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New Order - Chapter 5: Who's in control?

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic (Radioapple/Radiostatic/Radiostaticapple) - Previous Chapter: Intro - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 Follow me on Bluesky or X - Raisoramizu

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The images for this fanfiction are for illustrative purposes only, and all credits go to their respective artists.

...

"Alright, I'm heading out, Dad... I left your milkshake on the coffee table in the living room. At least try to watch it on TV," Charlie said with a sigh as she closed Lucifer's door. Waiting for her in the hallway was Vaggie, standing with her arms crossed sternly across her chest.

"Well...?" Vaggie asked, raising an eyebrow.

Charlie looked at her with resignation and shook her head. "Nothing. I've never seen him like this before... at least he used to pretend everything was okay."

Vaggie squeezed Charlie's arm, trying to encourage her. "Now's not the time for you to get down, too. Your dad will bounce back. We need to focus on the interview."

"OH! Right!" Charlie exclaimed, her eyes widening as she straightened her posture. She clapped her hands together loudly and began walking down the hallway with her companion. "Energy, joy, hope—we've got to talk about redemption to all of Hell!"

"AAAH!" She let out an excited squeal, grabbing Vaggie's shoulders and shaking her enthusiastically. "Can you believe redemption actually works? We're going to be swamped with guests! Oh, come on, onward!" She called out theatrically, leading the way towards the stairs in a marching rhythm, humming a little tune as she went.

The interview had received heavy promotion, so the TV in Adam and Lute's apartment was tuned to the right channel. While waiting for the show to start, a shopping segment was playing.

The First Man was sprawled out on a black couch in the living room of their small tenth-floor apartment, one of many in the chaotic residential towers of Pentagram City. The city noise was so loud that it drowned out the sound of the TV.

"Lute! Shut that damn window; I can't hear a damn thing!" Adam barked, craning his neck over the back of the couch. Wearing a sleeveless dark tank top that exposed his black arms up to the elbows, he was slouched with his hips almost entirely exposed, showing off his ever-present belly. Both legs were propped up on the low table in front of him, one arm wrapped around the back of the couch, the other holding a beer with a stylized devil logo.

Lute quickly closed the window with a snap and then moved towards him, a bag of chips under her arm. Adam didn't look at her as she approached; he was too focused on the commercial advertising a sex toy. It looked like a thin bracelet with tiny metal beads. His lips curled downwards as he raised an eyebrow.

"What the hell is that thing?" He pointed at the screen with his beer.

"It's a urethral plug. Wanna try it?" Lute replied, stopping beside him.

Adam's eyes bulged. "A urethral plug? You mean it goes in your dick? Not even if it was someone else's! Eehk... maybe Lucifer's, he's into that kind of freaky shit!" He snarled in disgust, pausing as a realization hit him. "Hey, how do you even know abou—" He started to ask, turning sharply towards her, but when he saw her, he froze, his face flushing with embarrassment.

His former second-in-command was looking down at him, wearing only one of his oversized sweaters, similar to the battle uniform she wore as an angel. It had a wide stiff collar, studs, and an "A" stamped on the chest. On her, it was so large that it reached mid-thigh, making it look like a dress, and the sleeves completely covered her hands—well, at least one hand. The other was missing, and the fabric drooped against her side.

"..."

Lute raised an intrigued eyebrow, shaking the bag of chips in the air. "What's with that look?"

"What the hell are you wearing?"

"Your shirt."

"Yeah, no shit, Lute!" Adam exploded, gesturing at her with both hands. "I can see that! I meant, why?"

"Because I don't have anything clean. I'm working, and you spend all day eating and playing video games... you've put on more weight." She gestured towards his hairy belly, which, given his position, peeked slightly out from under the black tank top. He glanced down at it, perplexed. Did she just call him fat? How dare she? But... crap, what if she was right? Soon, he'd be at risk of not being able to see his dick anymore... and for a moment, the nightmare he had in the hotel room came back to him—when... Lilith... that bitch was always around.

"Move over and let me sit down." Lute's request burst his thoughts like a soap bubble, causing him to turn her way just as she kneeled onto the couch next to him. His gaze dropped to her bare thighs: in that position, the lower hem of the sweater had ridden up.

"..." His face flushed again... damn, she looked sexy dressed like that.

Maybe, from the outside, he looked sweet... cute? His mouth turned downwards, eyes glazed, embarrassed gaze, and flushed cheeks, but really, it was the impulse to grab her and start pounding her right there on the coffee table without even undressing her. That was sweet too, at least for him. The purest form of affection. He felt his cock pulse against the tight fabric of his jeans and pulled his legs back, planting his bare feet on the ground to shift into a more composed position so she could sit down.

Instead, Lute remained kneeling on the couch, leaning against his side, already munching on a chip from the bag resting on her bare thighs. He glanced at her profile: she was focused on the screen, but in an instant, her golden eyes shifted, meeting his—curious.

Adam's fresh wave of heat was matched by the swelling erection between his legs, the fabric of his jeans visibly bulging. He tensed up, clenching his sharp teeth, reaching a hand to grip the back of the couch behind the fallen angel.

"Aaah," he groaned in frustration. "This crap is taking forever to start; I'm getting bored! While we wait, how about you suck me off?" He groped at the bulge in his pants.

"..." In response, he only heard the annoying crunch of a chip being chewed.

"..." "...Come on, Lute, it's not like it's the first time you've had my dick in your mouth!" He snapped, frustrated and turned on, making a sharp, empty gesture with his hands.

"Mmh, too bad," she purred, settling comfortably onto the couch.

Adam got even more agitated. "I liked it better when you called me 'Master' and obeyed my orders!"

"Really? And here I thought you wanted to see what I was wearing under... your shirt."

He froze. What? He found himself looking at the toned, bare legs of the angel stretching over his, brushing against his round belly and pressing the soles of her feet against the opposite armrest where she lay back. What the hell could she be wearing underneath that would be so important?

"..." Nothing. She wasn't wearing anything.

Adam realized it when Lute parted her thighs slightly. And she was wet. Shit. That was the signal—or, if it wasn't, he took it as one—and lunged; grabbing her under one knee, he yanked her leg up so roughly she yelped, then spread her leg aside to make room as he hunkered down on the couch, making it creak dangerously. From wanting to fuck her on the table or just get a blowjob while watching that boring show, he now found his head between her thighs, exhaling hot breaths against her equally warm and wet core.

As soon as he pressed his tongue to clean up all the desire she so clearly had as well, she shuddered with a laugh, but before he could raise his head in annoyance, she had already clamped her hand onto his hair, pulling his face against her pelvis.

"Are you fucking with me—hmmff!" At that exact moment, Lute arched, jamming her pelvis bone straight between his jaws and then closed her thighs around his neck, crossing her ankles at shoulder height.

"Hurry up, it's about to start," she teased sarcastically.

Sarcastic... she'd become sarcastic too. This fall had really done a number on her; how dare she be sarcastic with him, how dare she provoke him?

"Fuck it, I'll show you..." He grunted, already sweaty and with his face smeared in saliva and fluids, clicking his tongue against his palate and starting to lick hungrily. Holding her still with his claws digging into one of her hips, he pushed his middle and ring fingers inside her.

With that intrusion, Lute arched again, starting to moan; she gripped his brown hair tighter, trembling at the oral service she found herself receiving, in that passion that had always been a power struggle between them—to see who would dominate the other. Or how fun it was to let herself be dominated. Somehow, she always won.

Adam's tongue was as impatient as the cock that continued to throb painfully against his pants, thick with all the frustration that had turned his face as red as a pepper. He was breathing hard because it was hot down there, because Lute's thighs were convulsing in spasms of pleasure, squeezing his head, and the sounds of his thrusting fingers were getting wetter, bubbling with the juices that splashed as the news jingle played in the background.

Amidst the frantic hand movements, Adam tried to be careful with those damn claws that could hurt her; even he didn't know where he got the sense not to—let's call it love, at this point—but he still managed to scrape them against her most sensitive spot inside.

Lute let out a garbled cry, arching so much she slammed the back of her head against the couch's armrest, reaching a climax that Adam didn't waste at all. Not a single drop.

Meanwhile, the broadcast began...

"Damn, Lute, seeing you in my shirt gets me so hard I don't have enough blood left for my brain!"

...and in that room, words of true love flew around.

It all started with the voice of the blonde and buxom newscaster, Katie. Dressed in a red suit and seated at the desk beside her trusty colleague Tom, whose face was hidden by a gas mask, she began introducing the show.

"Here we are at 666 News, like every goddamn day in Hell. I'm your beloved Katie Killjoy, and next to me is my useless colleague, Tom Trench." In a deep male voice, she added, "Say hi, Tom!"

She kicked him in the balls under the table. "Ugh!!" Tom groaned, collapsing onto the desk. "W-welcome, everyone..."

"Today, we have the Morning Star Princess back with us to talk about her stupid little Hotel!" Katie continued, picking up a paper from the table and flashing a disturbing smile with her red, pupil-less eyes. "Come on in, dear!"

Charlie's entrance into the studio, dominated by a massive green screen, was broadcasted on all the screens of Pentagram City. Even in the Hotel's Common Room, Angel Dust, Niffty, Husk, and Cherri Bomb were watching the show. Somehow, Adam and Lute were watching too, but not Lucifer, still hiding under the covers in his room.

Vaggie, however, was in the studio's backstage, surrounded by cameras, reporters, lighting technicians, and curious onlookers. There were so many people, but only Charlie's figure was being shown on the screens as she sat at the desk between Katie and Tom, holding a bunch of papers covered in brightly colored drawings and notes.

"So, Morning Star Princess, you still haven't given up on that redemption bullshit?" Katie sneered, leaning maliciously toward her.

"No!" Charlie suddenly jumped up, alarming everyone in the room except Vaggie, who smiled to encourage her. "...it's all true! Redemption is possible!"

For a moment, the room was stunned into silence before everyone burst out laughing.

"Oh, really? And what makes you so sure of that?" Katie asked, smirking nervously and resting her chin on her hand.

"The angels!" Charlie's enthusiasm plunged the room into a real silence. "That's right," she said, puffing out her chest and raising her chin proudly. "I've spoken with the High Seraph... one of our guests, Sir Pentious, who died valiantly in the last extermination, is in Heaven... he's redeemed!" Her eyes widened, turning bloodshot as her hair began to ignite with joy. "...the Hazbin Hotel is open to all of you! To anyone who wants a second chance, to all those who crave to cleanse themselves of sin!"

Meanwhile, a few rows behind Vaggie in the backstage area, the figures of Vox and Alastor emerged. A few staff members hurriedly moved aside, apologizing to the CEO, who didn't even glance at them, his large eyes fixed on Charlie's ecstatic figure as she started to sing, gesturing and presenting every activity the Hotel offered.

Vaggie hadn't noticed anything, strangely enough, and was clapping her hands and tapping her feet to the rhythm of the song, of which she knew all the words.

Just before the end of the song, Vox suddenly opened his hypnotic right eye, a sharp smile spreading across his face as he focused on the scene. He clawed at the camera in front of him and, "...and now, we go live," he discharged small bolts of lightning into it, which spread through every single electronic device in the studio, all under the smiling, detached gaze of a motionless Alastor.

As the song ended and Charlie—now standing in front of the desk—spread her arms wide, the screen behind her turned completely red, projecting the crackling, hypnotic eye of Vox.

Everyone in the studio jolted, their bodies freezing as their eyes widened and spun. All the screens across the city—even the ones that had been off—suddenly switched on, broadcasting the same image and interrupting every ongoing activity. It was as if time had stopped. Everyone in the Hotel froze, including Adam, who was lying on top of Lute, staring at the screen.

The first ones to snap out of it were the two former exorcists. Adam's former second-in-command blinked a couple of times.

"Hey, what the hell is wrong with you, Adam? Did you already come?"

Meanwhile, Vaggie was gripping her silver hair with both hands, shaking her head. "What... the hell is happening? Charlie?"

The Princess snapped out of it the moment Vaggie said her name, finding herself next to the glowing figure of Vox. The TV Demon wrapped an arm around her neck, gently squeezing her shoulder with his blue claws, a confident and charming smile stretching from eye to eye.

"What a splendid show! But we couldn't expect anything less from Lilith's daughter, right? She has a voice worthy of her mother! And just like our beloved Queen, her ambitions are grand and surpass the common idiocies of our little Hellish minds!"

Charlie stared up at him, frozen by her own smaller stature.

"The Morning Star Princess will be available for all your interviews!" Vox added, casting a confident glance down at Charlie.

"..."

There was a brief moment before Vaggie shouted, "Charlie!" and ran toward her. But the TV Demon had already detached himself and was heading toward the studio's side exit, walking alongside...

"ALASTOR!" It was him. The Princess called out in surprise and fear, rushing in his direction, but she only managed a few steps before being completely surrounded by a swarm of reporters with microphones and photographers flashing their cameras over and over. "Morning Star Princess, tell us more! Do you think the angels were lying? Don't you think the Hotel's activities are pointless? What kind of Heaven is it if you can't fuck? And you can't even drink alcohol!"

"Aah... yes, yes, angels don't lie, they're angels! No, it's... it's what Sir Pentious accomplished..." Charlie stammered with an uneasy smile, overwhelmed by the questions.

Fortunately, Vaggie had caught up to her. The angel raised her eye toward Alastor, who was now near the exit, with Vox's arm wrapped around him.

"...something feels off, Charlie... something's not right," Vaggie muttered, but she didn't get the chance to say more as the reporters swarmed her too. "Who is she? Is she a guest at the Hotel? Don't you think this is all a waste of time? Total bullshit!"

...

It had been an exhausting day, but also a fun one. Especially fun. Satisfying. So, what better occasion to celebrate than knowing everything had gone as planned? Better than planned, even. Vox had the entire city under control, and with Alastor fully healed and with him, they were now in the dining room—although it was more like dinner time—of his penthouse.

Underneath the loft bedroom, the Radio Demon sat at a modern round table that was clearly set after dinner: empty plates, trays, and red wine. In particular, Alastor's plate was smeared with blood, the same blood that dripped in a thin stream from his wide grin.

The demon wore only his dark pants, a red button-up shirt with a tight collar, suspenders that neatly pulled the fabric over his body, and rolled-up sleeves that exposed his dark forearms, except for his red claws. His face was also red, his expression languid, smiling, and drunk, radiating the heat of someone who had had a bit too much to drink.

"You're fully healed. Are you feeling better?" Vox asked, gathering both of their empty glasses as he stood up. He too was feeling the heat from the evening. His white shirt had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a few buttons undone, and his bowtie hung loose around his neck.

"Mmh ~" Alastor purred, leaning tiredly against the back of his chair, dragging his claws slowly down his chest. "I'm better, yes... but these symbols won't go away. I think it's tied to my power..."

Meanwhile, Vox had reached a long table pressed against the aquarium wall. He cast a cautious glance at the other Sinner. "...because it's weakened, right? And how did that happen?" he asked, turning his back to him. He picked up a bottle of whiskey from the surface, uncorked it, and filled both glasses. Along with the bottle, his claws also picked up a small rhombus-shaped vial containing a strange pink liquid. "..." He examined it, uncertain.

"That woman is the perfect embodiment of her name... the mother of demons," Alastor continued, unaware of Vox's actions as he poured the contents of the vial into one of the glasses. "Selfish, deceitful, sadistic, unfeeling, destructive..." His smile widened as he tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

Vox chuckled, turning back towards him with both glasses in hand. "Are you describing yourself, my dear Alastor?" he teased, causing a soft laugh from the other demon as well. The red demon projected a flush of color across his screen, feeling a warmth in his chest: watching him laugh always melted him.

"Oh, yes, maybe I am... could be," Alastor replied playfully, waving a hand lazily in the air. Then his expression grew more serious as he raised that same hand toward the ceiling. "She doesn't care about Lucifer at all, yet she's jealous of him... of me. So much so that she'd sabotage her own plans, weaken me... and push him even further away." A faint, acidic green flame appeared in his palm, vanishing the moment he sensed Vox's presence standing beside him. Alastor quickly lifted his gaze, looking up from his seated position at the other Sinner, who was holding out one of the whiskey glasses and staring at him, his mouth hidden behind the lower edge of the screen.

"Oh, thank you, darling ~" Alastor crackled, his voice distorted by the radio effect, stretching his smile into something almost sweet—at least in his eyes—as he took the offered glass. Then he turned his attention to taking a sip.

Vox carefully observed every move of the Half-Deer: his expressions, the twitching of his animal ears, the way he sipped the spiked alcohol with a flushed, drunken face. He did this while standing still beside the armchair where the other was seated. He was flushed, too, but for entirely different reasons. Was it desire? Hell yes, he wanted to fuck him on every single piece of furniture in that room, in every possible position, make him scream, make him tremble under his touch, to see if maybe that damn smile would finally vanish from his face. He also wanted to destroy him. He tensed up, clenching his hand into a fist. Lucifer got to fuck him, but he'd never let Vox touch him. He lived at the Hotel in a room entirely separate from the angel's and had never wanted to share anything with Vox, always insulting and mocking him for using electronic devices, for following trends. Now he set the trends; they set them together. This wasn't the Pentagram City he'd left eight years ago; everything had changed. He had total control now, and the interview had confirmed it. He would see it, they would all see it.

Alastor flinched when Vox ran a hand through his red hair. He looked up curiously, finding the other Sinner's face frowning down at him.

"..?"

"You fuck Lucifer, right? What ties you to him, are you in love?"

All the tension in the TV Demon seemed to release with that simple question; release was perhaps an exaggeration, because the frustration that kept him rigid was still there, straining every muscle in his neck, visible where his shirt didn't cover. Yet the caress was gentle, his bioluminescent claws—blue and red, perfectly opposite in color to the other's—leaving light scratches on the Half-Deer's scalp.

At the question, Alastor's surprised expression melted into a broad, amused grin as he puffed out his chest. "AH! In love with Lucifer? Me? What nonsense... ~" He took another long sip of whiskey and waved his other hand in the air as if to shoo away an annoying swarm of pests.

