#oc radio | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

falling-endlessly · 1 year ago

Text

The Finer Things in Death

Alastor x Soulmate!Female!Reader

Summary: An AU where your soulmate's first words to you are tattooed on your body in their handwriting.

Oh dear, where's your smile?

You knew those words by heart. Could recite them backwards, in your sleep even. Those damning words have been inscribed on the inside of your ankle for as long as you could remember, the elegant cursive strokes poking out of your shoe line.

In theory, somewhere, someone else was supposed to be sporting your own neat, boxy handwriting. You'd say you lucked out with yours. Some soul marks were less than pleasant, and others were downright embarrassing (imagine having the words move, asshole written on your stomach for the rest of your life. No thank you).

At least your soulmate was trying to cheer you up, right?

Yeah, but there was just one teeny, tiny problem.

Your soulmate was dead. Long dead actually.

Were they stillborn? Did their toddler self die in a house fire or something? Night after night you laid awake in your bed, pondering what the hell could have possibly happened to have altered the entire course of fate.

All you really knew was that your soul mark was a light gray (indicating a severed bond) instead of the usual inky black, and it had been since the day you were born. Everyone was in shock to see the faint words on your little ankle. After all, how could a soul mark exist if the other person wasn't even alive to speak those words into existence?

Simply put, you were a conundrum, and it had been some time since you had dedicated effort into figuring out why? You'd accepted it. Your soulmate was dead. Life went on.

Besides, you'd spent enough time grieving over someone you'd never met before.

Your lifestyle was not extravagant by any means, but it was comfortable. You had a steady income, lived on your own in an apartment in the city, and survived off of more than ramen bowls. Every day you would come home and read in your little fluffy alcove that you'd built yourself by your window, or pop open a bag of chips (and the occasional bottle of wine, if you were feeling fancy) while you watched the latest crime show releases from your couch.

Yes, so comfortable was your little routine, that you didn't notice the robbery happening in the convenience store you were browsing in, or the stray bullet coming for your head until it was too late. Your skull exploded in a world of pain, eyes rolling back as your body crumpled to the ground.

Dying was an interesting experience, to say the least. Your soul floated from your body, the final notes of music that blasted from your earphones fading into nothingness like the sound of a car driving away.

There was a brief moment where you were struck numb, hovering in the air as you stared down at your glassy eyed corpse, blood pooling alarmingly from the circular shaped hole in your head. You heard screams of the other customers behind you, but they were kind of muffled, like you were underwater.

It didn't last long though, because before you knew what was happening, you felt an almighty tug downwards, like an anchor had just chained itself to your stomach.

And that was how you ended up in hell. Fun. What were you here for? You had no idea. Maybe God got mad that your teenage self stole a few packs of gummy bears in high school. But a life of eternal damnation and suffering seemed a little harsh, didn't it?

Before you could contemplate the semantics of it though, something...strange happened. Your ankle, right where you'd tried countless times to forget your soul mark existed, was burning like a fucking brand.

You hissed sharply in pain, frantically pulling down your sock to assess the damage. Was the eternal punishment starting already or something? Shit, you had terrible pain tolerance.

But what you saw made you gasp. In fact, you could hardly believe your eyes.

Because in the place of your faded grey soul mark, the letters had been reinvigorated, darkened with a swift hand and—glowing they were glowing holy shit.

"Hah," you huffed in disbelief, shaking your head slowly. "So that was it, huh? I was destined to meet my shitty soulmate in hell this whole fucking time?" You punctuated the last words with a few angry kicks to an unassuming patch of weeds. What a cosmic joke at your existence.

But, like you always did in shitty situations, you gathered all of your raging emotions, stuffed them tightly in a box at the back of your mind, and cooled your head. Freaking out in this place would do you no good.

Turned out hell was pretty much like the world you'd left, except for the fact that you could kill someone on the street and nobody would bat an eye. Like all of the depraved aspects of humanity were on full display now in a somehow still functioning society.

You managed to snag a job at an old record store, the owner giving you one look before grunting and gesturing to the register—but not before lifting his jacket to show you the long assault riffle strapped across his chest. Yeesh, you got the message.

It wasn't a bad job by any means, especially considering where you were. Sure a little boring and monotonous, but you'd restock thousands of old albums if it meant staying away from the overlords.

Oh, yeah, another thing. Overlords were like the big shots around hell. Messing with them usually meant a death sentence, or worse, a contract.

And if there was anything at all that you picked up from all those nights of watching television, it was that you do not make deals with the devil. Really, elementary level shit. And you'd never actually seen Lucifer, mind you, but these demons were probably a close second, right?

Yeah, so really, you were just living a shittier variant of your life on earth it seemed. Repetitive, safe and comforting. You were even starting to like the scent of musty cardboard, as weird as that was.

And once again, all thoughts of your soulmate slipped your mind.

Until one day, when everything went to shit.

****

It started like this: with the sad sight of your empty fridge.

You groaned, dragging a tired hand down your face. Seriously? You thought you'd restocked already, damn it.

Your stomach growled achingly, and you sighed, wondering if you'd actually die again if you starved yourself. Begrudgingly, you decided that you didn't really want to chance it, throwing on the first set of clothes that you saw and slipping out of your dingy apartment to make a quick grocery run.

You generally hated leaving your apartment, and didn't do so except to retrieve bare necessities or walk across the block to go to work.

Why? Well, see exhibit A to your left: some poor, random demon screeching and running around on fire. See exhibit B to your right: a turf war between two rival gangs. And finally how could you forget, cannibal colony, slurping up intestines like bloody, chunky spaghetti. Disgusting.

The worst thing about hell wasn't the fact that you were in hell, it was the fact that the worst of the worst people were all cramped together like some fucked up refugee camp, and some people were significantly worse than others. Which sucked, for the poor unfortunate souls just trying to get by. Like you.

You sighed, ducking under a stray stream of bullets (you weren't falling for that shit twice) and side stepping pools of blood and guts. Just a regular Monday morning in hell. God damn it.

It seemed luck wasn't on your side though, because an ugly, dog-headed demon blocked your path, sneering down at you smugly. "Hey bitch, it's your lucky day. The big boss is hiring, and you fit the profile."

You clenched your grocery bags in a white-knuckled grip. Nobody would give a flying fuck if you were dragged off of the street in broad daylight. "Not interested."

"Oh it wasn't a suggestion," he chuckled darkly. You tensed as you were surrounded by at least four other demons. Shit, you knew you should have slept in.

"You like apples?" You nodded sharply at the demon in charge.

His face twisted in annoyance. "Why the fuck do y—"

You reached into your bag, before hurling a granny smith straight at his forehead. He yelped as it made contact, stumbling back as he shook his head in confusion. While everyone was still in shock from your weapon of choice, you shoved your way out of the circle, gunning it straight down the street because your second life did depend on it.

"Get her!" You heard a yell of absolute rage, making you shiver. Fuck, that did not sound promising. That apple must have really pissed him off.

Putting your limited aerobics to use, you ducked, dodged and lunged through the crowd like a pro. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, air burning your lungs as you pumped your legs faster. But of course, your grocery bag ripped open, sending all of your food tumbling and you by extension, tripping and face planting in the dirt rather pathetically.

A meaty hand gripped a handful of your hair, yanking it up harshly. You cried out as he pulled, hands uselessly trying to smack his away, but his hold only tightened. A liquor-filled breath and cheap cologne invaded your senses, making you cough.

"Uppity bitch," he growled, giving your scalp a painful yank for good measure. "You actually thought you could get away? Maybe I should teach you a lesson, huh? Sample the goods."

You froze, every nerve in your body going cold. So far in your stay in hell, you'd managed to avoid the more depraved souls here. You kept your head down, didn't draw attention to yourself, and were mostly left alone. Looked like today, your luck had finally run out.

