#this is a good one. who is this pentagrams person and do they have more surveys

[griffonsgrove]

Hiiii!!! See your doing writing requests for Hazbin, Its my hyperfixation so I am in need of more content 👀 so I'd like to request maybe Vox general or NSFW headcanon ( either one is good lol-) with a afab reader maybe? This is my first time requesting something like this so sorry if I'm a little nervous or bad at requesting. I think this is how people are supposed to request? XD

General Dating Headcanons | Vox

a/n: You're totally alright dear! You said everything just fine! As I've stated before, I got early access to the first two episodes, and it's been so interesting to analyze vox's character! I hope I can do him justice!! He's starting to grow on me now. I'm gonna stick with a gn!reader just because these are general headcanons and I want them to be suited for anyone!

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

wordcount: 1299

cw: SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL, swearing, vulgar content, stalking, death and mentions of death/murder., toxic/absuive relationships.

(PLATONIC):

Vox’s got eyes EVERYWHERE in hell. There is no escaping his line of sight unless you go completely off the grid. Which is pretty difficult to do when the entirety of pentagram city is covered head to toe in VoxTech.

However, if you don't pose a threat to him, he really doesn't give a shit about you otherwise, and won’t pay that much attention to your life.

When you first fell into hell, you were mostly confused as to how you wound up here in the first place. That quickly subsided into fear as you noticed the large variety of demons and sinners casually walking down the sidewalk like it was an average tuesday. 

You’ll never forget the sight of seeing a demon gnaw off the arm of another and swallow it whole, like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. 

You wander aimlessly down the streets, keeping to yourself and being very cautious of those around you. Your clothes were in tatters, and you didn't have any form of money whatsoever, what were you to do??

You had two options: Somehow find a job in this new horrific realm, or, die.

You didn't care too much for the latter.

This is how you stumble across one of the largest studios/clubs in hell, owned by probably the most feared overlords in pentagram city. The V’s. 

You get hired to be nothing more than a waiter/waitress, to serve the patrons of the club, mostly serving them their drinks.

You weren't too fond of the work uniform either. It left nothing to the imagination, and exposed alot of skin, far too much to your liking. The job actually paid somewhat decently though and it was enough to be able to sustain a living. You were quick to rent out the nearest apartment.

One day, while you’re out on the main floor, making your rounds, your eyes briefly lock with the TV demon across a sea of sinners. Call it cheesy, but it was almost like a spark went off the moment he laid eyes on you. Which is something that doesn't happen often with the tech-savvy overlord. Who were you??

He lazily beckons you over with a claw, to which you obediently follow, although it doesn't hide the sheer nervousness written all over your face, He gives you his drink order in that sultry, velvet voice of his, eyeing you up. You gulp slightly and are quick to bring him his order. He thought you were so cute trembling for him.

He begins to stalk observe you closer after that. If you have any electronic devices he’ll watch you through your screens, trying to get a glimpse into what your life was like outside of work. The things you enjoyed doing in your free time, favorite shows, foods etc.

He def goes through your search history.

He would start showing up more in the sections you worked at, oftentimes minding his business, but occasionally striking up a conversation with you.

You did have to admit he was quite the charmer, his smooth voice was hypnotic to you.

OBSESSIVE TENDENCIES. If he notices some creep won't leave you alone while you're working, he’ll take care of them personally, it’s never a pretty sight afterwards. He cant have anyone taking what's his.

You're oblivious to his stalking and possessiveness, you don't think much of it, maybe that's because he puts on a friendly face when you’re around him.

But after some time of getting to know you, He’s the one that eventually asks you out on a “date”. You’re skeptical at first, but decide to accept his offer. And also partially because you were afraid of what would happen if you said no.

(ROMANTIC):

Ngl it’s kind of a situationship in the beginning.

Vox is a busy man, it’s constant work maintaining the studios (especially valentinos temper) and managing the entirety of hell's technology. So, he may ghost you at first.

That being said, He will still keep an eye on you. He often watches through your phone while you sleep, just to make sure you’re safe. Hell is a dangerous place after all.

Speaking of, you’re now under the protection of the V’s, so that’s a plus! You never have to worry about another demon laying a finger on you. They usually never get close enough to anyways.

He very easily gets jealous. He won't show it on the outside because he has an image to uphold, but you can tell every time from that crazed look in his eyes.

Vox is a possessive lover; he wants to keep you all to himself. If he could, he’d keep you locked up by his side all day.

CONTROLLING. He HAS to know where you’re at, at all times, and who you’re going to be with (lest you face one of his tantrums). Also dictates what you wear, He likes to dress you up to his liking, like you’re his own personal doll.

Insecure much?

Say goodbye to privacy btw. He constantly has you in the back of his mind and a watchful eye on you. It can be kind of suffocating at times. The two of you have gotten into a few arguments because of this.

Valentino gets jealous of you too. How dare you take his boy-toy away from him? He’s often giving you the stink eye and will threaten you behind vox’s back. You’re too scared to tell Vox, because you don't want to face Val’s wrath.

You know briefly of his and Val’s “relationship” it all had seemed very one-sided and completely unhealthy.

You're often having to calm Vox down. The man has a very short temper and is easily provoked. 

Imagine you pressing little kisses to his screen after he found out about Alastor’s return. He remains stoic, but secretly enjoys your affection.

Some of the pet names he loves to call you include; Doll, Dear, Darling, Sweetheart, Babe.

Pretty old-fashioned ik, but he's a classy man alright?

He tends to be pretty touchy, always having a clawed hand on the small of your back, or an arm wrapped around your waist. It’s more of a possessive trait of his, to keep what's his close.

He loves having you sprawled on his lap while he’s in his screen room, you stay nuzzled into his side, often taking naps while he does broadcasts.

He TOTALLY spoils you btw. He’s one of the most powerful overlords in hell, ofc he has the money to show it. Whatever dingy apartment you had before, forget about it bc this man has you living in a penthouse suite in one of the most expensive apartment buildings. He sees you looking at something in a store or online?? Boom, it’s yours now.

He loves buying you clothes, as I’ve said before, you're his “doll” and he loves playing dress up with you.

And if you buy him something?? He’s taken by surprise at first, he’s never really been on the receiving end of that affection, so whatever it is you give him he’ll cherish it.

If you ever have someone bothering you, or want to get rid of, you just say the word babe. He’ll be feeding them to his sharks >:)

The man is emotionally constipated, ok?? All he’s ever known from relationships is what he shared with Val (and trust me that was a train wreck). He’s rough around the edges, short-tempered and isn't always easy to get along with, and he’s incredibly possessive which can be suffocating to deal with at times. This probably stems from him not wanting to actually be alone, He doesn't want you to slip out of his grasp, so he keeps a tight leash on you. But underneath all these flaws, he really does love you and care about you. At the end of the day, He just wants someone that will stay.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Between A Rock And A Hard Place

Male Yandere Human-like Golem x Gender Neutral Human Reader (CW: Noncon, huge dick, golem man, magic, fatal violence towards bandits, spit used as lube, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 1.8k (Sorry this took forever, was originally going to be a drabble and then kinda got away from me, hope you all enjoy huge dick golem man.)

The small town that you lived in, Somnheim, had been victim to a swathe of horrible luck. Raided by bandits, packs of beasts killing livestock, and enemy soldiers scavenging what they could. Finally the town had enough and sent for a practitioner of the magic arts to aid them in the defense of their village.

This was you.

They didn’t have much but they offered a home and food for your services. You figured you could help them and have a quiet place to conduct your research away from the prying eyes of the council, who liked to hold newer mages under their thumb. It would also just be something nice you could do for your fellow humans, and these folks clearly needed the help.

You didn’t want to stay in this place forever though, so your solution would have to be one that would last long after you were gone.

Given your expertise in summoning and animating the logical choice was a good, old fashioned, golem. A pentagram, some select incense, clay flesh molded to a slate skeleton and imbued with an amethyst heart carrying an artificial soul, some runes carved in, and a scroll inserted that would have him follow his purpose and give him personality.

Then just add in a spell that turned the humanoid clay man into something more human so as not to frighten the villagers too badly and make him able to experience a near human existence.

The ritual was a complete success. Of course it was. You were you after all, young but talented and more importantly utterly dedicated to your craft.

Somnheim now had a mighty protector. An artificial man over 9 feet tall, with huge bulging muscles, shaggy brown hair, stoic brown eyes that gave nothing away, and glowing green runes on his arms and legs. The spell that made him human-like was more than just visual, it gave him nearly all the functions of a human male, he’d be as durable and strong as the hardest metal, never age, and of course he was certainly infertile.

Not one for creative names, you named him Slate.

Eventually bandits came by and decided they would stock up in Somnheim before going on to bigger and better loot.

They did not live to regret that decision.

Slate simply rolled a massive boulder down the hill they approached from and flattened all but a couple. Those he took care of quickly with magically precise throws of average sized stones.

Over the months any threat he couldn’t flatten with a boulder or smack with a stone he would pop open with his mighty fists.

By the end of his first year as the village’s guardian he was beloved by every single townsperson. Even the tiny children, who would climb on him and put flowers in his shaggy hair as he smiled and watched, had no fear of him.

You had enjoyed your time there, but eventually it was time for a change of scenery. You wanted to do more field research and you had saved enough money up with side projects to be able to fund a trip to the other side of the country near The Great Forest.

The villagers were grateful and sad to see you go, but they were much more interested in Slate than you.

But when you packed your bags to leave behind your wattle and daub dwelling once and for all you found yourself blocked by Slate.

He uttered one word in that deep, almost monotone, voice of his.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I have to leave.” You tried to squeeze past him but he was not having it.

“I must protect the village… Your presence here makes the village safer… I might need repairs… or reinforcements… And you also tasked me with keeping you safe…”

You fudged the wording. You, breather of life into stone, weaver of clay, and creator of souls, messed up the wording.

He picked you up like a box of luggage and sat you on a chair in your makeshift study before going over to the heaviest bookshelf, picking it up, and placing it in front of the only door so you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll move it when I need to leave… then I will put a rock outside to keep you here…”

And that became your life. A literal prisoner in your own home.

Your magical abilities were useless in this situation, you were not a battlemage that could explode a wall, you couldn’t teleport, you bent earth.

Of course you tried to tunnel your way out by making a hole under your bed, but Slate had walked in and caught you red handed. He had confiscated and locked away all your magical supplies and texts unless you needed them to repair him you were not getting them back.

Slate was tentative enough of your physical needs, bringing you food and water and taking you outside like some sort of pet for sunlight, fresh air, and exercise. You had tried to run away but of course he had inhuman speed. And the villagers refused to help. What if Slate refused to save them if they did that?

It was a fair concern, he was made to protect the village and not villagers, he may even see them as a threat if they assisted you. You were on your own.

Though you were healthy enough physically your mental condition was deteriorating rapidly. How could you not be? Being trapped in the same building, even with trips outside, was awful. The villagers only looked at you with pity if they looked at you at all, and no one would even talk to you anymore.

It got to the point where you barely eat, refused to go outside, and spent all your time laying in bed.

Slate was failing the magical directives that governed his personality and behavior. You were clearly not safe, he was convinced that you would die if this continued, and honestly you likely would… eventually…

But the golem was not incapable of learning. He observed the other humans to find out what he could add to your life to bring you back to your usual self.

One night, when he was sitting in front of the house watching the humans passing by and holding hands, he came to the conclusion that humans had families, they lived together in their dwellings and they loved each other. They coupled together and mated.

Up until this point Slate had only been directed by simple emotion and the unyielding parchment that had imbued him with his goals. But now his task demanded something more of him, it demanded a much more complex emotion. The magic in him allowed this evolution, and now he was much more dangerous because he loved you. But it wasn’t just love he felt for the first time, it was lust.

Slate’s expression became one of someone thinking about the one who they adored infinitely, an expression of a man thinking about the person he wanted to have writhing in pleasure beneath him, even his normally green runes and brown eyes took on an amorous pink glow.

When you heard the boulder blocking the door shift and then heard the bookshelf take its place as what was blocking your way out as Slate came lumbering in with his heavy steps you didn’t even glance up.

Not until he stood in front of you and you noticed his strange pink glow replacing his green one did you stir.

You sat up in bed and when you saw the strange way his normally near emotionless eyes were staring at you, and glowing, you scooted away.

“I know what you need now! I am so sorry for not realizing sooner…” He said in a surprisingly soothing tone, a stark departure from his normally deep monotone.

“What do yo-”

Your words were forgotten as he took off his shirt and pants revealing a sweaty body and a frighteningly large cock.

“You need a partner to be happy, like the other humans, and you need to mate!”

He sounded very eager.

“No! Uh… I don’t need to… mate. I need to lea-” he put a large finger over your lips and shushed you before gripping your pants and peeling them and your underwear away from you carefully.

There was no dissuading him from his chosen course of action, he would make you happy and keep you safe no matter what!

It’s what you needed.

Slate leaned forward and spit all over your hole, thoroughly lubing it with his spit, before pressing his big cock into your hole.

It was so large that you let out a whimper of pain at first, but he was somehow knowledgeable enough about sex to know he needed to let you adjust to the size rather than just ramming himself in.

You gasped and writhed but he held you still with his massive hands running up and down your sides as he slowly pulled you down on his prick.

Slate was in complete heaven, he had never really known much pleasure of any kind, let alone the type that came with burying his cock in someone he was now completely obsessed with.

He had no idea his dick could be used for this at all, but now that he did he would certainly be doing this everyday, maybe even a couple times a day! The perfect blend of heat and softness was amazing.

As he began to thrust slowly, with a blissed out expression as he stared up at nothing with drool coming out of his mouth, you couldn’t help but moan in pleasure as his cock caressed your depths perfectly.

Hearing your breathy moans snapped him back to reality. You were finally happy again~

The treatment was working! That settled it, he would do this every single day no matter what!

Carefully gripping your sides a bit more firmly he moved your entire body back and forth on his cock. You couldn’t help it, your whole body twitched with the force of a massive orgasm. The sensation of your body spasming around his previously virgin dick caused him to slam in deep and cum hard.

He pulled you close, holding your head into his muscular chest as he panted, his dick still firmly impaling your limp body. You hadn’t been eating much and this serious fucking had taken a lot out of you.

Slate cleaned the two of you up, bathing you gently before taking advantage of your compliant state by spoon feeding you some dinner he had brought from a town person.

Mating with you made you so pleasured and too tired to resist him when he took care of you, he almost couldn’t wait until you had enough energy to do it again, his cock strained in his pants with anticipation.

[killerkillerkillher]

Bound to Fall in Love

Angel/Demon! 141 x reader

Tags: kidnapping, sacrifices, religious references, reader is too angry to die, reader commits murder lol, canon typical violence??, reader gets a kissy on the forehead, a tad crack-ish

Inclusivity tags: reader is referred to w he/him and they/them pronouns, no bodily description, no y/n

A/n: call my brain an apple w all the worms it's got. This was just a blurb at first, but I made room in there for me to potentially make it into... something I guess.

minors dni!

