#not having anything to do with hazbin hotel | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seancekitsch · 1 day

Note

How about Lucifer and one of Angel or Cherri's wild party friends?

If it blows up in your face, you can always say it was a dare.

Cherri’s words ricochet in your head like a pinball as you look down at the hand next to yours. The gloved hand so close that if you were to twitch, you’d touch fingers. Normally by this time of night you’d be at the club, or at some party, but instead here you were behind the bar at the Hazbin Hotel; a structure dedicated to a redemption you weren’t sure you believed in. And here you are, full of nerves, teaching the King of Hell himself how to make a cocktail. He’s done pretty good at it, which is expected, because you’re pretty sure he’s lied about not knowing how to make an Appletini. He’s like ten thousand fucking years old, of course he knows how to make an Appletini; he probably invented them.

But now that there’s drinks in front of the two of you, and Husk away from his normal post to have a night with Angel, the two of you take up the space to people watch. Its impressive, really, how much Charlie’s gotten-

A gloved finger curling over your pinky stops any thought, and you look down to where Lucifer has just made a move. Well, a move way subtler than you’re used to.

“Sorry if this is ah- a slow night for you,” Lucifer sounds a little guilty as he turns his face towards yours, his eyes following a couple that had recently checking into the hotel instead of meeting yours though.

“Oh! no,” you chuckle as you nudge your joined fingers, “slow is okay, really.”

“Well, I- I just figure you’re used to something more fun than this,” he tilts his head down, averting your attention now fully on him, “Like I know you turned down Cherri’s invitation tonight to hang out with me, and I really appreciate that, but I know-“

“Lucifer,” you interrupt, “Do you want to go to a club or something?”

You chuckle at the confusion on his face.

“You know, if you’re so worried about tonight being slow.”

You should have quit while you were ahead, you think as you lead a disguised Lucifer by the hand through a club in the Vee’s turf. He looks so wildly out of place trailing behind you. You’re lucky enough that you have a standing reservation for a couch at this particular club, and you quickly gesture to Lucifer to sit once you’ve reached it. A waitress appears immediately and brings two glasses with ice and a bottle of Velvette’s custom vanilla vodka as you usually get.

“Is it normally-“ Lucifer shouts over the music, “always this loud?”

You nod enthusiastically as you pour up for both of you, eyes surveying the crowd. No one has seemed to notice you or your guest, which is ideal right now. A scandal for Lucifer would absolutely ruin anything between the two of you.

You lean in, flirtatiously close until your lips almost touch the shell of his ear.

“This is my booth,” you explain, “Nobody can sit unless I let them, so we can people watch uninterrupted.”

He seems to relax at your words, and clinks his glass against yours before taking a big swig.

Lucifer almost immediately sputters, coughing most of the vodka back into the glass.

“Oh wow! That is! Oh!” he exclaims, not even hiding his disgust as you laugh sympathetically.

“Not a fan?” you joke, before reassuring him, “Don’t worry, me neither.”

“Why do you drink it then?” he asks, gesturing at how easily you’re sipping at it.

“Comes with the booth,” you explain, taking his glass from him, pouring his contents into yours, spit and all.

He eyes you up at that move, not exactly hiding the fact that he’s taking in the sight of your body. You practically shiver under his gaze, feeling bashful now because of him. Butterflies swarm in your stomach, and maybe if he wasn’t the literal King of Hell you’d lean over and kiss him.

Instead you chicken out.

“Let me grab you something you will like,” you offer, gesturing to the bar at the wall to the left of the couch. You stand up before he can protest, taking a big sip of the glass now containing his drink and yours, and place it down on the little table in front of the couch before you head away.