"Don't play games with me, mutt!" Vox's gentle touch turned into an electric grip on his jaw, forcing him to twist his neck awkwardly in his direction. Alastor found himself staring at the flat screen of Vox's face, his wide, spiraling eyes so close that his own face lit up with the blue light emanating from the screen. "Heh-eh..." Vox realized he'd overstepped, he needed to stay calm and keep control. He laughed nervously, swallowing and softening his voice. "Are you in love?" he repeated.

"...how do you know if you're in love?"

"Dammit, Alastor!" Vox snapped again, his antennae crackling with sparks. "What do you feel when you're with him? Do you want him close to you?!"

"..." He pondered with a completely vacant expression, a result of the hypnosis. "...not always. Not when he turns into a demanding crybaby..." "...but I love ~ that he wants me so much he threw away his millennia-old marriage, that he lies to Charlie just to protect me, that he puts his power at my service, that I can do whatever I want with him. I enjoy watching him squirm at my provocations, it's pathetic." He started listing off under the other's stunned gaze. "...I love seeing the King of Hell writhe like a little animal, begging me to hurt him, to devour him. He tastes delicious..." He began to drool, licking his yellow teeth with a lascivious smile. "But... he's too emotional. Too fragile. Too dependent. His mask is broken, he's become a wretched mess. And I can't hold him up..."

Vox withdrew his hand. He stood there for a moment, staring at Alastor, his mouth almost dropping to the floor. Then, as Alastor took another sip, Vox downed his entire glass in one nervous, ravenous gulp. "Shit!" he exclaimed, slamming the glass onto the table and clutching his head with his claws. "...I mean, I suspected, but not to this extent. If Lucifer decided to retaliate, we'd be screwed..." But then a lightbulb went off in his head. "...but he won't have the chance. Even in Hell's chaos, there are rules that not even he can break..." Chuckling nervously, he grabbed a tablet from a nearby shelf and turned on the screen, which displayed a long contract.

He slammed it onto the table in front of Alastor. "Here, sign here. Your soul, in service of VoxTek." He gave a strained, stressed smile, but the other demon didn't move.

He remained still, smiling blissfully—drunkenly—sitting with both hands resting limply on the armrests.

"..." "...well..?"

"I can't sign, Vox." "Because I don't own my soul."

"........" "W-what... what... it's the deal you made, right? With whom?! Vox burst out in despair, bending over him and shaking him by the shoulders.

The jolt made Alastor's eyes widen, just as his shadow began stretching across the glass of the aquarium as if it were a wall, as if there were a light source that wasn't there: his shadow moved on its own, wearing his own pale expressions, and climbed up to bend onto the ceiling, drawing a shocked, worried look from Vox.

"With Lilith."

That answer struck like a dagger between the TV Demon's shoulder blades. It was what he'd thought, what he'd denied. He'd made choices, exposed himself personally, without calculating the risks... he'd gone mad. He'd gone mad just to have Alastor there with him, but now?

"With..." "...how did it happen?"

"Oh, when you nearly tore me to pieces, my dear Vox ~" "I ran, but the exorcist angels found me and were about to finish me off... I managed to get away again, I was so close to the Royal Palace and she was there..." Raising his red, smiling eyes to the terrified ones of the other Sinner still clutching his shoulders. "She saved me in exchange for my soul... I stayed with her for many years until she ordered me to take care of Charlie and protect the Hotel."

"It's just as he told you."

A seductive female voice suddenly filled the room. Vox jumped up again, looking around, but... she was behind him.

"...I often wonder why I waste so much time making you aggressive when you're perfectly capable of destroying yourselves. In a hellish cycle where you repeat, again, and again... and again, the reason you're here."

He heard her move, but he was paralyzed, heart in his throat. Lilith's footsteps calmly echoed on the floor as she circled the TV Demon to reach the Radio Demon. "...but I adore you for that, you are my people. My beautiful people." "...and I can't stand you being stuck here, especially you Sinners, human souls like me: together, we will dominate everything, wiping out Heaven." She stood behind Alastor, dressed in her long purple gown, her studded crown shining atop her long, flowing blonde hair. Stunning, captivating, just like the fingers that wrapped around the Half-Deer's chin, coaxing him to stretch his neck and rest the back of his head against her abdomen.

"...mmh, what's happening to him? Did you give him a love potion? Oh, I love those."

Vox flinched: the potion had begun to take effect... right now!

Alastor's jaw was slack, drooling a pink substance directly onto the gloved fingers with which Lilith cradled his face, the same substance swirling around his body in the form of a dense smoke.

"On someone like him, it must be really fun! You certainly know how to pass the time... you."

[raisoramizu]

📺📻

I reworked a drawing from almost two months ago to evaluate my progress. What do you think?

[raisoramizu]

Idk how well i conveyed this but whenever i see voxal art where Al has hickeys in hard-to-reach places i can’t help getting hung up on the physics of it

[raisoramizu]

Our darling Angel Dust has been going through a lot lately; so I wanted to draw something more hopeful for the baby boy ;;w;; He’s created a safe space adorned with new memories!

The Addict MV was amazing!

[raisoramizu]

Heaven Is not Forever FanFic - Mini Comic 📻🍎

(3/4)

For the NSFW page 4 🔞, check out my X account, Raima_Chan, or click here!

https://x.com/Raima_chan/status/1879463921788277200

[raisoramizu]

New Order - Chapter 4: Television Controls the Radio

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic (Radioapple/Radiostatic/Radiostaticapple) - Previous Chapter: Intro - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 Follow me on Bluesky or X - Raisoramizu https://x.com/Raima_chan https://bsky.app/profile/raisoramizu.bsky.social

The images for this fanfiction are for illustrative purposes only, and all credits go to their respective artists.

...

"Alastor, come here."

Vox called out to the demon, turning toward the loft. Just hearing those words was enough to make Valentino flinch, stepping back and letting go of his grip on Vox's collar. Three large shadowy tendrils emerged from Alastor's back, quickly spilling over the balcony railing. As they touched the floor below, they brought down his disheveled form, now standing beside Vox.

"Here he is!" The TV Demon exclaimed, adjusting his rumpled collar before extending an arm toward the Deer Demon, as if presenting a brand-new, exciting product. "He's been hypnotized for hours! And it didn't even take much effort." Vox's voice shifted, brimming with pride as he straightened his back, placing both hands on his hips. "With him, we'll have total control of every communication channel. You know I can't control radio waves." He continued, "Tomorrow, I'll have him sign the contract: he'll give us his soul and work here. Forever." Vox let out an excited laugh, a crackling spark lighting up his right eye.

Valentino remained silent, staring at him with skepticism throughout the entire monologue. His doubtful expression persisted as he shifted his focus to Alastor, scanning the demon from head to toe: Alastor was motionless, his gaze vacant, and his smile barely noticeable. He looked disheveled, still damp from the rain, clearly injured on his face, and scorched in several spots. Valentino's sharp eyes noted the torn shirt exposing his bony chest, marked with red hair and especially adorned with Voodoo symbols.

"Mmmh... he's looking pretty rough," Valentino finally commented in his smooth voice, resting his second right hand on his hip, rubbing his purple chin with his first left hand, and adjusting his heart-shaped glasses with his first right.

"I'll fix him up by tomorrow!" Vox replied with a smile that was far too strained, the corners dipping into a worried frown when Valentino began moving toward Alastor.

As Valentino reached the Deer Demon, Alastor let out a low, static-like radio hiss when Valentino forcefully grabbed one of his antlers. Narrowing his eyes, Valentino examined Alastor's mismatched red hues, then spoke, addressing Vox while still staring at Alastor. "You were going to screw him, weren't you... hmm?"

"..." Vox froze, a nervous bead of sweat dripping onto his screen.

"After all these years, you still haven't gotten over it. It eats you up inside that he's never let you touch him, huh?"

At those words, a spark of fury shot up through the TV Demon's antennae, causing him to tense up in anger. His expression twisted. "Screw you! He's just a stress relief!" He growled, leaning toward Valentino, who merely smirked maliciously and continued to circle Alastor's motionless figure at a leisurely pace. "He needs to pay for everything he's done. I'm going to humiliate him!"

"Oh, how quickly you get worked up!" Valentino chuckled, lazily waving his second right hand in the air. Now standing behind Alastor, Valentino wrapped one of his four arms around his own slim waist, sensually exposing his side as he pouted slightly, casting his red eyes down at Alastor's bony backside. "With that scrawny little ass of his, screwing him is going to hurt a lot. I doubt you'd even fit." His lips curled into a sly grin. "But I can help you loosen him up. Split him right down the middle." Valentino snapped, landing a sharp slap on Alastor's rear. The Deer Demon's eyes widened, black veins creeping through the whites as he stumbled forward a few steps.

Vox immediately panicked, rushing to catch Alastor by the shoulders to prevent him from falling. In an instant, he wrapped his arm around Alastor's waist, allowing the smaller demon to cling to him and bury his face into his shoulder.

"..."

Valentino raised an eyebrow, perplexed by the scene. "Humiliate him... right?" He then exploded, storming toward them with a menacing snarl, shaking a fist in the air and baring his pale teeth where a gold tooth glinted. "You think you can bullshit me, Voxy? ME?!" He pointed to himself with both hands, shaking a third fist in Vox's direction. "You still haven't gotten over him!" ... "So now you're going to tell me everything! About the queen, about your deal, and what the hell you're planning... or I'm going to blow this fucking deer's brain out!" Valentino shouted furiously, grabbing a small crystal figurine shaped like the Vees Tower and hurling it at the two demons.

With practiced ease, Vox dodged the throw, stepping sideways with Alastor still slumped against him. The crystal shattered noisily against the wall behind them. Vox barely flinched at the impact, but the electricity crackling through his antennae betrayed his anger. His fiery red eyes glared at Valentino from over Alastor's head, and without even realizing it, he held the Deer Demon tight to his chest as if he had become something precious.

Valentino noticed. He had noticed for a while.

"Alright! Enough of this!" Vox's voice buzzed electronically. "Come with me." He swallowed hard, trying to calm himself. Tightening his grip on Alastor's shoulders, Vox gently peeled him off his chest, looking at him with concern. They were about the same height, but Vox was slightly more built than the Radio Demon. "Alastor." He called out, making the other demon lift his face. But when their eyes met, Vox's cheeks reddened, and his mouth quivered. Damn it. He could feel Valentino's burning gaze on him... He had to protect Alastor, or Valentino would tear him to pieces. "Go wash up and put that ointment on from the first cabinet in the bathroom. Then, go to bed." Vox ordered, his tone suddenly cold and commanding.

Alastor took a step back, his face expressionless, his usual smile almost gone. It seemed that even under hypnosis, he struggled to pretend.

"Yes," he replied, turning to walk past Valentino and head for the bathroom.

As the Deer Demon passed him, a vortex of air swirled up around Valentino, making his coat billow dramatically. But before the Moth Demon could make any—dangerous—moves, Vox had already wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Heeere we go, dear Val!" Vox's voice suddenly became bright and enthusiastic, his sharp-toothed grin wide.

Valentino leaned in closer, his red eyes glowing like cracks splitting open in his skull. "I want to try my angelic metal bullets on his brain."

"Oh, I'm sure you do!" Vox tightened his bioluminescent claws on Valentino's shoulder, preventing him from bolting and maintaining his sharp smile. "But once I explain everything, you'll change your mind. We're a team, right? I always share my plans and intentions with you, don't I?" He began pulling Valentino toward the door as Alastor disappeared into the bathroom behind them.

Valentino kept staring at him with suspicion, but he was gradually calming down.

"And besides," Vox continued, letting one corner of his mouth curl seductively, "for tonight, I had a special surprise planned... just the way you like it." He waved one hand theatrically, sliding the other from Valentino's shoulder down to his backside.

"Oh... really?" Valentino's expression shifted, intrigued.

"Of course... but all this impatience of yours might just ruin it."

Valentino shuddered and blushed as Vox gave his buttock a firm squeeze before disappearing with him out of the room.

...

That was a long night for Alastor; if the first hypnotic sleep had been dreamless, this one was thick with nightmares.

He had done everything he was ordered to do. But why? Was he really obeying Vox? Of course, Vox knew what to do, he had control over everything, every decision he made was surely the right one. Vox hadn't told him what to wear after washing and treating his wounds, nor where to find his clothes, so Alastor had decided for himself. He grabbed the first blue shirt he could find. Fortunately, they had about the same build, and the shirt was slightly oversized, just enough to resemble a nightshirt.

He missed his room. The sounds of the swampy woods, his radio—he even missed the old, musty smell of his furniture. This place was sterile. Everything smelled like plastic and metal. Those satin sheets were too smooth, too slick, annoyingly uncomfortable. And he was... hot. It was so hot now.

He was sweating. His red hair clung mostly to his skin, and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his shirt hadn't helped much. The sound of the aquarium's bubbling water smothered him, and the bluish lights cutting through the dimness only irritated him more. He tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. A deep sense of claustrophobia washed over him. Was his chest hurting? He couldn't sleep, but he had to. He'd been told to sleep. Sometimes he drifted off, only to jolt awake with no memory of what he'd dreamed. He couldn't breathe. He gasped and drooled against the mattress, gripping his chest with his claws, emitting faint radio static.

...stor.

That anxiety gnawed at his gut, making every muscle in his body tense. He couldn't settle in any position and rolled over onto his back.

Alastor.

A comforting hand rested on his shoulder. That voice... and then, an image. Just a fraction of a second: the back of a young man, blond, dressed in white with a red-striped vest. He's so short. And he thinks he can scare someone? I can't see his face.

"Lucifer..?" he called. Was it him? Yes, it was him, Alastor could see now: that round, pleasant face with that almost nonexistent nose, impossible to pin an age on him. He looked like a little clown, or maybe the circus ringmaster? He seemed harmless, yet his smile carried all the divine knowledge, malice, perversion, and sin.

Vox, sitting on the bed next to the Half-Deer, his hand still clutching Alastor's shoulder, stared in shock, his mouth twitching at the right corner of his screen. Alastor's vacant eyes were open in a trance-like state. He had just muttered Lucifer's name in his sleep.

That morning, Lucifer looked like he'd had the worst night of his life.

Hungover, he sat at one of the round tables on the veranda outside the bar. Even that part of the Hotel had Alastor's distinct taste for the 1930s—or even earlier. The tables were finely decorated in white metal, the plants and decor outdated, with rather unsettling paintings hanging on the wall outside the French doors. Along the columns, intricate, antler-like branches twisted around.

Wearing a white robe emblazoned on the back with the royal emblem of a golden serpent coiled around a red apple, the angel slumped over the table, one hand buried in his hair as his swollen eyes stared into space.

He was paler than usual, dark circles under his eyes, his face lined with wrinkles from lack of sleep and a badly worn-off hangover. He could have healed himself with a bit of effort, but the problem was more mental than physical. He felt awful. He'd been on the road to recovery when he moved here, he had felt it, and now he was back in the pit. Lilith had disappeared again and... Alastor? Did he hate him? Was he angry with him? Alastor hadn't listened, hadn't understood—he'd been a damn selfish fool. Could he still fix things? But why the hell didn't that stag trust him? He had gone against his wife just to save him, just to be with him.

"Here's a biiiiig, long coffee for King Meanie, ehehahaha!" Niffty suddenly bounced onto the table, balancing a small tray with a huge, steaming cup of American coffee.

Lucifer snapped upright. "..." He stared at her, his face puffed up like a balloon. "Yeah... thanks," he mumbled, realizing and grabbing the cup with one hand.

Niffty, still standing on the table with the tray under her arm, leaned toward him, blinking her single eye a few times. "You look awful, just terrible!"

"Oh yeah, Niffty, Short King went hard last night. Give him some time to recover!" Angel Dust shouted as he appeared in the doorway, waving one of his four hands in the air like he was shooing something away, then came up behind Lucifer.

The little bug jumped off the table and scurried away as the Seraph absentmindedly conjured up about fifteen sugar cubes, all of which dropped straight into his coffee.

"..." Angel Dust twisted his lips, puzzled. "Hope everything went alright last night. You two seemed to leave a bit... uh..."

"No," Lucifer said, his voice flat. "But I'll talk to him properly. It's my fault, anyway."

"Dad!" Just as Lucifer responded to the Spider Demon, Charlie's sharp, impatient voice broke through the dreary morning in Hell. She appeared at the doorway with a stack of handwritten papers under her arm. "Dad, have you seen Alastor? He said he'd help me with tomorrow's interview, but we can't find him." She stopped in front of the table.

Lucifer looked up at her, surprised. "He's not in the Hotel..?"

"No, Vaggie even checked the Radio Tower. He's not there. Maybe he went to see Rosie..?" She rubbed her chin, then her golden eyes darkened. "...but... are you okay?" She frowned.

At her question, the angel went pale. He straightened up against the back of the chair, forcing a painfully fake smile. "Of course..." he lied. "No." He admitted, burying both hands back into his already disheveled blonde hair, his trembling eyes betraying his distress. "It's not okay at all. I think I messed up..."

Charlie stood there, confused, casting a glance over at Angel Dust.

"..." "Ah," Angel said, resting a hand on the edge of a chair and arching his back, his furry chest visible through his pink crop top. "Look, under normal circumstances, I'd say it's insane to try and get through to that stubborn deer, but last night, he seemed really pissed. Like, he was about to put another hole in my chest," he growled, rubbing his abdomen nervously. "...and I'm sure Val would've found a use for that one, too."

"CHARLIE!" Vaggie's voice echoed from inside the bar, catching the attention of the three still on the veranda. "Come here! Alastor's on TV!"

Charlie jumped. "On TV?!"

They all stared at each other, stunned for a moment, before rushing inside. Angel Dust and Charlie led the way, followed more slowly—and with less enthusiasm—by Lucifer, who stopped at the French doors, leaning against the frame as the others crowded around Vaggie. Husk watched from behind the bar, Niffty from on top of it.

A flat-screen TV, mounted on the wall just past the bar—since Alastor didn't allow any TV sets in his rooms—was broadcasting a live interview with the CEO of Voxtek: the TV Demon himself.

Vox's image filled the screen, impeccably dressed in his navy blue suit. He gestured and smiled with his sharp, toothy grin, speaking enthusiastically despite the slight glitches that occasionally disrupted the broadcast, though they didn't interfere too much. Behind him, more in the background, was Alastor. He, too, was wearing his red jacket, freshly cleaned from the laundromat—likely even from the tailor, since the frayed hem was now perfectly stitched. He smiled, but his eyes kept drifting toward Vox rather than the cameras, because every time he looked into the lens, the interference on the screen worsened.