"Cole, I can't fucking focus while they're just... staring at us like that."

"Ignore it, Bess. We have to finish these candles."

You wish a bolt of lightening would come down and strike all three of you at once. Or maybe the building spontaneously combusting would be better. Anything, anything, would be better at this moment than watching your boyfriend and best friend work together to light a summoning circle after having tied you up in your sleep.

For a fraction of a second, you wonder if any gods are watching, if any of them would be willing to give you a boon and allow you one last chance to punch both of these betrayers in the face.

"Okay, okay, the book," Bess mutters, going to the pick up her ritual book from the coffee table you bought. Honestly, if they were going to try to sacrifice you somewhere, your living room is one of the most disrespectful places. Probably right under your bed room.

"I'm sorry," Cole has the gaul to look down at you with a face stricken with grief. Like you're dead already. "We didn't know what else to do. We're both in bad places and you've always been so good to us, so we figured-"

"You better hope this fucking kills me." You grunt. Cole's face melts into a glare. "Because if I'm still breathing, it's going to take more than Satan's intervention to save you from me. I swear on my mother." You jerk forward, making him jump back a step.

"Cole...?" Bess looks at you, then up at Cole with unease. Cole doesn't say anything for a second, sorting his feelings out with a leer before turning to her.

"Read the book."

He drags you into the middle of their pentagram while she sings Latin words off the old book pages. The candles flicker and waver before their flames grow twice as tall. Cole rolls you onto your back and pulls a knife from his back pocket.

"I meant it when I said I'm sorry," Cole mutters. You snarl, but don't jump at him like you want to.

"Yeah? Yeah, you're sorry? Kiss my ass!" You shout over Bess's reading. "If I'm still alive after this, I'm killing you and burying you in the fucking septic tank!" You crane your head up so you can see Bess as well. "Time to get some stuff off my chest, yeah? Bess, I fucked your older brother on the day we graduated."

Her eyes go wide, and she almost stops talking, but Cole shoots her a look that forces her to continue.

"And his friend Carl, the one you had a crush on. And Cole? I never. Fucking. Finished. Ever! You are the only person I've dated who couldn't get me off." Cole's hand's twitch around the blade.

"Are you serious?"

"Does now look like a time to- ack!" You don't get to finish because Bess finished the spell and it was time for your blood to fuel it. The blade buries in your gut, turning this way and that way at measured increments. You just lay there and twitch, breathy gasps falling from your gaping mouth, the pain only throwing fuel to the fires of your rage.

"Please, we call you here! Honor us with your presence!" Bess chants. Cole step away from you when the candles roar and your vision is filled with bright red and orange.

The ground beneath you rumbles. Whispers fill your ears, nothing you can ever imagine understanding, but something tells you they're other summoners. Or maybe little souls of those who were just where you are now, with a people sacrificing them.

It's odd, you think as blood soaks your back, your hair. You thought you'd be more scared in what could be your final moments. But there's only anguish where there should be fear. Only unfettered violent tension felt in your muscles, and a tongue hungering for iron and gore. You're jaw is wound tight enough to shatter your teeth.

If you could think straight, if you weren't about to die, you might be a little concerned. Never have you wanted to sink your fingers into someone's soft bits as much as you do now. This is normal, right? A normal amount of rage for the people taking your life.

Something in your gut tells you it's not.

In the fog of your rage, you missed the appearance of a pair of men above you. They hover, leathery plum colored wings sagging. One wears a leather strap harness across his chest, while the other favors an unbuttoned silk shirt. One of them looks at you curious as the fire dies, steam and copper colored smoke bellowing from his mouth. A thick cigar hangs on his lips.

"You came! There's... two of you?" Cole gawks, then falls to his knees beside Bess. You can't help but scoff at their sniveling forms.

"We did. There are." The one without the cigar brushes back his long mohawk to get a better look at the whimpering humans. They're nothing new to them, just another set of weak little things looking to get something without putting in the work for it.

Well, they might have had to put in the work to capture you, based on the way you still squirm and fight the rope keeping your arms together. So much blood has left you. You are going to die. Yet you spend your last moments doing what most humans find to be a waste of precious time. Being angry. It's interesting.

"What do you want?" The bearded one in the silk shirt grunts out around his cigar. Bess lifts her head just a bit to speak.

"We want to make a trade. A soul for a better life for us."

There's a moment of silence. You blink your heavy lids, growing too tired to do much else anymore. Both demons look back at you, then to the kneeling humans.

"They're not dead." They say at the same time.

Bess and Cole stiffen and finally chance a glance at you. You're bleeding, a glassy look to your eye and a smile on your face, but you're not dead.

"See, Bess?" You cough up blood only to swallow it back down, "what did I tell you? The cunt can't make me come and can't... can't even make me go."

The mohawked devil pops a wicked smile, not even hiding it from his would-be contractors.

Cole fumes. "I can finish the job. Fuck, am I going to finish the job." He stands, moving to step into the circle only to yelp, the invisible border around the summoning circle becoming visible if only to shock Cole back.

"Not so fast," the bearded one spawns a scroll in his hand. He's eyes glow a molten orange as he scans it. "Section 1, clause 3, part 19 states: executioner(s) must sacrifice one(1) human soul to contractee(s)... Let's see... Here it is: Sacrificee(s) must be dead upon arrival so that proper collection can be done. If sacrificee(s) is still soul bond upon arrival, then they are made the true contractor and all work will be conducted with them."

"In other words," the mohawked one grinned, "you should have went for the heart." He taps at his chest.

"Or the neck." The other devil offers.

"Or that vein in they're thigh."

"The sephenous, Johnny."

"Yeah, that."

"No, no!" Cole grabs at his hair as Bess looks like she's about to start crying. You want to laugh. They deserve the despair. They deserve the horror in their mistake. They were going to kill you!

"That means," the devils lean back to look at you. "You're our contractor. You get two requests at the price of one, human. I suggest one of those requests includes healing you." He flicks the ashes of his cigar on your leg. You don't even have to think of what you want most right now.

"I want you to untie me." You roll on your side. They wait for the rest. Cole and Bess look like they're going to shit themselves from the pale faced looks of terror they give you. Your eyes narrow. "And a hammer. A old fashioned iron and wood handled hammer."

Another beat of silence before the infernals bend over in laughter. The room shacks, sulfuric smoke pouring from their mouths to funk up the room. Cole tries to cox Bess to her feet while they're distracted. Their feet can't move though. It's like they're glued in placed and no amount of pulling and tugging could get them loose. Shame.

"Yer a funny one, love. I'll love having your soul for a few eternities." The one in leather floats over you, tilting his head this way and that way to get a good look at you. You settle him with a neutral look. "My name is Johnny. You sure that's what you want? I think you've only got a few minutes left in you."

"Then let's hurry this up a little, huh?"

"Ooh, you heard 'em." The cigared one snickers and snaps his claws. Two contracts appear in front of your face, both written in a language you can hardly comprehend. A pen appeared in front of your mouth. "Sign on the dotted line please."

You take the quill in your mouth, dip it in the blood beneath you.

"Rah 'ere?"

"Mhm."

You lean forward to dot the paper with your sloppy signature, but bizarrely enough, it seems like the powers that be have decided that they haven't made enough appearances. The floor trembles, and you worry about your poor infrastructure for a fraction of a second, when a set of gold doors spawn right behind you. You roll back onto your back to intake everything. You swear you're hallucinating when a pair of white winged angels step out, the clouded blue of heaven at their back.

"Hello?" You greet stupidly. You must be losing your mind, right? What the fuck is happening.

"Do not sign a thing." The bronzen angel instructs. "Human, we are here as messengers. God sees great things for you in your ascension. Please do not squander that to these demons." He shoots a sharp look at the demonic pair. The angel's counterpart wears a white cloak, obscuring all but his glowing golden eyes. You half expect him to sing "Be not afraid." despite you actively shitting bricks.

Oddly enough, their appearence seems to have some sort of healing property. Your lethargy starts to clear and the blade in your gut starts to get pushed out. Nothing hurts anymore.

"Oh, so we've got a big soul on our hands here, huh?" Johnny smirks. "Price, what's the plan?"

Price the devil throws his cigar to the ground and crushes it.

"Do what we do best. Bargain."

"Don't play with us, Price." The shrouded angel grunts. He's got a mind piercing voice that's got your head ringing, and you swear it echoes despite the room being well furnished. "We can provide them with just as much, if not more, at no cost of their soul." Those gold orbs land on you. "All we ask for is your faith."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You tug at your bonds with renewed vigor. The angels wince at the mention of their Lord, but only watch as you force yourself upright. "I could not give a rat's ass who gets what! How about this? First one to get me free and a hammer in hand gets my loyalty."

There's two resounding snaps from either side of you. The ropes disappear, a hammer is in your left and right hand. You don't think deeper on what that implies. You finally stand, dropping the hammer in your nondominant hand, and march over to the two people you thought you could trust. They kneel now, seemingly ready to beg for their souls.

"Come on, don't look scared now." You drop your hands on your hips. "What happened to you finishing the job?"

"I didn't want-"

"Say it with your chest." You poke his breast plate with the iron hammer head.

"I didn't want it to come to this!" Cole yells. The divine audience doesn't say anything about it. They watch you curiously as you bounce the hammer in hand. Your soul is visible to them. What should be a glowing ball of light is a red and white morning star, all sharp edges and pulsing like a heart. Your soul will certainly not end up with the others, that much is true.

"I just... I couldn't keep up with you! Your life style, the way you act, your job. I never left good enough. Bess expressed the same thing and we just... clicked. We would have just left, but we could have never lived without struggling, so we just..." He swallows. You can't look at him anymore, hands clenching at what he says next. "The book called for someone we cared for."

''That supposed to make me feel better?" You tilt your head. Cole winces, eyes falling on your feet. You look to Bess. "Thought you were better than this. You were going to kill me. Because what, I was happy? I loved both of you, you could have just talked to me."

"We're sorry! What more do you want?" Bess sobs. You straighten up, bouncing the hammer on your hip, acting like you next action is something to deliberate. You already know what they deserve, and a flash of sadness bubbles in your chest, but it quickly passes as a hot, searing emotion burns a hole into what little hesitation you had left.

"Reckon I want your souls after all the shit you've caused." You grin before swinging the hammer back and caving in Cole's chest.

"Fuck..." is all you can say after everything is done. Cole and Bess lay in a bloody heep, all recognizable features destroyed and crushed. You pant, hands trembling and nothing but white noise and static crunching around in your head. You just killed your best friend and boyfriend. For some reason, you've never felt so light.

Someone's whistle gets followed by a clap.

"Impressive. Done that before?" Johnny chuckles. He floats closer, hand running down your back as he moves past and pokes around the pulped organs. "Shite, did them right in. Can't tell which is which."

"I've never-" you start to answer, but hands are clapped onto your shoulders, shocking you into silence.

"Well, that was a good place to start, lad. Your swings were a bit sloppy, but we can fix that." Price squeezes at your trapezius, massaging the stiffness out of them. A throat clears, and Price sighs like he forgot there was other company.

"We aren't finished. The human is our ward now, Price." The uncloaked angel snaps his finger, pulling you from Price and making you spawn between the two angels. The bronzen angel smiles down at you with teeth so white you could damn near see your reflection.

"There you are. It's nicer to have you close. My friend here is Simon and I'm-"

"Come on, Kyle, you know he's ours!" Johnny spits, his wings flaring out. "We gave him the hammer first, so piss off."

"Uh...huh." Kyle's smile falls. "I think you're a bit mistaken. Look, after executing the human's request, I have his name here." A stone slab appears in front of your face. It's smells like sunshine and warm grass. What the fuck. "His pledge to the Lord has been set and his soul already has a place next to Their throne."

"Right, right, like we don't have documentation neither." Johnny huffs. The stone disappears as a scroll appears next to the devil. The smell of sulfur and smoke wafts over to you. "His name is right there, pretty boy. Getting yer fuckin' lookers on."

Kyle ignores the rude tone and does pull out a pair of reading glasses to go over the scroll. You stand there in the silence, a little too scared to speak up. What could you do anyway? In a blind anger, you didn't really have the mind to think any of this out. Angels and devils are fighting over you because you'd stupid ass was too blood hungry to think past murder. All that can be done is for them to figure this out amongst themselves, and for you to wait for the sentencing. Heaven, or Hell?

"...Simon." Kyle slowly pulls his glasses off. "This is legit. His soul is promised to all of us."

You glance up at Simon, the scary motherfucker. He blinks. Once. Twice. Then pinches the bridge of his nose with a hagard sigh.

"Shit."

That's not good.

Johnny laughs, Price grinning like a dog with a bone. Kyle marches over to you, patting your shoulders with an awkward smile. His demeanor reminds you of the way your mom acted when she said she was going to divorce your dad. And all you can think is "Not this again." Are you going to be spending your afterlife going between heaven and hell forever? Does God get weekends because Their day is Sunday or whatever?

"We need to go and talk this over with some superiors. We'll clean this up," Kyle snaps and the gore is gone, so is the ritual circle and candles. "And we'll get back to you in the morning." He places a feather light kiss on your forehead, and suddenly you're squeaky clean and in the softest set of pajamas you've ever worn. "Stay safe while we're gone and don't allow these two to influence you. Get some rest."

"Blah, blah, blah," Johnny mocks from the sidelines. Price tilts his head, and there's nothing but amusement behind those eyes. Yeah, this is exactly like your parents divorce.

"O-okay? I mean, I'll try." You shrug.

Simon nods. "That's all you can do." He steps back into the golden doorway and Kyle falls in stride. You make some distance, and with a final wave from a white toothed angel, the doors shut with a slam that shakes the house's foundation.

"Just you and us now, stud."

You turn with a comedic slowness to the devils. Price chuffs and floats forward. His assess you, takes you in in all your fluffy white pajama glory, and it seems he finds what he wants when he nods.

"Guess we've got to talk with top brass to see what's going on ourselves. Pity we couldn't stick around longer." The devil's eyes never meet yours, staying glued to various parts of your face. They hop from ears, to your eyebrows, down to your lips. Christ on a bike, is it getting hot in here? His blue, glowing cerulean eyes appear to flash with something.

"Shite, yer right." Johnny groans. "I hate going down there."

"Suck it up, love. You know how I feel about sharing." Price drops his interest in you like an old toy and takes Johnny close by his waist. You watch with a lead poisoned stare as their noses touch intimately, words you can't hear being exchanged. It's kinda of awkward to just stand there and watch but your brain isn't really functioning well enough to tell you to stop.

"Hey, stud." You blink, refocusing on the pair. Johnny seems to have climbed his partner, his legs on his waist and arms around his neck. Price makes busy opening a portal to hell in your livingroom with one hand, supporting Johnny under his ass with the other. "Sit pretty, yeah? 'll be back before those two arseholes, promise."