Lucifer wishes he had played it cooler with the vodka. If he had, maybe you’d be on the couch right now, your hip oh so close to his, and his nerves dissolving enough to maybe try to grab your hand again. Or ask you to get on the dance floor. Or fuck it, kiss you. He stares fixated at the drink, trying and failing to not read too much into it. You’d drank from it even after you’d watched him make an ass of himself and spit into it. You willingly drank his spit, and, was that flirting? It was weird to him, thats for sure. But you’re one of Cherri and Angel’s friends, wild and barely tamed by his daughter’s redemption program, and maybe this is modern flirting in hell. Lilith never did anything like that, but then again, she took off without a word a decade ago. Maybe thats what flirting looks like these days; maybe Lilith does this now too. Maybe he should stop thinking of his ex-wife when the curve of your ass and the promise of your attention has him glued to his seat and waiting for your return. Why had he even suggested this club? He wonders, and then remembers the brittle coldness of insecurity that crept up on him in the lobby, seeing such a carefree woman like yourself cooped up with him on a night he knows you cancelled plans for. He thinks back to the drink, and counts it as a bizarre, one way, first kiss, and lets himself feel the rhythm of the music bumping around him, one song bleeding into the next, until a familiar raised voice breaks the thrum of noise.

You tap your card on the bar absentmindedly as you wait for the bottle of wine you ordered for Lucifer, something you’ve known he drinks and that the bar cannot screw up. This bartender was from Sloth, so of course you expected slow service, but this was something else. Why had you even offered to leave instead of waving over a waitress? You were finally getting somewhere with Lucifer before the vodka incident, and maybe you’d be dancing or making out or even just having a very good conversation while sat in his lap.

An arm around your waist shakes you from your thoughts, and you turn, ready to excitedly greet the man and explain the hold up, but that doesn’t happen. A bull like sinner has decided to grab you, something that maybe a few years ago might flatter you, but the thought churns your stomach now to be touched by anyone but Lucifer like this. Damn, you’ve really gone soft for him, huh?

You shake the man off, glaring as you make your disinterest known, but he just puts his hand back, now on your hip. Bold! You tap your card harder, hoping if you get this wine you can scurry back to the table quickly and this will be over.

“Put that card away,” the sinner says, “I’ve got something for you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, drugged no doubt,” you sneer, and the sheepish look on his face tells you that your assumption was correct. Bold and disgusting!

“Listen I’ll-“

“I’m with someone!” you practically shout, but that doesn’t make the sinner back off.

“Well I don’t see-“

You spin on your heels, pulling yourself from his grasp.

“I do not care who you are, I do not want whatever you have, I do not want whatever you want from me!” you are shouting now, not caring about a scene because finally the fucking wine is being placed on the bar so you can get out of this area. Lucifer can get his own drinks for the rest of the night, or better yet, you can go back to the hotel.

The sinner bares his teeth, and you’re certain he’s growling under the throbbing beat of the music. You back up, grabbing the wine with you and ready to run until you back into another person. You sigh, not really ready for an ambush and not really wanting to break this bottle over someone’s head without letting Lucifer drink at least a little bit of it. You turn, ready to fight, but you’re greeted by Lucifer’s disguise. Immediately you calm down. Lucifer won’t let anything bad happen to you.

“The lady said she’s with someone,” he explains, voice even and deadly, before he leads you away quicker than the other sinner can really retaliate.

Lucifer guides you back to the couch, but you walk straight past it, heading for the door. He follows quickly, grabbing your hand not unlike before. You walk until you reach the heavy steel door, pushing it open with your shoulder and letting the cool air of the alley hit you in the face.

“What about your section?” Lucifer asks, genuine concern in his voice. You motion at your other hand, the one not interlaced in his at the full bottle of wine you held onto as you walked out.

“Fuck the section, I wanna go back to the hotel,” you say, trying not to look as embarrassed as you felt. Why did that have to happen? The night was nice, albeit awkward, and that guy had to go and ruin it, and Lucifer had to get involved. You can handle yourself, and Lucifer doesn’t get out much, and that place must have seemed so… so.

You hold out the wine for him, and he takes it and sips from it, wine spilling out onto his lips. Fucking hot, even in disguise.

“I was enjoying our quiet night, I’m sorry if it seemed like I wasn’t,” you admit, inspecting your boots now as if they were immensely interesting.

“No! I just didn’t want to— to bore you,” Lucifer steps into your space, the toes of his shoes resting barely an inch from yours, and then a portal opens and his disguise fades, familiar red and gold on the other side.

You both step through, and find yourselves in the hallway that leads to his observatory.

Lucifer’s hand doesn’t leave yours though, not until you’re in the window covered room and staring out at all of Pentagram city. It’s almost beautiful from up here.