"Get the hell off of me!" You spat, twisting around vehemently, only for your head to snap to the side as you were harshly backhanded.

"Stop your fucking whining and stay still!" He snapped, narrowing his eyes.

You bared your teeth, snapping at him aggressively.

A round of mocking chuckles went around the group of your kidnappers, the one holding your hair giving you a wicked grin. "Shit, that was cute. Really—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because his head exploded. Literally exploded, blood and brain matter dripping from your face. His hand went slack, dropping you on your wobbling knees.

Everyone was silent for a second, staring at the bloody mess where the demon was standing two seconds prior.

And that was when you heard it. Static. Loud, crackling and ominous.

Your mouth went dry. Shit. Shitty shit shit. You knew what that meant. How could you not? The asshole broadcasted his killings all over hell like a fucking psychopath. And now, it was your turn to become hell's gory entertainment. Fan-fucking-tastic.

You stood frozen, breath stuck in your throat as dark, menacing tendrils slowly curled along the walls. A large, grinning shadow rounded the corner, before the culprit himself stalked into view, razor sharp teeth on display as he tilted his head. "Oh," his grin widened. "Am I interrupting?"

"N-No man," one of the braver demons stuttered, taking a step back. "You can have her—"

Splat.

You turned slowly to face the bloody wall, eyes wide in disbelief.

"How distasteful," the radio demon shook his head. "As if I'd participate in your brainless thuggery. No, no. Unlike you gentlemen, I have class. Truly," his eyes lit up like glowing radio dials, a dark shadowy mass rising behind him as his antlers branched out like a gnarled, rotten tree. "Did your mother never teach you any manners?"

Faster than you could blink, the demons around you were reduced to blood, cartilage and splintered bone. The overwhelming irony scent made you want to gag, but you didn't dare move a muscle, eyes fixated on the terrifying sight before you.

When the radio demon noticed your staring, his smile sharpened, antlers shrinking as he leisurely approached you. Oh no. Nononono.

You struggled to keep from hyperventilating, your body going into shock as he leaned into your personal space. Two bloody fingers pushed into your cheeks, forcing your mouth into a morbid, artificial smile. "Oh dear," he tutted in amusement. "Where's your smile?"

You jerked back violently, eyes wide as icy cold realization washed over you. Dread squeezed your lungs as you stared at the grinning, bloody figure of your soulmate in horror.

The radio demon. Psychopath and mass murderer.

Your soulmate.

What the FUCK.

"T-This," your voice shook. "This is not happening."

There was a sudden screech of radio static, before his own eyes widened. Shit. "What," he said sharply. "Did you just say?"

"A-Ah," you trembled, leaning back. Every single nerve in your body was alight, screaming at you to get the ever-loving fuck away from him. In what was probably the stupidest and most desperate plan of your life, you pointed over his shoulder fearfully. "Look! Another one!"

As soon as he turned his head, you bolted down the street.

****

You slammed your front door closed behind you, double—triple checking your lock before sliding down to the floor in a panting mess.

Immediately you grew paranoid. What the fuck were you thinking? A lock wouldn't keep the radio demon out. You needed fifty more locks and ten more doors. You needed to barricade yourself inside for the next month. You needed—

"Hello there!" An exuberant voice chirped.

You screamed, throwing the first thing you could grab in his direction. He caught the house slipper, inspecting it in amusement, before tossing it over his shoulder.

"My, did I scare you sweetheart? Apologies," he grinned smugly, relaxing in your recliner with a mug of coffee. Your favorite mug.

You blinked. What the fuck?

"What are you doing in my house?" You squeaked, fingers digging into your welcome mat.

"Oh dear, allow me to introduce myself," he set the mug down on your coffee table, leisurely rising from the couch and offering a hand. "I'm Alastor! A pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, quite a pleasure."

You didn't take his hand, instead choosing to gape at him like a dead fish.

He retracted his hand, tilting his head with a shit-eating grin. Twirling his cane, he continued like there wasn't just an awkward and terrifying pause. "I hope you don't mind that I followed you! You see, I believe our conversation was cut a bit...short." His eyes glowed as unidentifiable symbols floated in the air around him.

As quickly as they appeared however, they disappeared like they were never there. Jesus Christ, this man was giving you emotional whiplash. "Anywho!" He perked up again, ever the charming grin on his face. "Enough about me! I've yet to catch your name, darling."

Fuck. You really didn't want to give him your name.

But before you could open your mouth, he leaned closer to you, grin widening ominously. "I hope you're not thinking of lying, my dear. I must say, I'm not very fond of that quality."

"Y-Y/n!" You said quickly, raising your hands to shield your face.

There was a slight pause, before a gentle touch swiped at your cheek, retracting after a moment. You peeked your eye open, only to become vaguely ill at the sight.

"You had a little something on your face," he chuckled in amusement, holding out a clump of brain matter. With a swift flick, it was magicked away.

"What do you want?" You whimpered, overwhelmed with the entire situation.

"Oh dear, is it really that strange for me to want to get to know my soulmate?" He tilted his head, leaning towards you uncomfortably close.

"Y-Yes, actually," you stuttered, trying to look anywhere but his prominent red eyes. "I thought you'd do something more along the lines of...killing and eating me." You shrunk back as his grin widened. "Please don't eat me."

"How morbid, I would never!" He waved it away, like the idea was preposterous. "My word! What awful rumors you've been hearing about me!"

"You frequent cannibal colony and I just saw you tear apart six demons like they were freshly baked bread," you stared at him incredulously. "What hasn't been spot on?"

He paused, before giving you a humoring chuckle. "Well it seems your impression of me needs correcting!" Before you knew what was happening, nimble fingers encircled your wrist, pulling it forward gently. He pressed warm lips to the back of your hand, before giving you a charming grin. "Enchanté, ma chère."

You blinked, breath stuck in your throat. "What—What does that mean?"

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about it!" He gently set your hand down, before pinching your cheek condescendingly. "Well my dear, I'm afraid I have other responsibilities I must attend to!"

He stood up with a flourish, leaning on his microphone cane as he smirked at you. "Not to worry!" He snapped his fingers, and a slim, feminine shadow emerged from the ground. "Missy here will watch over you in my stead."

"What? No, I—"

"I'll be back before you know it!" He offered a chilling smile, before melting into a puddle of shadows.

You gaped at the spot where he once stood, trying to process what the actual fuck just happened. Your gaze slid over to the feminine looking shadow, still standing in the corner of your living room. She grinned at your attention, teeth sharpened.

You closed your eyes, head thumping back against your door in exhaustion.

"I'm so fucked."

****

Enchanté, ma chère : Charmed, my dear

#hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin #radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor x oc #alastor x ofc #alastor x original female character #hell #hazbin alastor #alastor being a menace #alastor being alastor

6K notes · View notes

spooksier · 2 months ago

Text

the long bad dream

☆ pandorica preorder | patreon | comics ☆

#art zone #pandorica radio tag #original character #oc art #comics #horror comics #and the new cover by itself everybody cheer. NOW!!!#fr tho this was so fun i havent done a piece traditionally in so long #osgood delos santos (oc)

795 notes · View notes

totallyhinged · 8 months ago

Text

i’m normal about him i swear

find me elsewhere: p*treon | e*sy | insta

2K notes · View notes

galacii-gallery · 2 months ago

Text

Audio belongs to @neotxnic! | >>> [ Original Post ] <<<

Finally got CSP Ex so I had decided to make my first animation/Animatic with this audio!

Radio belongs to @darkxsoulzyx

#art #myart #my art #au #aus #utmv #oc #friends ocs #friends oc #Radio #Radio/tv #Shattered!Dream #Shattered #shattered dream #animation #Shattered Animation #neotxnic

426 notes · View notes

thedarkzyxabyss · 5 months ago

Text

THEY HAVE A BLOG NOW!!

