#carmine!reader

Alastor hadn’t moved since.

One hand calmly held his book.

The other gently, rhythmically, stroked your hair.

The motion was slow and absentminded, an unconscious gesture that had become automatic around you. And though his grin was as sharp as ever, there was a softness in his eyes that would’ve scandalized anyone who knew his usual brand of theatrics.

“Fast asleep, Sugar,” he murmured, fingertips brushing your temple. “You do know how to choose the coziest spots, don’t you?”

You made a tiny sleepy noise in response—a content little hum—and pressed your cheek more firmly against his leg.

Alastor’s grin widened, then turned dangerously sharp at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Husk stumbled into the room first, feathers puffed, and a half-empty bottle in one hand.

“Hey, boss. Have you seen—?” Husk froze. Blinked. Looked at you. Then at the hand stroking your hair. Then backed up.

Alastor didn’t look up from his book.

“She is sleeping,” he said pleasantly. “And you, my fine feline friend, are currently being too loud.”

Husk scowled. “I’m literally just standing here.”

“Yes. And breathing. Loudly.”

Husk opened his mouth to argue but stopped when Alastor’s free hand lifted his staff a mere inch off the armrest.

A threat. A promise. Wrapped in a smile.

Husk grumbled something and shuffled right back out the door.

Alastor resumed stroking your hair immediately.

“Good boy,” he murmured to no one in particular. “He knows better.”

A moment later Angel Dust poked his head in.

“Hey, Radio Daddy, Charlie’s lookin’ for—OH.” Angel froze, a grin exploding across his face. “Oh my GOD. Is she—? You two are—? I didn’t know you were into the whole lap pillow thing—”

Alastor angled his head just enough to give Angel a polite, cheerful smile that would’ve made the bravest sinner’s blood run cold.

“Angel,” he said pleasantly, fingers running through your hair as you slept peacefully, “if you awaken her, I will disassemble you and reassemble you as a coat rack.”

Angel blinked before smirking flirtatiously. “...Kinky.” When he noticed Alastor’s eyes glowing red and his smile stretching into a sneer, he raised his hands up in mock surrender and made his exit, still smiling. “I’m going, I’m going…”

Alastor continued stroking your hair.

Your breathing was soft and even, completely at peace. Every now and then you shifted, your hand brushing lightly against his knee before settling again. Each time, Alastor paused in his reading just long enough to ensure you were still comfortable, adjusting his posture with unnatural patience.

“Rest, Sugar,” he whispered, brushing a curl away from your face. “I’ll keep watch.”

He set his book aside, choosing instead to sit fully still, one hand stroking your hair, the staff humming softly beside you.

The world could roar outside these walls.

But here, now, with you curled against him like something precious and fragile, Alastor allowed himself the rarest of indulgences:

She froze.

Vaggie froze.

Angel choked on his drink.

Husk dropped the bottle he was holding.

Niffty giggled.

Because there, standing in the doorway, dressed elegantly in a black stitched lace midi dress, smiling sweetly, was Y/N Carmine, holding a severed head delicately by the hair like it was a fruit basket.

“Oh!” she chirped brightly. “Hello everyone! Sorry, I brought a little something for Alastor.”

The head blinked weakly.

She added, as if explaining the weather: “He thought he could insult my mother. Clearly, he was wrong.”

Charlie made a strangled wheeze sound.

Vaggie whispered, “Oh my god.”

Angel Dust muttered, “Okay yeah… she’s definitely both.”

Before anyone could give a proper reaction, a familiar hum of static filled the doorway.

Alastor materialized beside her, staff tapping lightly as his eyes gleamed with delight. “My sweet, you’ve arrived! And you’ve brought me a present?” He clasped his hands together in theatrical glee. “Why, Sugar, you spoil me!”

He took the head from her like she’d brought him a bouquet of roses.

Charlie turned a shade of pale Vaggie had never seen before. “Alastor,” she said with a shaking smile, “this is a wholesome tea party.”

“Indeed!” he said cheerfully, dropping the head behind a potted plant. “There! Out of sight, out of mind.”

Niffty immediately spruced it up and left the head wearing a tiny doily hat.