“I guess this was kind of a disaster, huh?” Lucifer tries to joke, but he cannot hide the way he winces at his own words.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you reply, but yes you fucking could. It was awkward and uncomfortable and neither of you had fun. But still…

“I got to spend time with you, I accidentally stole that bottle of wine so I saved money, and I got to hold your hand,” you listed out all the good things, all the things that made you want the night to last eternally.

“And we’re still hanging out!” Lucifer points out, and you cannot help but gravitate towards him again. He holds up the bottle to you, and you drink from it. The bottle his lips were just on. If you try hard enough, you could probably make out his taste from it.

He smiles brightly at you, and you cannot chicken out this time.

“Can I hold your hand again?” you ask, and his hand eagerly reaches for yours.

“Is that all you want to do?” he asks, leaning into you.

“Oh, I wanna do a lot to you,” you admit, smile growing as a blush spreads across his cheeks.

“But I wanna take it slow tonight.”

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader

42 notes · View notes

zaebeecee · 1 day

Text

Fight and Flight ••

Pre-RadioDust Oneshot •

Read on AO3

•••

Based on this headcanon from @alastorsfluffydeertail. Thank you for letting me use this as a prompt, my dear, and I’m sorry I took it a bit off the rails (as I am wont to do). This is what I get for never planning anything out.

But also if anyone thinks the Hazbin Hotel residents wouldn’t prank each other, they’re wrong.

•••

When Angel Dust had first agreed to move into the Hazbin Hotel (back when it was the Happy Hotel, whose name alone was almost enough to make him refuse no matter how well he was paid for the evening), it was the first time in his entire existence in Hell that he had known exactly what to expect. The princess had a fucking stupid plan about getting sinners into Heaven and her bodyguard/girlfriend/what the fuck ever was apparently determined to help her see it out; Angel knew a hopeless cause when he saw one, and more importantly, he knew how to capitalize on it.

Of course, he had forgotten one very key detail: sinners were human at their core, and when humans spent a lot of time in close proximity, they got to know each other really well. And when people got to know each other really well, that meant bonding was basically unavoidable.

It was easy to forget the ‘human’ factor of sinners at VoxTek, particularly when someone spent too much time around the Vees. Sometimes, Angel thought of them as less ‘humans’ and more ‘evil entities that had learned how to mimic the worst of human behavior with extra capitalism’, and because of that he had kept company with them as little as possible since Valentino had showed his true colors and backhanded Angel for the very first time. But the Hazbin Hotel was not VoxTek, and the other residents of the hotel were not the Vees. They were mostly relatively normal people, when you put aside things like noble station and overlord rank, and that complicated Angel’s initial plan.

Originally, he had agreed simply to take advantage of not having to pay rent and not having to live under Val’s thumb at all times. It was a simple scheme: follow just as many rules as he absolutely had to in order to avoid getting kicked out, keep as much of his drug usage off the property as he could, and bat his eyes and make super sappy apologies about ‘trying his best’ whenever he got caught. It would have gone great if not for one tiny little hiccup.

He liked them.

Damn them to a lower ring of Hell, but Angel liked the fuckers, and it wasn’t long before he realized that they were becoming friends. Of course, they were also a bunch of pricks who’d been punished with eternal damnation for the crime of being assholes in life, so with friendship came the inevitable bullshit of having asshole friends. This, frequently, meant pranks of varying degrees of severity and creativity.

In Angel’s defense, he didn’t start it. The whole thing began when someone (who was never actually identified) convinced all of the Egg Bois that they were named after different members of the Rat Pack (to go with Frank) and that Pentious really loved being serenaded with ‘Ain’t That A Kick In The Head’ at all times. It had started out kind of funny—the Egg Bois couldn’t keep time with each other and it got even worse when they tried to manufacture their own Dean Martin impersonations—but it had quickly grown into the absolute worst thing Angel had ever had the displeasure to suffer. Husk, accurately, determined that it was “proof of Hell’s eternal punishment”. Eventually, Charlie helped Pentious right them, but it was way, way too late.

The war was on, and it quickly spread to everyone in the hotel without mercy. And, unpredictably, it seemed everyone was in on the game in one capacity or another.