- "As I told you, my dear viewers, after so many years, we've finally reached a fruitful agreement. The Radio Demon, Alastor, will be joining our wonderful company with a podcast that will please both lovers of the old and modern youth alike!" -

Charlie found herself standing with her hands over her mouth, almost touching the floor in shock, when she was intercepted by the shorter figure of Vaggie.

"Something doesn't seem right to you?" Vaggie asked.

The Princess looked at her, confused. "Are you kidding? He hates television and all modern electronics!" She replied, waving her hands in the air.

Meanwhile, the broadcast continued. - "The podcast will launch in a few days, it will be broadcast on the radio, on TV, and on all electronic devices with internet access; you'll be able to listen to it and watch Alastor live in his booth. Later, we'll reveal the schedule of programs..." -

- "This is a historic event, Mr. Vox. Do you think it'll be a success?" - A journalist asked, stretching the microphone toward the TV Demon, who responded by wrapping one arm around the Radio Demon's shoulders.

- "Of course!"  - Vox answered with a grand gesture of his other hand. -"And this is just the beginning!" -

"Look where Vox has his hand! He's as much of a perv as Valentino!" Angel Dust exclaimed, pointing at the screen where the TV Demon's claws were gripping Alastor's side, dangerously close to his backside. It was clear Alastor stiffened at the touch.

"Alastor doesn't like that guy!" Niffty suddenly chirped from atop the counter, pulling out a duster and getting back to her cleaning.

Husk's face twisted in a disturbed grimace, glancing absently at the others before focusing on Angel Dust. "You alright, Angel?"

The spider demon was frozen, staring wide-eyed at the screen, and shivered at Husk's question, nervously biting his nails. "There's no way he joined the Vees."

"..." Charlie looked at him, curious. "Your boss is one of the Vees, right?"

Angel Dust nodded. "They must have forced him."

"Nah," Husk snorted, skeptical. "That bastard wouldn't let himself be forced. If they tried, we'd have heard half the city blow up."

Charlie stared thoughtfully at the half-cat, starting to rub her chin with two fingers. "He wouldn't let himself be forced, unless..." She suddenly turned toward her father, who was still leaning against the doorframe, staring blankly at the screen. "Dad!"

At her call, Lucifer snapped to attention, stiff and rigid, as Charlie hurried toward him. "Alastor might not be able to..." She abruptly stopped, glancing around. There were too many people, and she had promised not to mention his weakened condition. "I mean... you know what I mean." She waved her hand vaguely. "You should go check if everything's okay, don't you think? It's absurd for him to do something like this, right? You know him..."

Lucifer's smile was strained, awkward, out of place. His purple-tinged lower eyelids made his golden eyes seem even more intense as he looked up at Charlie. "Ehhrr, I don't know him that well, Charlie." He admitted, leaving his daughter stunned. "I mean... I've only known him for a few months, and you... how well do you know him?" He glanced around at the others, seeking their doubtful expressions. Husk grunted. "...Maybe, maybe it's my fault. Maybe he preferred it this way." He mumbled, looking down at the floor.

"But-but-but he said he'd help me with the interview! He's our frontman, the host of the Hotel. He's here to help us! There's no way he'd just up and leave without saying anything, he—"

"He could call me whenever he wants!" Lucifer suddenly exploded, clenching his fists. "..." Still staring at the floor in the heavy silence of the room. "...I mean, if he needed me... we made a pact. He can summon me in an instant. If he's not doing it... it means everything's fine."

A stunned silence followed his words, only broken by the crackling voice of the Radio Demon on the broadcast.

- "Of course ~ As my dear friend Voxy said, my ~ wonderful ~"  - He emphasized the word with a lilting tone, placing a hand vainly over his exposed chest.  -"talents can be heard everywhere, even on your lovely little electronic gadgets!"  - His eyes were half-closed, an egocentric smile spreading across his face. - "And you can watch me live as I speak to you, as I make you dream, as I ignite your..." -

As he continued speaking, the interference on the screen grew more intense. Gradually, he opened his eyes, now pitch black, with radio dials replacing his normal pupils. - "...worst nightmares. Who will be the next demon to scream... on my show?" - The interference became unbearable as the screen went dark, showing only Alastor's eyes and grin. And then... *CRACK* the TV burst, shattering and emitting smoke as if something had hit it, causing Charlie to scream and alarming everyone present.

All it took was one glance at Lucifer to know who was responsible for the damage. His eyes and horns were ablaze, and he was surrounded by a thick, dark mist rising toward the ceiling, his growl rigid and feral.

"Dad, calm down! Have you lost your mind?!" Charlie, unafraid but clearly alarmed, rushed to him, her hands resting on his shoulders to soothe him.

"!" Lucifer deflated, his posture relaxing as he let out a final puff of smoke, returning to his human form. "...ah, sorry, I... " He began to apologize with a half-smile, but it froze on his face when he realized the others were staring at him in shock. "..." He hunched his shoulders in guilt, but his daughter smiled again, her sharp canines showing as she bent slightly toward him and began to push him away.

"It's fine, nothing happened, eheh... let's go. I'll walk you to your room so you can rest a bit. You're too stressed. We'll figure out this Alastor problem, we just need to talk to him, right? He surely has a good reason for being there and not calling you... let's go, come on." She led him away, disappearing down the hallway that led to the stairs and the upper floors of the Hotel.

…

The door to the room creaked open, revealing Charlie's exhausted figure. She leaned back against it, closing it with a soft thud, and sighed deeply.

"Charlie..?" Vaggie quickly lifted her head, placing her phone down on the bed.

Their suite was cozy: two rooms and a spacious bathroom. Behind the king-sized bed, draped in crimson sheets, was a massive window that let the outside light flood in. Even though they had only been there a couple of months, the room already felt like home. There was a wardrobe for Vaggie's spear and other weapons, a punching bag for her training (and perhaps for her repressed anger?), while across from it, a desk piled high with papers, drawings, rainbows, and photographs of everyone at the Hotel, taped all over the wall. There were even notes for the upcoming interview the next day.

"He fell asleep," Charlie answered, moving away from the door and walking toward the bed, slipping off her red jacket, which was starting to feel too warm.

Vaggie stood up, meeting her halfway, her face filled with concern.

"What happened to him..? His reaction was a bit... mmh..."

"Exaggerated?" Charlie finished the sentence for her with a slightly awkward smile. Vaggie looked at her, searching for reassurance in Charlie's eyes, reaching for her arms. "Yeah... um, Dad and Alastor... I promised not to say anything, but I think it's obvious, and you deserve to know."

Vaggie's single eye widened. "SERIOUSLY?!"

"Shhh!" Charlie quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Yeah, that was my reaction too, believe me! Ehehe... uh..." She let out a nervous laugh, stepping back awkwardly.

"Para todos los demonios en el infierno..." Vaggie muttered under her breath.

Charlie stared at the floor, nervously rubbing her right arm with her left hand.

"Don't worry, they're adults, right? If you're okay with it, then I am too. But I don't want you worrying about that bastard Alastor. You know how he is with his secrets and lies... If it comes to it, your father and I will protect the Hotel. Honestly, I'd rather he keeps his distance so he won't have a chance to force you into fulfilling that deal of yours. He's probably up to something, something he won't or can't tell us, but he can definitely take care of himself—"

"I'm not so sure he can take care of himself right now," Charlie interrupted.

"What do you mean?" Vaggie asked, urging her toward the bed. "Come on, lie down, you need some rest too."

Charlie, still deep in thought, kicked off her shoes and lay down softly on the mattress. "I really can't tell you that. I promised my dad... please understand."

Vaggie's lips trembled, but she sighed. "Yeah, I get it. I kept something important from you for years... It's only fair you have your own secrets, especially when it's out of respect for your father." She stared at the floor, guilt flashing across her face.

"But one thing's for sure... If Alastor needed help, he could call my dad in an instant. You heard them, right? They've got a deal. So, if he's not asking for help, we can relax..."

"Yeah, sure," Vaggie replied with a smile, kneeling on the bed next to her. She leaned over Charlie, letting her long silver hair cascade down her face. "Now rest... I'll take care of you..." she whispered, her embarrassment lighting up her cheeks, while Charlie's already clownish blush deepened as she gently stroked her face.

...

5

That was another long night. Vox just couldn't sleep. After finishing with Valentino, he had tried, evidenced by his nightshirt—a long-sleeved blue robe with the electrified "V" printed on the back, lazily tied at the waist, leaving the fabric hanging messily over his bare chest. His build wasn't overly muscular, but he was definitely more defined than Alastor, and his skin was a sleek, odd shade of blue, darker than the bioluminescent tips of his claws. Even his rectangular nipples glowed faintly in the dim light of the Control Room, like the gill-like slashes along his ribcage.

His coffee had gone cold as he absentmindedly tapped his claws on the keyboard controlling the myriad of screens in front of him. They wrapped around him in a circular array, making the room look like the cockpit of some futuristic ship, deep in the bowels of V Tower, where he lived and ran his TV empire.

One of the cameras pointed at his bedroom, specifically at the large circular bed covered in velvet blue sheets. Right in the middle, Alastor was curled up, sleeping soundly, his breaths echoing like low radio static.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous to have that old bastard in such a state—fragile and defenseless—in his bed. Could he have ever imagined this? No. But had he hoped for it? Maybe, in his darkest dreams, the ones he kept hidden from everyone, even from himself. Until today, at least. He'd thought he lost him seven long years ago when, after a fight about joining his team (Alastor hated all the modern tech they used), he'd tried to hypnotize him, and it hadn't worked. A fight had broken out—during a massacre, no less. He had thought Alastor was dead, killed by some exorcist... and yet, here he was. Out of nowhere, in the Hotel run by Lucifer's daughter, and now? Sleeping with the King of Hell himself, weakened to the level of an ordinary demon, with his magic spiraling out of control and some kind of deal with... Lilith? That was something Vox couldn't wrap his head around. If Lilith had tried to kill him using Adam, all because she was jealous of Lucifer? How painfully banal.

But his feelings for that strawberry-haired sinner were anything but banal. He wanted to destroy him, but also cage him, use him at his will. But he didn't want to erase his vitality or his personality. Hell, Alastor was perfect as he was—reserved, insolent, cheerful, especially when he got drunk and danced the tap like a fool. Or when, in his aristocratic demeanor, he turned feral, tearing into raw meat and letting the blood drip everywhere.

Vox smirked at the thought, pressing Enter on the keyboard. Everything was ready for the interview: there would be no redemption. Every sinner would be under his control.

He sighed, slouching back into his swivel chair, arms hanging limply by his sides. He tilted his head back, half-closing his glowing red eyes, then reopened them to gaze at Alastor on the screen.

"Looks like you've really gotten yourself into a mess this time, huh, darling?" he muttered with a concerned smile. "And it's insane that I keep getting tangled up in your crap..."

He paused, staring at the screen with a frown. "I could just kill you. Valentino would stop being a problem, and yet... because of you, I've got to deal with him even more."

"This time... I really am losing it... and something tells me I'll go down with you, in the end."

"So, don't fall, Alastor."

[raisoramizu]

ELECTRIC KISS! Finally done with my silly little fan animation!

HUGE thank you for screenofthesius (twitter/blesky) for composing and recording the piano tunes. g the piano tunes. :notes:

[raisoramizu]

Hazbin Hotel angst Fanfic - Golden Ashes Chapter 7

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Thanks to @Sberryradio for the cover art. https://x.com/SBerryRadio

Follow me on X o Bluesky: Raisoramizu

https://x.com/Raima_chan https://bsky.app/profile/raisoramizu.bsky.social

Prompt chapter 7: (Shattered/The fall)

Trigger Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

----

Chapter 7: Golden Ashes

“Give to you so you give to me... This is the moment to fulfill your part of the deal: free me from my deal... by modifying the terms of ours.” Even as my own body trembled with excitement and nervousness. It wasn’t just physical desire. It was an almost desperate need to lose myself in him, to let Alastor take control, to make me forget who I was, to extinguish every oppressive thought weighing me down. There was nothing logical, nothing rational in that moment.

Unexpectedly, his hands left my horns; I kept staring at him, bewildered, half-transformed, with red eyes and a tail coiling behind me. I must have looked terrible—disheveled, flushed from the suffocating sensation that had brought me to ecstasy and the situation devouring me from the inside. I felt tired. Tired of feeling so much frustration and anguish. I turned my desires into obsessions, into things I couldn’t have: even Alastor was out of reach. His words confirmed it.

When I lowered my gaze, I felt his claws carefully cradle my face; a tenderness that completely clashed with the force and violence he’d used on me just moments earlier. “You’re mine,” he whispered, his sharp smile like a blade. “And you always have been, Lucifer. Even when you thought you controlled me, it was already written. This is your destiny. And I... I’ll be kind to you, if you do your part.” His voice was like poisoned honey, and I, damned fool that I was, drank it as if it were the only thing that could quench my thirst.

Those words struck me, as if he had sensed the whirlwind of emotions consuming me. It was no longer just about baring myself to him; it was something deeper, darker. He was offering me refuge, relief. But I knew that, like everything in Hell, that refuge had a price. And it was a price I was willing to pay.

I started to respond but froze, lips parted, as I felt something soft and viscous coil around my ankles. I turned and saw them: his tentacles. The floor beneath my knees had become a pool of darkness, and from it emerged four... maybe five tendrils wrapping around my bare legs, climbing to my hips. I stiffened, my heart skipping a beat. I was scared, and at the same time, that sensation sent me soaring. I felt them slither with agonizing calm, like snakes that knew exactly where to press. They traced the lines of my tense muscles, then those of my buttocks, and even my arousal through the thin fabric of my underwear.

When they slid under my shirt, reaching my abdomen, I held my breath. My cock throbbed, dampening, and I clenched my teeth, lifting my gaze, pained with pleasure, toward him. He was watching me with a satisfied smile.

I shuddered at that expression. I just wanted to melt away and never think again: about the monster I was, the foolish and dangerous choices I’d made, my duties, everything that had weighed on my existence for over ten thousand years. I was tired.

What have I become? A caricature of the King of Hell, a toy in the hands of someone younger, hungrier for power than me. I, the Lightbringer, am nothing more than a shadow.

He released my face, spread his arms, and let himself fall softly backward onto the bed, never giving me enough time to look away from his eyes as the tentacles pulled me to him. I found myself lifted off the ground and then laid out on the mattress, my legs crossed against his hips. The tendrils kept clutching me, but rather than pinning me down, they slid over my bare skin and through my clothes.

I immediately leaned forward, bracing myself on the bed with my palms, and moaned. My skin had become scorching, and my face glowed, slack with a deep languor. I was melting too, more and more... and there was no violence in the way he touched me.

With half-closed eyes, my forehead wrinkled and distorted with pleasure, I looked down at him from above. Despite the proposal he had just made, that pretense of control he stubbornly tried to maintain, he was no better off than I was. His eyes betrayed him. He couldn’t keep up his mask.

His jaws were clenched, his pupils black, his hair splayed across the bed around his head, while his ears refused to stay still. He was stunning, and he was stunning because of me.

Did he lie when he said I was the first for him? The first to bury my face between his legs, maybe the first he’d ever kissed, and the first to...

“...Am I good like this?” A gurgle, a muffled question, pulled me back to reality. But it wasn’t just his words that woke me: his hands.

He gripped my hips tightly, pressing my pelvis against his, which lifted to meet me in turn. There was a faint rustle of fabric, and my erection, straining against my pants, rubbed against his—hot, damp, and perfectly visible. Fuck. It was still exactly where I’d left it, and it didn’t seem to have relaxed at all.

A wave of heat rose from my core, blurring my vision, and I had to swallow as I rasped out a ragged, “Yes... yes!”

Was this the destiny they had foretold for me? An endless fall, with no end, no redemption. I thought I had already lived through my fall, and yet here I am. Even lower, even more lost. Alastor is my abyss.

“Mmh~... so?” he asked seductively. At that moment, a tentacle slid under the waistband of my boxers, slipping between my cheeks. I let out a squeak, my back snapping rigidly. He chuckled, his voice crackling with radio distortions. “I love it, yes... I love everything about you, Alastor...” I burst out at that exact moment, unexpectedly, suddenly, feeling a fleeting chill that left me stunned and... empty. Yes, out of nowhere, I was drained of every negative emotion. The frustration, the anguish, the anger, the loneliness: all of it dissociated from me, to the point where it felt distant, forgotten, as if I’d never experienced them. “...You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this moment. You’ve burrowed into my mind like a worm, devouring everything that was left of me.” “I’m... I’m a monster who wants nothing else, I want nothing else but—” I didn’t finish. With a swift motion of his hand, he grabbed my hair at the nape and pulled me toward his mouth. We collided in a shameless kiss, our tongues tangling more than our lips. Our hearts beat in sync, and no matter how ambiguous Alastor’s actions were—as though there was much more behind them—I didn’t care. His body felt so sincere, and all my defenses were shattered. As I kissed him, my hands slid down his chest, clumsily opening his jacket and the shirt beneath it, until his toned abdomen was exposed: he was slender but taller than me. His darker complexion contrasted with my paleness. He moved his tentacles to pull down my boxers, leaving me bare to the cool air.

Free. That’s how I felt. And he knew it.

“I can free you from your endless night, but you have to give me everything,” he whispered against my lips.

I was about to give up not just my body, but my soul. For him. A part of me wanted to scream, to resist, but the rest... the rest was dissolving, fragment by fragment, like broken glass disappearing into nothingness.

Was this what I wanted? I barely had time to ask myself as I straddled his hips, licking my lips still wet with our saliva. His slick shaft slid between my cheeks, and his tentacles coiled around my waist, applying pressure with his claws.

With a sharp motion, he yanked me down to impale myself on him.

The previous tentacle had done a decent job of preparing me, but not enough. And I wasn’t mentally ready.

Pain shot up my spine, forcing a scream from my throat. My six wings erupted, sending out a shockwave that shook the room, while flames burst forth between my horns.