Everyone tensed as then Y/N reached into her purse.

Except Alastor, who leaned forward eagerly.

“Another gift?” he asked, positively purring.

“Oh no,” Y/N said. “This one is for Charlie.”

Charlie blinked. “For… me?” Should she be scared?

Y/N’s smile softened, turning shy — genuinely shy — in a way no one expected from the woman who brought decapitated tributes. She pulled out a small woven crown made of delicate flowers — ones that glowed faintly with a soft, holy pink hue.

Charlie gasped. “Are those—?! These only grow on the highest ledges of the Pride Ring—”

“I asked Alastor what your favorites were,” Y/N explained, “and he offered to take me there.”

Alastor simply shrugged and smiled lightly, making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal.

Charlie carefully took the crown like it was made of spun sugar. “It’s… beautiful.”

Y/N beamed. “I thought it would suit you.”

“Y/N,” Charlie whispered, eyes watering, “thank you.”

Vaggie could only blink.

“Well damn,” Angel muttered. “She is sweet.”

Husk muttered, “…still brought a head, though.”

After Y/N got acquainted with the rest of the gang, she sat at the table with perfect posture, hands folded primly. Every inch of her body aligned in precise, elegant symmetry.

Vaggie leaned in to Charlie. “Are we sure this is the same woman who carved up half of Cannibal Alley?”

Charlie hissed, “Vaggie, she’s a guest!“

Y/N looked up upon hearing about that time in her life. “Oh, that was years ago! But, to be fair, they were very rude for trying to run weapons through my mother’s territory without paying the dues.”

Charlie gave a helpless thumbs-up to Vaggie as if to say See? She’s reasonable.

Y/N lifted her cup gracefully, pinky raised, sipping tea.

She giggled at Niffty’s rambling compliments.

Asked Angel about where he got his nails done.

Listened politely to Husk’s growling.

Told Charlie she loved the pastries and would love the recipe.

Every now and then, Alastor watched her with a softness that would liquefy the floors if anyone pointed it out.

He didn’t speak much.

He didn’t need to.

Every time Y/N smiled, his radio static softened into the sound of warm vinyl crackle.

Currently Charlie was describing a silly childhood story when Y/N suddenly giggled — a high, sweet, melodic sound — and covered her mouth in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just… I haven’t had a tea party in ages. This is lovely.”

Charlie practically melted into a puddle of glitter.

Vaggie softened immediately.

Angel Dust blinked. “Aww…”

Even Husk muttered, “Damn. She’s actually… nice?”

Alastor’s smile faltered for a second — not with menace, but with something tender.

Rare.

Almost fragile.

He reached under the table, brushing his clawed fingers against hers. She responded to the gesture by placing her hand atop his, squeezing it gently.

“Well!” Alastor then said brightly, snapping back to his usual cheer. “This has been a delightful break from the usual chaos. Perhaps we should make this a weekly tradition?”

Y/N gasped. “I’d love that! Can I bring cookies next time?”

“Yes, Sugar,” he said with a grin. “Preferably not made from anyone who annoyed you that day.”

She pouted playfully. “No promises.”

Charlie could only giggle at their little back-and-forth while Vaggie sighed.

As the tea party wrapped up, Y/N gave Charlie a small hug, which Charlie responded to with an even tighter embrace that almost left Y/N breathless.

“It was wonderful meeting you all,” she said softly.

Charlie beamed, starry-eyed. “Please drop by anytime.”

Alastor placed a hand at Y/N’s waist, pulling her gently away from Charlie and to his side. “Come along, Sugar,” he said. “I believe someone is due for an after-tea stroll.”

She kissed his cheek.

He froze — just for a split second — then smiled wider than any demon had ever dared.

As they walked out, Charlie clasped her hands together.

“I love her!”

Vaggie sighed before reluctantly admitting, “Yeah. Me too.”

Angel lit a cigarette. “Okay, but next time I’m telling her she’s hot.”

Vox rolls him in like a prop.

Like a trophy.

Like an offering.

Alastor tilts his head, eyes catching Y/N’s instantly.

He doesn’t speak. But there is something razor-soft in his gaze. Something like relief. Something like her.