"Right... yeah." You nod. "Uh, be safe?"

"Be safe, he says." Price mutters. "Cute." Johnny waves until Price steps through the infernal hole and falls from view. The portal closes right behind him so you'd have no hopes of seeing anything but the red hue of smog and dust.

And here you are. A little dazed, a little sad, probably holding back a break down from the last hour of events. But you're alive and you're healed. There's no blood to clean, you're in comfortable pajamas. Could probably sleep right now if your brain would stop for a minute, but it doesn't look like that's in the plans.

So you look for something to do. Cole and Bess and moved around all your furniture to make the summoning circle. Guess you can start there, right?

[fandomapocalypse]

Love and relationships in Hazbin Hotel

Episode 7 has something interesting and in the song that is called "Out for love" is sung by a character that is referring to a type of love different from a romantic or sexual one, Carmilla is openly talking about familial love. Vaggie of course relates this to her romantic feelings towards Charlie and how she wants to help her. But something else interesting happens in episode 7, Rosie is properly introduced as Alastor's bestie. This leads to showing another type of love: platonic love.

Now to the main point of this post: Alastor. It's canon that he is aroace and as an ace myself (I'm still questioning whether I'm aromantic or demiromantic but this post isn't about me lol) I'm extremely happy to see myself through him. Plus, the fact that the perfect Tumblr sexyman is aroace is genius and hilarious, you can't possibly top this type of humor.

Alastor for me has been a great ace representation and I've seen myself mainly in how he acts around his friends or other people.

When it comes to Niffty it looks more like a relationship between someone with their feral cat or their crazy little sister. But it's still a genuine connection and a fun chaotic one at that, he even lets her touch his hair and climb on him. In regards to Mimzy, he has shown he cares about her and welcomes her with open arms. He openly hugs her, which shocks everyone in the cast. This is extremely important because Alastor usually only starts physical contact to mock others or to pretend physical closeness as a manipulation tactic (like he often does with Charlie). When it comes to people he hates Alastor may touch them but will quickly wipe his hand on his clothes, like what he did with Lucifer. Personally, I don't like personal contact and only accept it if I start it and usually I use it as a way to show affection with close friends. Also, they have known each other since they were alive, so Mimzy probably knows a lot about Alastor that the rest of the cast doesn't. Mimzy also says that they used to dance together. But that doesn't exclude the fact that she uses Alastor's friendship and affection to save her own ass and taking into account how Husk reacted to Mimzy, this isn't the first time she does this. Also, the relationship between the two starts to crumble after what happened in episode 6 and Mimzy seems to be the kind of friend who will pretend that they are still on good terms and still ask Alastor for favors in the future.

Now jumping back to Alastor's true bestie: Rosie. They probably bonded at first over their cannibalistic natures but it's clear that it evolved beyond that. Personally, I don't ship Alastor with anyone, but when it comes to Rosie I headcanon they are in a QPR.

There are various reasons why this relationship is so great and wholesome, the first one being that there is no power imbalance, they are equals. Both are cannibalistic overlords and are on equal footing in terms of power. When Rosie first sees Alastor she is genuinely happy which is something new because most people react badly to him out of fear or hatred.

Alastor respects Rosie, he even compliments her, in her introduction he says she is "the most darling, delightful, and dangerous Overlord of this side of the pentagram". Considering how self-centered and narcissistic he can be, it means a lot. Alastor would rather die again than compliment another Overlord who isn't Zestial, which he respects but out of fear. Alastor respects Rosie as his close friend. When they stand next to each other they give an air of equals, something that never happens thanks to Alastor's ego and sadism towering over everyone else. With Rosie it's different and Rosie can openly tease Alastor with the "Look at you, so polite! Alastor you can learn a thing or two" when comparing him to Charlie when meeting her, or "I'm just kidding, I know you're an ace in the hole" to tease him about his asexuality. This is something that not a lot of people can do because Alastor is obsessed with control and respect. After all, we see how badly he reacted when Husk insulted him.

He also harmonizes with her, he willingly makes a duet with her in "Ready for this". He isn't interrupting her, instead, he agrees with her and they sing together in unison. This is the first time he doesn't openly hijack a song or fight for control over it, like he did with Vox and Lucifer (although this also happened because this is Charlie's song, but who cares the point still stands). Also, this is the first time we see him dance with someone, instead of forcing them to join his musical number (like he does with Charlie on various occasions). Alastor and Rosie are in perfect sync and it's so wholesome and precious to see him being so openly happy with her. Many have pointed out that the only times Alastor is genuinely smiling is when he is with Rosie and it shows by his expression in his eyes.

Finally, Rosie is the only one capable of bringing the most human emotions out of him, the most obvious one being confusion. In the scene of "ace in the hole" Rosie manages to confuse and surprise Alastor for a solid second, which is a huge change of his persona around everyone else of control and manipulation. Also, it's hilarious that Alastor doesn't know what being aroace is, he probably thinks he is above all that.

He is openly relaxed around Rosie and lets her touch him in an affectionate way, something that not even Mimzy can do. It may be because of the height difference but Mimzy only touches Alastor to hug him and to emphasize he is a "heartless son of a bitch" and Alastor clearly gets irritated by her touching him that way and even moves her finger away from him. This never happens with Rosie and he even welcomes her touching him by not having any walls with her. It's Rosie the one starting the physical contact and Alastor doesn't seem to mind and he never tries to use physical contact to take advantage of her like he does with other characters. Rosie is one of the few people who can touch Alastor without losing an arm and instead have a positive reaction out of him.

The most genuine relationship Alastor has is with Rosie, he even has the confidence and comfort to stop his elegant and reserved persona of not swearing. Which he only does when he is truly angry, like what happened with Lucifer. Or when he is threatening someone like he did with Adam. Or when he is shocked when his microphone breaks. He swears to insult Susan, which is someone they both despise equally. Something that you would only do with your closest bestie.

Finally, let's talk about Alastor's breakdown in the last episode. We've already seen that Alastor is capable of having friendships that aren't based on an end goal. Alastor knows this but he rejects it because he is at the hotel originally for selfish goals and doesn't want his emotions to get in the way. He is terrified of ruining his reputation as a sadistic killer and becoming an altruistic who cares about his friends. Alastor wants to stop himself from starting to care about the crew the same way he cares about Rosie, Mimzy, or Nifty to some degree. This is confirmed by his conversation with Niffty, where he admits he has grown accustomed to the main crew and perhaps he is growing feelings of affection towards them in his own way.

In regards to shipping him with Rosie, I see it as a platonic ship or a QPR. Some people have a headcanon that if they had known each other when they were alive they would have married for tax benefits and to avoid the social stigma, which is the only right answer. When they first met in hell they probably had dates in cannibal town where they ate human flesh while gossiping and trash-talked about the other overlords. Which is exactly what an ace person like myself wants from a close friendship.

As an ace, I really like Alastor not because he is the ultimate Tumblr sexyman or see him as hot but because he is an extremely fun character that I can relate to. I'm grateful for the crew and VA that take into account he is aroace and take seriously that aspect of his character. I don't mind that the aroace representation in Hazbn Hotel is a narcissistic psychopath, if you want a more wholesome ace representation you can check Todd in Bojack Horseman or Saiki in The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.

I don't mind people shipping Alastor, after all, it's just people having fun, but you can't ignore that he is aroace and how this affects his relationships. So yeah have fun and respect and aroace community :)

ok thanks for hearing my rant bye

[fraugwinska]

Hiya Guys - Anyone up to read a fic I wrote to battle my little writers block? :> I know jack shit about Alchemy, so I drew a lot of my references and ideas from FMA - But I've already planned for a second part, and thanks to the lovely @impale-me-radio-daddy I have some good pointers and sources to dip my toes in more into the mechanics of Readers ability! ;> Until then: Have fun with this!

"Again, thanks, but no thanks, Carmilla. The whole 'overlord'-thing isn't my cup of tea."

The demon in front of you sighed, closing her eyes for a moment - maybe to not appear as aggravated as you knew she was. Carmilla Carmine has hounded you to join the other big players of Pride who called themselves overlords and acted like they were above everyone else. But you had no intentions or aspirations to mingle among the power-greedy wannabes and parochial moguls, as you told her - in much more diplomatic words - multiple times. The fact that she hadn't tried to force you into compliance only spoke about the power you held, almost wasted on you. Almost.

"I really think it would be...", Camilla started again, but your patience had run thin.

"...beneficial for all involved. It's like a broken record player at this point, no offense. And I hope you'll finally take my 'No' as an answer - Cross my heart, you'll be the first person to know if I change my mind." The warning tone in your voice and you standing up from the chair opposite to her office desk made her give you a sharp, cautious look, but she retreated.

"I understand. I won't press you on the matter anymore." She said, tactically calm, and raised her hands in surrender.

You just nodded her a courteous goodbye and exited her office, chin high as you walked down the corridors of her headquarters and out into the streets of the city. Hell was always busy, but the afternoons were the worst - everyone tried to do their last errands before nightlife took over Pentagram City and people weren't out for shopping or dinner, but for cheap and easy fucks or fights. A little kid - a cannibal child by the looks of its pitch-black eyes and sharp, pointed teeth - ran into you, preoccupied with its popsicle that looked too much like a tongue for your taste. Its mother, horrified, stammered apologies and pulled it hastily away, eager to get in some distance to you. You smiled at them - it may have looked a little malicious to them, although you meant it as genuine. But you knew she knew you were her. The one they called the Alchemist.

You made your way through the parting crowds, just wandering around. You had nothing to do really, and you generally enjoyed just walking through the city you've come to know for only a year. It didn't take long after your fall to get you the infamous name - Only the Radio Demon Alastor rivaled you in the speed you climbed up in the hierarchy of Hell. Tales were told, some true, some heavily exaggerated, some utterly ridiculous. Have you disintegrated demons into their very elemental parts? Yes you had. Have you taken out a whole district because you were catcalled? Not quite, you did that because those bastards from Mayhem Square decided to raid your laboratory and sprayed very vulgar and disgusting things on the walls after they destroyed your latest experiment. Have you sacrificed your loving family in exchange for the ultimate knowledge in alchemy before you died? Definitely not.

You laughed softly about the rumors. What loving family had been there to sacrifice to begin with? You were a war orphan. Abandoned and alone, only taken into a makeshift home and earning your living by signing up for human experiments when you were old enough to be smarter than just steal from abandoned crops and trash cans. If someone ever wondered if one could inject radioactive waste into a person and what the outcome would be, they would've found their answer in your blood and cells - a pinch of insanity, a lack of empathy and painful hallucinations. In exchange for your years of help and your resilience, you were offered a university tuition. You quickly took to science, studying biology, chemistry and, outside of the curriculum, alchemy. To the very last day, you wished you'd studied physics just to finally figure out the universal gravitation formula.

Your career had ended very shortly after your graduation, when you came back to work in the very same lab you've come to be tortured as a teen. But now you were the one experimenting on desperate souls that no one would miss. The only set rule you wouldn’t deviate on: No experiments on children. One of your subjects, overtaken by the pain your hands caused, had gone mental and stabbed you with the syringe you've used on them. Stabbed you many, many, many times. A fitting death, you thought. Your next time awaking, it wasn't with the sight of the tiled, sterile laboratory, but the busy street you just walked on. 

It had been a throwback to your childhood, really. No home, no one you knew, no money. But now you had your power. And OH, what a power it was, effortless and gloriously embedded in your being. Paired with your absence of empathic feelings you quickly gained souls under your belt. Mostly lower-rank and no-name-demons, you left them intact, unless your scientific curiosity got the best of you.

Of course the Radio Demon had sensed the birth of another powerful sinner right below his nose and you had the displeasure to meet him not even a month after arriving. While Carmilla seemed to have the strong aspiration to have you among her fellow Overlords, Alastor's ambition went in a completely different direction. First he wanted to be sly and get you under contract, and when you laughed in his face, well... he wanted to consume you and your power, rip you limb from limb and put an end to your existence.

Alas, you were way too powerful for his liking. The moment his claws sunk into you, the moment he would break a limb and rend flesh, the wound was closed up and the bone repaired. You weren't just good at disintegrating - the principle of equal exchange applied to rearrangement and repair too. His conjured voodoo-minions fell apart into cloth, ash and thread at your will, and his ego took more than just one hit that you resisted, that you held your stance, didn't even move out of his way but buried your feet deeper into the ground with a cold smile on your face - that you were equally as powerful as him. If not a little more. Time and time again your paths crossed. Where Alastor was Entertainment, you were Rationality. Where he was Chaos, you were Order. He was looking for the end of his boredom, you for the ultimate knowledge. His smile a facade to hide his frustrations, your stone cold face a facade to hide the joy you felt with every missed blow from him. You were attracting opposites, the only overlap was your shared egocentrism - You knew he believed himself above you. And he knew you thought the same about yourself to him.

So that's why Carmilla was trying to convince you to join the overpowered. So you would change from an unpredictable threat to those hot-shots into a controllable part of them. What a shame, truly, that power was never something you aimed for. Your only ambition was to further your knowledge about existence, about the nature surrounding you, about yourself. You craved understanding and finding order in the chaos. Especially since Hell was the ultimate chaos.

Your thoughts came to a halt when you suddenly felt a strange sensation. You were just walking past the outskirts of the Cannibal Colony to round (and avoid) the Doomsday District to make your way back home, but now something had drawn your attention. A sixth sense, a force, an itch at the back of your head. Electricity was in the air, and you only had time to rearrange the particles of dust and debris around you into a makeshift shield when a black tentacle burst from the ground and smashed it into pieces. When the cloud of dust around you settled and you coughed, you were met with the sight of Alastor in the middle of the street, his smile as wide as ever.

"Normal people go for a courteous 'Hello', you know.", you stated and straightened yourself.

"Ah, but my darling, you and I both know we are not normal. Or people." Another tentacle darts at you from behind, its tip sharpened like a spear, but you were quick to dodge and let the appendage crash into a digital advertisement for VoxTech newest useless and frivol products. The screen flickered for a moment before returning to its previous content, but the damage was already done - the pole was bent and the screen had a hole in the upper-left corner. You turned back to Alastor, giving him a displeased glare.

"What is your issue with me today? Do I wear the wrong shoes? Maybe my hairdo isn't to your liking? You seem to be a little more... enthusiastic than usual. And not in a good way."

The Radio Demon twists his cane in his hands with a sneer, his burning, narrowed eyes not leaving you as you crossed your arms in boredom and tapped your foot.

"The issue on hand, my dear, is that you encroach onto my territory yet again. How about this: A final fight, you and I. The winner gets to decide if the loser is eaten alive or is granted a merciful death."

"Huh. You sound like you've had a really bad day."

With the flick of your wrist, you rearrange the ground beneath him, shifting solid stone and concrete into sticky bitumen and tar. You can't hide the grin when he struggles to stay upright, his polished shoes glued to the spot, but his smile doesn't falter. If anything, it widens.

"I take this as a yes, then."