Everyone had their own weak points when it came to getting ‘punk’d’, as Vaggie called it with an impressively straight face. Charlie could be convinced of just about anything if you said it with enough conviction, and Husk was alarmingly easy to gaslight if you could rearrange or abscond with his bar equipment when he wasn’t looking. Niffty was, of course, weak to cleaning pranks (but they had quickly determined the Stabbing Threshold, which was the point where it wasn’t funny anymore and she would legitimately gut someone), and you could do a million things to Pentious if you got into his lab, as long as you didn’t break anything. Angel was particularly proud of the time he got Vaggie to fully arm herself and go all the way up onto the roof of the hotel to ‘challenge an intruder’ who ended up being a hellsquirrel, but she had gotten him back by coming into the kitchen while he was cooking, staring him dead in the eye, and breaking all of the spaghetti before he could stop her.

And Alastor? Well, no one could get into his room, or his radio tower, or even find him if he didn’t want to be found, which rendered him immune to most forms of planned tomfoolery. But when he was there? He was easy, because he was a jumpy fucker if you caught him off guard, and a single loud noise close enough behind him would send him shadow teleporting onto some other surface (the mantle of the lobby fireplace on one particularly memorable occasion).

It was fun. Or, at least, it was supposed to be fun. That was why they had a set number of rules: no staining anything Niffty had to clean (and no glitter, which was a personal rule for Angel after that one time), no making Charlie cry, no breaking Pentious’s equipment or Husk’s bottles, no fucking with Vaggie’s weapons and armor, and absolutely nothing involving Fat Nuggets. Other than that, it was open season on everyone.

Charlie was conducting one of her little trust building exercises one evening, the entire hotel (sans Alastor) her captives for the duration of the entire exercise. Cherri had made the mistake of showing up just before it began, and curiosity had roped her in; now, she was sitting next to Angel and watching Charlie coaching Vaggie and Husk through some kind of role playing exercise with an open sort of fascination.

“Is it always like this?” Cherri murmured, leaning on Angel’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Angel whispered back. “I got no fuckin’ idea how this’s supposed to get us redeemed, tho, all it’s ever done is made me hate kids.”

Cherri snorted. “Why isn’t Radio Face here?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “He’s the hotelier,” he said, exaggerating Alastor’s transatlantic delivery and overly precise French pronunciation. “He don’t gotta participate, apparently, because he ain’t up for bein’ made better or whatever. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen him in a few days. Think he’s been out.”

Like Angel had spoken a cue, the radio on the lobby table made gentle static noises, and a couple of the lights flickered, just slightly. Everyone stopped, glancing around, because that meant one thing: Alastor was nearby, and he was either very angry or very tired, and either way it meant he wasn’t checking his power as much as he usually did. It had freaked Angel out the first time, but eventually, he learned to interpret it as a sign that Alastor was returning after a long bout of ‘personal business’ and probably wasn’t going to be bothering any of them.

Cherri grinned. “I’m gonna fuck with him,” she said into the silent room.

Angel let out a single barking laugh as Charlie said, “Oh, no, don’t, he’s probably exhausted.”

“That’s the best time to get him,” Husk said reasonably, immediately discarding the script he’d had thrust on him as soon as he noticed that Charlie wasn’t focusing on him anymore. “He’ll probably be too tired to actually retaliate.”

“Besides,” Pentious said, “he hasn’t exactly held back with anyone else. I’m still positive he started this. I just need to prove it,” he hissed, hunching over his clasped hands and rubbing them together.

Niffty patted the table with her palms a few times, grinning brightly. “I wanna see Cherri scare Alastor~”

“You can’t scare Alastor,” Angel said with a disbelieving snort. “Startle him, sure, but scare? Bullshit.”

Vaggie sighed. “Do I need to prepare damage control?”

“Relax, I’m not gonna cause property damage,” Cherri said. “I just wanna get the bitch back for what he did to my stuff last time I was here. I’m still finding ticker tape everywhere, even in my own goddamn apartment.”

Charlie looked uncomfortable, but of course, she was always the most hesitant when it came to their petty little game. “Okay, I guess that’s fine,” she said reluctantly. “But don’t overdo it, okay?”

Everyone waited with bated breath, Cherri tossing a small bomb over to the corner near the front door. It was only a few seconds before they heard the click and Alastor stepped in, looking as though he had been through the wringer and was doing his damndest to hold it together. He didn’t even notice any of them, shutting the door behind him and immediately beginning a slow beeline for the stairs.