He screamed too, higher-pitched, raspier, baring his drooling jaws as his antlers branched erratically around the room. So, it hurts you too, fool, when you do it like this. He hadn’t lied: this was really his first time. Had he run away before because of that?

The satisfaction I felt at this realization was crushed by ecstasy. I found myself clinging to his wrists as he lifted me and slammed me back down, deeper each time, more shaken by a need that tightened his muscles.

He planted his shoes firmly on the floor, beyond the edge of the bed, and thrust upward, pressing the back of his head deeper into the squeaking mattress. He did this every time he pulled me back onto him until, beyond the incoherent moans of our voices, the room filled with the raw sound of our flesh slapping together.

Every moan, every touch of his tentacles, every thrust of his body against mine was a spark of pleasure that ignited and consumed me. I felt free, yes, but at what cost? Freedom from pain, anger, loneliness... and yet that freedom was also a prison. A tiny cage I had crafted to hold myself. There was nothing left of me, except what he wanted.

“All,” I repeated in a gasp. The sound of my words echoed hollowly, devoid of resistance.

“Everything,” he growled, his brow furrowed, the dark tips of his hair sticking to his sweat-drenched skin. “Your soul, your power, your duty.”

Each word pierced my mind like a burning needle, scorching away any remaining doubt. Yet as he said them, my heart wavered. A sudden pang sliced through the haze of pleasure. It wasn’t physical pain but a thought that sprang out of nowhere, like one last ray of light before being swallowed by darkness.

Charlie.

Her image forced its way through the turmoil. I remembered her as a child, her eyes full of hope, her laughter pure and crystalline. Her voice echoed in the recesses of my mind: “Dad, Hell can be better. I believe in it.” And then, more recently, the determination in her eyes, that stubborn smile as she tried to convince me of her vision, pulling me out of my apathy.

“Charlie…” I stammered. My daughter’s name broke from my lips like a plea, a feeble protest against the abyss swallowing me.

Alastor’s gaze intensified. His eyes glowed with radio dials, as if dissecting my every thought. His smile widened, dark and ravenous. The tentacles tightened around me, their movements slow and deliberate against my skin, as if to smother my hesitation.

“Don’t worry about her,” he whispered in a velvety voice, full of promises and snares. It was like a snake coiling around me, stroking me with its words. “I’ll take care of her too. I promise she’ll be… protected.”

Protected. The word bounced around in my mind, stripped of its true meaning. I clung to that promise like a drowning man to a piece of wood, unaware of the infinite whirlpool below. His promises were chains, and I... I was too tired to fight.

Then I felt something around my neck. A sudden grip, cold and searing all at once. I looked down and saw the acidic green of his chain—the signature of his deal—wrapping around my throat like a hungry serpent. It pulsed with its own life, tightening more and more, until it momentarily stole my breath.

Every thrust of his hips against mine was a seal on the deal just struck. My white and red feathers filled the room, the chain around my neck pulsating with its own life, and I felt something break inside me. My soul, perhaps. My power. My essence, fueling his.

With a swift motion, Alastor slipped the wedding ring from my left pinky finger. Behind him, his shadow came alive.

It was no longer just a simple reflection, but something distorted and ravenous. It stretched toward me, trembling, its edges dripping with liquid darkness. The shadow's grin widened unnaturally, a gaping maw that seemed to devour everything in its path.

I watched the wedding ring—the last connection to Lilith—disintegrate into a ghostly flame in Alastor’s palm. When the flame died out, the shadow consumed every fragment of light, leaving only a sickly, suffocating glow as the power he had taken from me vibrated through the air, a dense, heavy energy saturating the room.

Then he laughed—a fractured sound, torn by radio static—as his shadow's grin grew even wider, filling itself with power and dominance. It feasted, feeding on my very essence.

The weight of what I had just done exploded into the pure ecstasy coursing through my body.

The tentacles tightened around me with force, pulling me closer to him, encasing me completely. I was dissolving in his hands, a puppet with no strings, a man stripped of everything but the pleasure he was granting me.

And then it happened. The wave hit me with such uncontrollable force that it shattered me. I screamed, a strangled cry lost between the creak of the bed and the rustling of his tentacles. Blue flames erupted between my horns, lighting the room for an instant like a divine blaze.

Alastor screamed too—a sharp, almost animalistic sound—as his horns extended and branched further, drowning out the light of the flames. His face was a mask of twisted pleasure, and I… I could see nothing else.

As the orgasm tore through me, I fell. Into darkness, into silence, into emptiness. It felt like I was sinking into a bottomless sea, wrapped in his tentacles that dragged me ever deeper.

And as everything faded, one last thought clung to my consciousness: Was this what I wanted? Or was it what he wanted?

Then, there was silence.  

—- Alastor's voice filled Hell, reverberating through the radio waves with his usual theatrical flair. From the top of the Hazbin Hotel tower, his smooth, magnetic tone captivated everyone, amplified by distortions that danced across the frequencies.

"Good morning, my beloved Hell! You're tuned in to Radio Chaos, your favorite source for news, intrigue, and—well, let’s call them ‘upcoming changes’! Don’t turn off your receivers: I’ve got a surprise in store for you that’ll shake even your miserable, already-tormented lives ~"

As he continued speaking, the theatricality of his voice masked any trace of personal emotion. Hell could hear the power of his broadcast, but it would never suspect what was happening at that very moment.

Hidden from everyone’s view, Lucifer lay crouched on the ground between Alastor’s legs, his serene, relaxed face resting on his thigh. His eyes were closed, his expression unexpectedly peaceful, as if he had fallen into a deep, unanticipated sleep. The acid-green chain shimmered around his neck, pulsing faintly, as though it were an extension of the Radio Demon himself.

Alastor glanced down, his enigmatic smile lingering as he watched the fallen king. With slow, almost affectionate movements, he ran his fingers through Lucifer’s soft blonde hair, stroking him gently. The action was tender, almost intimate—a stark contrast to the sharp words dominating the airwaves.

"There’s news, my dear listeners," Alastor continued, his voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. "News that will change the dynamics of our beloved Hell. Oh, yes, there will be shocks, laughter, and perhaps even a few tears. But, as always, the Radio Demon will be here to guide you through the chaos."

His words grew softer, slower, as he brought the microphone closer to his mouth. The other hand never stopped brushing through the angel’s golden hair.

"Stay tuned... The best is yet to come."

[raisoramizu]

Hazbin Hotel angst Fanfic - Golden Ashes Chapter 6

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Thanks to @Sberryradio for the cover art. https://x.com/SBerryRadio

Follow me on X o Bluesky: Raisoramizu https://x.com/Raima_chan https://bsky.app/profile/raisoramizu.bsky.social

Prompt chapter 6: (Monster/Guilt) Trigger Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Yesterday, I completely forgot to post the sixth chapter, so today I'll be posting two xD

---

Chapter 6: The Beast's Bite

I would have never known about Charlie and Alastor’s meeting if it weren’t for the way she knocked on my door a few hours later, her eyes unusually serious. At the time, though, I was trapped in my own personal hell, oblivious to her concerns. Charlie had turned to Alastor after days of silence. I knew she’d noticed the change—the way my presence in the hotel had become a shadow, a void leaving an unmistakable absence. And then there was our relationship… mine and Alastor’s. Once filled with sharp banter, cutting glares, and an explosive dynamic, it had dwindled into cold silences and detached respect. She must have sensed it. No one could ignore tension that thick. Especially not my daughter. “Alastor,” she had said, her voice trembling but determined. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

“But of course, my dear princess,” he replied, his tone as light as a feather, though his eyes remained sharp, always ready to catch the smallest clue. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

“It’s about my father,” she said, her gaze dropping, her determination laced with worry. “He hasn’t left his room in days. He doesn’t participate in anything around here anymore. Do you… do you know if he’s okay? I mean, you and he seem… different lately. Is there something you’re not telling me?” I’d always known Charlie was intuitive—too much for her own good. Her words were a knife, sinking into where the pain already throbbed the most. Alastor, ever composed, had smiled at her, but his mask was thinner than usual. “Oh, dear Charlie, your father is a complicated man. But don’t worry, I’ll speak to him. Is there anything you’d like me to tell him on your behalf?”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “Just tell him… that I love him. And that I’m here if he needs me.” Those words would have pierced me if I’d heard them at that moment. But I was too far gone, lost in my self-loathing, to know Charlie had sent me a message. I was too busy convincing myself that I deserved every second of the suffering I was enduring. —---

I couldn’t tell night from day anymore. The room was a refuge of shadows, a cocoon I’d built to hide from reality. I hadn’t left for days, maybe weeks. Time flowed slowly, thick as tar. I often sat on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, my breath shattering under the weight of what I’d become. A monster. My hands trembled, stained with sins I couldn’t wash away. Not even pain brought me relief anymore. I’d tried again. I thought I’d found the solution, but it lasted as long as a fragile butterfly. I was destined to suffer—an endless hell I’d have to endure for eternity. Each heartbeat screamed at me, reminding me that the blood I’d spilled would never be forgotten, not even here, where everything was meant to be condemned to oblivion. The truth was, I’d never truly tried to rule Hell, never tried to be a good father, a good husband. I’d never stopped the carnage. I had watched, indifferent, as souls burned and everything crumbled under my command. My daughter had grown up without me, built a family I didn’t belong to. My wife had left. And now those same flames burned within me, consuming me.

A sound at the door made me stiffen. For a moment, I hoped it was just the wind or the echo of my imagination. But then I heard a knock, firm and familiar. When he was near, I couldn’t sense him. Our deal ensured I was as powerless as a human in his presence. It didn’t stop me from transforming, revealing my nature, but I was fragile, stripped of any ability to harm him. Could he kill me? Perhaps his wounds could drain me, over time, if he stayed close enough instead of leaving again. “Is no one home?” Alastor’s voice was sweet and venomous, like a lullaby.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to see anyone. Our last encounter had utterly broken me. The bubble I’d retreated into—the last glimmer of hope I’d had for him—had shattered when he abandoned the stage. He left me there, bleeding and sprawled on the filthy floor of his pleasure, crushed beneath my own despair.

The door opened anyway, without my permission. He stepped inside, and his presence filled the room like a shadow darker than my own. A shaft of light stretched from the doorframe, spilling past the suite’s entrance and illuminating the bed where I lay like a cocoon, wrapped in useless layers of sheets and blankets. Nothing of me was visible but the lump of my curled figure. “Lucifer,” he said, and my name on his lips sounded like a condemnation. I didn’t lift my gaze. “Oh, come now, Your Majesty. Have you truly reduced yourself to this?” His words stung, but I still didn’t move. He, however, did.

I heard the door close behind him, plunging the room back into darkness. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps grew closer to the bed, and with each step, my anxiety grew. “You know, at first, I only felt anger and hatred toward you. When you decided to impose your conditions on the deal, I mean,” he said, his tone musical, distorted by the radio filter that had returned after I’d fixed his staff. “I wondered… what dark reason could drive a being with almost the power of creation to render himself as weak as a human… before someone he despises?”

At some point, he stopped. I heard the rustle of fabric, then he moved again, this time to the foot of the bed. "...But then I realized that maybe the saying 'power wears out those who don't have it' doesn’t apply to everyone."

I was trying desperately to ignore his insinuating tone, distorted once more by the radio filter. He was trying to manipulate me. I knew sinners well—especially psychopathic ones like him. Those who appeared calm and composed on the surface but were, in reality, driven by a rage and hatred that came from nowhere. Yes, because the emotions Alastor felt didn’t have a reason. They weren’t fueled by vengeance or born of pain; they were simple and pure sparks of chaos.

There was nothing like that between me and him. His immense empathy was nothing more than a tool to serve his ends: to inflict pain when he wanted, to ensnare when he chose to. And now, he wanted to manipulate me. The truth was, he'd already ensnared me weeks ago. So why was I still fighting to resist? Why did his silence, his unspoken words, and his disappearances during pivotal moments hurt me so deeply? After all, I’m a monster... why should I protect myself?

When I felt the weight of his body sinking into the mattress, I flinched. I clung tighter to the blankets, hiding my face deeper into the bedding. It was unbearably hot under there. I was burning. My own breath was sucking all the oxygen out, creating a suffocating layer of humidity.

"You and I are different, opposites even~," he continued with a gravelly, seductive lilt. "...And perhaps, we can balance each other out."

Balance each other out? Like... one of us could support the other? Seal each other's dark voids?

I widened my eyes and shifted the blanket, lifting my head. I found myself kneeling on the bed—wearing nothing but a shirt and white boxers—and there he was, just as I had felt him. Sitting on the edge, right beside me, he looked down at me from his position, one eyebrow raised.

He was waiting for something. He didn’t have his cane, but he wore his jacket, its tails spreading over the rumpled blankets. His knees were bent neatly, the soles of his boots firmly on the ground. The cool air of the room slapped my face. I couldn’t imagine how terrible I must have looked; I could feel the puffiness in my eyes, the stickiness of drool on my chin, and my blond hair plastered against my jaw.

Alastor's smile stretched sideways, turning almost crooked. "Tell me," he began again, as I stared at him, dumbfounded, with my mouth slightly open. "What kind of monster do you think you are, exactly?"

His words pierced me. I pressed my palms into the mattress, leaning toward him. He must have seen it in my eyes, in the tears streaming down my face. At this proximity, he stiffened slightly, his deer-like ears twitching upright behind his small dark horns.

"You already know," I whispered. "You see it every day. I’m a monster. For the mistakes I’ve made, for what I’ve created, for what I’ve become." I returned to kneeling, my golden eyes wide, showing him the darkened palms of my hands. "My hands are stained with blood... My foolish dreams created evil. I failed to guide Charlie, to govern Hell, and... I did nothing to stop the slaughter. Nothing."

My words hung in the air, an echo that seemed to vibrate between us. I expected disdain, or worse, indifference. But when he spoke, his tone was unexpectedly... gentle.

"Ah, dear Lucifer, who among us doesn’t have bloodstained hands?" he said, and, unexpectedly, this time he leaned closer. He bent forward, gazing at me with that enigmatic smile I both hated and desired. "It’s the very essence of this place, don’t you think? Or perhaps... it bothers you to think you might be just like me?"

I lowered my gaze, unable to meet his. My hands were still trembling, the weight of both past and present crushing me. "You don’t understand," I muttered. "The weight... the remorse. It feels like I’ve been eaten alive from the inside, leaving only... this." I gestured at myself with disdain.

There was a moment of silence. Then I felt his hand on my face, the touch surprisingly warm. He tilted my chin, forcing me to look at him.

"Oh... you’re not like me, like us, if that’s what troubles you. You feel remorse."

I froze, stunned, my face just inches from his. Once again, I felt his warmth against my skin, his scent filling my head. I trembled, clutching the blankets tightly in my hands. I wanted him. I desired him. I wanted to melt into his claws, to extinguish every thought and emotion that had devoured me for so long. He was the only one who could grant me that release.

But why was I so sure? It felt like a harbinger of ruin.

"Tell me," he whispered, his voice natural now, the dark tips of his hair brushing against my damp skin, "...What is it you truly want from me?"

Those last words weighed heavily on my mind. I blushed, the golden hue of my blood shimmering on my cheeks, as I half-closed my eyes in an attempt to quell the growing desire igniting every fiber of my being.

It was a sweet poison, slowly winding its way into my veins. And if I gave in to it, what would remain of me? My power, my authority... they were all that separated me from chaos. If I let him in, even for an instant, he’d find a way to consume me, to make me forget who I was.

“Everything,” I blurted out in a broken whimper. My hands clutched desperately at his shoulder, making him flinch, as I straightened up on my knees to bring my face level with his. “I want your hands on me, your body fused with mine. I want no more thoughts, no more burdens, no more damnation. I want you to empty me and fill me with nothing but pleasure and relief. I want...” My voice trembled. Anxiety twisted tightly around my heart as the words spilled out like a raging flood. My face was a hysterical mask, and my claws dug into his shoulder, forcing him to tense up. “...you to take care of me,” I panted.

With a look of disapproval, “Sex?” he gurgled. Direct, unexpected. His gaze dropped to my hips, and I followed it.

I recoiled. Through the thin fabric of my underwear, my arousal was unmistakably obvious. My face turned a violent shade of red, and I tried to pull back, but before I could retreat more than a few inches, he caught my wrist, stopping me.

“...” When I looked up at his face, I was stunned. His smile faltered, and his sharp teeth sank into his lower lip, as if he were struggling to maintain control. Desire? Embarrassment? Annoyance? I couldn’t tell. Alastor was inscrutable, and I, by now, was little more than a mere human—unable to decipher his emotions.

“Just so you know...” he started haltingly, visibly flustered, “...I don’t know anything about sex. Practically speaking.”

Oh. I was speechless. My reaction seemed to irritate him. He growled, his ears pressing flat against his head as the static distortions began crackling in the air around us.

Alarmed, I lunged forward, throwing myself against him. My chest pressed against his shoulder as one hand circled the back of his neck. My fingers tangled in his hair, making him shudder and arch his back. I smiled, my heart racing wildly, and hissed with my forked tongue directly against his lips: “I know plenty, though. I’ll handle it...”

“...” I felt his warm breath mingling with mine, his racing heartbeat echoing in the silence of the room. Then, unexpectedly, “Now?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Now? Now. My breath caught for a moment. “Now,” I answered, diving into his mouth. I tilted my head slightly to fit the angle of his jaw, sliding my tongue between his sharp fangs, which parted hesitantly. He didn’t respond much, but I didn’t care. I began lapping at the roof of his mouth hungrily. Meanwhile, my hand darted to his chest, unbuttoning his jacket and moving toward his pants.

But I had to control myself. He followed the motion of my arm, holding my wrist firmly to slow my frantic gestures. His heart was pounding, and the tension in his body was building. I, the one who was supposed to be experienced, was acting like a clumsy, impulsive teenager.

I slowed down. Pulling my tongue from his mouth, I licked his chin clean of saliva. After undoing his pants, I began to move lower. “Relax...” I whispered, though I was the one who needed to calm down.

Anxiety continued to devour me. I should have let go, emptied myself, but instead, the negative emotions kept piling up. Still, I didn’t stop. I sank to my knees on the floor, between his spread legs.