GO CHECK THEM OUT AT @shit-hell-no-radio

So I talked with the people involved with this AU, and we decided to just throw all of our stuff in this little, collaborative side blog! If you guys want to see more of them, go check it out! (Although we did just make it haha)

See you guys there! <3

#darkzyx #darkzyx oc #oc radio #THEY HAVE A BLOG NOW GUYS #GO CHECK THEM OUT!!! <3

265 notes · View notes

benjimatorarts · 3 months ago

Text

Marian, her tv husband, and the radio man that hangs out with him a lot.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #radiostatic #staticradio #oc #marian xander walker #is the radio man flirting with my husband? he can do better than vaughn

710 notes · View notes

hishumanbellestories · 2 months ago

Note

idk if you do requests but if you do could you write a Alastor x reader where Y/ and Alastor were close friends when they were alive when Y/n committed suicide so when they start dating in hell Al is super protective. Sorry if this is too much

♡ ♡ ♡

Hello! Happy to oblige to this very pleasant request, @helluva-simper! I got a little carried away and I don't know if I completely fulfilled your request. If so, let me know if it disgusts you. ☹ The story is very long… it tells of your friendship and what Alastor does to end up in hell.

WARNING: blood mentioned, murder scenes. The ending is a little sweet/fluff! PART II: click here.

You will find sections dedicated to jealousy and moments of sweet protectiveness/concern towards the bottom, there is a note to indicate it if you want to skip the whole narration. Happy reading!

♡ ♡ ♡

1920 – New Orleans.

The streets were alive with music. Jazz spilled from the clubs, mingling with the scent of sizzling street food and the laughter of passing crowds. The city pulsed with energy, a place where anything felt possible.

You were weaving through the bustling French Quarter, the beads of your necklace clicking together with each hurried step. The warm night air hummed with conversation and the distant trill of a trumpet. That’s when you saw him—leaning casually against a lamppost, arms crossed, a grin playing on his lips:

Alastor.

He had the kind of presence that demanded attention without trying. Sharp brown eyes gleamed with mischief beneath the brim of his fedora, and his suit—impeccably pressed but slightly rumpled from the humid air—suggested he had a knack for looking effortlessly put-together.

“Now, there’s a face I don’t recognize!” he called out, voice brimming with exaggerated cheer. “What brings a fine young lady like yourself out into this wild, untamed city?”

You smirked, raising a brow. “You say that like you’re not part of the wild.”

Alastor let out a laugh—bright, unrestrained. “Guilty as charged! But I do like to think I bring a certain flair to the madness.” He tilted his head, studying you with amused curiosity. “You’ve got the look of someone with a story. Care to share?”

You weren’t sure why, but something about him felt instantly familiar—like you had known him before, in another life. Or maybe it was just the way he carried himself, like he belonged to the city as much as the music did. Either way, you felt no hesitation as you grinned back at him. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” you countered.

Alastor's eyes lit up, and he extended a hand with an almost theatrical flourish. “Then, my dear, we have ourselves a deal! Let’s find a proper place for storytelling—somewhere with good music and even better company.”

And just like that, the night began.

The first meeting was just the beginning. What started as playful banter on the streets of New Orleans quickly turned into something more—a friendship unlike any other.

Alastor had a way of making the world feel electric, as if life itself were a performance and he was the master of ceremonies. You, on the other hand, had a way of grounding him just enough, pulling him back from his more reckless impulses while still encouraging his mischief. Together, you balanced each other out in a way that neither of you had expected but both of you secretly needed. The two of you became inseparable. Whether it was sneaking into speakeasies, dancing until your feet ached, or sitting by the Mississippi River sharing stories about dreams and the absurdities of life, there was never a dull moment.

“You, my dear, are one of the few people in this world who truly understand me,” Alastor declared one evening, tipping his hat back as he leaned against a balcony railing. “And that is either a wonderful thing… or a truly terrifying one.”

You chuckled, nudging his arm. “Terrifying for who?”

He turned to you, grin wide, eyes gleaming in the gaslight. “Why, the rest of the world, of course!”

And honestly? He wasn’t wrong. You had a way of finishing each other’s sentences, of knowing exactly what the other was thinking with just a glance. Whether it was pulling elaborate pranks on unsuspecting bystanders (all in good fun, of course) or covering for each other when trouble inevitably followed, you were a team.

“I swear, if you ever get yourself locked up, I might consider bailing you out,” you teased one night after Alastor narrowly avoided getting into a scuffle at a particularly rowdy club.

“Might?” he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “How cruel! After all we’ve been through!”

You smirked. “Oh, I’d bail you out… but not before letting you stew for a few hours first.”

Alastor let out a laugh—loud and full of life. “Now that is why we’re friends. You’re almost as devious as me.”

There were moments—brief and fleeting—where the laughter faded and something deeper settled between you. Those were the nights when the world felt quieter, when Alastor would stop grinning just long enough for you to catch glimpses of something else in his eyes.

“Ever wonder what comes next?” you asked once, lying on the grass in a park long after midnight, staring up at the stars.

Alastor was silent for a moment before answering, “sometimes.” Then, after a pause, “but as long as I have a friend like you, I don't think I'll ever have to worry about being alone in whatever comes next.” You turned your head to look at him, surprised by the rare sincerity in his voice. He met your gaze and, for once, there was no mischief, no mask—just Alastor, your best friend. You smiled, but your smile seemed unconvincing to his eyes, and the gleam in your eyes was no longer the same. Something gripped you from inside. Alastor had become a part of you, but it wasn't enough.

He was a constant need.

Something in your chest was blooming and it was heavy.

It started subtly. Alastor noticed before you even said a word. The way your laughter became softer, less frequent. The way your eyes—once alight with mischief—began to dim. You still showed up, still went along with his antics, but something in you had changed.

At first, he acted as if nothing was different, thinking you’d snap out of it on your own. But then, one night, he found you alone, sitting on the edge of the riverbank, staring into the dark water as if it were calling your name. And that’s when he knew—this wasn’t something he could ignore.

He sat beside you, unusually quiet. The city still buzzed behind you, jazz and laughter filling the streets, but here, it was just the two of you and the sound of water lapping against the shore.

“You’re not well,” he said, finally breaking the silence.

You let out a tired breath, your arms wrapped around your knees. “No, I’m not.”

You really wanted to share the burden, how you felt, the heaviness of the world and not feeling enough… especially that he didn't see you the way you did, but your thoughts were incomprehensible. How could he love someone like you?

Alastor wasn’t the type to fumble for words, but for the first time in a long time, he felt at a loss. He could charm his way out of almost anything, but this—this was different. This was you, his best friend, slipping away from him in a way he didn’t know how to stop.

“Do you ever think… maybe it’d be easier if I just—” , you hesitated, fingers gripping your arms a little tighter.

Alastor’s grin vanished.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice sharper than usual. “Don’t even finish that thought.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden intensity in his tone. He turned to face you fully, his usual playful expression replaced by something raw. Something desperate.

“You cannot leave me,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less fierce. “I refuse to allow it. We have a deal, remember?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “You can’t exactly stop me, Al.”

He leaned forward, eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “Maybe not. But I can remind you why you shouldn’t.”

Before you could react, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small, worn-out trinket—a cheap little charm you had won for him at a carnival months ago. You barely remembered it, but he had kept it.

“This ridiculous thing,” he said, rolling it between his fingers, “is completely worthless. And yet, every time I look at it, I remember you. The way you cheated at that ring toss, the way you laughed when I nearly tripped over that poor man’s dog.” He exhaled sharply. “And if this stupid thing can hold that much meaning to me… imagine how much you mean to me.” But not enough… you thought.

Your throat tightened. You hadn’t realized how much you needed to hear something like that.