Y/N swallows hard.

Carmilla straightens, jaw tightening.

“Vox,” she says carefully. “You said you’d come alone.”

“Change of plans~” Vox purrs. “Thought it’d be more fun with an audience.”

He pushes Alastor closer to Y/N with the toe of his boot.

“Thought maybe he deserved to see what real chemistry looks like.”

Alastor’s grin twitches. Static pops in the air.

Y/N’s voice is low, taking her eyes off her ex to glare up at his captor. “What do you want, Vox?”

“Oh, nothing much…” Vox circles her, slow, predatory. “Just wanted to see the final result from my favorite Carmine girl.”

His hands boldly rest on her shoulders, making her tense up.

Alastor’s smile freezes into something colder.

Vox leans close, voice dropping. “And maybe offer you something… better than all this.” He gestures around the workshop before stopping his hand so that it is directed right at Alastor. "Better than him."

Y/N’s pulse faltered. She knew where this was going. And he enjoyed watching it dawn on her as his voice then oozed with mock sympathy. “I know what he did to you. The great Radio Demon - the guy who thinks emotions are bargaining chips.”

Something flickered inside her — irritation, but also the sting of truth.

Vox leaned in, the hum of his static brushing her skin like cold digital fingers. “He hurt you. Lied to you. Used you.”

She didn’t respond. Vox’s smile widened. “You and I? We’re the same. He burned us both.”

At that, she released herself from his disgusting grip and glared at him as she gritted her teeth. “Don’t compare what he did to me with what he did to you.”

“Why not? He rejected us. Thought we were nothing. Disposable." He leaned towards her, smiling almost fondly, which just made him all the more off-putting. “But we’re not, darling. We’re powerful. And together? We’d be unstoppable. Join me, and let's prove the bastard wrong. You and me, sweet thing. What do you say?"

Silence.

Vox's screen face flickers with a smug heart-shaped icon.

And then—

Y/N laughs.

A short, sharp, humorless bark of a laugh.

“Is that seriously what you brought him here to see?” she asks. “Did you learn nothing from my last visit?”

Vox’s smile glitches. Just slightly. “I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“You’re delusional!" She spat, stepping back. “You think I’d ever stand at your side? After everything you’ve done to my family, to him—”

She jerks her chin toward Alastor.

Alastor blinks. Then his smile widens—slow, dangerous, deeply pleased.

Vox scoffs. “Oh please. As if you still care about the Radio Relic.”

Y/N steps closer, staring Vox down with zero hesitation. “Even if I didn't, I'd rather give the Cactus Demon a blow job than go anywhere near your dick.”

Alastor bites back a laugh. A strangled, stuttering crackle escapes his throat.

Vox turns, shoving Alastor’s chair so hard it skids a foot. “You think this is funny?!”

“Oh, immensely,” Alastor purrs—finally speaking. “Please, go on. This is the most entertaining show you’ve produced in years.”

Y/N folds her arms. “Vox, you can’t buy me. You can’t scare me. You most definitely can’t seduce me. And you sure as hell can’t use me to break him.” She steps toward him, voice steel. “Whatever sick fantasy you have about ruling with me just to humiliate him? Delete it.”

Her glare could break screens. “Because no matter what, I will never choose you.”

Vox stares at her, screen-face twitching.

Alastor tilts his head from his chair and sighs dreamily. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”

Vox kicks his chair.

Alastor just laughs harder.

“ENOUGH,” Vox snaps, his face flickering violently.

Carmilla subtly positions herself between Vox and her daughter.

But Y/N doesn’t budge.

Vox breathes out static.

“I tried being nice,” he hisses. “I tried offering you something better than… that.” He jerks a thumb toward Alastor, screen-blackening jealousy seething through him.

Y/N speaks softly, cutting. “There’s nothing about you I want.”

Alastor beams as if she has just recited poetry.

Vox's screens glitch. He spins on his heel, stomping toward the exit so he can have a moment to himself to recollect.

But not before leaning close to Alastor. “You’re lucky she’s got terrible taste.”

Alastor hums. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about her options.”

Vox’s static-scream echoes as he slams the door shut.

Silence.