I inhaled the ancient scent of the fabric of his pants, trailing my claws along his thighs up to his hips. I lifted my gaze to meet his. My face burned with desire, and the tight boxers I wore made my arousal glaringly evident.

Alastor stared down at me from his position, his shoulders slightly tilted back, one hand resting on the bed for support. He was flushed too, his skin glistening with sweat, his lips wet with saliva. But his gaze… that remained sharp, heavy, as if hiding something deeper. Despite everything, his eyes never lied.

I felt fear.

He had said I wasn’t like him.

My divine nature screamed against this weakness, reminding me of what it meant to once be the brightest star. But the demon I had become ignored it, greedily welcoming that touch, that desire. I was no longer angel nor fully demon—I was something broken, and he was digging into that fracture with devastating precision.

In a moment, my tongue was sliding over the rough fabric at the crotch of his pants, and my fingers fumbled to completely free what lay beneath.

The scent of his skin hit me like a slap when I freed his length from his trousers, drawing a guttural noise from him, like radio static. I couldn’t help but lift my gaze again, and this time, I found him with his head slightly tilted forward, his hair swaying, his eyes darkened with black. He kept scraping his lower lip with his drooling jaws.

“…You’re the first creature I’ve ever let get their face between my legs,” he confessed with a sinister grin.

I felt like dying.

In a good way. As good as this situation could possibly get.

He was magnificent. His apparent calm was laced with the darkness he kept inside, the kind I was dangerously toying with, not realizing that there would be no way out.

My tail began swishing in the air behind me as I gripped his slick, not-yet-fully-hard length between my fingers. Then I wrapped my long tongue around it, savoring the salty-sweet taste of his arousal. A few loops, and when my forked tip teased the head, I felt him swell and harden toward my waiting mouth.

He groaned low and rough, and I parted my lips, letting him slide deep into my throat. My eyes half-closed as a jolt of lust coursed through my abdomen, making my own erection throb, and I exhaled sharply through my nose.

I teased the reddish hair that trailed from his pelvis, brushing it lightly with my nose as I took him deeply. I squinted slightly at the discomfort of his depth. But when I began to pull back, everything changed.

I should have noticed the tension in his thighs, but I was too caught up, powerless before him.

In an instant, I felt his hands around my head, and instead of letting me pull away, he pushed me down forcefully, slamming my face against his pelvis.

He let out a high, rasping moan.

I felt choked and gasped, my eyes widening. I tried to use my hands, but a pair of dark tendrils seized my wrists, binding them behind my back.

I was completely helpless. And in that moment, I felt a profound sense of inner release. My mind emptied, and I experienced the relief I had been craving.

It was fleeting. I saw myself touching Heaven for a brief, ephemeral moment before it burst like a bubble. Instinctively, my horns sprouted, and he grabbed them to pull me back.

I gasped, my mouth dripping with thick saliva, groaning as I struggled to catch my breath. My eyes, now red, lifted wearily to meet his. I was crying from the discomfort, my face radiant with warmth.

“You like it this way, don’t you?” His voice, deep and menacing, carried down to me from his towering position. His gaze was dark, his pupils wide and red, and a sinister heat lit his grin. Alastor didn’t release his grip on my curved horns.

“With me, you can be the monster you are. I’ll empty your mind and your body, but…” he continued, pausing to run his tongue along his sharp jaws.

A shiver of awareness coursed through me, and my eyes widened as he bent his neck further toward me, though he didn’t come any closer.

“…You know the meaning of do ut des , don’t you?”

[raisoramizu]

Hazbin Hotel angst Fanfic - Golden Ashes Chapter 5

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Luciangstweek2025 Prompt chapter 5: (Wound/Panic)

...

Chapter 5: Infected wounds

Soon, I stopped counting the days since our deal. Alastor had dissolved into shadows, fleeing my room the moment I tended to him, and since then, he'd barely spoken to me. He spent most of his time in the bedroom or the Radio Tower, where his podcasts aired at all hours, including the dead of night.

I’d started listening to them, but he didn’t talk much; most of the broadcasts were filled with songs from the 1930s. I paid close attention to the lyrics, searching for a message, a thought, trying to understand the Sinner who had wormed his way into my mind like a parasite.

He’s eating away at my brain.

I was utterly fixated on him, to the point where I created nothing but ducks about him. Nothing gave me joy or warmth—not even the soothing hot water of my shower. Despite that, I hadn’t had a panic attack since. It was as if the deal I’d made with him had calmed me. He could have done anything to me without fearing my reactions—him, I was just a mere human.

I’d never been human.

I knew them. Oh, I knew them all too well. I had loved them. I believed they were intelligent, wise creatures, but they’d turned out to be foolish and arrogant. Lilith—I had loved her more than anything else.

...

…

Do I still love her? How long had it been since I last thought about her? Since I last dreamed of her?

Not that dreaming of her was pleasant anymore. My dreams were filled only with frustration, anger, abandonment, and longing.

What did it mean to be human? Could I truly understand them? Could I understand… Alastor?

Why is he here? What had he done? Was his heart entirely dark, or were there shafts of light even in someone like him? An Overlord... Who was I kidding?

Myself. That’s who.

“Dad?” Charlie’s concerned voice broke my thoughts. “Dad?” she repeated, resting a hand on my shoulder.

I snapped out of it. Lifting my gaze in confusion, I took in the grand bar hall bathed in the red light filtering from outside, and then my daughter’s face. She looked at me with furrowed brows, worry etched across her features.

Was I making her worry even in my sleep?

“You fell asleep… Maybe you should go to your room and rest,” she suggested, tilting her blonde head slightly as if trying to study me from another angle.

How much she looked like her mother. But this time, those features didn’t unsettle me. Upon waking, I felt a surge of yearning—but for Alastor.

I needed him more than ever.

I ran my hands over my face and through my hair, trying to collect myself and appear presentable. “Are there any new guests?” I asked her.

She shook her head. I turned down the corners of my lips in disappointment.

“…You need to be patient. They’ll come. These empty-headed infernal fools…” I smiled, giving myself a couple of light taps on the head, making it sound hollow. “…need time to figure out the right path to take.”

She gave me a half-hearted smile, but it was clear she no longer had hope.

If she didn’t have hope, who was supposed to? Me?

…

I dragged myself to my room, trying to empty my mind. I really needed to sleep. Not that I didn’t sleep—I slept a lot, but never truly rested.

I closed the door behind me with a huff and lit the entryway with a bit of magic. I started wandering toward the bedroom, undressing gradually: first the hat, then the boots, the jacket, and finally the vest with the bow tie. I scattered them on the floor as I made my way to the bed, where I collapsed on my back, legs dangling over the edge.

I sank into the softness of the blankets, staring up at the white ceiling, which seemed to expand and contract in rhythm with my thoughts. My arms were splayed out, but that didn’t last long. My left hand—the one with the wedding ring—slipped down to the crotch of my pants. I wasn’t exactly aroused, but I was alone. I didn’t know what else to do—I needed some kind of release.

Maybe I need a little pain?

I palmed myself through the fabric, letting my fingers slide around my balls. When I gave a firm squeeze, making myself gasp, there was an echo somewhere in the room.

But it wasn’t mine. It was a groan of displeasure.

I immediately froze. “What the fuck—?!” I exclaimed, sitting upright on the bed and glancing around. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t sense anything. How was that possible?

Of course it’s possible.

Caught red-handed, I slowly watched as a figure emerged from the shadows of my wardrobe. The gleaming smile came first, as if it were a signature. The light from my magic only flickered now, as if recognizing who stood before me.

Alastor was there, standing with his broken staff, which seemed to pulse with a malicious energy. Seeing him eased my alarm; I swallowed dryly, letting my heartbeat slow, and furrowed my brow nervously.

“So this is how you spend your time?~” he sang, his voice grating on my nerves yet warming me all the same.

I felt humiliated to have him in my room at that moment, right as I’d started to touch myself. But at the same time, I was elated. He had finally come to me.

He was here, in my room, and anything could happen.

Maybe I’d finally end up having sex with him today. Maybe his interrupting me in such an intimate act would break the ice, the tension, the shyness—and we’d get to it. After all, it was all I wanted: my hands on his body, between his ears. I wanted to feel the texture of his horns. Did he even have a deer tail? And what would he taste like? And his cock… how big was it?

It could get huge—I’d seen it when he tore into those shark demons the first time I visited the Hotel.

I laughed internally at the thought. How far gone was I since that morning he’d called my pancakes disgusting? And yet, it had only been a few weeks.

Then I remembered what I feared most: that he might actually take advantage of Charlie. But if he wanted to do that, he could’ve just asked me. Instead, he’d only asked for my help… and to dissolve that deal I knew nothing about.

“Does my presence bother you?” His words snapped me out of my thoughts.

I shook my head to collect myself. “No, quite the opposite...”

The opposite?

“‘The opposite?’” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He stood there, motionless, about a foot from the bed where I was still sitting.

I flushed with embarrassment, my cheeks tinted gold, and lowered my gaze along with the corners of my mouth in irritation. “The opposite,” I muttered curtly, pouting like a sulky teenager.

He stared at me for a moment from his vantage point before his expression softened into a smile that matched the permanent grin on his lips. Finally, he tilted his head slightly and spoke again. “I’m here for a simple matter, Lucifer. My staff. You promised to repair it.”

My eyes drifted to the staff he held tightly in his hand. The green magic holding it together flickered like an unstable, corrosive flame. His request was a simple formality of our deal, yet the way he’d asked—with that smooth, loaded voice—seemed to imply something more.

I hoped it meant something more.

Gods, I’d become a teenager with an emotional dependency on someone I didn’t even know. Alastor was like an unattainable celebrity I’d idealized to the point of madness.

“Oh, right. The repair,” I replied, trying to sound detached, though my voice was lower, almost husky. “Hand it over,” I added, rising from the bed.

Alastor stepped closer, extending the staff to me with a slow, almost theatrical gesture. When I took it, our fingers brushed for an instant. An instant long enough to make me blush and avert my gaze, irritated by my own reaction.

I dragged myself to the workbench, illuminating it with a simple snap of my fingers. Placing the staff in front of me, I examined the splintered wood and the pulsating veins of distorted magic. They seemed to vibrate under my hand.

“This won’t take long,” I mumbled, more to myself than to him.

Alastor didn’t answer, but I could feel his gaze on me. It weighed on me like an overly warm blanket, yet I couldn’t stop. My magic poured into the staff, intertwining with his, mending the cracks, healing the shattered fragments. During the process, golden sparks mixed with acid green, creating a whirlwind of energy that reflected off the room's walls, illuminating my face, now visibly tired once again. I was about to collapse again.

The staff was restored, glossy and perfect. But as soon as the process was complete, a wave of dark energy surged into Alastor.

I heard him let out a deep, almost guttural moan. He bent forward, his body trembling as the radio filter in his voice came back in full force, drowning everything else. “Oh, yes... It’s perfect!” he exclaimed, stretching his smile in a distorted, inhuman way.

I spun around toward him, recoiling instinctively until my back hit the edge of the workbench. Before I could say anything, the staff disappeared, and before it fully reformed in his grasp, I heard it slam against the floor. A tendril branched out from Alastor’s shoulders, piercing my shoulder through and through, slicing through flesh and bone like butter.

The pain was sudden and searing. I fell backward, knocking over the desk and hitting the floor with a thud amidst scattered papers and tools.

Panic. My breathing grew erratic, disordered. The pain pulsed in waves, but it was the sight of the blood that paralyzed me. My hands trembled, unable to move. The room spun, the air growing denser with every passing moment.

The tension broke, just like that, after days of nothing happening. A wound I had once desired, requested, embedded into our agreement because it allowed me to feel pleasure, now sent me spiraling into the darkest abyss.

I didn’t ask myself why. I couldn’t analyze anymore, couldn’t wonder about the reasons behind anything. Did any of this make sense? Did I make sense? I tried to speak, to say something, but my throat was clenched tight. My mind was a whirlwind of memories and fears I couldn’t control. I writhed on the floor, lying supine like a snake trying to escape a grip—but there was no grip, just my torn shoulder bleeding profusely with golden ichor.

My blood-red eyes fixed on the ceiling, my jaw gasping for air. Alastor loomed over me, standing tall with both hands resting on the shell of his staff, his wide-eyed gaze staring down at me.

He moved his mouth. Maybe he said something. What did he say? I couldn’t hear anything, only a dull, resonant noise—like the pressure of water—echoing in my head. Yet it was clear Alastor was frightened by my reaction.

And me? What was I feeling? There was no desire, no arousal, no sexual thrill in the pain I felt. No relief, only the need to vomit. For the umpteenth time—but the first in weeks—I thought about dying. I’d die here, without knowing why I had felt better and now was falling apart, without saying goodbye to Charlie, without ever seeing Lilith again, without tasting that demon who had obsessed me for no reason.

What would become of Hell without me? Surely a better place—or maybe it wouldn’t change at all. After all, I’d been absent for so many years. Charlie would take my place, of course. She would definitely improve it. She still had hope. Hope that Sinners and Angels would eventually crush over time, just like they had crushed mine.

There’s no place in Creation for dreamers.

“LUCIFER!”

Alastor’s inhuman snarl and his claws, sinking deep into my open wound, yanked me back to reality.

My eyes flew open, and I gasped loudly, completely stiff, as though emerging from a long apnea. There he was again—his face mere inches from mine. His eyes were pitch black, his pupils resembling radio dials, and his antlers branched out a full meter on either side of the room. His staff lay discarded on the ground, not far away.

I shot out my right hand, grabbing his arm as though seeking support to lift myself, to escape the dark, viscous water I had sunk into. But his gaze shifted—from my face, it trickled down to my shoulder.

He stared at his claws, stained with my blood, and began to tremble. I blinked a few times, trying to focus better on him, but I was in terrible shape. Sweaty from the blood loss, from the panic I’d just felt, and because...

...he was suddenly on top of me.

In an instant, he was bent over me, his face buried in my shoulder. My eyes widened, my back arched, slamming my abdomen against his, and I moaned—a relieved sound, at the sensation of his tongue pressing into my open wound. Finally, my voice returned.

It was a strange sensation: it hurt, but it tickled inside.

He gripped my shoulder and began licking me, sliding his tongue past the torn fabric of my shirt to reach the skin, sucking and lightly nibbling. Every tiny scrape of his teeth was painful, yet...

I kept moaning and squirming, my forehead creased in an expression of inexplicable pleasure. He had settled himself between my legs, spread open around his hips, and I desperately tried to grind my pelvis against his. I was getting aroused again.

Fuck. To hell with it—any reason, any logic. I wanted him, and he was devouring me.

I slid my good hand into his hair. His head jerked in time with the frantic spasms of his movements; his scorching breath churned with my blood as I drooled, tears streaking down my temples. I reached for his ears with far more tenderness than I used to rub my now fully hardened erection against his stomach.

They were incredibly soft. And his horns? I traced them, tapping a claw lightly against their solid surface, careful not to damage them. They felt like polished wood—sleek, yet impossibly fragile in their resilience.

That tingling sensation boiled over, spreading through my groin, and I turned to him, dragging my long, forked tongue across his cheek in a lascivious gesture. My swollen, lust-filled eyes half-closed as I glanced at his profile. And… he was looking at me. With that same vast, dark, demonic stare.

In the next moment, his tongue was in my mouth.

He slid an arm under my waist, forcing my back to arch further, while his knees worked their way beneath my thighs, lifting them. With a sharp thrust of his hips, he bumped his erection against mine.

I moaned.

I could feel his arousal pressing firmly against mine as he moved from my shoulder to devour my mouth. His tongue moved frantically against my palate, dangerously scraping my fangs, and I responded just as fervently, twining my much thinner tongue around his thick, slick one, cleaning it of the sweet taste of my divine blood. He salivated so heavily that it didn’t take long for it to froth under the weight of our panting breaths before dripping copiously from our mouths.

I felt like I was about to explode. My head was on fire, waves of dizziness pulling me under and dragging with them deep, hollowing sensations, as though my strength were leaving me with each surge of desire.

The most absurd kiss of my life. The strangest situation I’d ever been in.

There was no need for us to be sensual, to think about what we were doing. Our actions were purely instinctual.

And it was with that same instinct that I clumsily started to unbutton his pants.

At first, I was almost afraid he’d stop me, but when I brushed against him, his hips lifted slightly to make room for me. Encouraged, I quickened my pace, undoing the button and zipper and sliding my hand into the scorching heat of his groin.

It was damp with sweat and pre-cum, which I smeared with my fingers around his stiff, tense erection. I explored the length of his cock greedily, earning a groan that shattered against my mouth before he resumed kissing me with even more abandon.

I began stroking his shaft, from the tip to the base, my hand slapping rhythmically against his heated skin.

With each pump, his breathing crackled in the air like radio static, his moans distorted as he thrust his hips into my hand, masturbating himself more and more fervently within my grip.

He was seeking me. He wanted me too.

The realization left me momentarily confused. Was this genuine desire on his part, or just some twisted arousal triggered by his cannibalistic nature? Was it my blood that had set him off like this? Surely he didn’t screw everyone he ate. He didn’t… right? Right?

Of course not. Alastor always seemed irritated by contact he didn’t initiate himself. He probably had never tasted angelic blood before—surely, that was the reason.

The room was filled with our sounds: the rustle of clothes pulling tight and constricting our bodies, the thudding of my shoulders against the floor as his spasms rocked me, our ragged breaths, the moans, my whimpers at the way he pulled at my hair, forcing my chin up.

“Fuck…” I moaned at some point, overwhelmed by the unbearable pressure of my cock straining against my pants. I looked at him and found his forehead furrowed, saliva dripping thickly from his yellowish jaws. His eyes, blackened and trembling, were locked on me.

“What… what is it?” I whimpered, my voice cracking.

"Don't stop," he growled, ordering me. I began rubbing even faster against his sex, and he moaned, bending over so much that his forehead pressed against my sternum. His ears twitched, folding back against his neck, while his horns creaked, growing new branches. From that moment on, every movement became a crescendo of his evident loss of control; I obeyed, continuing to stroke him despite his increasing tremors—along with my own mounting need for physical release.