Alastor suddenly reached out and grabbed your hands, his grip firm, grounding. “Listen to me. The world is a cruel, wretched place, I won’t deny it. But you?”, he smiled then—small, sincere. “You make it bearable. And if you leave, who will remind me that life isn’t all bad?”

You swallowed hard, looking down at your intertwined hands. “I don’t know how to stop feeling like this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said simply. “You just have to stay.”

The river still whispered below, the city still pulsed behind you. But in that moment, sitting beside Alastor, his hands holding yours as if he could keep you tethered to the world—something shifted. The weight on your chest didn’t disappear, but it felt just a little lighter.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

Alastor knew something was wrong the moment you vanished.

At first, he convinced himself it was temporary. That you just needed time. That you’d come back, and he’d tease you about running off without telling him. He’d call you a terrible friend for worrying him and then demand you make it up to him with a night on the town.

But days passed. Then a week.

And then... he found out.

Your name echoed through the streets like a ghostly whisper, carried by murmurs of sorrow and disbelief. Alastor stood frozen, heart pounding as the words reached him—words he didn’t want to believe.

You were gone.

And you had taken yourself from the world.

For the first time in his life, Alastor felt the breath leave his lungs in a way that had nothing to do with laughter. His mind refused to accept it. His body rejected the reality of it. But the truth remained.

You were gone.

He didn’t remember much of what happened after. Someone tried to console him. Someone tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t hear them. He didn’t hear anything. The world had lost all sound. All color. All joy.

And then came the anger.

It started as a slow, simmering rage—a silent, festering wound deep in his chest. But grief is a twisted thing, and Alastor was not built to handle loss in the way ordinary men did.

He was not an ordinary man.

The first girl died only days after your funeral. She had your hair. Your laugh. He heard it across the street and for a fleeting, impossible second, he thought—You came back.

But it wasn’t you. It would never be you...

And if the world had taken you from him, then he would take from the world.

One by one, the women who bore even the slightest resemblance to you began to disappear. Some were found—lifeless, their bodies discarded like forgotten memories. Others were never seen again.

Alastor was careful at first. He didn’t want to get caught. But as the weeks stretched into months, his grief evolved into something insatiable. He no longer cared about consequences. He wanted them to know. He wanted them to fear him.

Because if he had to live in a world without you, then the world would learn to suffer as he did.

The city spoke of him in hushed voices, afraid to say his name too loudly. The newspapers called him The Butcher of New Orleans, but the radio stations had a different name—The Smiling Devil.

They said he never stopped grinning. That even as he ended their lives, he hummed little tunes, like it was all just a grand performance.

They didn’t know the truth.

That he wasn’t smiling.

That it was just his teeth, bared in grief so deep it had turned into something unrecognizable.

That the songs he hummed were the ones you used to sing.

But none of it mattered anymore. Nothing did. Because the only person who had ever truly seen him—the only person who had made life bearable—was gone.

And so, Alastor continued his symphony of slaughter, letting the city drown in the echoes of his suffering.

Until, one night, as he stared into the mirror, covered in blood and surrounded by the remnants of his latest victim—

He swore he heard your voice.

And for the first time since losing you…

The smile on his face faltered.

Alastor stood motionless, breath hitching as the whisper of your voice curled through the air like cigarette smoke.

It was impossible. He was losing his mind.

And yet…

“… Alastor.”

His blood ran cold. His name, spoken so softly, so familiar, yet carrying the weight of something beyond the grave. He turned sharply, but the dim glow of his apartment revealed nothing. Only the remnants of his latest crime—a body slumped in the corner, eyes wide, lips frozen in a scream. A woman who had your hair, your face, your shape—who had been a pathetic, fragile imitation of you.

His pulse roared in his ears. The radio crackled with static, his own heartbeat distorted into white noise.

“… Why?”

The question wasn’t from the radio. It was from you.

A slow, eerie grin stretched across his face, but it was empty. A reflex. A mask. His voice came out smooth, but there was something desperate beneath it.

“Why what, my dear?”

The silence that followed felt suffocating. He swallowed, suddenly aware of how cold the room had become. His fingers twitched at his sides. He felt it again—your presence, unseen but unmistakable.

“… This isn’t what I wanted.”

Alastor stiffened.

Ah. So that’s what this was. Guilt, slipping in through the cracks. He had thought himself immune to it, but hearing your voice again? It was different.

“Oh, but you see,” he murmured, tilting his head as he addressed the empty room, “what you wanted no longer matters. Because you left me.” His voice darkened, laced with something venomous. “And now I’ve made sure the world remembers you.”

A flicker in the corner of his vision. A shadow? A trick of the dim light? No—you were here.

Alastor clenched his fists, something twisting in his gut. His smile wavered. He should feel triumphant. He had honored you in the only way he knew how—with violence, with chaos, with the ruin of everything that dared to resemble you.

Then why… did he feel like he had failed you?

“Alastor…” Your voice was barely a whisper, a breath against his ear, a sound carried by the wind itself. “I was hurting. And you—”

He stepped forward, reaching out, but there was nothing to grasp. Just air. Just absence.

“I needed you.”

A laugh—high-pitched, jagged—bubbled up from his throat, unsteady and wrong. His fingers curled into his palms, nails biting into his own flesh.

“I tried!” he snapped, voice cracking, his mask slipping. “I told you to stay! I begged you to—”

Silence.

A void where your voice should be.

And for the first time in his life, Alastor felt something unfamiliar clawing at his chest.

Not anger.

Not madness.

Not even grief.

But regret.

The radio hummed. The body on the floor remained lifeless.

And Alastor, for all his power, for all his wit, for all his control—stood there, for once, with nothing.

Just the ghost of you. And the echoes of a laughter he would never hear again.

Alastor was losing himself.

The killings had been satisfying at first. Each act of violence had been a desperate grasp at control, a way to fill the gaping void you had left behind. But now—now, even as blood pooled at his feet, even as screams rang in his ears—there was no satisfaction. No relief.

Only you.

He saw you in every shadow. Heard you in every whisper of wind, every crackle of his beloved radio.

And worst of all? He felt you.

You haunted him in ways he couldn’t escape. Not in the way spirits haunted old homes or restless souls clung to their unfinished business. No—you haunted the very fabric of him.

He had always been a man of control, sharp and calculated, always three steps ahead. But now? He felt unraveled.

The change began slowly. A creeping sensation in his chest, a disturbance in his mind.

At first, it was just the dreams. Nightmares, if he were being honest—though he’d never admit to fearing them. He dreamed of the river, of your reflection staring back at him from the black water. Your eyes empty, accusing. He dreamed of reaching for you, only for your image to ripple and disappear, leaving him gasping for air.

Then came the waking moments of displacement.

He would enter a room and forget why he was there. Hear a voice—your voice—only to turn and find nothing. Food lost its taste. Music lost its charm. Even his own laughter—once so effortless—felt wrong. Forced.

His mind fractured further with each passing day.

The killings became less about vengeance and more about habit. A desperate attempt to feel something. But they no longer served their purpose.

Nothing did.

And that’s when he realized—he was changing.

The transformation was not sudden, nor was it entirely physical.

Oh, he still looked human, at least in the mirror. But inside? Something fundamental was shifting.

His once brilliant mind—sharp as a knife—now teetered on the edge of something far darker. He had always been clever, but now his thoughts felt inhuman. Detached. Cold.

He began to crave things he could not name. His body itched for something beyond flesh, beyond blood. He could feel his soul twisting into something grotesque, stretching toward something otherworldly.

It wasn’t just madness.

It was evolution.

The final breaking point came when he tried to speak to you.

Tried to summon you—truly summon you.

Through old rituals, through whispers in the dark, through desperate, fevered attempts to bring you back.

But nothing worked.

Because you were gone.

And so, Alastor did the only thing left to do.

He laughed.

He laughed until his throat burned, until his ribs ached, until the world around him seemed to distort under the weight of his hysteria.