Then Alastor turns to Y/N, eyes warm in a way chains can’t restrain.

“That,” he says softly, “was exquisite.”

Y/N exhales shakily. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Oh, my dear,” Alastor whispers, voice trembling with a dangerous kind of pride, “it already is.”

The workshop is still crackling with residual static from Vox’s exit—scorch marks on the floor, metal benches humming faintly. Carmilla stands at the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth.

She watches Vox disappear down the hall, his monitors still flickering from Y/N's rejection. She turns slightly, eyes flicking to Alastor—still tied to the chair, still watching her daughter with an expression that borders on reverent amusement.

Then she exhales sharply. “I need… air.”

It’s abrupt. Suspiciously abrupt.

Y/N frowns. “Mom—”

She lifts a hand. “Just a moment. I’d rather cool down before I gut someone on impulse.”

Her tone is sharp, but her eyes—those Carmine-red, lethal eyes—soften when they land on Y/N. Then they flick to Alastor. And something unreadable passes across her face.

Regret. Understanding. And yes… a hint of meddling.

“Finish up here.”

Before Y/N can question it, Carmilla’s already sweeping out the door, shutting it with a firm click that somehow feels like she just sealed the pair into a private confession booth.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening.

Y/N turns to Alastor.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off her.

His smile is small—too small to be smug. Too soft to be performative.

It’s the kind of smile he used to give her in the quiet hours between hunting trips and shared cigarettes. A private smile. A dangerous one.

“Your mother - still the cunning woman of little words,” he murmurs. "I'm glad to see you two are on speaking terms again."

Y/N huffs, mindlessly taking her working gloves off so she can do anything else but look at him. “I wouldn't say that. We're at least working together again."

He tilts his head slightly—just enough to study the tightness in her jaw, the tremor in her hands. His voice drops. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been truly alone.”

Her throat tightens. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

He inhales sharply through his teeth. The static behind his voice wavers—just barely. “Is that what you think?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

He sees it—the hesitation, the ache that hasn’t gone anywhere, the fear sneaking up her spine.

Something shifts in his expression. The teasing drops away. The mask thins. And for the first time that night, Alastor looks… haunted.

“…I have regretted letting you go.”

Everything stops.

Her heartbeat. Her breath. The static in the room.

He looks down at the cables tied around him—as if they’re easier to face than her.

“I won’t make excuses for what I did. I made a calculation. I used you.” He laughs quietly—without humor. “And I’ve paid for that choice many times over.”

Her voice is barely audible: “…Why are you telling me this now?”

He lifts his head.

And the look in his eyes—

That look could tear her apart.

“Because seeing Vox touch you, speak to you, breathe on you…” The shadows around him tremble. He presses on quietly, carefully.

“…I felt something I have rarely allowed myself to feel.”

“…Jealousy?” She whisper-asked.

“No.” A pause. Then—

“Fear.”

She froze. He continues.

“Fear that he would convince you somehow. Fear that I was too late. Fear that I’d thrown away the one thing I have ever…”

He hesitates.

Her breath stops.

The word dies on his tongue—but the meaning lingers in the air.

She takes one small step closer.

He instinctively mirrors her—rolling forward against the restraints like he’s been waiting months to close their distance.

“Alastor… what do you want from me?”

He laughs—broken, breathless. “I want nothing.”

That hurts. It hurts more than it should. But then he continues—

“What I mean is that...I expect nothing from you. I'm through with expecting anything from you. I only ask.” His voice falls to a hush. “I ask for your forgiveness. Your company. Your trust.”

He looks at her completely then: “I ask for you back.”

Her knees nearly buckle.

He notices—of course, he notices—and his expression softens into something unbearably fond. “But I lost all right to ask for such things.”

Her voice trembles. “Maybe… you - at the very least - can start to slowly earn those things back.”

His breath stutters.

For a moment, the longstanding tension between them melts—slowly, dangerously—into something warm. Something hopeful.

Something that feels like a beginning.

The tension between them isn’t sharp anymore. It’s warm. Slow. A warmth that curls around the ribs instead of stabbing beneath them.

Alastor slid closer. He leans up just a fraction—

Not predatory. Not demanding. Just… hopeful.