Before you can even think of a comeback, your view is obscured by a swarm of his minions. They're coming at you from all sides, claws outstretched and snarling. With a roll of your eyes and a wave of your hand, you let them fall apart into their basic elements, pieces of stained cloths and clouds of foul smelling ashes falling all around you. Alastor's grin is as wide as ever and you see the telltale glow of his power around him - and before you can even blink, he's right in front of you, his shoes still sticking in the viscous black matter where he formerly stood, his claws reaching for your neck, your head. You feel his razor-sharp fingertips scraping the skin of your throat, not deep enough to really do any damage, but still droplets of your neon green blood dripping from the cuts. With a grunt you grab him by the lapels of his coat and throw him over and above your head, and while he flies through the air, his laughter echoes through the streets. He's having fun, you know that. But deep down inside... so are you.

"Your back alley voodoo tricks are getting a bit repetitive, Alastor. At least make it interesting."

He lands a few feet away, gracefully like an antelope on his bare hooves, and the static of his laugh sends shivers down your spine.

"Who am I to deny a dying lady her last wish?"

His shadow detached from his body, the pitch-black entity’s teal grin a stark contrast to his red, glowing eyes, the wickedly growing antlers and his pale skin. The immaterial monster opened its maw wide with a deafening screech, and it shot forward at blinding speed. You finally moved, darting away from the shade as it swished towards you - it almost looked like a morbid ballet as you avoided as much contact with the ground as you were able to, frantically thinking of what his shadows are made of so you could destroy it. He had never stooped down to use it in your fights, and you knew that they had to be more than just abscence of light, as sentient as it was. The basis of Alchemy was simple: You can't form something out of nothing, but if you knew the compounds, you were able to rearrange, dispatch or destroy almost anything. You tried to buy yourself more time to think by another high jump into the air, only to hear Alastors static next to your ear, a hand wrapping around your waist with a grip that was intended to hurt and another on your chin, holding your face in place. Your instincts told you to twist under and out of his grasp, to rearrange your skin into something harder to prevent his claws from tearing into you, but find yourself unable to move. A hiss from below you makes your eyes dart to Alastors shadow - it has your own in an iron grip, holding it hostage in its black claws.

"Is that interesting enough for you, darling?", the demon above you purrs into your ear, but the question was unnecessary, answered in his laughter and his ironclad hold of you, your body pressed against his, arms frozen mid air and useless like a marionette without it's player. His hold around you is painful - it would crush a lesser demon easily, but luckily, you weren't lesser. And you still could, even without the usage of your hands, will your side he pierced with his talons to at least harden enough with the iron you drew from your blood so he couldn't tear you apart that easily.

"It's certainly interesting that you have to resort to gagging my shadow to subdue me."

The words were all but pressed through your gritted teeth. You knew you wouldn't be able to escape at this point. This part of his magic, his shadowmagic, was one of the only things you practically knew nothing about. And lack of knowledge, as usual, meant lack of power. In this case - the power to get out, to flee and regroup.

The touch on your waist disappeared for a second before appearing again, stronger now and accompanied with a pain shooting from where his fingers had dug themselves into the weak metallic coat underneath your skin. You hated the quiet whimper your body unwillingly let out at the sting, reminiscent of the scalpels that were used on you many times, so long ago. He chuckled, deep and guttural right below your ear before leaning his head down to your eye-level.

"Subdue you? Oh, no, no, no my sweet Alchemist. This fight is over, as you are well aware and I'm pleased to say that at last, I am the one victorious. The deal was the choice between eating the other alive or granting a merciful death. I just have yet to decide what option to choose."

He releases his claws from your jaw and rakes his nails down your neck and collarbone, his face inches away from yours, red eyes glowing even brighter and his smile that reached his ears with open delight as his claws tear deeper and deeper into you, his static now drowning out the sounds of your pained gasps as darkness grew from the ground, encasing you.

"I... really hate you, you know?", was the only thing you could bring yourself to hiss. His snicker was dark, malicious and infuriatingly cocky.

"Oh darling. I hate you more." And then it all went dark.

You opened your eyes. A blank, charcoal canvas stretched as far as the eye can see. A monochrome dimension for monochrome creatures. Everything had a certain damp feeling to it - the air, the atmosphere, even your own skin felt slick, damp and oily to the touch. Freezing. Unfamiliar and strange.

"Where are we?"

You still felt Alastor’s long fingers holding you in place, but the pain was gone, replaced by a burning heat where he pressed your back into his chest, a stark contrast to the coldness of the air surrounding you. Clean air. You felt no specs of dirt, dust or carbon on your tongue, the air tasted neutral and smelled void, the flavor almost painful in your throat.

"This, my dear, is a little pocket dimension I've crafted. To be specific - it's the one I've crafted the moment I met you."

Your eyebrows arched up, and his shadow let yours tilt your head just enough so you could see his face and his overly excited grin. His words struck a chord and the penny dropped - He, in his deluded mindset of superiority, had anticipated this day to come ever since your first encounter. This wasn't just a spur of the moment, he had planned this, crafted a punishment for the - to him - inevitable scenario that one day he'd finally get his comeuppance. Where he'd finally beat you. Planned to get you here to destroy you.

"It's not very... showy, considering it's created by Hells Greatest Showman himself." Your voice betrayed you. You wanted to sound bored, neutral, indifferent - but every syllable dripped with hidden defeat. Alastor had purposely created a place that you couldn't decipher, that held nothing you could use to defend yourself.

"Au contraire, darling. I think this is the most appropriate stage for our final performance."

His voice was dark, low, and vibrated from the bottom of his chest. His breath was hot and wet on the nape of your neck and the tips of his fingers on your chin burned. You could feel his excitement reverberating through his body. He was looking forward to this. To eradicate you. You closed your eyes. Rationality told you there was no use in defiance.

"So, Alastor. What's it gonna be? Are you a man of your word or aren't you going to kill me the way you've promised? What was it? Eat me alive or make it a merciful death?", you asked, but the only reply was his grip around you tightening and his teeth sinking into the crook of your neck. It was a pain so sharp and yet so tender that it made you almost moan. A pathetic whimper escaped your throat, and you hated how you could feel his lips on your skin curl into a smirk.

"My poor, little alchemist. I thought you, as a woman of science, knew that one has to define the terms you work with."

His fangs grazed the soft flesh of your neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail along the bite marks they had left. A shiver ran down your spine and your skin broke out in goosebumps. The grip on your jaw tightened and he tilted your head to the side, exposing your throat to him even more.

"Killing is just one mundane interpretation of our deal. There is more than one way to eat you while you breathe, my dear, and as for a merciful death... well..." His hand left your waist, wandered down over your hips to the hem of your pants and slid beneath. "... the meaning of that will depend on how this plays out."

The tips of his claws dragged over your underwear and your back arched, subconsciously pressing yourself against his broad chest as much as his shadow allowed it. He chuckled darkly at the reaction he drew from you, his fingers rubbing your core through the fabric, and your eyes fell shut in furious pleasure. You were unable to stop the whimpers and quiet moans that came from you, and he laughed at every sound he forced from you.

You understood the principles of biology and chemistry enough to understand why your body reacted the way it did to his touch. Hormones released, muscles tensed, senses sharpened, brain focused - and all that with one purpose. Carnality. Sexuality. Lust.

You understood the social components : Alastor, despite his infuriating personality, was a powerful and attractive demon. He was a sight for sore eyes and a feast for the hungry ones - you maybe lacked empathy, but you weren't blind.

What you didn't understand was that, despite your deep dislike you felt for the Radio Demon, despite the many times you've fought each other and how he's tried to erase you multiple times - your emotions were telling you that you craved his touch, wanted what he was threatening to do, what he was implying with his words and emphasizing with his actions, his hands working themselves towards your slicked heat and with his lips still on your throat.

And the worst thing was, he knew.

He could sense it, probably even taste it, in the scent of your arousal and the taste of the sweat on your skin. He could read it in your body language, how you subconsciously tried to move against his fingers, how your body melted into his when his teeth scraped over your collarbone and your breath hitched when he sunk them deep into the soft flesh of your neck once more.

The force behind his jaws was sharp and without any mercy, but it only lasted for a moment until it became deliciously soft and firm, his lips soothing your tormented skin after the beast within had taken its fill of your blood just as he breached the last physical barrier of your underwear and dipped two of his digits into you. He forced a soundless sigh from your lungs with the way his fingertips caressed you, igniting a feeling inside you didn't know you could feel.

The satisfaction you got from giving and receiving physical pleasures up until this point mostly to serve your biological needs, impersonal. The connection that existed between partners was short-lived and never personal, almost medical, with the barest minimum of any physical contact necessary, just enough so the mechanics of your hellish body came to the desired effect of pressure release to let you focus on more important matters.

But with Alastor, with his mouth still feasting on the sensitive, marked flesh at your nape and his dexterous fingers working between your thighs, nothing of what was happening was impersonal. Medical. There was no need - But want. A craving desire that arose like a hot flame deep inside you, making the pleasure you were given intensify and left you almost in a frenzy, to try and get more of it. A feeling almost animalistic, something raw and purely instinctual that you wanted to prolong instead of getting it over with.

There was no logic to the way your body reacted, no formula you could apply to ease your frustration at the way he touched you - he played your body like he knew it by heart, a strange turn of events. While you seemed so illogical in your behavior, he was strangely tactical. You were frantic, he was calculating. Every touch, lick and nibble was done with an intended purpose. And in return your reactions to it were completely without rhyme or reason. You couldn't stop the moans spilling from you as he dragged his long fingers in and out of you in an agonizing speed, the pad of his thumb teasingly rubbing over the little nub hidden between your folds, your hips were moving on their own, in sync with his movements as much as they his shadow's grip on yours granted you.

"I... don't t-think...", you gasped with another cruel flick of his thumb against your sore clit, "...you can c-count that as.. e-eating."

To your frustration his motions did slow down, the thrusts and motions he drew from you fading, the tension within building so painfully inside of you, uncoiling so suddenly just to be denied. His chuckle rumbled in his chest and he retreated his lips and teeth from your throat.

"I'm nothing but a connoisseur, darling - one has to prepare and season his meal properly in order to feast."

The sudden loss of contact made you whine in your throat as his hands withdrew, from your wetness as well as your neck and chin. The air felt even colder against your heated skin now, and you shivered when your limbs suddenly contorted, were rearranged by ghostly hands. From the corners of your eyes you could see Alastors shadow force yours into something of a bridge position, back arched, arms bound over its head and legs spread - and through the unexplainable connection between you both, your body followed, having no other choice but to obey what the immaterial shapes dictated.

Alastor stood aside, waiting, watching intently as your trousers were pulled messily down your legs by invisible claws, revealing the soft skin hidden beneath. They dragged the fabric over the swell of your hips, under your rear and over your thighs. For a few agonizing seconds everything was still, the monochromatic world around you in perfect silence, the only visible life your panting breath and Alastors everlasting static. When the last bit of fabric left your body and you were completely bare, he stepped in between your legs, raking his claws over the inside of your thighs before coming to a rest on your hip bones. He looked smug, he looked manic, and most of all he looked hungry. His tongue swiped his sharp teeth, coating them with thick, dark saliva, and you shuddered with a mixture of humiliation and anticipation alike.

"Well now, I think it's time to dig in, right dear? Especially since the table's so nicely set and all."

The impact of his burning mouth on your dripping sex was beyond the comprehension of words, all your synapsis concentrated at the singular sensation of the demon below you working his jaw with gusto and enthusiasm only a cannibal like him could, teeth and tongue and lips unabashed and unapologetic in their efforts to elicit sounds from you that bordered on the screams he loved to broadcast. You could feel him smiling at each and every breathless moan he wrenched from you, you could feel his cold red eyes burning holes into you as he kept eyeing you from below, tongue buried to the root in you, his claws pressing painfully into your flesh in a vice-like grip, threatening to break and rip at the soft skin when you tried to suppress the mewls in an effort to deny him his self-righteous satisfaction.

"Darling, I know you're normally the one who takes others apart - but I just have to wonder what you will look like undone."

You were pushed even closer, even more at his mercy as he forcefully shoved his face deeper between your legs, his black, twisted antlers piercing into your stomach, leaving dainty puncture wounds that stung and begand to trickle with your blood. Your breathing became more desperate with each minute, more keening and so much harder to keep steady - when one of his dexterous hands joined his mouth between your legs and curled the long digits deep inside you in search for the certain bundle of nerves - located an inch inside the vaginal opening, on the upper vaginal wall - that his skilled tongue had neglected so far. Your mind went blank and your whines became constant, unchecked and vocalized so much louder when he found what so many demons (and humans, if you were honest) thought to be a myth - the Grafenberg spot.

He hummed in self-satisfaction as you moaned shamelessly now as he rubbed and probed, curling, stroking, doing everything at once with his fingers on the spot while his mouth worked at your sensitive clit above, suckling hard, bordering on painful licking and even biting. You struggled in the immaterial grasp of his shadow, wriggling on his mouth, the intense, uncontrollable, uncontrolled and unrivaled sensations sparking from your core leaving you desperate for release, for any kind of relief, the pressure of it building so unbelievably fast in you, his movements, the vibrating static and his quiet laughter sending you towards a feeling that you knew, once experienced, wouldn't leave again. You hated that you loved what he was doing, hated that he was able to do what so many others had failed to, that your mind was consumed by pure, undulated desire for the damn Radio Demon as he - in a twisted sense of your own profession -destroyed and rebuilt you simultaneously with the same kind of unceremoniously fervent frivolity that was oh-so-characteristic for him.

Your eyes fell shut, a vocal and shuddering breath escaping you as you felt your end coming nearer and nearer, every flick of his tongue and every slight graze of his teeth were a thousand-fold amplified and yet purposefully too little to finally grant you the relief you yearned for so badly, to put out the element of fire within that threatened to burn you alive.

"Alastor... Please...", you managed between breaths. The words felt sour and sticky on your tongue, but you knew he was waiting for them. You had never begged for something before. Not for mercy when some of the researchers went over the limits of their set experiments on you. Not for recognition when papers you wrote were released in your colleagues name. Not for your life when the thick needle in the hand of the deranged patient rose to the sky, ready to strike. But for Alastor, you begged. 

Your plea earned you a victorious glare and another harsh suck on your swollen nub that made you cry out in pleasure and pain. With a last stroke of his tongue in tandem with his fingers against the exact right spot and a firm flick to your clit, your climax felt like you were falling apart into particles and atoms, crumbling around the mouth of your arch-rival. He had been right. Definition was everything, one of the rare things the Alchemist and the Radio Demon could agree on - He promised death, and that's what he gave you: A metaphorical one, devastating, humiliating and everything but merciful. Each spasm was a shovel burying your pride, each sob as he licked you through the ebbing waves of your high a eulogy for the respect you had for yourself. But this death, as disgraceful as it was, was pure bliss, was what ascencion must feel like.