Angel had only half a second to form the thought that it might not be a great idea after all when Cherri clapped her hands sharply and the little bomb behind Alastor went off with a loud crack and a spark of bright pink light. The sound Alastor made wasn’t quite a scream; it was really more of a startled yip, a high and animalistic noise that hurt Angel’s ears with its sharp edge. He bolted instantly, dropping his microphone staff along the way and running blindly straight into a wall. There was a loud impact as he collided with the immovable structure of the hotel, the sound a little weird and followed by a series of loud yelps. Almost immediately, everyone could see exactly what happened: in his alarm, Alastor’s antlers had expanded, and they were now stuck pretty firmly in the wall.

Cherri was the first one who laughed, but she wasn’t the only one. Angel had to admit, it was funny, watching the big bad Radio Demon struggle to unstick himself from a wall, of all things. The laughter was contagious, spreading through the group in a rippling wave. In moments, the only one who wasn’t laughing was Charlie, who dropped her own script pages and ran straight over to try and help Alastor liberate himself.

Angel leaned forward as Cherri slapped his back in her laughter, and he rubbed a tear of mirth out of his eye, looking over to where Charlie was failing to even approach the struggling overlord. Angel watched as he took a swipe at her with a clawed hand, ineffectually scrabbling at the wall with the other and kicking the baseboard in an attempt to extricate himself without retracting his antlers.

The moment Angel heard Alastor’s distressed keening noise, he realized Alastor couldn’t retract his antlers. He wasn’t just exhausted, he was panicking and…

Humiliated.

Angel jumped to his feet, guilt smothering his amusement like a bucket of water on a birthday candle. “Shut the fuck up!” he yelled over everyone’s cackling, his unusually sharp tone enough to startle all of them into a silence that highlighted the way Alastor’s breathing had become high and far too fast. Angel didn’t bother with any admonishment, instead running over to where the other sinner had trapped himself and taking Charlie by the shoulders. “Move,” he said, not taking his eyes off Alastor.

She looked up at him. “But— but he’s—!”

“I got it. Move.” As Charlie backed off, Angel approached, trying to put himself in Alastor’s line of sight. His sclera had gone entirely black and his smile was tight and stressed; Angel couldn’t actually see, but he was pretty sure Alastor’s irises had turned into radio dials. “Hey, Alastor,” he said gently, immediately bending backwards as the overlord took a vicious swipe at him, too. “Whoa, whoa, big guy, it’s okay.”

When Alastor put both of his hands on the wall and ineffectually shrugged with a cry that was almost pathetic, Angel took the opportunity to swoop in, hoping Alastor’s physiology was as close to human as it looked and that this didn’t get him gutted. He pushed one hand up into Alastor’s hair from his nape, cradling the back of his head with his palm and gently pressing his fingers into the bases of Alastor’s antlers. A second hand cupped the back of Alastor’s neck, thumb and forefinger immediately seeking out the pressure points at the base of his skull. His third hand went to Alastor’s back, stroking down his spine before lifting and repeating the motion as though he was trying to calm a stressed animal. And his fourth hand just rested on Alastor’s shoulder, primarily so he would feel it if the Radio Demon lashed out and could attempt to evade if necessary.

“Hey, Smiles, it’s okay, it’s just me,” Angel said as soothingly as he could when he felt Alastor’s muscles growing so taut that he feared the other demon would snap into pieces. “Shh, it’s okay, ain’t nobody in here gonna give you any shit, I promise. And if they try, I’ll kill ‘em for you, or at least hold ‘em down while you kill ‘em, okay?”

Angel kept up his gentle touches, leaning close to murmur low enough that only Alastor could hear him, and silently marveled at the fact that he was touching Alastor and Alastor was letting him. His hair was soft, and his coat was clearly made from expensive material, but even through the thick cloth Angel’s fingers could have counted his ribs and each individual vertebrae. And slowly, in response to his touch, Alastor actually began to relax. His breath slowed, his smile grew less tense, and with a crackle of broken plaster, his antlers slowly began to recede.

“You can rip everybody up into tiny pieces, and then I’ll help ya make jambalaya or gumbo or whatever you want outta their bits. Or I can make bolognese outta them. Whatever you’re feelin’.” That was enough to get the smallest noise of amusement from Alastor, more of a huff of breath than anything else, but with that his antlers returned to their usual shape.