“…May I?” His voice is barely more than static.

Her breath catches. She should say no. Every rational bone in her body screams it.

But her heart—her foolish, treacherous heart—whispers:

He’s still Alastor. And you still love him.

So she whispers:

“…Yes.”

His eyes soften. The smile he gives her is devastating in its gentleness.

She leans down to him—slowly, reverently—and brushes his knuckles along his jaw. She closes her eyes.

He tilts his chin up to meet her.

Closer. Closer.

His forehead nearly touches hers. She can feel his breath. Her lips hover—just a sigh away from—

SLAM.

The door bursts open so violently it ricochets off the wall.

“AWWW, AM I INTERRUPTING~?”

Vox’s voice—smug, mechanized, grating—cuts through the air like an executioner’s blade.

She jerks back.

Alastor goes deathly still.

Vox steps into the workshop with a glow of his monitor and a self-satisfied smirk, hands in his pockets like he owns the whole building—and every soul inside it. His grin stretches wider as he spots how close she still is to Alastor.

“Well, well, well...”

His screens flicker crimson as he strides toward Alastor.

She moves instinctively—half a step forward.

But Alastor hisses out her name, snapping her out of her stance.

“Don’t,” he murmurs.

Not commanding. Protective. Reassuring.

Vox laughs. Mocking. Bright. Cruel. “Cute. Really cute. But playtime’s over.”

He rips Alastor away from her and begins to drag him out of the place.

She lunges again—this time with more fury than hesitation.

Vox turns on her in a heartbeat. “Ah-ah-ah!” His screen flashes red in warning. “Touch me, sweetheart, and I’ll take a finger. Or ten.”

Alastor growls low in his throat—dangerous, feral, protective.

Vox shoves him toward the door.

“Come on, Al. We’ve got more fun scheduled back at the tower.”

Alastor twists, eyes locking with hers—burning, pleading, furious that he can’t stay.

And then Vox yanks him away.

The door slams behind them.

Silence rushes in like a wave.

The door opens again, slowly this time. Carmilla steps in, dusting ash off her gloves like nothing’s wrong. But she stops dead when she sees Y/N's face.

Her flushed cheeks. Her trembling hands. The raw, exposed heartbreak she can’t hide fast enough.

Carmilla doesn’t say Alastor’s name. She doesn’t ask what happened. She just steps closer, voice low and deceptively gentle.

“…You’re shaking.”

Y/N inhales shakily. “It’s nothing.”

Her mother's eyes soften. “It’s not nothing.” And in a surprising move, she reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind Y/N's ear, the way she used to when she was small and frightened.

It’s almost maternal. Almost.

“You still love him.” She sighs—tired, disappointed, but not at Y/N. “And he still has too much of your heart.”

Y/N looks away, eyes burning. Her mother watches her for a long, silent moment.

Then: "You should have seen your face when you saw him.… And his when he looked at you.”

Y/N's throat closes. Carmilla exhales slowly and mutters, “This complicates things.”

Y/N laughs weakly, bitterly. “Everything’s complicated.”

She gives a humorless smile. “No. Everything is dangerous.”

The lights flicker. The static hums. And Y/N's heart aches in her chest like a wound reopened.

Carmilla steps beside her, firm but gentle. “Come. We’ll figure this out.”

It isn't certain she’s talking about the war.

The moment the door slams behind them, Vox shoves Alastor hard enough to send him stumbling across the polished floor of the tower corridor. The cable wires around him snap tight around his body, jerking him upright, forcing him to look at Vox.

Screens flicker with crimson static. Vox is grinning. Of course he is.

He steps in close—far too close—his mechanical purr scraping at Alastor’s nerves. “That was quite a moment at the Carmines', wasn’t it?”

Alastor says nothing. He is too focused on breathing—in, out, in, out— because if he speaks now, the tower walls will crumble.

Vox smirks wider. “Aww, don’t clam up now. I gotta know how you felt when you were seconds away from kissing her.” He laughs, sharp and electric.

He circles Alastor next.

“She wanted it too, didn’t she?” His voice turns syrupy, taunting. “The way she leaned down? The way she looked at you? Poor Y/N still hasn’t learned her lesson.”