And in that moment, something inside him snapped.

The man he had once been—the clever, charming, mischievous man who had loved you—died that night.

And in his place, something else was born.

Something with sharper teeth. Something with a hunger that could never be sated. Something that no longer cared for the limits of mortality.

And so, Alastor stepped fully into the madness, embraced the darkness, and let the last shreds of his humanity rot.

For without you—

There was nothing left worth saving.

The swamp was alive with the hum of cicadas, the distant croak of bullfrogs, and the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. The night stretched on, dark and endless, as Alastor dragged yet another lifeless body through the underbrush.

It had become a ritual by now. He worked alone, humming some jazz tune under his breath, the weight of his latest victim barely a bother. He had done this so many times. The city was catching on to the string of missing women, but no one suspected him. No one ever suspected the man with the charming smile and the quick wit.

Until now.

A sudden snap of a twig.

Alastor froze, fingers tightening around the corpse’s wrist. His head tilted slightly, ears picking up the faintest movement in the distance. Someone else was here.

Hunters.

The realization hit just as he spotted the faint glow of a lantern through the trees.

Then—

BANG!

Pain. A sharp, searing pain tore through his chest. His breath hitched as he stumbled backward, his grip on the body loosening.

BANG! BANG!

Another shot—this time, his leg buckled beneath him. He collapsed to the damp earth, gasping as warmth spread through his clothing. Blood.

He could hear them talking, could barely make out their figures through the dense foliage.

"Didja see that?! We got ‘im!"

"Damn thing’s huge—look at those antlers!"

His vision blurred. His body ached, cold creeping into his fingers. But he barely noticed—because something was wrong.

His hands—his fingers—were stretching, warping into something unnatural.

Antlers.

He could feel them growing, twisting out from his skull. His body contorted, reshaping itself, the pain of death giving way to something even stranger.

His last breath came out as a laugh—a wheezing, broken chuckle that sent a chill down the hunters' spines.

And then—

Nothing.

Alastor awoke to a world bathed in red.

The sky above churned with crimson clouds, the ground beneath him cracked and scorched. He pushed himself up, disoriented, his body still tingling from the sensation of becoming.

And then he saw his reflection.

The murky water of a nearby puddle rippled, distorting his face—but there was no mistaking it. His features were still his own, but… changed.

His eyes glowed with an unnatural red light. His ears were long, pointed. And his smile—his signature, ever-present smile—felt sharper.

But the most striking change?

The massive set of deer antlers crowning his head.

Something deep inside him stirred, and as the realization settled in, Alastor did the only thing that felt right.

He threw back his head—

And laughed.

Hell had given him a new form, a fitting form.

And Alastor?

He was going to enjoy this.

Hell was not what you had expected.

It wasn’t fire and brimstone, nor was it eternal torment—at least, not in the way the preachers had warned. It was loud, chaotic, an endless city pulsing with neon lights and strange, inhuman creatures.

And somehow, you were here.

Your memories were hazy, blurred at the edges, but the weight of your death still clung to you. The pain, the loneliness, the finality of it all—it had been too much. And yet, instead of fading into oblivion, you had woken up in this strange, twisted afterlife.

And then, you met him.

At first, you thought he was just another demon. His sharp suit, his unnerving red eyes, the way he grinned like he knew a joke no one else did—it all fit the description.

But there was something familiar about him.

Something in the way he spoke, the way he tilted his head when he looked at you, like he knew you from somewhere.

And then—

"Why, if it isn’t my dear, darling, Y/N!"

His voice was a melody, smooth and rich like a radio host’s, yet laced with something darker.

You froze.

He knew your name.

And suddenly, it hit you. The way he carried himself, that unmistakable laugh, the gleam of amusement in his eyes that never quite reached his soul.

No. It couldn’t be!

"Alastor…?"

His grin widened. "Ah, so you do remember me! My, my, what a reunion! And here I thought I was the only one who got a second chance at—shall we say—infamy?"

You took a step back, heart pounding. This wasn’t the man you had known. He looked like him, sounded like him, but everything about him was… wrong.

The Alastor you had known—your dear friend—had been mischievous, yes, but not like this. Not this predatory, bloodstained thing standing before you.

"What happened to you?" you breathed.

His laughter rang out, bright and sharp. "Oh, sweetheart... YOU, happened! Your little disappearance sent me on quite the downward spiral! And, well… let’s just say I took up a new hobby." His eyes glowed with something unreadable. "Turns out, Hell appreciates a man with a knack for… entertainment."

Your stomach twisted.

You had left him behind in life, and now?

Now, he was something else.

Something monstrous.

And yet—

Even as fear curled in your chest, even as you saw the demon he had become, a part of you still saw him.

Alastor.

Your friend.

And that part of you couldn’t help but wonder—

Was there anything left of the man you had once loved?

The air between you was thick with unspoken words.

Alastor was still grinning, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something unreadable, something unsettling. He had changed, but so had you. And now, standing before him in this twisted afterlife, you knew you couldn’t keep the truth buried any longer.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering in your chest.

"Alastor," you said, your voice softer than you meant it to be. "I—I never meant to leave you like that."

His grin didn't waver, but his head tilted slightly, as if he were listening to a song only he could hear.

You took a shaky breath. "I—", your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to say it. "I loved you, Alastor. I always did."

Silence.

His expression didn't change. Not at first. But his fingers twitched ever so slightly, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Ah," he finally said, voice smooth as ever. "Is that what it was all about?"

You nodded, unable to look away.

Alastor let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. "And here I thought you were just mysterious."

You frowned, confusion twisting in your gut. "Alastor—"

"Darling, darling," he interrupted, lifting a hand as if to stop your words. "Why so serious? We’re in Hell! Surely, there’s no need for all this brooding when we have eternity to waste!"

You blinked. "What?"

He clapped his hands together. "Tell you what, sweetheart—why don’t we go paint the town red? And no, no—" he wagged a finger playfully, "not that kind of red. I mean, unless you're feeling violent." He chuckled at his own joke.

Your mind reeled. He was deflecting.

After everything you had just said, after everything—was this really all he had to say?

"Alastor," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Do you—did you ever feel the same?"

His eyes glowed.

For a split second, his grin faltered—just a fraction.

Then, as quickly as it had faded, it was back in full force.

"Now, now, dear," he purred, stepping closer. "That’s an awfully dangerous question, don’t you think?"

Your breath caught as he leaned in, his face inches from yours.

Then, just as suddenly, he pulled away with a theatrical twirl. "Come now, let’s not dwell on silly things like the past! You’ve got a second chance, I’ve got a second chance—why not make the most of it?"

He extended a hand toward you, his grin unwavering. "So, what do you say, dearest? Care to join me for a night on the town?"

Your heart ached.

He was deflecting. Hiding behind jokes, behind that ever-present grin. But beneath it all, you saw something else—something buried deep.

A hesitation.

A fear.

A truth he wasn’t ready to speak.

You glanced at his outstretched hand, then back at his face.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to face the truth just yet.

Maybe he never would be.

But for now?

For now, you could take his hand.

And see where the night would take you.

At first, it was just fun.

You and Alastor—together again, painting Hell with laughter and chaos, just like old times. He took you everywhere, showing you the wonders (and horrors) of the afterlife, always keeping you close, always grinning.

It was as if nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

Because now, you both knew the truth.

You had loved him in life. Had lost yourself in sorrow, thinking he never cared. And he—well, Alastor never admitted things outright, but you saw it now.

The way he watched you when he thought you weren’t looking.

The way his fingers twitched, as if itching to touch you but not daring to.

The way his voice softened just slightly when he said your name.

And then, one night, he finally broke.

You had been teasing him—nothing new, just playful banter, a joke about his unbreakable grin.

But instead of laughing, he had gone silent.