Your body was slowly released from its restraints, feeling heavier than it should as you were dropped unceremoniously to the ground, and you closed your eyes again, feeling oddly empty when he removed his mouth and fingers and stood up to his full height, towering above you. You didn't even struggle even though your limbs were free now, just sighed and turned your head to look up and face Alastor as you heard the clicks of his heels next to your face.

He looked disheveled and wild - a mess of tousled red hair entangled in sharp antlers and sticking messily onto his sweaty forehead, the corners of his mouth glistening with your fluids and his blackened eyes alight with mischief. You could see the outlines of a massive erection through his strained pants, a small consolation that the ordeal he had put you both through hadn't been above his biology too. But before you wasn't the jovial trickster that all of Pride knew and feared, and it wasn't the tactical torturer that had worked you over the edge of your emotions either. This was the animal, the demon within, the monster hell made out of a man in its essence - limbs cracked and elongated, spine twisted and curved, aura dark and almost glowing in green. And it was stunningly beautiful. It was such an incongruous appearance, contrasting his normally smooth, proper and almost human demeanor so much that it might become your new definition of a paradox.

His hand suddenly went behind your head and roughly grabbed you by your hair and dragged your head up, just enough so he could bend on his waist to be on eye-level with you. It stung beautifully at the roots, and you hissed at the delicious pain as you met his gaze.

"Th͑an͊k y͈͝o͔̲͒u̧ͥ f̌͌or̬ t̜ͦhe̬ͯͅ m͉̋ȩ̞͙al,͍ l̵̅͝it͓͙ͤt͘lè̍ A̰̞l̇c̭̙̕h̏̒emis̏͑t." 

His voice was distorted and thick, it sounded sticky and heavy and even unhinged. For a moment, you saw his wish to bite you, to tear into your jugular and finally dismember you reflected in his ticking eyes. And in that moment, defying all logic and instincts, you would’ve let him do it. But the strike didn’t come, and the moment faded, along with his monstrous form. He shifted back to the demon you knew, hair still out of place but expression a mask again, a play, a facade. But there was a strange conflict behind his smile, a weird furrow in his cocked brows.

“I believe with that the deal is fulfilled.”

Alastor snapped his hands, and you fell, through darkness and light, fire and water and earth and wind swirling around you until you hit concrete ground. Quickly stumbling to your feet, you blinked. You were dressed again, back in Pentagram City, back at the exact spot where you turned the corner just before...

You whipped your head around, but the Radio Demon was nowhere to be found. The street before you was empty, car horns and gunshots and bomb explosions filling the air coming from the Doomsday District. For a moment you panicked - had it been just another one of your hallucinations? You thought you had left this special side effect of your brain behind in the living world, but you were smart enough to consider the chances of possibility. It would explain everything. Your hand snapped to your neck - no lacerations, no bite marks. Contradictory evidence. It didn’t mean that it hadn’t happened, but it increased the likelihood of the perceived experience being just your brain playing its cruel tricks on you. Just like it did now, flooding your nerves with a faint feeling of... disappointment.

You shook your head and sighed, turning on your heels to continue your walk home. When you put your hands in the pockets of your lab coat, a wrinkled piece of paper brushed your palm. Confused, you pulled it out and unfolded it, your eyes widening as you read it with a gasp that got stuck halfway in your throat.

Until next time, my dear. And if you ever crave more, there is always a table set for you. A.

It read in an obnoxiously neat, cursive handwriting. In a hue of crimson red.

[official-lucifers-child]

imagine the friend group doesn’t have pre-existing “drama” and everyone gets along with everyone else for the most part, there’s no pair or trio who are a lot closer to each other than anyone else, people share common interests and values and are fine pairing up with each other if necessary (i’m thinking like going on rides or sending 2 ppl out to get food for the group, etc). everyone is just Friends. there isn’t like a secret “gotcha!” to this question like “well i think once you surpass five people, there’s just too much conflict” no just imagine the friend group is fine. what do YOU prefer?

[misfitgirlwrites]

Doe Deputy (A Self-Hired Secretary!) | Alastor x Imp!Reader

I wanted to get this out around this time, I'm proud of myself! Here's the deal, guys:

You’re a mischievous bean and why would you not take the perks of working for a scary Overlord?

These are headcanons based off of some stories I have already written with my own character :) I hope you guys enjoy them! I'll most likely have more with this whole secretary thing I have going on

Be sure to join my giveaway while you still can! Want a personalized self-insert with a Hazbin or Helluva Boss character? Come enter! It ends July 4th!

I give you the goods now, lads, please enjoy!

CW: Mentions of violence, mentions of cannibalism (?)

a/n: I couldn't make it a bulleted list? I love it here y'all

🖤 I'll take a step into actual author territory, guys. This is pre-season one. I'm talking Alastor's full infamy in Hell

❤️ And there you were after getting fired from quitting your most recent job, taking the walk of shame home to your...decent-ish apartment that you suspect you wouldn't have for much longer

🖤 You needed a solution. You're willing to work for it, of course, but you still had a time limit

❤️ Rumors were going around that a bit of charity work and a promise of good behavior could get you a stay with the Princess of Hell, but charity work was more of a last resort for you

🖤 Finding a nice Overlord that could hand out some work, however...

❤️ It was the best idea you've had since you've been in Pentagram City

🖤 You didn't need a pushover, and you wanted to like who you were working with so that cut out a lot of candidates

❤️ Before you gave up on the idea completely, you heard the static of a radio faintly from someone's house and it reminded you of one candidate

🖤 It would require work and patience, but you weren't taking no for an answer!

❤️ Well, you didn't necessarily ask the Radio Demon, honestly

🖤 You began tailing him when you could and when it was safe to do so

❤️ Large crowds and far as ALL RINGS away

🖤 You didn't want any stumbles or mistakes that led to your little Hellish life going bye-bye

❤️ You had to know at least a little about him before you could really get things started

🖤 Was he a tea or coffee person? Did he like alcohol? Drugs? Just straight murder? (It's looking like just straight murder. You should search up torture methods)

❤️ It was easy for you to blend into crowds and walk right past the demon; he catches on that you're tailing him a lot but you've been evading powerful hell-born demons your whole life

🖤 We all love a liiiittttlllleeee one-up

❤️ You learn of his diet...how much can you judge, you guess?

🖤 Alastor is particular too, he picks his meat up from the same place at least two to three times a week

❤️ The first part of your plan begins

🖤 Dress nicely, a black below-the-knee pencil skirt or black dress pants, either a black or red (any shade) button-up with black or red (or both) dress shoes or heels

❤️ It's time to pick up Alastor's meals for the week! Much better than making multiple trips, right? He's a very busy Overlord ❤️

🖤 You'd waltz in as confident as possible "Hiya! Uh, name's _____. I'm here to pick up Alastor's venison for this week. Figured it'd be better to store in bulk."

❤️ Rosie would tilt her head and stare down at you, "...who are you, dear?"

🖤 "Right! I'm kinda doing a trial run as his secretary! I'm implementing some of my own ideas that I hope will be improvements on how he already moves."

❤️ Now you're nervous. You have no idea how Rosie could respond but you do know you're in fucking Cannibal Town so the only thing you can do is shoot Satan a quick prayer and show off your sharp smile

���� You're relieved when Rosie literally lights up, a large smile grows on her face as she clasps her hands together, "he finally took my advice, did he? And here I thought the bugger would never do it!"

❤️ You nodded, "I think this will be a good fit for me! I hope you can agree since you'll be seeing me weekly instead. I moved your hangouts to the end of the week in case the boss likes a drink here and there."

🖤 "A wise decision. You're doing great already if I have any say. Here, I'll grab what you need!"

❤️ Mission fucking SUCCESSFUL

🖤 Now was Alastor happy finding stacked containers of venison outside of his plate with a note?

❤️ The safe answer was no by how he was searching like a beast on the hunt. Luckily you didn't stay where he could see you

🖤 Next is the fun part and if you did this right, you'd be talking to the Radio Demon about this job position very soon

❤️ You knew of The Vee's. Alastor and Vox were never quiet with their quarrels. Why not take this as an opportunity?

🖤 An opportunity to weigh your options a bit if you want to be real. You could simply apply and most likely get the position

❤️ It took one bump in with a very cute spider demon to fill you in on Valentino and your weighing ceases lmao

🖤 Back to the original plan or as you like to call it:

💙 Mission: Blow Vox's Fuse for Money 💙

❤️ It was simple enough, really. The only part to worry about was security

🖤 But you're one of the best at slipping past guards and cameras

❤️ You really got a kick out of your handiwork

🖤 You even dropped off a picture to Alastor as a little warning 💅🏼

❤️ It was funny when you first thought about it and from the early morning power outage, you think you got your point across very well

🖤 Feeling proud of yourself, you decide tonight to go to your cozy roof hiding spot to see if you can get any new information

❤️ You were really getting into this job

🖤 You were so focused on writing down a schedule, that you didn't notice Alastor wasn't where you left him

❤️ "You're a very slippery thing, I must say."

🖤 Your pen stopped moving immediately

❤️ Because FUCK he was in too close proximity for this part of the plan

🖤 A cute way to say you were sure you were well hidden and he wasn't supposed to find you

❤️ So what could you do now? Speed up the plan and jump straight to your proposal? Or jump off the building and run for it?

🖤 And there you were, scrambling to climb over the ledge

❤️ Of course, you didn't make it very far. Your notebook and pen hit the ground as a black tendril wrapped around your torso and tightly might you add

🖤 "Because you've been so busy running around in my business, I'll give you one chance to explain yourself."

❤️ Truthfully because you've thoroughly entertained him now

🖤 Vox threw a complete tantrum and if he wasn't in front of you, he'd start chuckling at the thought of it again

❤️ "...So I figure all the sweet talk I had planned is out the window?" You'd ask.

🖤 "Absolutely."

❤️ Now or never was an understatement but you felt like this was better than being homeless in Hell

🖤 "I wanted to offer my services as a secretary. I think it'll do us both some good."

❤️ "What makes you think I need your assistance?"

🖤 "Need is a strong word, boss. I'm here if you want to focus on all the fun stuff while I arrange all the shows and bring the coffee for the Overlord meetings--I feel like they would appreciate the nice gesture from you, don't think so? While you're out being scary, I can promote your public image at the same time!"

❤️ "I don't need a secretary."

🖤 "Your good friend Ms. Rosie seems to have been telling you otherwise--"

❤️ The tendril holding you in the air tightened

🖤 You give Alastor a big smile and quickly apologize, "What I mean is this is Hell! Order me around and I'll do literally whatever you ask as long as you pay me."

❤️ "So what do you call this then?"

🖤 "A free trial. Wasn't this week just a little bit more relaxing?"

❤️ Alastor hated to admit it, but you weren't wrong. Rising to infamy was a very busy job and it would be easier to have someone else handle the background things

🖤 And you

❤️ You managed to tail him and learn base information to do all this without him knowing. Realistically he was standing in front of a good candidate

🖤 Rosie already met you (did you plan that??) plus nothing you did wasn't...not helpful

❤️ Alastor couldn't believe he was actually considering this

🖤 You hit the ground and let out a small "oof" before staring up at Alastor who was now pinching the bridge of his nose

❤️ "The actual trial starts Monday. We have a morning meeting to go to."

🖤 ...Yes.

❤️ YES!

🖤 Holy fuck! Hail Satan, you did it! Major pat on the back, you!

❤️ "Don't go getting all excited. I could change my mind at any time."

🖤 "Understood, boss!"

❤️ Alastor could get used to that

Taglist: @alastorssimp @saints-wrapped-in-plastic @dasimp777

Requests are open! If you'd like to be tagged in future Alastor or Hazbin Hotel content, please let me know! My asks and DMs are open to all!

[hellish-sunsets]

If you’re still doing one shots could you do a lucifer x ShyFem!kitsune reader where she is a resident at the hotel and gets along really well with angel and charlie and she gains feelings for lucifer but is nervous since he still wears his wedding ring and when she’s gets too nervous she turns into her kitsune form with 5 tails

It’s alr if not take your time and get lots of rest 🫶🫶

I just wrote this out stream of consciousness style, enjoy!

Lucifer x Shy!Kitsune!Reader

- you joined the hotel because it seemed the... safest option, considering what the rest of Pentagram City was like. You quickly became friends with almost everybody, but especially Angel Dust and Charlie.

- You liked Lucifer well enough when you first met him, but those feelings only seemed to grow and become more complicated as time passed.

- Cause wow, there was so much to love! His devilishly good looks, smooth voice, dorky personality. He was so loving and strong and funny and... well, you could go on forever!

- But that didn’t matter, because he had a wedding ring on.

- Charlie didn't talk about her mom much, but of course she had one. You just assumed he was still married. It wasn’t cool to have a crush on a married man, who also happened to be your friends dad, so you kept it to yourself.

- Angel could tell anyways, especially when you started getting so nervous whenever he was around.

- He just needed to say hi or wave at you and poof, kitsune time.

- Angel thought it was hilarious. He laughed out loud the first time it happened. Lucifer was just talking with Charlie and passing by when he waved at you. You couldn't even wave back before you had transformed into your fox form, tails hiding your face while Angel laughed. He had looked confused, but Charlie was still going so he kept following her.

- Eventually, you decided you were going to ask him about the ring, figure out what situation was going on there. It didn't go well. Every time you tried to approach him, you just turned I to your fox form.

- Lucifer didn’t notice her much until the first time she had transformed around him. It caught him so off guard, he couldn’t help but pay attention.

- She seemed so friendly and supportive.

- She backed Charlie up when he wasn’t there and, unlike that Radio Demon fellow, she clearly meant it.

- It helped that Keekee seemed to always hang around her, especially in her kitsune form. Keekee was a good judge of character, he trusted that.

- He wanted to talk to her more. There were several times when he saw her approaching him and his heart jumped in his chest, but then she would transform from the anxiety and run away. How frustrating, for both of them...

- He finally got some alone time with her one day when he settled in the sitting room to wait for Charlie. She was already there, sleeping in her kitsune form, curled up on the couch with Keekee sleeping on top of her.

- He chuckled, it was so cute. And he shouldn't but...

- He reached out a hand to pet her soft fur.

- His touch woke her up and she jumped, staring him down with wide eyes.

- Shit, it was Lucifer! It felt like your heart was going to beat through your ribs, especially when he gave you such a soft smile and chuckled.

- "Sorry, sorry, you just looked so soft!"

- Eventually, he was able to calm her down enough to turn human. Well, human like.

- It was surprisingly easy to talk to him, now that you were here. It put your nerves at easy and gradually you were able to open up and talk more freely with him.

- Charlie was about to walk in, but angel grabbed her and pulled her aside. She was about to ask what was up but he shushed her.

- That's when she saw you and Lucifer talking and she understood.

- The two stalked off together, letting you two have space to continue talking.

- It was hours before Lucifer remembered why he was there in the first place. You both said bye and he rushed off to find Charlie.