Alastor’s jaw clenches hard enough to crack bone.

Vox notices. And loves it.

“What was it like?” Vox leans in. “Having her that close again?”

Alastor finally speaks. Cold. Precise. Quiet enough to be deadly.

“You speak her name again…” His eyes flare red.

Vox coos mockingly. “Oh? Touched a nerve, did I?”

Alastor lunges— or tries to.

The wires yank him violently back. Electric current surges through him like venom. He bites down on a sound—doesn’t scream—but his whole body trembles.

Vox watches with sick satisfaction. He drags a metal fingertip along Alastor’s jaw, leaving a faint line of sparking static.

“You know… I brought you there to humiliate you. Let her see how weak you’ve become.”

Alastor’s eyes burn.

Vox laughs. “But you two were almost kissing?” He snaps his fingers. “That was golden.”

Alastor bares his teeth—a real snarl, feral, carved from something deep and dangerous. “You’re terrified.”

Vox freezes for a split-second—just enough.

Alastor’s grin sharpens.“Because you saw it. Didn’t you?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Even as your prisoner… she still chose me.”

Static explodes across Vox’s screens. He slaps Alastor across the face so hard the blow echoes.

Alastor’s head snaps to the side—but when he looks back…

He’s smiling.

Vox seethes.

Alastor’s final words are low, full of venom and promise.

“You’ve already lost her.”

Vox storms ahead, screen crackling violently.

Alastor follows, wires dragging—

—and for the first time in months…

Lucifer glanced at him—glanced, with that smug, knowing smirk only a centuries-old king could wield like a sword.

“Oh Alaaastor,” Lucifer sang lightly, “what a charming young woman you’ve chosen. And here I thought you didn’t do relationships.”

Alastor’s grin went paper-thin. “Well, I've made a special exception.”

“Mm. Clearly.” Lucifer kept Y/N’s hand a second longer than necessary. “And what exquisite taste you have.”

Y/N blinked, amused. “Thank you—”

Alastor immediately inserted himself between them with the speed of a man who had dealt with enough flirting today.

“YES. Well. She is mine. I mean—my partner.” His smile sharpened. “My very devoted partner.”

Lucifer arched a brow. “Possessive, aren’t we?”

Alastor didn't say anything to that, only growling as his eyes glowed red, totally sounding like an extremely jealous man.

Y/N gave him a gentle elbow. “Mi amor, he’s married.”

Lucifer sighed dramatically. “Indeed. Happily so. Sorta. Though I appreciate the flattery of being considered a threat.”

Alastor scowled. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, but you were,” Lucifer teased, eyes glittering. “Static flaring, shoulders tense, stepping between us—classic romantic jealousy. Charlie's girlfriend does the same when Charlie talks to pretty girls.”

Charlie covered her face since returning to the scene. “Dad! Stop teasing!”

Lucifer swept Y/N’s hand again, this time placing it safely back at her side with all the pomp of a formal knight. “Fear not, Radio Demon. I have no intention of stealing your beloved hitwoman.” He smirked. “Even if she is delightful, and I think she can do better than some DJ.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully but still reassured her beloved. “Relax, my love. You’re the only demon for me.”

Alastor froze for half a second—caught between smug pride and deep satisfaction—before he regained his suave composure. “Of course I am,” he said, voice warm and dripping with triumph.

Y/N casually linked her arm with his, getting him to immediately relax.

Lucifer hummed. “Adorable. You two are disgustingly adorable. I hate how much I enjoy it.”

Charlie brightened. “So you like her?”

“Oh, very much,” Lucifer said with a smile sharp enough to kill a lesser demon. “She’s good for him.”

Alastor muttered, “I liked you better before you started speaking today.”

Lucifer winked. “Jealousy looks good on you, Bambi.”

Before Alastor could retort, Y/N kissed his cheek.

Alastor went silent. Static faded.

His grin twitched—only slightly, but she caught it.

“For the sake of the hotel,” he answered. “And the girl who believes it can make Hell better.” Then, quieter, almost to himself: “And perhaps… for someone else.”