Then, without warning, he had grabbed your wrist, pulling you close, his grin sharp but his eyes unreadable.

"You left me," he had said, voice unusually quiet. "Do you have any idea what you did to me, my dearest?"

Your breath caught. "Alastor—"

"I don’t lose things." His fingers tightened just a fraction. "I don’t let things go. But you… you were gone. And I—". He cut himself off, his usual humor nowhere to be found.

You reached for his hand. "I’m here now."

He stared at you for a long moment. Then—

He laughed.

But this time, it wasn’t mocking or theatrical. It was relieved.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. "Well, I suppose that means I’ll just have to make sure you don’t go disappearing on me again, hmm?"

And from that moment on—he didn’t let you go.

You were together, always.

The Radio Demon and his darling—Hell’s most inseparable pair.

It had been building for weeks.

Alastor was always by your side—more than before, more than ever. If you moved, he moved. If you laughed, he laughed. If you so much as sighed, he was right there, grinning, tilting his head, asking in that smooth, playful voice, “what’s on your mind, darling?”

But something was different.

The way he looked at you lingered too long. The way he touched your wrist, your shoulder, your waist—light, fleeting, but always there—spoke of something deeper.

And then, one evening, he finally snapped.

You were strolling through the streets of Hell, passing under neon lights and the ever-present hum of the afterlife’s chaos. Alastor had been oddly quiet—for him, anyway. No dramatic narration, no wild bursts of laughter, just… watching you.

You stopped, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

His grin widened—sharp, knowing. "Oh, nothing, my dear! Just admiring something that belongs to me."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Alastor—"

"Tell me something, sweetheart," he interrupted, stepping closer, eyes glowing. "Did you ever consider just saying something back in the mortal world? Or did you enjoy making me suffer?"

You blinked. "Making you suffer?"

He let out a dramatic sigh. "Oh, woe is me! My dearest, darling companion, struck down by despair because she thought I didn’t care—", his voice dropped, silky and smooth. "When in reality…"

A pause.

A grin.

A flash of red eyes beneath the glow of Hell’s eternal lights.

"I simply didn’t realize how much I needed you."

Your breath caught. "Alastor—"

"So!", he clapped his hands together, suddenly bursting with energy. "Since we’ve already done this whole ‘tragic longing’ thing, let’s skip to the fun part, shall we?"

He bowed dramatically, extending a hand toward you, eyes gleaming. "My dear, delightful Y/N—what do you say we make this little arrangement of ours official?"

You stared. "Are you… asking me out?"

He grinned. "Darling, I’m claiming you. But if you prefer something more traditional, well—consider this your official invitation to be courted by the one and only Radio Demon!"

Your lips parted, heart racing.

This was insane.

This was Alastor.

And yet—

You slid your hand into his.

"Took you long enough," you murmured, smirking.

His laughter rang out like music, his fingers curling around yours. "Oh, my dear," he purred. "You have no idea what you’ve just signed up for."

And just like that—

Hell’s most dangerous and inseparable couple was born.

Alastor's jealousy.

From the moment you set foot in the Hazbin Hotel, Alastor never left your side.

Oh, sure, he pretended he wasn’t clinging to you. He acted as if he was simply amused by your presence, as if you were just an interesting little pet to keep entertained.

But you knew better.

His sarcasm never faded. His teasing never stopped.

"Careful, dearest! Wouldn’t want you tripping over your own feet and landing in someone’s clutches! I hear certain demons love picking up strays—oh, but don’t worry!", he leaned in, grinning sharp as a blade. "I’d simply have to rip them apart, now wouldn’t I?"

You rolled your eyes. "Alastor, I can take care of myself."

"Oh, I know, sweetheart!" he chirped, looping an arm around your shoulders. "That’s why I let you think you’re independent! It’s simply adorable—like watching a baby bird flap its little wings before tumbling right back into my talons!"

Despite his words, his grip on you was firm.

And as you got to know the hotel’s residents—Charlie, Vaggie, Angel Dust, Niffty, Husk—you noticed something strange.

Alastor didn’t like how quickly people warmed up to you.

Charlie adored you from the start. Angel Dust practically draped himself over you, calling you “sweetheart” and “sugar” and throwing playful winks your way. Niffty loved fussing over you, and Husk—well, Husk didn’t hate you, which said a lot.

And Alastor?

He just watched.

Watched them.

Watched you.

And the more he watched, the tighter his grip became.

"My, my," he’d say with a chuckle whenever Angel Dust got too close, "it’s so fascinating how some creatures just flock to the most dangerously naive souls!"

You shot him a look. "Alastor—"

"Oh, don’t mind me!" he sang, swaying beside you. "I’m simply delighted by how easy it is for people to love you! Truly, it’s a miracle you weren’t snatched up by some unsavory characters long before I got my claws into you!"

His grin widened. "Oh, but don’t worry, dear! I’ll make sure that never happens."

And he did.

Subtly. Silently. Without ever admitting it outright.

When Angel Dust got a little too touchy, Alastor’s voice would suddenly cut in—cheerful, mocking, but firm.

"Oh, Angel, darling, let’s not forget whose company she prefers now, hmm?"

When a stranger tried flirting with you at the hotel? Alastor would simply appear beside them, laughing, grinning—his shadow stretching just a little too far, curling just a little too hungrily.

"Oh, how charming!" he’d croon. "But do tell me, dear guest, do you value your existence? No? Ahaha! Excellent!"

And when you got hurt?

Even something small—a scrape, a stumble—he was there before you could react.

"Tsk, tsk!" he’d sigh dramatically, offering his hand. "Must I do everything around here? Honestly, you’d be lost without me!"

You scoffed, taking his hand. "You don’t have to be so dramatic."

"Darling," he said, voice smooth as velvet, "I’m always dramatic. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong."

You squeezed his fingers. "Alastor."

For just a moment, his grin softened.

Just a fraction. Just enough.

Then, just as quickly, it was back.

"Now, then!" he declared, twirling you away from whatever danger had dared approach you. "Shall we continue this delightful little adventure? After all, Hell’s simply full of surprises! And I’d hate for you to face them without me!"

You laughed. "Like you’d ever let that happen."

His eyes gleamed.

"Oh, my dear," he murmured, "you have no idea."

Alastor's protectiviness.

Alastor was not a man easily shaken.

He had danced through massacres with a grin, turned suffering into a symphony, and waltzed through Hell with his usual flair. He had never known fear.

Until you.

At first, he brushed it off. Of course, he liked keeping you close—who wouldn’t? You were delightful, charming, his! But then… he started noticing things.

How sometimes, your laughter faltered.

How sometimes, your eyes drifted, seeing something else.

How sometimes, you would disappear into yourself—not physically, but mentally, trapped in some dark corner of your thoughts.

And that? That terrified him.

Because he knew what happened when people lingered in sorrow too long.

He had lost you once already.

He wasn’t going to let it happen again.

So he never left you alone.

"Darling!" his voice rang out too cheerfully whenever he caught you slipping into thought. "Why the melancholy? Bored of Hell already? I told you, dear, I’d be your eternal entertainment, but really—I thought I had more time before you started questioning your life choices! Ahaha!"

He talked constantly—more than usual, filling every quiet moment with sound, ensuring that your thoughts never got too loud.

If he ever caught you alone, lost in your head?

"Tsk, tsk!" he’d click his tongue, appearing beside you in an instant. "Now, what did I say about wandering into dangerous places?"

"Alastor, I’m just thinking—"

"Oh, I know that look, my dear! And I simply refuse to let you fall into bad habits! Now!" he’d clasp his hands together, grinning just a little too wide. "Shall we dance? Murder? Cause delightful chaos? Or perhaps you’d prefer a story—something to distract that beautiful little mind of yours?"

You sighed. "You don’t have to hover, you know."

His grin never wavered. But his fingers twitched.