- He's mine. He's mine to break, to ruin, to keep. -

A need that was never fulfilled because, gripping my hair tightly with one hand and forcing my fingers around his sex with the other, he came. His body shook against mine, and his moans, growing deeper and more distorted, broke into a guttural sob as he reached his peak. The warmth of his essence soaked through my shirt—a blend of moisture and tension that seemed to dissolve into the thick air of the room.

I thought it was over, that the moment of surrender had loosened the dark knot binding us both. But then... ...his eyes.

They flew open, locking onto me. And what I saw there wasn’t satisfaction or relief. No. It was something deeper, darker. Terror. Pure fear, mingled with rage—an emotion so primal it struck me like a blow to the chest.

"Alastor..." I whispered, breathless, trying to grab his hand, to establish any form of connection—anything that might calm him.

- How dare you touch me like this? -

I didn’t even have time to react. His face twisted into a mask of incomprehensible fury. With a guttural snarl, he flung me away with a shockwave that radiated from his body. I felt the floor beneath me crumble as I was slammed violently into the opposite wall.

I groaned, the pain knocking the wind out of me, warm blood streaming from the open wounds on my arms and shoulders.

Alastor was already on his feet, his body vibrating with dark energy that seemed to spill from every pore. He looked at me one last time, his black eyes fixed on me with a mix of contempt and... something I couldn’t decipher.

Then he was gone. The shadows wrapped around him like a cloak, swallowing him in an instant. The room seemed to empty all at once, as if his presence had taken even the air, leaving me immersed in a deafening silence.

I stayed on the ground, confused and unable to move, the pain throbbing through my body nothing compared to the void yawning open in my chest.

Why? The question echoed in my mind, accompanied by the image of his eyes—the way he had looked at me. I touched my swollen lips, still damp with his saliva.

A tremor ran through me, and only then did I realize I was crying.

Tears streaked silently down my face, hot and unrelenting, as I lay there curled up among the wreckage. I was a mess, but maybe he was worse off than I was.

[raisoramizu]

Love and Destroy - Chapter 1 - Dreams Come True (2/13)

I’ve started drawing (badly xD) my fanfiction Radiosilence - featuring Radiobelle and Radioapple. I’ll be working by chapters: 13 pages for the first one, and for the second... we’ll see (I hope to improve as I work on the first chapter because the second one is Hentai, and I might get stuck with anatomy, but I enjoy pushing boundaries vv).

You can read my fanfiction here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56522800/chapters/143648899

If you want to follow the live updates of the pages, follow me on Bluesky or X: Raisoramizu.

[raisoramizu]

Hazbin Hotel angst Fanfic - Golden Ashes Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Thanks to @Sberryradio for the cover art. https://x.com/SBerryRadio

Follow me on X o Bluesky: Raisoramizu https://x.com/Raima_chan https://bsky.app/profile/raisoramizu.bsky.social

Prompt chapter 4: (Sacrifice/Immorality) Trigger Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Today I’m a bit late, sorry xD

---- Chapter 4: Filthy Choices

The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the irregular ticking of the clock. I couldn’t understand how I had gotten to this point: everything was a whirlwind out of control. I stood there, motionless, my trembling hands pressed against the cold surface of the large front door, my wide eyes betraying all my fear as they focused on Alastor's figure looming over me. He pinned me with both hands braced beside my shoulders. His taller frame was hunched forward. His face was mere inches from mine. His ragged, hot breaths brushed against my skin. I could smell him: clothes, flesh, skin. I liked it. I wanted to taste him. What the hell was happening to me? In ten thousand years, I would never have imagined feeling something like this for a Sinner—let alone a stranger. For the first time, I truly wondered what was happening to him: he wasn’t himself.

I had envisioned him obsessively for days, but in a completely different guise. A more authoritative, flawless figure who had me in his grip with what he knew about me. That was it. That’s why I wanted him. He knew my secret, my sordid desires, and he had me in the palm of his hand. The thrill. The fear. I needed to be punished, and who better to do it? Who could give me a stronger feeling of humiliation? Him, the one who had mocked me, weaving himself into my song to emphasize my absence toward Charlie and to remind me how much he had guided her, instead of me, this entire time.

A Sinner. A human soul prized by Lilith, one who had abused free will to commit who knows what atrocities. Egotistical, immoral, manipulative. I trembled. A shiver that began in my pelvis made goosebumps rise on my skin. At the same time, I grew warmer, overcome by a strange longing. The mere thought of what could happen to me was arousing. I was getting aroused, standing there in front of him as he drooled, his cheeks flushed and the tips of his ears, slightly folded back, glowing red. His mouth was curved in its usual arc, but there was something odd about it... as if that smile were just a reflex, a habit.

Alastor closed his mouth and swallowed hard. “I... saw you, Lucifer.” His voice struck like a lightning bolt in my mind. Three words. Those three words were enough to take my breath away. He had seen it. He had seen me let those demons destroy me. I hadn’t resisted. I hadn’t wanted to. And now, he knew.

“If you don’t do something for me, I might... how to say this...” He lingered, curving the corners of his mouth further. “...let a detail or two slip to Charlie. You know how much she cares about you, after all.”

He was clear but uncertain. He was trying to show he still had power over me, that he was still in control, but his condition betrayed him. For him to come to me in this state... he had to be desperate. And now here I was, consumed by a dilemma with no solution. Alastor had saved me that night. He had brought me back here, my body broken and my pride in shambles. But his rescue hadn’t been free, and the price he demanded was steep. And it was exactly what I wanted. I could exploit his condition to my advantage. Maybe I could.

“Do you want to make a deal with me?” I hissed, brushing his cheek with my hand. I stepped away from the door, wiping the dark substance dripping from his jaws off his skin. At my touch, he startled. I saw his smile freeze, his eyes widen, and his pupils shrink to pinpricks. As though my touch were searing hot, he suddenly jerked away from the door—from me—springing back several feet. I was taken aback by his reaction, though I should have expected it. After all, I was the one who wanted him, who had obsessed over him for days because of my twisted mind. To him, I was nothing more than an annoyance, someone with immense power who could fulfill his every need, his thirst. So why was he in this condition?

“And so,” he replied, trying to regain control of the situation. He straightened, pulling his shoulders back and adjusting the collar of his red jacket, which now seemed burdensome. “I won’t say anything to Charlie, to anyone, and in return... you’ll heal me, fix my staff, and dissolve my deal.”

Clear, concise, spoken with a voice that wanted to sound authoritative and full of itself. But the fact that he avoided looking at me, focusing instead on the dimly lit room, gave him away. I was even more stunned by his words. What? Injured, the staff broken, and... a deal? I stayed silent for a moment. When his gaze finally returned to me, sharp and irritated, I realized my eyes were wide, my jaw slack. I quickly pulled myself together, closing my mouth and clearing my throat with slight embarrassment. Now it was my turn to lower my gaze, avoiding the weight of his. I frowned, unconvinced.

“You’re...” I tried to speak. I had a thousand questions for him, but I stopped. “...you’re hurt?”

“...by an angelic weapon,” he answered. “The wound won’t heal—it seems infected.” I looked back at him, shocked. “It was Adam,” I said. But then I lifted my chin, noticing his reaction. He was rigid, turning slightly away from me, avoiding my gaze entirely. It was obvious how much those words, spoken with apparent ease, were actually a great burden for him. With me. It must have been excruciating for his pride to reveal his weakness to me. He could really die. He was desperate.

“And... a deal?” I continued, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t respond. He emitted a distorted sound, like the radio interference he usually produced, but there was something off... as though the radio were broken, unable to catch the signal. After all, even his voice sounded natural. The break in the staff had probably caused some disruption to his powers.

I let out a loud huff and took a step forward toward him. “You should be more specific about your deal, or how am I supposed to know if I can break it? It’s not that simple, even for—” As I took the second step, a towering mass of shadowy tentacles materialized in front of me, blocking my path. I stopped abruptly, trying to glimpse him through the gaps in the black wall. “...You’ll accept the deal with the information I’ve given you, and you’ll be forced to find a way to break it, whether you can... or can’t,” he drawled, still refusing to look at me. Two meters and a cursed wall separated us. “This is the final offer: accept it, or I’ll disappear from here. And when you leave this room, Hell will know everything. Sure, you could kill me...” This time, he looked at me, his eyes gleaming through the gaps in the dark tendrils. “...But I think that would be even worse for Charlie ~”

Those last words filled me with rage. I stiffened, staring at the floor, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. I ground my teeth, wrinkling my brow nervously, then sighed, “Fine,” my voice thick with anguish and apprehension. I knew that what I was about to do would lead to my destruction. Everything would end badly, but perhaps... perhaps I could do it in the glory of my pleasure.

At my answer, the tentacles dissolved, bringing us face to face again. He took a few steps closer, stopping a meter away, looking down at me with weariness from his taller height. This time, however, his smile shone with a sinister satisfaction, which melted away the moment I said, “...But under one condition,” my voice laced with hesitation and deep fear.

“...” He stared at me in silence for a moment. “You’re not in a position to make demands,” he pointed out. In response, I raised my gaze, clenching my fists again. With a defiant expression, I lifted my chin and stepped closer. I saw him tense, alarmed, his eyes widening slightly.

“You need to hurt me. I want you to use all your anger against me. You need to torment me, beat me, make me feel pain.” My uncertainty vanished as my resolve exploded. He began to laugh. “AHAHAH!” Suddenly, his high-pitched voice echoed annoyingly through the room.

I gaped at him in astonishment as he laughed so hard his crimson tongue was visible in his gaping maw. “Are you mocking me?!” he growled, then, just as suddenly, leaning forward to bare his teeth a mere inch from my face. “My powers have no effect on you. You’re untouchable. I can’t hurt you.”

At that proximity, I blushed, ignited once again by that corrosive desire I felt for him—but also for myself. I felt the need stir in my pants, and I swallowed hard. My lips trembled, but in response, I extended my right palm to him, ready to seal the deal. “My defenses will be null. With you, I’ll be no more than a mere imp... no, a human! You’ll be the only one capable of inflicting physical harm on me, of hurting me. Only you could—”

But once again, I didn’t have time to finish: he suddenly clasped my hand with such force that the room exploded. His acid-green sorcery mingled with my golden power, creating a shockwave that made the windows tremble and sent several rubber ducks flying. The room lit up with sinister hues, casting a surprised expression across my face. My red eyes locked with Alastor’s black ones, then everything dimmed, our hair falling heavily over our tired, sweat-slick faces.

“...” I stood still for a moment, panting, shaken by the immense power that had electrified every fiber of my being. And when I opened my mouth to say something, Alastor struck me. I didn’t realize he had moved; I only felt the immense pain his fist caused as it slammed into my stomach. I had never felt pain like it. My abdomen burned, the sensation flaring up my throat in a wave of nausea.

That feeling left me disoriented for a moment. All I could do was widen my eyes, bending forward until my forehead nearly touched his abdomen. I tried to groan, spitting saliva everywhere. But even then, before I could form an articulate sound, I was struck by a clawed swipe straight across my face, with such force that I was sent flying.

I crashed against the foot of the bed, which toppled onto me with a thud. In that moment, I didn’t feel pain, only a sharp ringing in my ears and a searing heat engulfing my face. I found myself on all fours on the floor, noticing golden blood pouring from my cheek, surrounded by his tentacles. “Al—!” I tried to call out, but the tendrils coiled around my neck, cutting off my breath. Then they forced their way into my mouth, triggering fresh waves of retching. He was beating me. He was fulfilling what I had asked for in our deal: to make me feel pain. He knew exactly how to do it.

For a moment, I became aware that he could reduce me to a pulp. I could do nothing against him; I had no power left. What the hell have I done? My own blood, mingling with the taste of sweat on my lips, carried a metallic tang as my body tried to deny the growing sensation of loss I felt within me.

With my hands tied behind my back, he lifted me to my knees, forcing my spine to arch and my gaze to fix on the ceiling as the tentacle plunged even deeper into my throat. When he grabbed my hair at the nape with one hand, I realized he was behind me. I found myself nearly pressed back against his chest, his heart thundering in my ribcage. It was as hot as I was. He breathed against my neck while I choked.

“I’d love to know what the hell you were thinking when you asked me for something like this,” he growled in his distorted voice, yanking me further backward. I flinched, my head slamming into his shoulder. My chest was exposed, my knees planted firmly on the ground, legs slightly spread. “…Did you think I’d hesitate? That I’d pity you? You, with all the power anyone could imagine��� is this how you honor your gift?!” With a snarl, he tightened the tentacles around my neck even more.

The suffocating sensation made me sob; my eyes widened, saliva spilled from my mouth, gagged by the tentacles, and I began to cry. My face shone, swollen with the heat of pooling blood, as well as from the crimson that continued to seep from the gashes in my flesh. “Why the hell would you have—” he began to continue, but this time, he didn’t finish. From his elevated position above me—even though he was kneeling too—he clearly saw my erection pressing against the strained fabric of my pants. He hadn’t understood anything until that moment. “Fuck!” he growled, suddenly letting go of me.

As he jumped back, away from me, I found myself free from the tentacles. But as I collapsed onto the floor, his frenzy—and his exhaustion—caused him to stagger upright only to crash immediately back down, his shoulders slamming loudly against the door. The chaos that had filled the room disappeared as quickly as it had exploded. For endless seconds, silence descended in the dim light, a void broken only by our ragged breathing. We were in the same situation. Perhaps for different reasons, but both of us were hurt, exhausted, broken. Maybe shattered.

I couldn’t think of anything but what I had just done. I had worsened an already desperate situation. I had created chaos. Somehow, I managed to get on all fours, spitting saliva and blood, then laughed. A low, hysterical laugh as I lifted my gaze to find him. He was looking at me as if I were the most dangerous thing he had ever seen. He panted, clutching his chest with his right hand, pinned against the door, sitting on the ground. His ears were folded back against his head, and his neck seemed to want to disappear between his bony shoulders.

On all fours, I crawled, trying to get closer to him. At my movement, he flinched, growling like an animal—a warning. He had completely lost his mask. And this was the Sinner who seemed untouchable by anything?

I arched a smile as I kept crawling toward him, but when I was a meter from his feet, I saw it: blood. His wound had reopened because of the commotion. I was alarmed. I lifted my face and extended a hand toward him, showing him my palm. “I need to heal your wound,” I said quickly, trying to reassure him. It did little good.

I swallowed a lump of saliva, continuing to approach on all fours, as though I were facing a wounded animal, ready to either bite or flee at any moment. “Don’t… be afraid,” I gasped. He sharpened his gaze as if he wanted to strike me down on the spot.

How much was this situation weighing on his pride? Certainly, it weighed on mine too. That’s why I was still aroused. I still was. Seen from the outside, this might have been the most ridiculous scene ever: both of us battered, scared, in a room full of rubber ducks and stained with red and golden blood. I, with an obvious erection painfully pressing against my pants. I calmed myself, justifying it with the fact that we were in Hell. Surely worse things happened. And then he let me reach him.

I crawled between his parted legs and pulled myself up to grab his shirt. At that movement, he flinched, and I froze, my arms suspended in midair. “Did the deal… not include this?” I said the perfect words, which allowed me to grab hold of his bloodstained fabric. Kneeling between his legs, I opened his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt. I kept my gaze fixed on his chest the entire time—I didn’t have the courage to lift it to his face, but I could feel perfectly well that he was staring at me. I felt the weight of his eyes on my shoulders. Surely, he thought this was absurd, unmanageable too.

Maybe he was staring at the erection between my legs. Surely his heart was beating faster than mine, and his claws scraped the floor as I opened his shirt, revealing his bony, hairless chest. The red scar ran diagonally across it, from his right flank to his left pectoral, held together by threads of his green sorcery—but they had broken, and the wound was bleeding.

With the back of my hand, I wiped the blood from my cheek, as if that could improve my appearance. I was sweaty, my clothes stuck to my body as much as his, and on top of it all, I was battered. My neck bore the marks of his tentacles’ grip. Yet he trusted me. “…Relax,” I whispered, placing both palms on his chest.

I felt him shudder and hold his breath when golden magic flowed from my hands, capable of healing him. The room lit up with the glimmers of that faint, buzzing light, like a laser, which began to gradually seal the gash. He was rigid, trembling under my fingers, and I could feel his heart beating against my throat. My tail swayed through the air, and my need grew. I wanted him. It wasn’t just the need to be humiliated by him, to feel pain. My obsession had driven me to want him.

I tilted the corners of my lips downward as the wound disappeared completely, then summoned the courage to lift my gaze toward his face, meeting his eyes. They stared at me with the same terror as before. The breath caught in my lungs. In a fraction of a second, he vanished, dissolving into the shadows that composed him. He incinerated between my fingers, and I fell forward with a desperate “Wait!” that slipped into the void along with my body.

In an instant, I was alone again, in an enormous, dark, silent room. Curled up on the floor with my forehead pressed against the door, I felt panic engulf me. That silence quickly became a buzzing prison, giving me space to collect my thoughts and truly comprehend what I had just done. I felt faint, my body heavy and hot, as if a sea of mud were dragging me down, but my mind kept fighting, trying to cling to something solid.

Every scream I didn’t release was louder than the silence surrounding me, yet the pleasure of suffering mixed with fear, growing into a strange sensation within me, as if something dark had awakened.

I had come to the Hotel to help and protect Charlie, but instead, I had become a problem. Now I could no longer protect her from that Sinner who seemed anything but someone who wanted to be here. He had the power to destroy me, trap me, put me in the cage I had created. I would collapse, and I might bring everything down with me—even my daughter’s dreams, the ones I had sworn to protect.

What had I done? What had I become? “Fuck,” I growled.

And even now, as my hand slid once more down the front of my pants, I felt my soul split in two between need and guilt.

There was no going back anymore; all I could do was try to make the situation less dangerous for everyone. Maybe Alastor wasn’t so bad after all. I had seen him hurt, terrified, fragile. Maybe he was just as desperate as I was. Maybe he had the same thoughts as me. Maybe…

...maybe all I wanted was him. He had become the comforting prison capable of driving me to make monstrous choices.

[raisoramizu]

#LuciAngstWeek2025

Day 1: Alone

The image may seem off the theme, but..... it's not. Trust me.