- You probably should have asked him about the ring thing... ah well, now that you were comfortable in his presence you could talk more!

- You couldn’t help smiling the rest of the night, and Charlie noticed her dad seemed a lot cheerier.

[sleepingdeath-light]

smile for the camera ; 18+

kinktober day thirteen

pairing ; poly vees x gender neutral afab!reader insert

fandom ; hazbin hotel

masterlists ; fandom | kinktober | ao3

content ; dominant!valentino, dominant!velvette, dominant!vox, submissive!reader, dubious consent (the vees are awful people in general but reader wants to have sex with them in this scene), pet play (bunny), humiliation kink, dehumanisation, use of sex toys (vibrators), vaginal fingering, intoxicated sex (reader is high but still aware of their surroundings)

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

While you may enjoy your time spent with them to an extent, you have you admit that each of the three Vees each have their own unique way of making you feel smaller than them. Some you enjoyed far more than others…

Valentino is a very attentive master, but he goes out of his way to make sure you’re all nice and compliant for him: he feeds you drugs that leave your mind all blank and your body feeling pleasantly warm and heavy, he strokes and pets and caresses your hair and body as you drift in and out of sleep, he showers you in compliments and praise when you’re being a ‘good bunny’ and then deliver the harshest of punishments when you test his temper, he dresses you in the most luxurious pet play gear and has you do private shoots for the Vees in his studio, he shows you off like the exotic pet you are and doesn’t give a shit if anyone calls him out on the fact you’re a person not an animal (as if anyone expected anything different from him anyway), he treats you like you’re helpless and stupid and pretends not to understand a word you say, and he coos over you whenever you’re expressing righteous anger at him and the others — treating you like you’re actually a little rabbit getting all huffy and stomping your feet. He’s patronising, and makes you feel so small and helpless whenever he puts you back in your place, and every sober second you spend with him is spent planning how to get out of your next allotted time slot together.

Velvette treats you more like a doll than anything else — her behaviour almost reminiscent of the sort of person who buys an animal just to show it off without any consideration for said creature’s well-being: she refuses to let you out of her sight, she drags you around Pentagram City by your collar, she spends hours obsessively preening and dressing you each day until you look ‘perfect’, she refuses to let you take off your pet gear, she insists on hand feeding you everything unless she’s actively working on something (at which point she’ll have one of her assistants feed you instead), she takes countless pictures and videos of you at all hours of the day, and she blows up at anyone who tries to treat you as anything other than her pet (e.g. talking to you instead of her, calling you by your actual name, etc.). It’s suffocating, it’s overbearing, and being in her care always leaves you feeling absolutely humiliated and objectified in a way you didn’t even think was possible before knowing her.

Vox is much more casual in his dehumanisation: having you kneeling or laying down at his feet by his desk, occasionally letting you crawl around his office if nobody is around, giving you your food and water in separate bowls on the floor, reaching down to brush your hair with the clawed tips of his fingers and absentmindedly commenting on your ‘fur’ as he does so, never referring to you by your name and only ever calling you ‘bunny’ (or ‘brat’ if you’re misbehaving… or if he’s just in a foul mood), and just generally treating you as if you’re just his pet. He doesn’t even acknowledge you when you’re speaking, acting like you’re incapable of speech and talking over you more often than not, unless he’s directly addressed you for one reason or another. It’s degrading and humiliating for sure, but it’s the least evil of the three so you much prefer accompanying Vox to the office over hanging out with your other ‘owners’

It’s rare that you’re ever subjected to all three of them at the same time, but tonight you find yourself in quite possibly the last place anyone would ever want to be when caught up in pet-space… aside from you, apparently (perhaps that says far more about you than it does about them… perhaps you’re just as fucked up as them): Valentino is using one set of his arms to hold you upright against his chest as the others freely roam all over and grope your body in just the right places to leave you gasping and soaking wet; Velvette has a tight grip on your leash with one hand while the other is being used to shove her phone in your face as she takes however many pictures and videos of you to post on her various social media feeds (as she always does); Vox is sat beside Val, typing something on his phone with one hand while the other reaches over and between your legs to lazily play with your pussy. Your head is spinning, your mind is fuzzy from the drug Val shot-gunned into your mouth earlier and your vision is so blurry that you can only make out loose smears of colour where you know your masters are.

You know they’re speaking to you — and about you, as always — but you’re so far gone that you can only process loose fragments of their conversation. So caught up in the fogginess and the heat and the way Vox’s fingers are curling up into that spot inside of you that you can’t think of anything but.

‘… little bunny…’

‘… see their twitchy nose, Val?’

‘Mhm, cute,’

‘So wet…’

‘So fucking needy…’

‘… they crying?’

‘Hot,’

‘… right, bunny?’

‘Don’t think they can hear,’

‘… followers are gonna fucking love this,’

‘Rougher, Voxy… make them cry,’

‘I think they’re close,’

‘… gonna make them squirt this time?’

‘Shut the fuck up!’

The coil in your abdomen was winding impossibly tighter now, pushing you closer and closer to the edge with just about everything they were doing to you — a fact that would have been far more humiliating if you weren’t currently so high that your whole body felt like it was floating. Every flick of Valentino’s fingers across your nipples. Every harsh tug of your leash that restricted your airflow for just a few moments at a time. Every lewd comment by Velvette. Every perfect curl and thrust of Vox’s fingers into that sensitive spot in your cunt. All of it edged you closer and closer to the end until you were sent spiralling hopelessly into your climax when Valentino slowly licked the tears from your face, pressed his grinning lips against the shell of your ear and uttered a single phrase that appealed so perfectly to your submissive state and your bleary mind that you had no hope of fighting its effect on you even if you wanted to:

‘Delicious… you’re so pretty when you cry for us, little bunny,’

[skyeslittlecorner]

Orphan from Hades, outcast from Gehenna

I've wanted to do this for a long time, and I finally got around to it. Here I collect all the details that this sweet lamb has in common with Hades. ...aaand some rambling about him and his Solomon thing, because why not.

Yes, I miss him very much. Yes, I did it just to look at his beautiful face. Get ready for a collection of screenshots.

We all know that Sitri is a little... ok, very delulu about Solomon. As strange as it may sound, this is the most superficial of problems. This is eye-catching. But underneath the irritation he causes there is much, much more, and it is not good for him.

In the first part we will go through the facts and his connection with Hades, the second part is my long rant. You will have marked what is where.

PS. Sitri lovers, don't worry. I belong to this nation myself, it's not a hate rant.

Jealousy and distrust

Do I even need to mention it? He's regulary call out for this. And this is the jealousy he feels especially towards the Solo MC. During the Halloween event, he was even called out that, paraphrasing, "at this rate, maybe you really should leave Gehenna and go back to Hades". Unfortunately, I don't have this one screenshot, so you'll have to take my word for it.

Not only MC is a person which makes him jealous, but also his king. Offtop, Satan knows this and really enjoys irritating him. Apart from Sitri, MC and Leviathan (so probably all others kings too), I don't remember Satan trying to annoy anyone so purposefully, but it may be me just not remembering.

Additionally, constant doubts. Sitri has always distrusted Leamas, and if it weren't for Satan, he would have killed him on the spot. The first thing he does when Marbas appears and threatens us is pulls out a gun and puts it to his head (he is justified here because the kings did the same). In the Christmas story, whenever he sees Gabriel, he immediately throws knives at him.

Who else kills everyone who has even a 1% chance of threatening Hell?

Let alone the thing that they know and remember each other.

It doesn't mean that they knew each other very well or that they were friends. But, for example, Sitri and Bimet did not know each other. Since both Sitri and Leviathan remember each other even after some time, Sitri must have spent a lot of time in Hades. No wonder he took over their vibe.

Also, a little spoiler of ch5, just as Sitri only called us by our name when we drifted off into the land of sleep, Leviathan in his H-scene only softened when we were so unconscious that we could no longer remember it.

Weapon of choice

I have already addressed this topic here. There's no point in me dwelling on this too much. His weapon is straight from Hades. We mark this point off as obvious.

Mark & clothes

Here's a slightly more interesting thing, I admit that I noticed it only later. The tattoo on Sitri's neck. We see that it is a pentagram assigned to Satan and Gehenna, but I want to point a little curiosity.

At one point, the Sitri's symbol on his neck and Leviathan's symbol in his eye were the same. Also, very distinctive - Levi's symbol on someone's neck.

The second non-obvious thing is his clothes. Sitri is the only noble of Gehenna wearing all black. Nobles from Hades also wear black. Does this refer to this? Not necessarily, because we know that Satan's closest commandos wear dark uniforms the same as him. Sitri as a noble and Satan's right-hand devil may combine these two features.

Some headcanons and rambling

The part where I tried to be objective and draw facts ends here. Now let me happily chatter on how I interpret his behavior

bUT FIRST, I still have some unused screenshots, and how can I miss such an opportunity? PB why did you create something so beautiful?

My aesthetic sense is satisfied~

So. Let's go to my ramble. This sweet creature has huge abandonment issues. He is intelligent, and even Ppyong is confused and explains that Sitri is usually really smart, but with us he goes crazy. Besides, you can see that he behaves quite normally around others (the only exception, he can sometimes become detached around Satan).

As for our name, he knows it, and he is aware that we are not Solomon. The famous words at the end of his H-scene. So why does he call us Solomon? Because he is unable to come to terms with his departure? The easiest excuse is that he misses him and projects him onto us. That Solomon never left them and those years never existed. That Sitri doesn't care about us, that he only really wants Solomon.

But I like to think of a slightly different version.

To Hades belong the orphans, to Gehenna the outcasts. And Sitri belongs to both. We don't know what he went through, we don't know what's going through his mind, but we see his behavior towards others. He is calm and perfectly controls his emotions even during his H-scene. He is smart and morbidly suspicious, what we see a lot. Finally, he must have everything under control, to such an extent that in some matters even Satan does not try to fight him (the most striking example is that he is the only one who gives Satan blood).

When he saw us, of course, he felt the familiar spirit of Solomon. But what he really liked was us. His emotions were out of control and it scared him. So he dealt with it the only way he knew how. He can't afford to trust again and be let down again, so he forced his true emotions that he felt towards us into the "it's just love for Solomon" box. Because he has already experienced mourning for Solomon and he can cope with it somehow, maybe not well, but enough to function on a daily basis. If he was rejected again, he wouldn't be able to cope. And he can't afford it.

He is Satan's henchman, prince of Hell and The Guardian of Gehenna. He can't show weakness. He can't break down. So the defending remnants of his sanity did what they could to maintain the fragile status quo.

Does he know what he is doing is wrong? Of course. Does he realize that he is hurting us? Of course. But he is one of the highest generals in a country at war, he has to deal with all the nobles, he has to support the king, he has to be ready to fight at any moment. And his Hades mentality makes him willing to sacrifice his happiness (and last crumbs of sanity) and our liking for him to protect his king and country.

Emotions cannot be controlled. But he tries nevertheless. If he didn't feel such strong emotions towards us, he wouldn't try to deny them. If someone is traumatized, they do not always know how to properly cope with it, and his mechanism is not healthy, it harms himself and us. But what else is he supposed to do? We know the approach in Gehenna. Only strength counts. Besides, he is the "responsible one" who would listen to him and help him? We? The moment we deny him, his psyche will collapse like a house of cards.

Maybe I'm exaggerating, overinterpreting, or it's just a running joke. But after how well-developed the characters are so far, I don't want to believe that his brain just turns off with the snap of his fingers.

After all this, I only have one question.

Sitri. Baby. Who hurt you?

[seramilla]

In the vaggie Carmilla related au, we already saw Carmilla looking to Vaggie for some sort of comfort, but when was the first time it was Vaggie who looked to Carmilla for comfort? I can't think of a specific situation (Just a generally stressful situation for Vaggie where the first and/or only person she thinks of and wants to seek comfort from is Carmilla), but I just want to see her have her first "I need my mom" moment.

Vaggie doesn't even hesitate to come over the next day when Carmilla asks if she wants to have dinner with herself and the girls. Telling Charlie she's going over for a visit, she kisses the princess goodbye, and books it to Carmilla's in less than 5 minutes. She's become more brave about flying over Pentagram City ever since the wedding was announced...no one would dare shoot Lucifer's daughter's fiancé out of the sky. Not if they wanted to keep their spine.

Carmilla meets her at the door, looking much more cheerful and domestic than Vaggie thinks she's ever seen her. When Carmilla goes in to hug her daughter, Vaggie raises her eyebrow and pushes Carmilla away. The matriarch is wearing a white chef's apron with what looks like blood splatters all over it. When Carmilla notices her staring at it, she laughs heartily. She rubs her large claw over the front of it, and it comes away clean. No blood.

"It's just the pattern," Carmilla says, grinning. "It's a Mother's Day present. Clara thought it was funny. I guess I kind of do, too."

Vaggie sighs and smiles back at her. What a relief! She moves in for a much-needed hug, and Carmilla squeezes her tight, running her hand down the back of Vaggie's head tenderly. She lets her large claws trail through the girl's long hair. Vaggie perhaps keeps her arms wrapped around her mother a little longer than necessary...but Carmilla doesn't protest or try to pull away. Coughing and blushing a little, Vaggie lets go and rubs her arm sheepishly.

"Sorry!" Vaggie apologizes. "Sorry. I just missed you."

"It's okay. Come on in. The girls are setting the table."

The evening's spread is hot tamales, soup, and some vegetables for a side salad. Clara mentions that their mother also got up early that morning to fix some home-made ice cream before work. Vaggie looks over at Carmilla in surprise.

"Mama!" Vaggie says. "I didn't know you could cook!"

Carmilla waves her claw in front of her face in a dismissive gesture. "Oh please. It's nothing special. I let the servants take the day off, so I thought I'd make dinner myself. I also made eggs this morning...it wasn't my best work. I just wanted to spend some time alone with you girls. We don't do that enough."

Vaggie beams inwardly. Before really getting to know Carmilla, she never knew the overlord could be so thoughtful. She digs into her meal wholeheartedly. It's not exactly restaurant quality, or like the stuff Alastor makes for her and the other hotel patrons, but it's good nonetheless. Homely. Authentic. Made exclusively from the heart.

Odette and Clara offer to clean up after dinner. Vaggie thinks that her sisters are trying to give her some alone time with Carmilla. Maybe they can sense the tension she's holding inside. She'd been leaning forward in her chair throughout dinner, with horrible posture, unconsciously trying to make herself appear even smaller than she normally is. Her body language is probably a dead giveaway.

She can't hide from Charlie. She can't hide from Odette, Clara, or Carmilla, either. Maybe that's why Carmilla directs her into the fancy sitting room just off the kitchen. The one with all the comfortable lounge chairs and a sofa, with large, comfy pillows that are so soft, Vaggie practically sinks into them when she sits. Carmilla shuts the large French doors, to close them off from the rest of the house. Vaggie lies down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling, and stares at a sparkling chandelier that dangles delicately above her head.