"Oh, but I do, darling." His voice dipped—just for a second, too soft. "You’re simply terrible at being left alone."

And that was the real reason.

It wasn’t just protectiveness.

It was fear.

Fear of silence. Fear of losing you again.

So he never let you drift. Never let you isolate. Never let you forget—

That you weren’t alone.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

It was just a knife.

A simple, ordinary knife.

You had gone to the kitchen to cook, humming softly to yourself as you grabbed it from the counter. Just like always. Just like anyone would.

But the moment Alastor saw you holding it—

BANG!

In a flash, the knife was out of your hand, clattering to the floor as Alastor’s cane struck it away.

And then—

A hand gripping your wrist.

Tight. Too tight.

"What do you think you’re doing?"

His voice was light. Too light. That awful, sing-song lilt still dancing in his words—

But his grip?

His grin?

His eyes?

They were wrong.

Red. Wide. Unblinking. Terrified.

"Alastor—"

"Did you think I wouldn’t notice?" he pulled you closer, fingers digging into your skin. "Did you think I’d let you do this again?"

Your heart stopped. "Alastor, I was just—"

"Just what?" His smile twitched. "Just holding a knife? Just standing here all alone? Just thinking—"

His breath hitched.

And suddenly, you weren’t standing anymore.

You were crushed against his chest.

His arms were wrapped around you—vice-like, unyielding, desperate.

"No." His voice cracked, barely a whisper. "No, no, no, I won’t let you."

"Alastor—"

"You left me once," his breath was shaking. "You disappeared, you were gone, and I—"

He buried his face in your hair.

"I lost you."

You felt his entire body shudder.

"I can’t—" his voice broke into static. "I won’t lose you again."

And that’s when you realized—

This wasn’t just protectiveness.

It was obsession.

Fear.

A crippling, suffocating fear that had hollowed him out from the inside, left him raw, left him feral at the mere sight of you with a blade in your hand.

Because to Alastor, that knife wasn’t for cooking.

It was for stealing you away from him.

Again.

Forever.

And he’d burn all of Hell before he let that happen.

1. When You Take Too Long in the Bathroom

It started small.

A simple, human habit—closing the door when you went to freshen up.

But if you took too long, Alastor would knock—once, twice—before phasing straight through the wall, appearing inside with a grin.

"Oh, darling! Are you hiding from me?" his voice was cheerful, mocking, but his fingers twitched against his cane. "Or were you just hoping I’d come check on you?"

"Alastor, I’m fine—"

"Are you?" he tilted his head, eyes piercing. "You are alone in here, after all. Just you and that dangerous little mind of yours. Terribly unsafe, if you ask me!"

You sighed. "I was literally just brushing my hair."

His grin never wavered.

"Ah, but you see, my dear," he leaned closer, caging you in, "you have a terrible habit of thinking when you’re alone. And I simply can’t allow that."

From then on, the bathroom door never stayed closed for long.

2. When You Didn’t Answer Him Immediately

If you ever didn’t answer when he called—

"Sweetheart!"

Silence.

The air shifted.

"Darling?"

Nothing.

Static began to hum.

And before you could even realize what was happening—

He was there.

"Ah, there you are!" his voice was too bright, his smile stretched too wide. "For a moment, I thought you were ignoring me!"

You blinked. "Alastor, I was just—"

"Oh, I know what you were doing!" his laugh was sharp, too sharp. "You were lost in that pretty little head of yours! Drifting!"

His grin twitched.

"I hate when you do that."

From then on, if you didn’t answer immediately, he’d find you. No matter where you were.

3. When You Tried to Walk Away from a Fight

It happened once. Just once.

Some demon had been too bold, said something too cruel—and instead of fighting, you had turned away.

Big mistake.

Because before you could take two steps—

SNAP.

In an instant, Alastor’s hand was on you, pulling you back, his claws digging into your skin.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

His voice was low.

Dangerous.

"I-"

"No."

His grip tightened.

"You don’t walk away when someone disrespects you." His smile was gone. His eyes burned. "You stand beside me and watch as I tear them apart."

From then on, you never walked away from a fight.

Not because you were afraid of them.

But because you knew—

Alastor would always fight for you.

4. When You Said You Needed “Space”

One night, after a long day, you sighed. "Alastor… I think I just need some space tonight."

Silence.

His grin froze.

And then—

A chuckle.

"Ahahaha! Oh, darling! What a funny little joke!"

You frowned. "I wasn’t joking—"

"Oh, but you must be! Because surely—surely—you don’t think I’d leave you alone just because you asked me to! Ahaha!"

He leaned closer, eyes wild.

"You don’t need space from me, sweetheart."

His fingers trailed along your arm, light, possessive.

"You need me."

From then on, “space” was no longer part of your vocabulary.

Not because you didn’t need it.

But because you knew—

Alastor would never give it to you.

The night was quiet.

Too quiet.

You sat on the edge of the terrace, legs dangling over the abyss of Hell’s endless void. The sky stretched above you—red, empty, mocking. The city lights flickered below, distant, meaningless.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt small.

Lost in the nothingness.

You didn’t hear him approach.

Not until—

"Oh, darling…"

His voice was too soft.

The moment you turned your head—

He was there.

Standing a few feet away, frozen, his ever-present grin strained. His eyes—wide, glowing, terrified.

"What a dangerous little spot you’ve found yourself in!" his voice was still playful, still teasing—but his fingers twitched against his cane, his whole body rigid. "And all alone, too! My, my—what would I do if you fell?"

You blinked, pulling yourself from your thoughts. "Alastor, I was just looking at the—"

"The sky?" he let out a sharp, hollow laugh. "Oh, of course you were! Nothing concerning about sitting on the edge of oblivion, alone, quiet, lost in your thoughts..."

His breath hitched.

In an instant, he moved.

A flash of red. A rush of static—

And suddenly, arms were around you.

Yanking you back.

Dragging you away from the ledge.

The world spun, and before you could protest—

You were in his lap.

His grip was iron.

His arms—wrapped tight around you, chest pressed against your back, breath shaking against your ear.

"You terrify me sometimes, you know that?"

His voice was low.

The ever-present laughter in his tone—gone.

You swallowed. "Alastor—"

"Shh." His grip tightened. "Don’t—don’t ever do that again."

A tremor ran through him. His fingers dug into your sides, clutching, desperate.

"You can’t leave me again."

It wasn’t a plea.

It was a command.

An unshakable truth. A law of the universe.

Because Alastor had lost you once.

And if Hell itself thought it could take you from him again—

He would tear it apart.

His grip on you was unrelenting.

His breath—shaky, uneven, desperate.

His heart—if he even still had one—was pounding against your back.

"You can’t leave me again."

The words lingered in the air, heavy, suffocating.

You swallowed hard. "Alastor…"

He said nothing.

Did nothing.

Just held you.

And then—

Slowly, shakily—he turned you in his arms.

His hands moved to cup your face, fingers trembling against your skin as if afraid you’d vanish the moment he let go.

His eyes—wide, wild—searched yours, glowing red, burning with something raw, something dangerous.

"I won’t let you slip away from me."

His voice was low, almost a whisper.

His thumb traced your cheek.

"Never again."

And then—

His lips crashed into yours.

Desperate. Starving.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was raw, possessive, terrifying.

Like he was claiming you. Like he was branding you into his very existence, ensuring that no force in Hell—or beyond—could ever take you away from him again.

The static in the air hummed.

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling, clutching, refusing to let go.

The kiss deepened, his breath faltering against your lips, as if he had needed this—needed you—more than he had ever needed anything in his wretched existence.

When he finally broke away, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged, his grin nowhere to be seen.

"You’re mine now, darling." his voice was hoarse, trembling with something dark, something devotional.

His lips ghosted over yours again, softer this time.

"And I’m never letting you go."

