Cruelle, Darling

...Corrupted Little Bird~ Pt. 1

~Author's Note: Bonjour!! As mentioned below: male De Vil inspiration came from another, characters all mine. I guess you could say this is the origin story for where Cruelle gets his iconic mink fur coat. Have fun!!~

~Cruella=Cruelle~

The jarring vibrations of your phone accompanied by obnoxious music violently jolt you out of your slumber, pulling a groan from you as you debate whether or not to answer it. Your (e/c) eyes strained in the darkness to read the clock on your nightstand-2:36 a.m.-and you cuss under your breath after reading the caller ID. It's your manager, but why the hell would he be calling you at this hour?

Considering you're the top sales representative for a high-end clothing line, you figure it's an emergency and reluctantly answer the frantic phone.

"Hello...?" you growl.

"(Y/n), get up and to the store immediately, and I mean immediately," your boss orders.

You cover your face with an arm. "Sir, it's 2:30 in the morning-"

"We have a Code Red," he cuts in, and you're suddenly vaulted into perfect consciousness.

You're out of bed and scrambling to put clothes before you bother to ask, "A Code Red?! Who is it?"

"No time to explain. Get here now, (y/n)."

"I'll be there in 10," you say, hanging up and tossing your phone haphazardly by your purse.

The complete lack of light prevents you from discerning the color of the blouse and pencil skirt you're throwing on, but you could care less. There has never been a Code Red at your job-when an extremely important fashion designer personally invites themselves into your store past operating hours, most of the time to avoid publicity, other times because they're just that self-righteous. You've only heard of them from other boutiques, and they were all the doing of one very, very egotistical designer, though you can't remember his name; all you know is several people have lost their jobs because of this guy during Code Reds, and that's not something you can afford.

You get into your car and speed like a madman to the store to find your boss pacing back and forth across the sales floor.

"(Y/n)! Thank god, you're here," he breathes, taking you by the arm and positioning you by the entrance.

"Are they here yet?" you ask while you give your coat and purse to your boss.

"No, but he'll be here any second."

"So it's a man?" The thought relaxes you somewhat-it's just a fact that female designers were more like vipers than their male counterparts.

You hear your belongings being dumped unceremoniously inside the office. "Do not let your guard down just because he's a man. He's just as vicious and unforgiving than the rest, if not more," he warns. He flits to a rack of clothes and frantically tries to make it presentable as you finally realize you dressed yourself in a (s/c) pencil skirt and a (b/c) blouse, a horribly tacky combination that makes you groan in despair. The designer's going to give you hell for it and you know it, not that you particularly care; you only work at the boutique cause of the pay.

Outside resonates a high-pitched screech as a gaudy, glittering, black and white Panther Deville lumbers to a stop. Your already tense figure clenches at the license plate that reads "DEVIL".

"Wait...where's the mink coat showcase?!" your boss suddenly hisses at you. "He specifically came here to see it!"

Your panic increases. "You told me to stow in the back last night!"

The both of you jolt violently at the sound of a car door closing, and the man swoons for the fraction of a second. "Jesus Christ, don't just stand there, (y/n)! Go get it!" He gestures sporadically to the hidden coat. The clatter of heels approaching on concrete sends you sprinting to the back, seconds later your boss managing a shaky, "Ah! Welcome, Mr. De Vil."