Carmilla lowers the lights in the room. Now the chandelier looks almost ethereal in the way it reflects the light from the dim bulbs. Vaggie can almost pretend like those sparkles reflected onto the ceiling are stars in a night sky. There is something that feels very cosmic and safe about her surroundings. Combined with the scent of Carmilla's potpourri that's scattered around the room, it just smells like her mother. Like how she feels a real home would smell on Earth after returning from a long and stressful day at school or work.

Carmila sits down next to her on the large sofa, putting Vaggie's feet in her lap to make room for herself. Vaggie almost gets up, but Carmilla shoots her a glance that says Don't you dare!

Carmilla leans back casually, with an arm stretched out along the back of the couch, using the furniture as leverage to arch her spine until Vaggie hears a pop! Then Carmilla groans in what can only be described as relief. She grins sheepishly down at her daughter, while Vaggie looks back at her coyly.

"Wow. Impressive," Vaggie chuckles.

"Pardon me. I know I'm dead, but these bones aren't what they used to be."

Vaggie laughs. "It's okay. Anyway...I hope I'm not imposing too much on you by coming over so late."

"Not at all," Carmilla assures her. "You know I love having you over. You said you had something to talk about? What's on your mind?"

Vaggie goes quiet for a moment. She does switch her position on the couch just then, trading her feet in Carmilla's lap for her head instead. She cuddles up into Carmilla, head laying over her thighs, while the matriarch begins running her long claws through Vaggie's hair again.

Vaggie had discovered early on in their new relationship that she loves having Carmilla comfort her in this way. She removes the bow from her hair, the one that Charlie gave her, to allow Carmilla better access. Carmilla cups her whole claw around the back of Vaggie's head, just holding it there, seeing how small the girl's head is in her large hand. Everything about the fallen angel is small. Except her innate kindness, and her indomitable spirit. Those are without measure.

"It's the wedding," Vaggie says, after letting the silence linger a little too long for her comfort. Carmilla resumes petting her hair. "I keep having nightmares about it. Charlie is so excited. And I am, too. But every time I think about it...the closer we get...I'm scared."

"Pre-wedding jitters are normal," Carmilla says matter-of-factly. "When I thought I was going to marry your father, I felt the same thing."

"Well, we know how that turned out," Vaggie teases, looking up at her. Carmilla pokes her side, tickling her, making Vaggie squeal and jump, almost hopping off the couch. "Wait, haha, no! Stop!"

"Don't test me, little girl," Carmilla teases back.

"I would never, Mama."

"Now," Carmilla says, trying to get back on track. "Talk to me. What's really going on?"

Leave it to Carmilla to detect that Vaggie's problem is more than superficial. Her problems are deeply buried, but Carmilla has a way of coaxing them out of her.

"I don't know," Vaggie responds, burying her head back in Carmilla's lap. "I was fine a few weeks ago. But the closer the day gets...the more the reality sets in that this is actually happening...I just worry Charlie is making the wrong decision. To be with me."

"Why do you think that?"

"Because I'm just...me. And she's the princess of Hell. She's going to be queen someday. Maybe not for a long time, but still, that scares the fuck out of me. Eternity is a long time to be with someone. What if she gets...bored, or falls out of love with me? Like Lilith and her dad? I don't want that to be us, Mama."

Vaggie sits up. As she'd spoken the words, an overwhelming sense of anxiety had washed over her. Like as soon as her thoughts were out of her brain and let loose into the world, they'd become a living, tangible thing, threatening to gobble her up and swallow her whole.

She leans into Carmilla's side, pushing herself as close as she possibly can to the other woman. She tries her best not to cry. It's very difficult to hold back in Carmilla's presence. There is something so safe, and warm, and secure about the strength in Carmilla's arms as they wrap around her. Something that, despite how much she loves her fiancé, she just can't experience with Charlie.

Is this what a mother's love feels like? The type of steadfastness that can only come from the person who once supported and protected her as she grew in her own body? Who cherished and mourned her potential existence, even when she thought she'd lost Vaggie forever?

Vaggie never had a childhood. Doesn't know what that feeling is like, and doesn't know if she ever will. But she thinks she gets it now, at least. Why children can form such bonds with their caretakers. When that emotional attachment is so strong, nothing else can ever compare or replace it. Vaggie can't believe she had to die to experience some modicum of it, but she's counting her lucky stars now.

"I'm such a terrible partner," Vaggie says, wrapping her arms around Carmilla's waist, and letting the woman return the gesture. "I don't deserve her. I never did. I don't know why I thought this would work."

"Oh, mija, mija," Carmilla repeats, patting her back gently as Vaggie cries into her neck. "It's all right. I know this is a big change for you. Life-altering. But everything will be all right. I've seen the way Charlie looks at you. And when she asked me for my blessing, you should have seen her face. She has nothing but love in her heart. I doubt myself about many things, but please don't doubt me about this. Nothing will ever change the way she feels about you. I promise."

Vaggie hiccups a little, turning her head so she can feel Carmilla's warmth against her cheek. Carmilla wipes the tears falling from her eye. Her claws come away wet and salty, but Carmilla doesn't care.

"How can you possibly know that?" Vaggie asks.

"I'm your mother. I know everything."

Vaggie can't help but laugh a little at that.

Somehow, in some way, even though she's not totally convinced she's not an eternal, cosmically ordained fuck-up of a person, she's relieved that Carmilla, at least, doesn't buy into her bullshit. That she is convinced she and Charlie will work in the long-term is a comfort.

It will probably take Vaggie a long time...if not forever...to get over her own issues about herself. But Charlie...goddammit, Charlie...she loves that woman. More than she can characterize with feelings and more than words in a dictionary could describe. Her love for the daughter of the devil is everlasting. Unexplainable. Beyond the material.

If Carmilla belives it...hopefully she can. Someday. Preferably on the day that she says "I do." But if it doesn't come later, she will live vicarously through Charlie and Carmilla's combined faith in her. Their strength will see her through.

"I love you, Mama," Vaggie says, hugging Carmilla tighter.

"I love you, too, my baby," Carmilla responds, giving her daughter a lingering peck on the forehead.

Vaggie decides to spend the night again. She wants to talk to Carmilla more. About the wedding, and about other things. When she returns to Charlie the following day, she feels lighter, and more confident, than she's felt in a while.

She doesn't dream that night. No nightmares, or intrusive thoughts at all. Just a wonderful sense of wholeness, and a renewed vigor the following day, that she desperately needed. There's only a few days left until the ceremony. They have a lot of work to do, and seemingly not enough time to do it.

[kaylopolis]

Alastor's Shadow (18+) - Chapter Sixteen

Alastor x F!Reader, Alias: Thestral

Synopsis: There’s a new Overlord in town and it isn’t the Radio Demon. Six years after you fell into Hell, you have finally earned your seat at the table as Pentagram City’s newest and baddest and with the Extermination coming six months earlier than planned, it is now time to implement your ultimate endgame. After all, who doesn’t love a bit of power and chaos? Your plan brings you to the doorstep of the Hazbin Hotel as Charlie’s newest Redeemer, but who you find waiting for you will not only turn your entire plan upside down but also challenge your grab for power… 

Tag List: Slow burn, rivals to lovers, eventual smut

Masterlist Link: Masterlist

(Let me know if you want to be added to the Tag List!)

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Author note: Dear Hoteliers,

I'm so sorry! I've been so sick, but do not fret this fic is still alive!

Events of this fic take place right after Western Energy S2E4 of Helluva Boss. Full Moon events have not yet happened.

<3 Stay smutty

Chapter Sixteen - Let's Kill God

Content Warning: Minors DNI!!!!!! Mentions of murder-suicide

Alastor smiles in his sleep. 

It’s not his Radio Demon smile. It’s not his half-cocked know-it-all grin. It’s a soft upturn of the lips, a bittersweet smile that’s more sweet than bitter. One that can only be worn properly by the innocence of youth and not by an Overlord of Hell. You’ve only seen that look on his face once before: in Louisiana. 

Over a round of King Cakes, Alastor told you of his mother and her joy. He made her seem perfect: the exact embodiment of what a mother should be. Your heart twisted in your chest for him. To have been loved, cared for, and cherished like that and then to have lost her in such a violent way…

Still, to have a mother ~period~ and one who raised such a respectable gentleman (despite the murders and cannibalism) is a treasure. In this moment, seeing the peace on Alastor’s sleeping face, you understand why he became the Bayou Strangler and then later the Radio Demon. To go after men of such caliber, of such terrible deeds over and over again. To prevent further violence and murder, those men might have committed.  

It was like he was saving his mother over and over again with each of their deaths. 

Alastor then wasn’t the Alastor you knew now. He was a completely different person before his father shot his mother in a murder-suicide. Just an innocent young man looking to make his own way in this world, all the while just trying to make his mother smile. He was powerless then and he’d never let himself be powerless ever again. 

That’s where his thirst first took root: a legend born of violence. Not much different from yourself. 

Alastor attempted to turn over in his sleep, but when his body couldn’t subconsciously turn from his back to his side, it woke him. The demon blinked out of synch, his left eye blinking and then his right, as if blinking the blanket of sleep away. It was cute, the way he dreamily met your gaze and smiled even wider. You couldn’t help but match his grin. 

“It seems I am trapped,” his voice was groggy as he spoke. 

“Oh, no. Whatever shall you do?” You joked. 

You woke not long ago, minutes before the demon stirred himself. Eventually, the silence of the room woke you. There was no music on his radio, no static - a barrier of white noise to keep out the silence that haunted your dreams. 

When you had woken you didn’t move. At some point in the night your wings had appeared and cocooned the two of you in a black blanket of feathers. It’s a good thing your feathers were soft - unlike some of your brothers whose wings poked and itched like Hell whenever you rubbed up against them. 

Alastor scooted closer to you, his eyelids drooping. The demon once told you he barely ever slept - his own personal curse. Yet, last night, the two of you passed out the second your heads hit the pillow. 

It had been a long, exhausting day, after all…

The thought that Alastor finally found some peace was a relief to you and most likely explained the radio silence. His body was finally able to relax, which meant he felt safe here, cocooned in your swaddle of protection. 

You snuggled up into the demon, not wanting to leave the warmth of your embrace, which encased the two of you from head to knees - well, your calves and Alastor’s knees. 

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead, “How are you this morning, mon couer?” 

You sighed in the fluff of his chest at the sound of Alastor’s raw and unfiltered voice, “Sore.” 

It was true. Your body had taken a beating - most notably your lower abdomen.

Alastor chuckled, the vibrations running through his chest and into your own. God, you’d kill if only to hear that sound again, a moment more. 

The demon ran a hand through your hair, the other trapped beneath the pillow supporting your head. Alastor shivered when you ran your foot across his calves and over his hooves. 

Hooves. Damn. Alastor was the only demon classy enough to not only make them look posh but also sexy at the same time. If only Hell knew. Maybe he would have won Hell’s Hottest Bachelor, after all. 

As the demon massaged your scalp, your wings tightened as if sensing the end of your perfect moment slowly slipping away. The two of you have been hiding up here since the fight. You hadn’t called anyone or texted anyone to let them know that you were alive - not that you could text, but Alastor did have a hidden landline. Rosie was probably the only one to think that the two of you didn’t kill each other off and that’s only because she was playing matchmaker and was still holding out. Everyone else? They are going to be pissed.

“What’s wrong?” Alastor asked, cupping your chin and tilting your face into his. The red of Alastor’s irises burned into your cheeks. 

If you ever found whatever force designed Human Sinners’ demon forms, you would thank it a million times over for this man. 

Apparently, you had sighed a bit too loud at the thought of Angel throttling you when you got back to the Hotel.

“I just… I don’t want this to end,” you swallowed dryly. “I’ve had so few perfect moments in my life that I’ve learned to appreciate one when I am in it, but I'm desperate for them to never end.” 

Honestly, you had no idea what life was going to look like now, what it was going to look like when the two of you went back to the Hotel -  if there was a Hotel to go back to. What if Charlie didn’t want you there anymore? All your presence would do is invite competition, just as Sir Pentious came seeking Alastor that first fateful day you met. Not to mention the sheer emotional and mental damage you put Charlie through by lying to her about who you really are. 

Charlie had every reason to hate you and every reason to kick you out. What then? Would the rest of the Hotel gang still want to be friends with someone like you? It’s bad enough they know you're an Angel, but an Archangel at that… Mikaela Morningstar, the famous Golden Girl and General of all of God’s armies, and now a Hotel guest of Princess Morningstar. That’s a sentence you never thought you’d say. 

So no, you didn’t want to leave your little cocoon of protection just yet, but you knew you needed to. You had to face reality eventually…

“This does not have to end,” Alastor breathed into your hair, the demon woefully intoxicated on your scent.

You scrunch your nose in confusion. 

The demon ran his thumb over your cheek, “Join me for dinner tonight and we can pick up right where we left off?” 

A flock of butterflies erupted in your chest, “Alastor Hartfelt, are you asking me on a date?” 

As if in response, the radio on the side table flickered to life. Alastor smiled his half-cocked grin as Nat King Cole’s “Darling je vous aime beaucoup” thrummed to life on the radio. 

Oh, my God. A date. A date with the Radio Demon? A date with the Radio Demon! A date with Alastor! You’d compare this sensation to how you felt when Vox asked you out - repeatedly, you might add - but didn’t want to think of the overgrown iPod while you were naked in bed with Alastor. 

“I…” You smiled in disbelief. “I…”

“Say yes,” Alastor’s free hand found your hip. He pulled you flush against him, running his claws down your thigh, he hooked it over his waist. Your leg sat perfectly in the dip of where his hip crested - as if it was designed just for you. 

Actually, all of Alastor fit you like a glove: his hands a perfect cup full for your breasts; the way his curves matched yours as you lay enveloped within each other on your sides; he was the perfect height for you to lean into him and rest your head on the fluff of his chest. 

“Yes,” you said, capturing his lips with yours, but pulled back with a gasp as Alastor flipped you atop him. 

Straddling Alastor’s waist, your wings instinctively stretched out, unfolding to their full width. Groaning, you rolled your shoulders, working out the stiffness that had cultivated overnight. How long were you unconsciously cuddling Alastor like that? 

“Absolutely breathtaking,” the demon lay mesmerized by your feathers. Capturing a feather between his fingers, the demon traced the length of its spine, relishing in the softness of the black vane. 

Rarely have your wings been touched by hands not your own. Pain. Your wings have only known pain. In battle, they’ve been stabbed by steel, sliced by arrows, singed by magic… Bare hands have only ripped and shredded your plume. Never have they been touched by strong yet gentle hands. It was almost a shock to the system to feel his fingers caress your feathers.   

And, apparently, wings are very sensitive…  

You saw the question in his eyes before he even asked it. “I didn’t portal to Hell the day Rosie found me,” you shuttered when he collected another feather between his fingers, this one lower down and longer than the previous. “I slipped between the planes, the way a Soul would after it died. I didn’t notice that my wings had turned black or my hair grey until after Carmilla strung me up from the ceiling of Rosie’s back room, and the evidence was lying at my feet.” 