As he finally freed himself from the wall, Angel made to release him, but Alastor spun to face him at an alarming speed and seized him by his upper arms. “Alastor—?!” Angel’s voice was a soft exclamation, but he froze, watching Alastor hang his head and regain control of his ragged and pained breathing.

Angel was anticipating having his arms ripped straight from his body—nobody touched Alastor, especially not when he wasn’t expecting it—but Alastor just held onto him like he was genuinely afraid Angel was about to disappear. His grip wasn’t even painful, just tight. Desperate, maybe, though with his panic gone Angel couldn’t begin to understand why. But even as he held onto Angel’s arms, Alastor’s wicked claws didn’t so much as scratch him, and his hands… they were soft.

It felt like an hour passed before Alastor’s breathing evened out, but Angel knew it was only a few seconds. Slowly, Alastor raised his head to look up at Angel, his ears laid flat against his head and his eyes wide, but no longer manic. Before, Angel had always associated Alastor’s eyes with the color of blood, but this close… they were more like deep garnet set into rich ruby. For the eyes of a mass murdering serial killer, they were almost alarmingly warm as they caught Angel’s gaze and held it.

“…thank you, Angel.”

The words were spoken so quietly Angel wouldn’t have heard them if Alastor hadn’t been mere inches from him. Before he could even consider formulating a response, the shadows Alastor so fondly called his friends swirled up from the ground, wrapping around his body and pulling him into blackness. It was his hands that pulled away last, gently releasing Angel’s arms and leaving trails with fingertips that made the spider’s flesh tingle. For the briefest moment, Alastor’s shadow remained, and Angel thought it was watching him with something that felt like wary curiosity before it too vanished.

Angel stared at the broken wall and the plaster that littered the carpet as Charlie stormed back to the group, lighting into them for being mean and immediately beginning to lay new ground rules, but Angel barely heard a word she said. He folded his arms and placed his hands where Alastor’s had been moments before, like he could still feel the other sinner holding onto him like a lifeline, and marveled at his own foolishness.

When, he wondered, had he started caring this much about Alastor’s wellbeing? When had Alastor decided that Angel Dust of all people was worthy of breaking his five foot rule, even in such extraordinary circumstances? When had Angel determined it was worth risking his own health and safety to prevent Alastor from hurting himself?

And, most importantly, what was he doing thinking about Alastor at all?

•

The next evening, Angel was in his bedroom cleaning his toys when a dome of shadow manifested on his floor mere feet away from him. He squealed in alarm, launching himself backwards and tumbling off the other side of his bed to land in a graceless heap on his floor. Swearing he could hear something giggling somewhere around him, he grabbed his comforter and hauled himself up, leaning on the mattress with his arms and peering around suspiciously.

The shadow was gone, and Angel didn’t see any threats or blood or threatening animal corpses. He did, however, see a plate sitting on his floor. That plate held a stack of some kind of pastries and a folded card with his name on it.

“…the fuck…” Angel muttered, clambering over his bed and hopping down to land beside the plate. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the plate was full of freshly-baked beignets, generously covered with powdered sugar and still so warm that the sugar was beginning to melt. He picked up the card and looked at the delicate penmanship spelling out ‘Angel Dust’, then flipped it open, taking in the simple message written so beautifully.

Tell no one. You know what will happen if you do.

Angel felt himself actually smiling in a way that he hadn’t for a very long time, folding the card again and pressing the corner to his lips. He considered for a moment, then glanced at a nearby shadow. “You can tell him I ain’t gonna let anybody know he baked somethin’ for me like a sweetheart.” He didn’t see Alastor’s shadow, but he heard another giggle and he knew it was there.

He picked up the plate and carried it to his bed, opening his bedside table drawer and slipping the note in with a few other belongings that he didn’t want anyone else seeing but liked having on hand. As he laid on his bed, petting Fat Nuggets and nibbling on delicious baked goods and texting with Cherri about how Alastor had apparently gotten into her apartment and hidden all of her explosive components around the city, leaving only a very obtuse list of scavenger hunt-style clues… Angel wondered if he was starting to remember what being happy felt like.

•••