon two police officers showed up and my eyes darted straight to Alastor but I brought them immediately to the men in front of me.

‘Hello officers, how may I assist you?’ I struck the nervousness from my voice, determined to give nothing away.

‘We’ve come to ask Mister Hartfelt a few questions, and you too miss’ I nod politely.

‘Of course, let me get him’ I knew he was aware of the situation as I walked to his little studio and peeked my head in ‘some officers want to talk to you’ my voice was airy and light but my eyes searched his frantically. Nothing, no fear, no reassurance, nothing and then click! Like a light his eyes are full of warmth and caring as he stands, putting his hand on my shoulder.

‘Gentlemen!’ He speaks to the officers ‘can miss Holmes get you anything? Coffee, tea, biscuits?’ They shake their heads making it clear they’re only here on business.

‘We just need to talk that’s all’ Alastor nods and leads me to my chair, pushing me into it lightly, his fingers digging into my shoulder just enough to sting.

‘Let’s go speak in my studio, it’s a bit more private’ they all file in and the door shuts. I hear nothing but the occasional twitch of Alastor’s hands behind his back and the officer’s looks of concern lead me to to believe he may not be doing so well. I chew my lip until I split it, blood dribbling down my chin as I gasp softly and reach for a tissue. Alastor’s eyes flick to me, my sudden movement having drawn his attention, and he seems to indicate to the officers he must get going because they depart and head towards me.

‘Miss Holmes, how long have you known Mister Hartfelt’

‘A little over seven months now I believe’ I dab at the blood on my chin, cleaning myself up.

‘Has he ever seemed….off to you’ what a weird question.

‘Never. He’s polite, he walks me home every night and I tend to go home way later than he should be so he’s no reason to stay and walk with me’ I flutter my lashes a little ‘I think he’s got a little something for me’ I practically pur the sentence and fan my face with my hand.

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘In Louisiana or New Orleans?’

‘New Orleans’

‘A little over a year now’ I tap my desk ‘I moved here when momma died’ I add in, hoping to garner sympathy and they soften.

‘You wouldn’t know anything then? About the murders?’

‘No sir’ I shake my head sadly ‘but they’re awful and I suspect that’s why he won’t let me walk home alone’ I speak point at Alastor. They nod and bid me farewell and nod at Alastor through the window to his studio before exiting. I blow out a puff of air and slump, closing my eyes.

‘It is not very lady like to slouch’ Alastor spoke right in my ear and I yelped.

‘I told them nothing’

‘I know’ his voice sounded almost proud of me ‘you did very well darling’ the little shiver of fear was morphing into a shiver of unknown pleasure.

‘Why do you do this?’

‘Do what dear?’

‘Kill’ his face goes blank for a second, I’ve overstepped again.

‘So they can not harm others’

‘And you think that it is ok because they are bad people?’ He lets out a sharp laugh and shakes his head.

‘No but who else would I eat for dinner?’

#alastor x oc #human alastor #alastor #fanfic

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