[raisoramizu]

Hazbin Hotel angst Fanfic - Golden Ashes Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Thanks to @Sberryradio for the cover art. https://x.com/SBerryRadio

Follow me on X o Bluesky: Raisoramizu https://x.com/Raima_chan https://bsky.app/profile/raisoramizu.bsky.social

Prompt chapter3: (Delusion/Coping) Trigger Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

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Chapter 3: Comfort Prisons

I woke up with a start.

I gasped sharply, dragging air into my lungs with the violence of a sharp dagger ripping through an open chest. I coughed. It felt like I had ash in my throat—or maybe it was just the metallic, sickly-sweet aftertaste of my blood, the same blood that still stained me completely.

I blinked. The light stabbed at my eyes like incandescent blades, forcing me to shield them with a trembling hand. My head throbbed in sync with the pounding of my heart: every fiber of my body screamed under the weight of the night I had just endured. But what night? I couldn’t remember anything. The cold concrete beneath my skin, the rain sharp as glass, the pain that had been my most twisted comfort—it was gone. And now I was here.

I ran a hand over my face, wiping away much of the dried blood that had dripped from my mouth. The familiar scent of the Hotel struck my nostrils. Slowly, I raised my head, still dazed, and recognized the ceiling of my room: high, richly adorned, as if its only purpose was to make me feel small and insignificant beneath it. I was back here, within walls I knew by heart and which, little by little, were starting to know me as well.

I rolled onto my side, wincing at the pain. A sudden chill made me shiver. I was naked. Completely naked. My knees and elbows were still scraped, the skin burned like sandpaper, but at least I seemed… healed? No, not completely. Not inside.

“What the fuck…” I whispered, my voice hoarse and cracked.

I braced myself on my arms and forced myself to sit up, my hands still trembling. I tried to piece my thoughts together, to make sense of the sequence of events that now slipped away like sand through my fingers. My last clear memory was the sound of their voices: hoarse, snarling, amused. Hands grabbing me, marking me with violence. They had tried to violate me, and I had been letting them do it, but then… eyes. Those eyes.

I gritted my teeth. Anger and shame ignited within me, a fire I couldn’t extinguish. How had I ended up here? And why? Who had brought me back?

A subtler, more venomous shiver ran down my spine. I felt watched. My gaze snapped toward the farthest shadow in the room, but I saw nothing. My heartbeat pounded in my temples as a thought wormed its way into my mind: I didn’t come back here alone.

I dragged myself to the mirror, leaning against the dresser with labored breaths. My golden eyes stared back at me with an expression I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t anger or despair but an unsettling curiosity. It wasn’t what I expected to feel. I ran a hand through my hair, watching the blonde strands fall messily over my face, streaked with mud. I had always seen perfection in that face, the mask of the angel I once was. But now, there was a crack.

And yet, I couldn’t look away.

I felt naked again—not just in body but in soul—as though the pain I had endured had stripped something away, leaving room for a void… or perhaps for something new. My fingers trembled, but I couldn’t ignore the desire creeping into my mind, dark and seductive. It wasn’t fear. It was a call.

I stumbled away from the mirror, tripping over my own steps, trying to push the thought aside. I needed a distraction. I could’ve healed myself with some magic, but I craved comfort. Hot water seemed the most immediate, the most welcoming embrace. Surely water wouldn’t judge me—it would only cleanse me.

Before I knew it, I was under the steaming spray of my shower. The bathroom was all white, spacious—too spacious. There was even a jacuzzi tub I had never used.

I wrapped my arms around my shoulders and bowed my head, letting the water cascade over my cheeks, trickling down in tiny, continuous rivulets to the floor beneath my hooves. It was soothing to feel it massage my shoulders. I had craved pain, finding pleasure and release in receiving it, but now I felt something similar in the shower’s embrace.

But I needed to think about who had brought me here. Whoever it was, they might have seen everything. Whoever it was… they entered the Hotel without consequences? They brought me back without being noticed by Charlie or the others—or did they all know?

My eyes widened as a wave of vertigo clawed at my throat. Did they all know? No… Charlie wouldn’t have let me sleep naked, drenched in my own blood. It must have been someone who laid me on the bed and left. Someone who… those eyes!

The terror of a bitter realization made me jump back, slamming my shoulders against the cold bathroom wall. I started panting, staring at an empty point in front of me: Alastor.

It had been that Sinner. His eyes. His shoes. And now, where was he?

I shifted into my demonic form, glancing around in heightened alertness, as if I might find him there. Nonsense. He isn’t here. Fuck, get a grip, Lucifer. Stay calm.

I swallowed hard and turned off the shower, stepping out. My hooves clicked softly on the bathroom floor as I walked toward the bedroom. With a flicker of magic, I clothed myself in white shirt and pants without even bothering to dry off.

The pale fabric clung immediately to my shoulders as my hair continued dripping. But it wasn’t just water—I was sweating. What should I do? Confront him? He would undoubtedly blackmail me. He brought me here without telling anyone for a specific reason: to extort something. Would he demand power? Or marriage to Charlie to secure succession? Damn it all.

I paced aimlessly through the bedroom, running my hands through my soaking hair. I was trembling. Breathing heavily. I needed a distraction.

Then I saw it: a small porcelain figurine on a shelf, an old representation of myself.

I picked it up. It was fragile, delicate, perfect in its details. I studied how the light danced across its glossy surface. The shape resembled me: the noble face, the sardonic smile, the immortal arrogance. My cheeks painted red, the ringleader’s attire of the Circus of Beasts—the Inferno.

I gripped it tighter. Too tight.

With a sharp snap, the head of the figurine broke off, rolling onto the floor. I froze, watching it carefully. Then, almost without thinking, I picked it up and smashed it against the edge of the dresser. The sound of ceramic shattering brought me a satisfaction I couldn’t explain. It was as if I had destroyed a part of myself—a symbol of what I used to be.

Alastor will chain me down, or I’ll lose the last shred of authority and respect I still hold in Hell. He would chain me… put me in a little cage, like a bird?

At that point, I wouldn’t have any duties left, no responsibilities. Ah, Alastor! You’d have to deal with those bickering fools yourself.

I smiled—a hysterical smile.

My thoughts swirled in chaotic tangents, but the cage… With a soft flick of my fingers, one appeared on my workstation at the end of the bed. It was a small desk attached to the wall, adorned with all the tools I used to craft rubber ducks.

I had rubber ducks everywhere in my bedroom, overflowing from every corner. I hadn’t made any since arriving at the Hotel, but now I felt the need. A duck in a cage.

I sat down at the workstation, letting the drapes hanging from the ceiling around the desk form the entrance to a circus—a circus I immersed myself in once again.

I began crafting new ducks with meticulous care. Each version grew more detailed, more refined. They bore my likeness: the hat, the cane, the snake. My six white-and-red wings. I made them only to destroy them, one after another. It became a ritual, a twisted catharsis. Every fragment that fell to the floor felt like a piece of my soul breaking apart—but it wasn’t enough.

I knew where this was heading: I needed to create a perfect replica of myself to place inside the black cage waiting on the desk.

It wasn’t enough. No duck could truly represent me.

—--------

Days passed. I knew I had to confront Alastor, but I wasn’t certain of what I had seen. Shame and pride were certainly doing their part.

He was rarely seen around the Hotel; he spent most of his time either outside or in his room. I knew he worked on a podcast that aired at noon, but I never listened to it.

I had never truly cared about him. I saw him as a danger, a nuisance, yet another manipulator who had attached himself to Charlie to extract something from her. And yet, I became obsessed. I thought of nothing else. But he wasn’t there. He didn’t talk to me, didn’t greet me; our interactions were limited to fleeting glances that I immediately avoided.

I needed to confront him, but I didn’t have the courage.

One night, while carving yet another figure, my mind hesitated for a moment. What if that pain I so desperately sought from others could come from myself?

I stopped working and stared at my hands. Despite all this labor, they were immaculate. Nothing truly hurt me unless I allowed it. Unless I lowered my defenses. Did that apply to my soul as well?

Without thinking too much, I picked up the chisel I used to sculpt the ducks and pressed it against the palm of my hand, slowly. I let the metal pierce the skin and then the flesh, allowing my golden blood to flow—first in a trickle, then in a steady stream. I groaned. The pain was immediate, but it didn’t stop me. No, on the contrary. I found it mesmerizing.

My mind drifted back to that night: the cold cement, the rain, the pain that had consumed me so completely it became pleasure. It was wrong. I knew it was wrong. But I couldn’t stop.

The wound throbbed, and it felt as though something had awakened inside me. And then, there he was again. His eyes. He had carried me, hadn’t he? He had brought me back here. The more I thought about it, the clearer that image became. The scent of his skin, his clothes. Was it real? Something like old garments left too long in a closet, alcohol, and gunpowder. But also the forest. Something wild.

I leaned over the desk, losing myself amid the chaos of ducks scattered everywhere. Some tumbled to the floor, their familiar appearance tightening a knot in my stomach: they were all Alastor. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, with his mocking grin. Only one depicted me—fragile and alone—while the others lay shattered, broken into pieces by my own hand.

I buried my forehead against my arm, closing my eyes just inches from the surface of the desk, as blood continued to pour from my hand. I dragged it over my groin, staining the fabric. It was warm. It hurt, and yet my desire grew alongside the rhythm of my heartbeat and my breath. The rough fabric of my trousers brushing against the wound irritated me, but I couldn’t pull away from the sweet suffering it brought.

Half-curled over the desk, alone in that bright room that now felt suffocatingly dark, I slipped my hand into my pants and began touching myself with the injured hand. The more I stroked, the sharper the pain became, shooting up my spine and catching in my throat until I moaned.

For the first time in years, I touched myself thinking of someone other than Lilith. And I did it imagining him.

—- The Hotel’s dining room was wrapped in a suspended atmosphere. Charlie had insisted on organizing a "group lunch" in hopes of lifting everyone’s spirits. Even though the extermination had been called off and we’d won, there were still no new guests. A sweet but, as usual, clumsy and misplaced attempt.

The long table was set with almost obsessive care: matching plates, crystal glasses, and napkins folded into improbable flower-like shapes. Even the most mundane objects seemed to scream her desperate need to bring a little peace to this hell—literally.

I sat at the end of the table, slightly apart from the chaos, observing them with vacant eyes. Angel Dust laughed boisterously at a joke from Husk, while Vaggie tried to keep the situation under control, maintaining an impassive tone that barely concealed her growing irritation. Charlie, at the center of it all, dressed in her red and black suit, poured water into glasses with a smile too big not to seem forced.

Then she stopped, staring at the table in front of her.

“Alastor didn’t come down.” Her voice, though sweet, carried a note of disappointment.

A brief silence fell over the room, like a gust of cold wind. Even Angel stopped laughing.

“I haven’t seen him in days,” Charlie continued, trying to maintain her smile. “The last time I ran into him, he was… strange. Quieter than usual and… well, I don’t know, he seemed to be avoiding me.”

“A miracle, if you ask me,” Husk commented with a dry laugh, pouring himself a glass of the usual transparent poison he called alcohol.

“Don’t be like that,” Vaggie scolded, glaring at him before turning to Charlie and placing a hand on her shoulder. “He’s probably just… working on something. You know how he is. Alastor isn’t exactly the type for heartfelt conversations or prolonged social interaction.”

Charlie lowered her gaze to the napkin she was nervously twisting between her fingers. “I know, but… it’s not like him to disappear like this. It’s almost like… he’s avoiding the entire Hotel. As if…” She paused, biting her lip.

“As if what?” Angel pressed, breaking the silence with his direct but, for once, sarcasm-free tone.

Charlie let out a long breath. “As if something’s really bothering him. Something big. And he doesn’t want to talk about it with anyone.”

Her words hung heavy in the air.

I slowly let my gaze drift over the group. If only they knew how deeply he’s gotten into my head... Could he be going through something similar to me? No, impossible. There’s no way that bastard had any turmoil over it. And yet, his absence had left a strange void in the Hotel, an unnatural quiet, almost unnerving. For someone so intrinsically tied to chaos, the silence was… unsettling. And for me, it was also a relief.

“You shouldn’t get any strange ideas, Princess,” I finally said, trying to keep my voice neutral as I intertwined my fingers on the table. “Alastor isn’t the type to be overwhelmed by problems. If he’s not here, it’s by choice. Nothing more.”

Charlie turned to me, surprised by my interjection. Her expression was full of questions I knew she wouldn’t dare ask me. Not in that moment. And yet, that look made me immediately regret my words. What the hell did I just say? Did I defend him? Did I talk about him like I tolerated or understood him? I don’t know him at all… or do I know him perfectly, in the way my mind has crafted him over these past days?

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Okay, says the guy who barricaded himself in his room for two weeks. Maybe we should go check if he’s still alive. Or dead. Or… whatever that weird thing is he’s got going on.”

Husk snorted. “Alive or dead, the last thing he wants is someone showing up at his door asking how he’s doing. If he wants to show up, he will.”

Charlie nodded, but her smile was now a distant memory. I turned back to my plate, unable to shake the discomfort clawing at me.

Without even realizing it, I stood abruptly, pushing the chair back behind me. “I’ll go,” I said, placing both hands on the table.

What, what, what?!

Silence fell again, and all eyes were on me, astonished. Charlie’s included.

What the hell am I doing?

I left. On foot, without using a portal. I had no intention of going to his room. Or did I? I wanted to. I could feel it, but I didn’t have the courage. I left them all behind, walking the path that led to our floor: the top one.

—- Once again, without even realizing it, I found myself climbing the last flight of stairs that marked the crossroads between the hallways of our rooms.

On this floor, there were only our suites and his Radio Tower; as if it weren’t just another floor but the control spire of the Hotel’s two protective eyes: him and me.

But could I protect him? I could no longer even protect myself. In fact, I was destroying myself, sabotaging myself.

And even now, I knew that if I came face to face with Alastor, the bubble I’d shut myself in over the past few days—since that event—would burst, exposing me to cruel reality.

Fate heard me. It decided for me.

The sole of my boot had barely touched the red carpet that ran through all the Hotel's hallways when I saw him.

I felt myself sink. A wave of heat surged from my chest, spreading through my body, numbing my muscles and petrifying me.

He was there, heading toward the stairs. He walked with a serene calm, his steps rhythmic as they echoed on the floor. His shoes—black with red trim, like the edges of his pants—marked the time.

Those steps.

Without realizing it, I turned to face him. What did I look like? Surely, my face betrayed every emotion: I had lost the mask. I knew it from his expression.

He stopped about three meters away from me, raising an eyebrow. Alastor’s face gleamed under the dim light, but there was something strange in the way he looked at me. His eyes—two different shades of red—were ringed and swollen.

I burned his image into my mind: the thin body wrapped in his red and black suit, immaculate save for the frayed edges of his coat. His back was straight; his red hair cut in a bowl shape with darker tips. His pointed ears twitched, trying to catch even the faintest sound, perhaps the frantic pounding of my heart. And those small horns... I wanted to touch them.

Why that thought now?

As for me, I was completely rigid: my arms hung away from my sides, my dark fingers tensed and clawed into the air, the vest clinging to my chest felt unbearably hot. Was I overdressed? But I wasn’t wearing my jacket, so how—

I swallowed dryly. Confused thoughts crowded my mind, mixing terror, panic, and insignificant details about him and myself. I was dissociating again. I was panicking.

I felt the dryness in my parted lips, but I was drooling. My eyes stung because I’d kept them wide open for... how long had I been frozen like this?

“Lucifer.”

He called me. A high-pitched tone, free of the radio filter, that tore through me like a sudden, devastating explosion.

I turned sharply, giving him my back, and started running. Fast. My footsteps echoed frantically, matching the pace of my heart. I could have teleported or opened a portal, but I couldn’t think. I just had to leave. But where? Why?

I threw myself into my dark room, slamming the door shut behind me. I pressed against it with a thud, flattening my back and palms against the white, glossy surface, panting like a madman.

I couldn’t breathe. I filled my lungs with deep gulps of air, but it was never enough: I was suffocating. My bloodshot eyes were wide open, but they saw nothing. I felt only fear and panic.

In the silence of the room, I could hear only myself: my heart thundered in my ears, and every attempt to swallow was futile.

Then, completely out of it, I noticed too late—when it was already slipping beneath the door frame, like a shadow—his presence.

I felt it pass around and under my feet. I froze.

Lowering my gaze, I saw the shadow crossing under the heels of my dark boots. When it stopped in front of me, it reassembled liquidly, taking his shape.

I barely had time to register his sharp face and horns—now spread wide like large, jagged branches—before he pinned me against the door.

With a sharp movement, he slammed both hands on the wood behind me, leaning over me.

I was short compared to him. I tucked my neck into my shoulders, lifting my face to keep looking at him. At this distance, his scent flooded my brain: it was the same one that had haunted me for days, but now it carried his warmth too.

He was hot, feverish. He was sweating, with the darker strands of his hair sticking to his forehead.

Despite his enormous, black eyes with demonic red irises, he looked unmistakably tired. His yellowish, sharp jaws glistened in the room’s darkness, and a low growl made a strange dark substance drip from them down to his chin.

I stared at him, mouth still ajar and eyes wide open. I watched the threatening growl gradually morph into a satisfied, exhilarated, desperate grin.

“You and I…” he panted, with his natural voice, “…need to talk about something ~”

[raisoramizu]

Hazbin Hotel angst Fanfic - Golden Ashes Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Thanks to @Sberryradio for the cover art. https://x.com/SBerryRadio

Follow me on X o Bluesky: Raisoramizu https://x.com/Raima_chan https://bsky.app/profile/raisoramizu.bsky.social

Prompt chapter 2: (Outcast/Failure) Trigger Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

... Chapter 2: Descent into the Abyss

In the darkness, I heard a woman’s laughter. Lilith was laughing, her head tilted back as she teased me about my crooked bowtie. “You, the Sovereign of Darkness, unable to tie a proper knot!” I huffed at her words, but inside, I felt her warmth again—a fleeting anchor. An ephemeral emotion, a moment—and then everything changed.

Before me, Lilith was wrapped in a mantle of golden light. She extended her hand to me, but every time I tried to touch her, she vanished like a shadow dissolved by the wind. “Why won’t you save me?” I whispered, but her answer was only a distant smile. Darkness fell, and with it came terror.