400 notes · View notes

the-xolotl · 11 months ago

Text

Sweet, Soft Shadow Man

Alastor x gn!Reader & Al’s Shadow

♡ Itty bitty snip

♡ a/n: i feel like i’ve only been writing smut recently so here’s something soft

summary: Alastor’s shadow adores you, because Alastor adores you, but he’s a lot more reserved with his feelings. His shadow on the other hand has little qualms about showing affection or responding to yours, and maybe Al feels a little jealous.

♡ TAGS: sfw, domestic fluff, slight jealousy, some banter, no use of y/n, latine coded reader lowkey.

One thing to get use to as you and Al had begun dating was his shadow constantly hovering around you anywhere you went where Alastor himself wasn’t. At first it had felt smothering, like he didn’t trust you alone or like you couldn’t defend yourself, when you in fact very much can. You’d roll your eyes every time you caught the shadowy figure out if the corner of your eye or even tried to get it to go back to Alastor but of course it only listened to its master and would stare at your blankly with the holes that are supposed to be his eyes.

However, as you got to know it and Alastor you realized it wasn’t that that your lover thought you couldn’t look after yourself. No, what you came to realize (and kept to yourself because it’s much too precious) is that Alastor is a proud man ok not that, you knew that very well but that he has his peculiar way of showing affection, one way was to keep his shadow with you when he himself couldn’t. His pride got in the way of him being outwardly affectionate towards you even after courting, properly asking you be his partner and all the time spent together, he still kept to himself a lot simply reciprocating what you initiated. But having the one thing that’s an extension of himself guard you and keep you company was one of the first tokens of care he’d given you.

Thereafter this discovery you didn’t mind it as much, in fact, you even gave it a name; Sombra. You grew very fond of the curious creature that mostly kept itself to surfaces or even in the silhouette of your shadow. It made you giggle every time Sombra did, because you could feel an odd, ghostly weight on your person when it did despite being in its intangible form. Sombra,you also found, is very animated with you. It showed a lot of emotion: joy, sadness, excitement etc. And it didn’t always smile like Alastor did, it could frown, or have a neutral expression. The more you got to know it, the more you became attached to it and it to you. Where to even without Alastor sending it to you, Sombra came to you out of its own accord or even when you called it.

While not entirely against it, Alastor found it a little irritating that literal part of him spent more time with you than he did sometimes. After all he’s an Overlord and the manager of the Hazbin Hotel with the Princess of Hell, he’s a busy man. And the fact you named it, like a pet. His shadow was wrapped around your finger the same way Alastor was, but at least Alastor didn’t show it so forwardly. This fact made Alastor a little bashful the first time you had revealed this to him, all of the little things his shadow did for you.

For example it would bring you little gifts, either from Alastor… Or its own. Small trinkets, flowers (not even store bought just wild flowers off the streets) or even limbs. You didn’t question the limbs even if they put you off at times. Sombra became very cuddly and liked to follow you around even when you only did mundane things. Like today, you’re in the kitchen making a dinner you had made Alastor promise to be there for. He’d been unusually busy recently and as much as you love Sombra, you miss your significant other. You had been prepping the ingredients for a special dish you wanted Alastor to try, that while not entirely southern food, it’s very similar to something like gumbo, when out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of a black figure. It disappeared as soon as you turned to look in that direction, so you shifted your focus back to the food.

A few times more this happened before a menacing shadow loomed right over you as you threw chopped vegetables into the pot of already boiling water with salt and other seasonings on it. It made half the kitchen dim and it seemed to swallow up its surroundings. You smiled wide giggling looking up at the ceiling, “Sombra~” you sing-song, greeting the ghostly silhouette, “Want a taste?” you offered one of the still uncooked pieces of red meat. It shrunk down to its usual size on the wall taking the offered food. Chuckling at how the meat hovered in the air before it disappeared as Sombra put it in its mouth. The shadow smiled wide giving you a thumbs up as it watched you add herbs into the cooking pot.

“That’s not a pet, you know that right darling?” Alastor’s unfiltered voice came from the door frame as he entered unannounced. While his voice had its usual uppity lilt his tone came a little annoyed. You had reach to hug and pet Sombra like you always do to welcome it, you thought Alastor wouldn’t come for another while longer so you indulged the little servant before its master arrived but you got caught right in the act. It retracted to Alastor’s side like it always did as he threw it a sideways glance.

“Of course he’s not. But its cute, in its own way,” you smile. “Welcome home, my love,” smiling at the radio demon you gingerly made your way to him wrapping your arms around him with a tight hug. He did the same, planting a soft kiss on your forehead, your smile widen. “I missed you,” you whispered looking up at him with big doe eyes. Because you did. You really, really did. You didn’t want to say it outloud but you almost thought he wouldn’t show or he’d be late. So it made you exceedingly happy he had already arrived. “It’s almost ready, why don’t you go sit at the table.”

From his seat, he watched you prepare the side dishes as the pot on the stove simmered, however his eyes more than fixating on you, they followed the movement of his shadow standing next to you at all times. Handing you things, making you laugh and giggle with little actions. And of course it’s his shadow he could feel how giddy your attention made it. Every time you said thank you, every time you gave it a compliment or whenever you pet it. He felt it’s eye twitch seeing Sombra lay his transparent head on the shadow of your shoulder and you didn’t bat an eye. Part of it is guilt, guilt that he had been so absent and distant for weeks, because he’d been too preoccupied with other responsibilities, and jealousy. The jealousy is what bothered him the most. That damn shadow had been hoarding all your attention even as he’d been sitting in the same room with you.

Alastor wouldn’t admit it’s his fault, of course. So instead he gets up from the table again coming up to stand behind you, long arms wrapping around your middle. It surprised you a little, making your stutter the rhythm of your stirring. Alastor rested his chin on the same shoulder Sombra had, making direct eye contact with the sentient being and intimidating it into moving away from you. If it could hiss, it would have. But it moved away without you noticing. Alastor’s arms tighten around you for a second before speaking softly, “I apologize for neglecting you, or if you’ve felt lonely in my absence, darling,” his words were sincere. Alastor didn’t like being away from you very long, didn’t like having to go places filled with people he couldn’t care less about and having to deal with others he disliked. But duties are duties and work is work, he’s a man of principle.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long to be with his beloved, and he know he’s godawful at telling you. Part of the reason he’d kept his shadow with you, in hopes to keep you solace, and company when he couldn’t. But seeing you grow closer to the creature and pouring all the affection you couldn’t give him made his chest tighten, a feeling that crawled under his skin and bothered him in ways that shouldn’t matter to him. You were his. Yet, here he is, acting childish even if you are probably mostly unaware. Or he hopes you are. Because this is embarrassing, it makes him feel embarrassed deep down. His ears twitched in annoyance as the thoughts swirled around his mind trying to push them away but failing.

“I know you’ve been busy. I wouldn’t call it neglect really,” you answer back, relaxing into the embrace and tilting your head so that you can press a soft kiss to his cheek then nuzzling him, “But you are gone too often, I had meant to talk to you about it but I didn’t really know how to. I guess I also felt a little bad asking you to give me more than you already do,” you chuckle unhumorously. Alastor did give you everything, hardly ever did he tell you no and did what he could to make you happy. Your relationship had been very rocky at the start. Both of you had to learn to make your relationship work and meet in the middle on a lot of different things. Alastor had to re-learn what it’s like to love someone, you had to adjust to his own way of loving and take baby steps, slower ones than you were used to. Both of you accepted the flaws that came with the other, you were in hell, he wasn’t the worst out there and you weren’t perfect.

“And you don’t have to be jealous of your own shadow, Al,” you quipped, a grin tugging the edges of your lips. You had to press your lips into a thin line to keep yourself from giggling at the flare of radio static around you after saying that. But he didn’t really refute it.

“Very funny, darling,”

1K notes · View notes