Carmilla exhaled through her nose. “My daughter.”

Alastor’s smile softened. Not so much in shape—never that—but in warmth.

“Yes.”

She circled him once, appraising his restraints. “You hurt her.”

“Yes.”

“You meant to use her.”

“At first,” he admitted without flinching.

“But you fell in love with her after.”

He stills at her proclamation. The smile remains, but the air shifts, charged like a radio gone silent.

“Yes.” He states.

Carmilla stops in front of him, searching his face for lies. Finds none.

“I don't hate you,” she says, voice low. “Not completely, anyway. Because part of this mess is on me. My own decisions, the way I've protected her, the choices I've made for her future. No, I don't resent you fully...but don't think I trust you either.”

“Fair enough,” he replied pleasantly. "I wouldn't expect anything else. However, would you say your collaboration with Vox is any better?"

Carmilla stiffened, her jaw tightened. “I'm doing what I can to protect her and her sisters. Vox isn't the savior he claims to be, but he's ruthless, inevitable. I'll do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.”

His brows lift. "I don't intend to interfere. You should know, however, that she's stronger than you give her credit for. More clever. And for what it's worth, I care about her. More than I care to admit. So, if this will keep her safe for now, then I'm all for it."

She meets his eyes dead-on.

“You didn’t just fall for her. You changed for her.”

A beat.

Carmilla studied him for a long moment, weighing her instincts against what she was hearing. The demon before her, the man who broke Y/N's heart, possessed the same sharp mind he always did, along with that dangerous charm. At the same time, however, there was almost a self-awareness she hadn't expected.

Perhaps there was more to him than she thought.

Alastor bows his head—not dramatically, but sincerely. “…Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Carmilla snaps, turning away. “You get one chance. Ruin her again, and I will personally dismantle you down to your microphone wiring.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She pauses at the exit.

“And Alastor?”

“Yes, Madame?”

“…She still loves you. Even after everything. But I'm sure you knew that already.”

That smile—the real one, the one that flashes for a fraction of a second before he clamps the performance back on—appears like a spark.

“I know,” he murmurs.

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

You blocked out the static in your head. Ignored the phantom warm laughter you used to fall asleep to since that fateful visit. Stopped glancing over your shoulder every time a radio crackled.

You only learned the truth when Vox, the bastard himself, bragged about it publicly and personally invited you to be part of the Radio Demon's humiliation.

Alastor, once untouchable, was now a trophy.

And the reason? To keep Charlie, the hotel, and its efforts safe from the Vees.

You found out secondhand. Carmilla found out firsthand, because she was already involved.

Vox wanted a weapon that could rival Heaven’s next purge. Carmilla refused—until Vox implied your safety depended on her cooperation.

So she agreed. Out of fear—fear of losing her daughters in another war she couldn’t control.

You confronted her immediately.

“You’re building weapons for Vox?! Are you insane?”

Carmilla didn’t even flinch.

“Lower your voice,” she said calmly.

“NO. Not until you explain why the hell you’re siding with him.”

“I am not siding with him. I am protecting you and your sisters. Protecting Hell. Heaven is preparing its next assault—”

“—and you think Vox cares about protecting anyone?”

“No. Vox cares about Vox. And he knows I can give him what he needs. Which means he needs me. Which means you stay safe.”

Your voice cracked. “Safe? You sold weapons to Charlie and the hotel before—” Carmilla stiffened. “—and you’re doing it again. And this time, for the monster who has Alastor locked up like a pet!”

Carmilla froze at his name. “You still care for him.”

You swallowed, looking away. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point. It's why you chose to entertain Vox's invitation. You think you’re the only one who regrets how things ended? I shouldn’t have meddled. I know that. But I didn’t plot with Alastor to hurt you.”

“I heard you,” you mumbled, continuing to look away from your mother.

“You heard a conversation taken out of context. I was trying to secure your future if you chose him.”

You clenched your fists. "I thought he cared.”

“He did. He just didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

You paused—caught off guard. “You really believe that?”

“I know it. And now he’s sitting in a glass cage because of a deal he struck to protect a bunch of people he barely admitted to liking.” She swallowed. “And to keep Vox away from you.”