The emotion hit me so suddenly it stole my breath. It was a grip on my chest—familiar and relentless. It didn’t matter how many times I’d felt it before; the suffocating pressure never loosened its hold. I clutched my chest, collapsing forward, but my fall was halted. My forehead struck something cold. Glass? With trembling hands, I explored the invisible surface. Immobile. Unfathomable. Then, a woman’s moan shattered the silence. The surface rippled; concentric circles spread out like on a mirror disturbed by a drop.

I froze. Another moan, higher this time. The surface trembled again. The moans grew louder and more continuous, and the ripples became relentless waves. They filled me with dread, forcing me to take a few steps back, my eyes wide and mouth agape.

I recognized that voice. Lilith? When her name crossed my thoughts, she appeared. Beyond the waves, her naked body was sprawled across a mahogany table suspended in the void. A light without a source caressed her curves. Her knees were bent, her bare feet rested on the table’s edge. Her face, partially obscured by her soft, pressed breasts, revealed only a languid smile. The rest of her body was exposed to me—terribly explicit.

My breath caught. Desire ignited instantly, a sudden flame that made me clench my teeth. I tried to control myself, but I couldn’t look away. Her voice called to me, a whisper laced with temptation.

“Luci… where are you?” My cock throbbed against my pants, a searing need that made me realize I was staring with my jaw completely slack. “Ah! Lilith! I’m here!” I replied, my voice cracking with urgency. “...Why aren’t you with me?” she moaned, plunging her fingers into herself with fervor.

Her words pierced me. I moved forward, forgetting the barrier that separated us. The impact was violent; the pain made me stagger. “Lilith!” I cried, desperately feeling along the surface. “There’s something… I can’t reach you!” Each of her moans pressed unbearably against my desire, sending electric shocks of pleasure through me. I laughed nervously, scraping and striking the barrier. I became momentarily distracted. “Eh-eh-oh… Lilith, there’s this thing… what the hell is it, eh-eh, I don’t—” That was enough to see her surrounded by humanoid figures made of light.

I froze, my eyes widening. “What…” I gasped, offering a fleeting, hysterical smile before becoming immediately stunned again. “Eh-eh… what is this? Who are you...?” Angels. They were angels. There were three, maybe four, and their hands roamed Lilith’s body, following the same paths she had traced. Her moans, full of pleasure, mingled with the echo of my frustration. This is insane. “Lilith?! You don’t need this, Lilith! I’m here!” I shouted, my voice breaking with anxiety and desire. Terror consumed me. Every fiber of my being vibrated on the edge, teetering between madness and despair.

When one angel knelt between my wife’s thighs, her moan shattered the silence—sharp and laden with a pleasure so intense it brought me to my knees. My mind emptied in a piercing ecstasy—a sweet, brutal torment that overwhelmed me. My body reacted, trembling under the onslaught of conflicting sensations. I groaned hoarsely, a sound almost animalistic. My hands clenched into fists, clawing at the void as if I could break it. The barrier in front of me rippled but wouldn’t give. My vision darkened, my golden irises now consumed by abyssal black. The darkness enveloped me, and my control broke.

Just then, someone knocked on the door, and a sweet, familiar voice shattered the dream. “Dad? Are you awake?” Charlie.

Her call tore through the veil between dream and reality. It was an instant—a brutal flash of energy. I jolted awake, erupting like a flame, burning away my pajamas before extinguishing myself, leaving a crater where the bed had been.

I found myself sitting on the floor, panting, my palms bracing my body, my legs slightly apart. Around me, the mattress remnants were nothing but a pit of ash. I looked around with wide eyes, swallowing hard to erase the dryness in my mouth.

A dream.

The realization brought a faint sense of relief, but the fear and terror I had experienced in my sleep still clung to me—vivid and unyielding. So did the arousal.

“...”

I lowered my gaze between my legs, my lips curling downward in dismay. My arousal was unmistakable. Embarrassment burned through me, and a golden glow flushed my cheeks.

Charlie knocked again at the door. “What’s going on?! Is everything okay?!” Her alarmed voice forced me to snap out of it.

“Ah! Y-yeah, Chachar!!” I exclaimed, my tone overly enthusiastic and completely out of place. “I was… uh…” I shot to my feet, only for my wobbly legs to give out entirely, sending me crashing noisily to the floor. “…eh-eh-eh,” I laughed nervously, way too loudly, “…taking a bath!” I squeaked, scrambling away from the disaster in an effort to avoid creating more of it.

“…A bath?” she asked hesitantly after a moment of silence from behind the door. “You’ve got the meeting with the Princes of the other Rings in half an hour. It’s been months since you’ve gone, right? You can’t be late today!”

Months. Of course. It had been at least seven years since I’d last attended one of those damn meetings, and after the news of my move to Charlie’s hotel had aired on TV, that conniving Beelzebub had thought it wise to send the invitation directly to her, leaving me no choice but to agree. Charlie had given her word: I couldn’t back out.

“Oh yes, of course! That’s why I’m washing up! I’ll be down in a moment!” I called back, moving completely naked toward the bathroom. Still restless, I tripped over a rubber duck and crashed noisily into the wardrobe doors.

There was another brief silence behind the door, followed by a deep, resigned sigh. “Alright. Just… don’t destroy everything, okay? See you soon.” She walked away.

I remained like that, my legs dangling off the bottom edge of the wardrobe. What a mess. But it was an effort I had to make—for her, for myself. Maybe getting out of here a bit, seeing people, would do me some good. Perhaps it would help me focus on mundane matters again.

I sighed. With a bit of magic, I quickly tidied myself up, fixing the disaster I’d caused. Outwardly, everything was in order, but inside, something was fracturing more and more.

...

Damn.

I was in one of those moments—the kind where anxiety and panic overwhelm you at the thought of doing something, facing a problem, a person, a situation. Those moments where you try every possible way to avoid it, but knowing you can’t, you mechanically go through the motions that lead you to the gallows.

That feeling had driven me to down an enormous cup of coffee, and before I realized it, I was already there. To celebrate my presence, they had even decided to convene in my circle.

I had reserved a wing of the Royal Palace for these types of events—not that they happened often (none in the past ten years)—but the staff knew exactly how to organize and manage them.

As I walked down the hallway, I didn’t feel at home. Each step deepened a sense of dissociation, but outwardly, I was impeccable. The marble columns shimmered with purity, though their reflections were distorted by sulfurous vapors—a mocking contrast to the opulence surrounding me. Clad in my white suit, complete with a hat and cane topped with an apple, I tapped the heels of my dark boots against the floor, keeping my back straight and my chin high.

Every surprised and admiring glance from the staff and assistants was met with a detached nod. I tilted my chin with pride, cloaking myself in the arrogance befitting my role, but I could hear their whispers—questions about me, about… Lilith. About Charlie.

Every murmur chipped away at my composure, which finally cracked the moment I reached the immense door bearing our seals.

“Oh, is that really Lucifer?! What an honor!”

Satan’s deep voice, tinged with evident sarcasm, boomed as he greeted me, making me hunch my shoulders slightly.

I froze just past the threshold, raising my gaze and chin to take in his towering figure compared to my diminutive stature. I was barely as tall as one of his legs and half the size of his biceps. His horns brushed the ceiling of the room, and his four fiery eyes glowed, starkly contrasting with the white-and-gold decor.

I immediately regained control of my expression, straightening into a proud stance. Both hands rested atop the apple-shaped head of my cane planted firmly on the floor. “That’s right. I’ve been a bit… uh, busy,” I replied coolly, raising an eyebrow while my mouth tightened into a thin line as I scanned the room beyond his massive form.

They were all there, seated at the semi-circular thrones. At the center of the grand circular hall stood my throne. Asmodeus and Beelzebub were seated nearby, Belphegor snoozing, Leviathan, and finally Mammon, noisily munching on chips.

Satan’s fiery snort brought me back to the present, his enormous goat-like head surrounded by lazy swirls of smoke.

I tried to ignore him and kept moving. Passing by, I took my place on my throne. Even that was oversized compared to me: the backrest towered twice my height. Ignoring the growing panic inside me, I leaned against it, placing my hands on the armrests.

“Well, well, finally! Glad you're here too, ouf gnamh gnagmh…” Mammon started speaking, chewing noisily on his snack with his mouth wide open. “We need to discuss something of utmost importance: the deals!” he burst out, jolting slightly and making the bells attached to the brim of his hat jingle. “We absolutely need to fortify them and limit the freedom to break them!”

“Oh, really? And why exactly the deals, hmm?” Asmodeus chimed in from his seat, leaning forward with his chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Could it be your ass is still sore because some little imp shoved something big up there?” he teased, smiling mischievously with all his faces, including the two smaller ones floating in his azure fur.

Mammon shot up from his chair, sending it crashing to the floor, and slammed his fist on the table with a loud thud, baring his fangs. His ghostly eyes flared with anger. “You and your damn imp!” he growled.

I watched them with boredom, my chin resting on my knuckles. Their voices grated on me, amplifying the anxiety knotting in my chest. They never stop, do they? Disengaging from the chaos, I fixated on Mammon’s wobbling belly. It was a wise distraction: his flabby flesh jiggled with every frantic movement, and he waved his arms and sprayed crumbs as he ranted at Asmodeus.

A decade away, and nothing’s changed. Still the same useless, squabbling lot who can’t agree on anything. Once, they had been the staunchest supporters of my innovative ideas, but Hell had worn them down. The Sinners. It’s their corruption that poisons this place.

“Lucifer!” Satan’s voice thundered through the room again, cutting through the escalating argument now involving Beelzebub siding with Asmodeus.

I flinched, lifting my face from my hand. Satan’s shadow cast a cone of darkness over me. Raising my golden eyes to meet his face, I found his immense figure looming over me, smoke snorting from his nostrils.

“You! You think you can hole up in your little pit for years and then come back and dictate the rules like nothing happened?!” he snarled at me, his four ghostly eyes blazing. The room erupted with louder, more frantic voices.

I froze, gripping the armrests of the throne. Yogirt, his tiny companion, fluttered around him in a futile attempt to calm him down. Satan’s bulk was imposing, but hardly a threat to my power—I could neutralize him with ease. Yet, in that moment, I couldn’t move. I was trembling.

The others kept yelling at each other while Satan spewed his fiery wrath at me, swatting at the desperate Yogirt with his massive hands. The walls feel like they’re closing in. I can’t breathe.

“Satan’s right, Lucifer!” barked the aggressive male head of Leviathan from his seat. A wave of vertigo washed over me as cold sweat broke out on my brow. My eyes widened in alarm.

“Nothing to say, huh?! Is this how you manage Hell?! YOU! You have no authority here anymore, YOU!” Satan’s voice roared like a thunderclap, and I reached my breaking point.

“LUCIFER!”

I vanished in a burst of golden flames, leaving the room and my throne empty. Once again.

...

Satan's final roar followed me into the alley where I reappeared. I didn’t know where I was—I hadn’t chosen the place. I suddenly materialized in a small side street in Pentagram City. It was raining, so even though it was daytime, the sky was darker than usual. The clouds cast a grim reddish glow that reflected in the puddles scattered across the black asphalt, making them look as though they were pools of blood.

In an instant, I was soaked. I stumbled a few steps on the sidewalk, my shoulder slamming into the wall of a building. My heart pounded against my ribs, the sound disorienting me. My hand instinctively went to my waistcoat, but it was too late. Fear was already crawling over me, sinking in like cold claws.

The noises of the city’s heart were distant. Where I was, there was only rubble and abandoned, lifeless buildings. I began to stagger forward, dragging my shoulder against the wall. The stench of sulfur and death filled my nostrils, but the cooler, open air started to calm me. I paid no attention to my surroundings—thankfully, there wasn’t much to notice except the decay. The place seemed devoid of life, dead or alive. I reached the corner of an alley that delved even deeper between two skyscrapers, one of those dead-end alleys likely used for stacking trash or... shady dealings.

A sound stopped me. A scream. Then something was tossed out of the alley. It was a body. A woman’s torso. No arms. No legs. No head.

Have I ever seen something like this before? Ten thousand years in Hell, and yet that sight chilled me. But it wasn’t the sight itself that disturbed me. It was my reaction. Why don’t I feel anything? I wasn’t scared. If anything, I was... drawn to it.

The footsteps and voices approaching from the alley alarmed me. With a quick flick of my fingers, I summoned enough magic to alter my appearance and make myself unrecognizable: jet-black hair, pitch-black sclera, red eyes, and a pair of long, red-and-black horns that gave me a vague resemblance to an Imp.

I could have left. I should have left. But I didn’t. Why didn’t I? Maybe I knew. Maybe I didn’t want to admit it. I wanted to see what would happen. Something bad, surely. By changing my appearance, I knew there was a high chance those demons would turn on me too. And that was exactly what I wanted. At the time, I wasn’t aware of it; I just acted. The realization came later, too late. But subconsciously, I was already seeking to satisfy my need to be punished.

Exactly what I hadn’t yet admitted I wanted came to pass. The alley was narrow and oppressive, thick with the smell of rot and smoke. Rain drummed on the cracked walls, amplifying an unnatural silence. That’s when I saw them. Four figures emerged from the shadows of the corner, their silhouettes outlined by the dim glow of a streetlamp. Their presence seemed to fill the entire space, pinning me against the wall behind me.

I don’t clearly recall what they looked like, but they were all tall, broad, male. One of them, in particular, had a piercing gaze, two shades of red that burned with rage and hatred. That rage hit me like a wave, and I instinctively stepped back, peeling myself from the wall.

“Well, look at this—a little lost Imp,” one of them drawled, his crooked smile revealing sharp teeth. “Wonder if it bites.”

“Doesn’t even look like it can walk straight,” another sneered, his voice raspy and reeking of smoke and alcohol that hit me square in the face. They laughed, a guttural, broken sound that was more a growl than mirth.

In an instant, I was surrounded, my back pressed against the wall. I started trembling—not with fear, but with anticipation. The anxiety melted away like smoke in the wind, leaving behind something deeper, more primal. It was excitement, raw and unrestrained, but not just that. It was the perverse thrill of risk, of violence, of punishment. Every fiber of my body screamed with fear, but my mind... My mind craved more.

“What’s with that look? You itching to get broken in half, huh?!” snarled one of them, throwing a punch into my stomach.

Nothing happened. He was far too weak to break through my defenses. I merely absorbed the blow, my shoulders curling slightly forward.

They stared at me, confused.

“What the fuck—who are you?!” the demon barked, shaking his sore hand.

“That’s none of your concern,” I replied calmly.

He attacked again, and this time, I let my defenses drop.

His hand grabbed my skull with brutal force, his filthy nails digging into my skin. Then, with a sharp motion, he slammed my head against the wall. The world erupted in a flash of searing pain, the cold, wet surface of the wall amplifying the sensation. Blood trickled warm and slick down my temple, burning my eye. And I smiled.

“What the fuck are you grinning at, you idiot?! I’m gonna tear you apart!”

I hit the ground so hard that my face smashed into it, and blood started pouring from my mouth. I growled, claws digging into the filthy, mud-streaked pavement, but it was just adrenaline. It coursed through me like wildfire, and the feeling of impatience surged when I realized the Sinner was on top of me.

He straddled my back, yanking at my jacket. My head was spinning, my heart racing; it took everything I had to maintain control, to keep from transforming and revealing my true nature. The wings would’ve been a big problem, but I hadn’t accounted for one thing.

“What the fuck is that crap dripping off this roach’s face?” I heard the Sinner standing in front of me say. He grabbed my dark hair between my horns and yanked my head back. I raised my bruised and battered face, one eye swollen and purple, caked in mud and blood… golden blood. My blood, for fuck’s sake!

Panic began creeping in again. If they realized who I really was, it would be utter chaos. The news would destroy my reputation completely. And Charlie... what would she think of me?

Meanwhile, the Sinner on my back kept pulling at my clothes. With one sharp motion, he tore my pants clean off, leaving me completely naked. I shivered at the sensation of the icy rain hitting my pale skin and the jagged cement scraping against my body.

“It looks golden.” “Like the blood of those exterminator angels? You know, the stuff we saw on TV during the last Extermination broadcast?”

While they continued talking, the Sinner behind me lifted my hips, kneeling between my legs. I pulled my arms back, trying to push myself up, but a third demon stomped down on my spine, pinning me to the ground. A guttural groan escaped me as I felt my ribs creak, and a deep wave of pleasure surged through me. My cock throbbed between my legs, hardening.

I liked it, even though I shouldn’t have. Pain was a harsh but righteous judge. Every blow, every insult, every humiliation felt like it was scrubbing away a piece of me, as though the violence could cleanse the filth I carried inside. I deserved to be punished, and this was exactly what I deserved. I smiled again, despite everything.

“Didn’t they cancel the Exterminations? What the fuck is an exterminator angel doing here?!” “Maybe he got lost, poor little thing!” the one behind me mocked, clawing at my ass in a clumsy attempt to spread me open. His breathing was heavy, impatient—just like I was. Fully exposed, with my backside in his direction.

“Shut your mouth and get moving! If someone catches us with him, we’re fucked,” growled the one in front of me.

At those words, the pressure on my back eased. My head spun, and I felt dazed. I stayed there, motionless—I don’t know for how long—listening to nothing but the sound of my own labored breathing bubbling in the puddle where my face lay submerged. The rain kept drumming on my naked body, and I felt cold. I felt pain.

And it was that pain that gave me relief. The desire to stay like that, to savor it until I healed, until I was lucky enough to feel it again.

I relaxed so much that I didn’t even realize I had resumed my fully recognizable form. Then I heard the sound of footsteps, deliberate and steady. They echoed through the chaos of the rain, calm and measured.

I strained my eyes, but the blood blurred my vision. I saw someone’s feet. Boots. Dark pants with a crimson trim. I lifted my golden eyes higher and saw them again: those eyes, two shades of red. Was it the same guy, back to finish the job? But they were different. There was no rage, no hatred—just a cold, detached judgment. They seemed to bore into me, studying me like one might study an insect pinned inside a glass case.

I mustered my strength, trying to push myself up off the ground, but a sharp, searing pain struck me, and I collapsed completely. My strength abandoned me, as if an invisible grip had ripped the last remnants of willpower from my soul. The pain, which had been my anchor, faded away. And with it, I faded too.

Everything went black.

[raisoramizu]

Breaking the ice wall