Alastor’s expression suddenly changed, his eyebrows knit together, his smile flattened to a thin line. “Did it hurt?”

You blinked. “Did what hurt?” 

“When you fell from Heaven?” A half-cocked smile slowly spread across his face. 

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. Before you had a chance to stop him, Alastor flipped you again, this time placing himself on top. With wings splayed out around you - the tips just barely brushing the edge of Alastor’s gigantic mattress - the demon’s body encased your own. The fluff of his chest pressed into your bare breasts as he leaned in for a kiss. His tongue strokes yours for the briefest of moments before retreating. 

“How I do so enjoy the taste of you, mon couer,” the demon purred, placing one hand beside your head to support himself. The other found the crest of your wings. Tracing the bend in your black cape with his finger, the demon maintained eye contact, watching as your lips parted, the gasp escaping your teeth. 

His eyes sparked. “And that look, that sound - that reassures me that I have ensnared you as much as you have me.” 

“I think you also like torturing me,” you breathed, your heart kicking up as Alastor aligned his hips with yours. You were both naked - having foregone even the bathrobes not long after your session on the balcony. 

Alastor tilted his head back and laughed before wrapping his hands around your waist and tugging you down into him. Alastor’s cock was pressed firmly between your hips and his, settling on your lower belly. You debated folding your wings away, but the thought of fucking Alastor while his fingers stroked your feathers…

“Mon couer, I love torturing you.”

Before you had a chance to question his choice of words, Alastor sheathed himself inside you. You cry out at the sudden sensation, but already, he is withdrawing and thrusting back in. Wrapping your arms around his neck… 

There was a pull behind your navel. You stopped abruptly, your entire body freezing. Alastor also froze, sensing the sudden change. 

Orange and mint. Your vision was flooded with the hues of purple. Fuck. “Octavia,” you breathed. 

Alastor slowly pulled out, moving so you could jump to your feet. “The armoire on the left.”

Folding your wings in and magicking them away, you jumped to your feet. The wooden wardrobe was stocked with clothes you had never seen before—all obviously here for you. Move now, question later. Grabbing for a pair of pants, you searched the room for the black underwear and bra Alastor took off you yesterday two days ago? 

“Top drawer,” Alastor motioned to the dresser by the bathroom door. The demon sat on the bed, his elbows on his knees, the sheets covering his more sensitive parts - the parts your heart really wanted to see. 

You pulled open the first drawer, questioningly, before slamming it shut. “That is not underwear,” you couldn’t help but snort. 

Alastor raised an eyebrow. 

“Was that Rosie’s idea or yours?” You pulled on the slacks as Alastor ditched the bedsheets for a closer look. You stared then, taking your fill of where exactly that red happy trail led before he pulled open the drawer. 

The demon looked as shocked as you did, but there was an underlying hint of devilry that gleamed in his eye. Okay, so it was Rosie’s idea, but Alastor was more than pleased by it. You huffed and pulled out the least scandalous bra in the drawer—red, of course—and spun before pulling it on. You couldn’t look Alastor in the eye for fear you might never leave this bedroom again - not that you were complaining. 

The demon grabbed a grey sweater with a turtle neck - the same color as your hair - and a black clip. He held it behind you as you threaded your arms through the sleeves. Alastor took the buttons from you while you flipped your hair into a knot, the metal securing it in place. You did a double-take. Was Alastor taking care of you? 

SNAP! A portal appeared. The color of the sky told you it was the Pride Ring. What was Octavia doing in the Sinner Circle? 

The demon wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you flush against him. Fuck, he was still hard. 

A wave of cold breezed past your ankles. “You’re not sending me alone.” A statement, not a question.

Alastor pressed a kiss to your forehead as a cold breeze swam past your ankles again: Rolf. You should have guessed - the demon didn’t leave you alone when you were his enemy, why would he start now when you were his… His what exactly? You didn’t dare ask, it was too soon, too early to broach that topic. But one thing did pop into your head as you stepped through the crack in reality: what were you going to tell Rosie?

 The Radio Demon smirked as he handed you a pair of shoes, “Till tonight, mon couer.”

POP! The portal closed, leaving you with a pair of brand-new Mary Janes in a dirty alleyway. You allowed yourself one final breath to think of the demon who so often took it away before bolting for the street. 

It was time to move. 

“Stolas got what? How…? He can get hurt?” Blitz’s voice carried over the crowd of reporters swarming the main entrance to St. An’s Hospital. 

What the fuck is going…

“Thestral!” Octavia appears behind you before you got a chance to speak, tugging you towards the I.M.P. Crew who looked absolutely defeated. 

Millie and Moxie are covered in blood. Loona’s in a cone. Blitz just looks absolutely dumbstruck. What is happening? 

“Where is he?” Octavia demands of the group. The poor owlette looks scared out of her mind. Which is saying a lot because she rarely shows emotion on her face. The girl could cycle through five different emotions and if you couldn’t hear the inflection in her voice you would never know what she was thinking. 

“They just took ‘em inside,” Millie bows her head. 

“How…” Blitz’s voice cracks. The imp continues to stare into the crowd, his mind still not truly processing the events unfolding before him. Meanwhile Loona is passed out in the back seat of the van. 

Jesus, what kind of day did they have? More importantly, why are you being summoned only now? Or had you been summoned earlier but were too busy to notice? 

Guilt sours in your stomach. 

Octavia takes one look at the crowd, and immediately you know what she’s thinking. 

“Rolf,” I whisper, knowing the shadow can hear me. “Get us up there.” 

Taking hold of Octavia’s arm, Rolf shadows you into a sterile white hallway. A team of plague doctors work vehemently behind a glass wall, doing whatever it is healers do to injured Goetia Princes. 

A sob rocks through Octavia’s chest as she collapses against the window. You do your best to catch her, your mind flitting through a million different scenarios as to how exactly this could have happened. 

Angels can die. Goetian Princes can get hurt. 

What next…? 

____________________________________________

It had been hours before the plague doctors allowed you and Octavia to enter the room. It was hours while you stood there and did nothing but watch. You could have healed him right then and there with your blood. You could have done something to ease his suffering instantly…

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not with the media breathing down your neck outside and an entire hospital monitoring his health. Hell knew you were an Angel, but they didn’t know what you could do. That was a secret you weren’t going to share but you did let yourself think about it if only for a moment. 

You stared down at your hands, your blackened fingers looking more elegant and refined than lethal. They didn’t look like weapons—not like Alastor’s claws. Your skin was soft, absent of callouses and scars a battle-borne soldier should have. In fact, you never scarred, save for the bite mark that refused to fade from your neck. It’s almost as if your body heard your wish and kept that one just for you. 

But your hands… If you didn’t know any better, you’d say they were hands of healing, not hurting. Was that what you were intended for before Father dug his twisted sense of morals into your brain? If not, then why gift you with the power of healing? Lucifer couldn’t do that. None of your brothers could. Their blood was golden, but it wasn’t magical. 

Why was yours? 

You swallowed that thought, the emotions burning your throat as you made to stand. You had to get back to the Hotel eventually, and Octavia was passed out in the chair at her dad’s side, a blanket thrown over her sleeping form. 

“She won’t forgive you when she finds out, you know?” Stolas’ voice shakes you from your thoughts. How long had he been awake? 

“Stolas,” you find your seat once more. “I’m sorry I…”

“You did not know,” the Prince answers softly, afraid of waking his sleeping owlette. “Neither did Octavia.”

“What happened?” You whisper back.

“Take Octavia to her mother, will you?” He changes the subject. If he didn’t want to talk about it, you didn’t blame him. You’ve seen enough shell-shocked soldiers to know when to leave it be. At least he was awake and talking.

“I will,” you breathe. Stolas still thought you were trustworthy enough to take care of his daughter even though…? “I gave myself away in Louisiana, didn’t I?” The keys. He knew a Human Sinner couldn’t cross between Rings. Yesterday’s news merely confirmed it. 

Stolas met your gaze then, his usual soft eyes now full of… despair. “You have protected my daughter like you would a sister, and for that, I am grateful, but after today…” The Prince huffed. “Take her to her mother and take the card with you.” 

You blinked. “Stolas, I would never hurt Octavia…”

“Take. It. With. You.” The Prince commanded, steel coating his words. “And the keys…” He added as an afterthought. 

You didn’t dare say another word. The message was clear as day. Fuck, you couldn’t argue with him. Your mere presence invited trouble now that Hell knew who and what you were. Regardless of how you run into Octavia in the future, you’d be putting her at risk just by being around her. 

And Stolas was a father scorned…

You nodded your head before collecting a sleeping Octavia in your arms. 

“Goodbye Stolas…” And Rolf shadowed you into darkness. 

____________________________________________

“Are you sure this is the right place?” Keenie squeaked. 

“Of course, I’m sure!” Cletus barked from his place beside her. 

“I’m so excited!” Collin sang. 

The three banished Cherubs stood peaking around the corner, searching the growing mob of media crowding the front doors. 

“She’s not just going to walk right in the front door!” Keenie argued, the yellow floof of her hair swaying with the shake of her head. “Look at how many demons are here!” 

“Well, how else is she going to get in?” Cletus argued. 

“Oh! Oh! During the Battle of Troy, she convinced the Greeks to build a giant wooden horse to hide inside…” Collin began.

Cleatus banged him on top of the head. “Would you shut up!? Mikaela Morningstar isn’t going to sneak inside the Hazbin Hotel in a horse! This isn’t one of your fan club meetings!” 

Two days ago, Cleatus received a phone call from Rachel, who had given them an ultimatum. Track down the rogue Angel and bring her home. In exchange, they earn back their place in Heaven. 

Then Cleatus got the picture. 

And Collin went ape-shit.

“Hey! The Golden Girl Groupies are not just a fan club, okay? We are a group of warriors who would volunteer our lives if General Morningstar were to ever go to war again! We have studied, we have trained…”

“We are annoying!” Keenie interrupted him. “I swear if I have to hear one more…!” 

“Stop it!” Kleatus jumped in the middle. “Look!” 

The Cherub pointed down the road to a figure melting from the shadows. A silver-haired, pale-faced woman took one look at the growing crowd blocking the entrance to the Hotel before taking a step back and disappearing once more. It was but a moment but it was long enough. 

“That’s her!” Collin’s jaw was practically on the floor, his eyes glazed over in amazement. “The last time I saw her in person was during the Welcome Home parade after the last Crusades on Earth!”

Kleatus and Keenie nodded at one another. 

It was confirmed. Their target was none other than the famous Archangel Mikaela Morningstar. And they were going to bring her home whether she liked it or not. 

____________________________________________

Niffty’s voice was the first one you heard as you shadowed into the lobby of the Hotel. “Yeah. Where are your tits?”

Vaggie sighs, “Any other questions?”

Husk grumbles, “I got one. How come every time Charlie talks to Heaven, we get in deeper and deeper shit?”

The gang hadn’t noticed you yet as you quietly tiptoed into the foyer—well, except for Alastor. The zip of static running down your spine told you he was here, and he knew you were, too. You hadn’t really talked to the crew since the big reveal. You didn’t know how they were going to take it, but walking in on a conversation such as this was not boding well for you. 

The ex-exorcist rubs her temples, “It's not her fault. Angels are just…”

Angel Dust interrupts, “Liars?”

And the other shoe drops…

“Mikaela, how lovely it is for you to finally join us!” Alastor lights up like a Christmas tree as you round the corner.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him in a newly pressed black tailored suit. Seems Rosie made him more than one, but this one put him in all black - even the suit jacket beneath. His hair was tied back from his face into a short ponytail at the back of his head, accenting his sharp teeth as he beamed at you. 

God, you loved this man in form-fitting black. It made the butterflies in your belly fly circles in anticipation. And his hair? You never wanted to wear your hair up again for fear of never feeling Alastor’s fingers combing through it ever again. Meanwhile, you never wanted Alastor to wear his down. He was too handsome, too deadly, too enticing, with his hair pulled back from his face. 

You froze as all eyes fell on you. 

Fuck. What do you do? Do you greet Alastor back and find a seat? Do you sit by him? Do you sit far away from him? Do you not even respond at all? Do you respond normally - wait, what would normal even look like!? 

You didn’t know what to do. You and Alastor hadn’t had a talk to straighten out whatever was between you. You didn’t establish boundaries or titles - if there were even titles to be given. No, this was all too soon. Maybe Alastor didn’t even want to have any titles? Maybe he wanted to keep this all a secret? Revealing what you meant to him…

Alastor stood and crossed the distance between the two of you before you could even think. Claiming your hand in his, the demon pressed a kiss to the top and smiled, “Tu es toujours aussi belle, ma cherie. You look as lovely as ever, my darling.”

You sucked in a breath, waiting for the others’ reactions.

“I’m outta ‘ere!” Angel threw his many hands in the air before stomping away. The spider demon stormed up the stairs, not daring even a glance in your direction. 

Was Angel mad at you?

“Come,” Alastor leads you to the sofa as Rolf swirls around your feet. “Take a seat.” 

The demon sat you at the end of the couch, directly adjacent to the armchair he had been inhabiting before you showed up. 

Husk gave you a quick nod as you passed, signaling that things between the two of you were good. However, the nasty look he shot Alastor after displayed his disapproval of that situation. Yet the group did not comment. Probably too afraid of what Alastor might do, had they. 

“Charlie’s trying her best,” Vaggie continued. The Ex-Exorcist didn’t know what to make of you in that moment, her eyes constantly flitting back to Alastor who was currently humming in his chair, nonchalantly listening to the conversation. The demon did love gossip.

You had a sickening feeling that Vaggie’s eventual confrontation was coming. Not at this moment, however. She had enough on her plate to deal with. 

Husk took a swig of his drink. “Yeah, well, her best is turning out real well so far.” 

You blinked, finally noting the Princess’ absence. “Where is Charlie anyway?” 

Vaggie shot you a look you couldn’t smell - the scents too muddled together. Exasperation? Annoyance? Sadness? Guilt. Definitely guilt. “She’s upstairs. Coming up with something. I’m sure. In our room. Alone.” 

Alastor’s “Hmm,” would have been barely perceptible had you not been hyper-aware of the demon’s every move. Alastor leaned in, “I’ll be back in a moment, ma cherie.”

You couldn’t help but smile, “What happened to ‘mon couer?” You teased.

The demon’s grin turned sideways. “I think that’s best saved for when we are… alone.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“Can hear everything the two of you are saying,” Husk grumbled next to you. “Just so ya’ know.” 

Your face heated as Alastor melted into shadow, silently giggling as Rolf whisked him away. 

Nifty ran to the base of your shoes, “Where are your wings?” 

POP! 

The black mass of feathers unfurled behind you 

“Ooooohhhhh,” Sir Pentious clapped. “Ssssssssplendid!” 

“Owe!” You jumped. 

Nifty grabbed a fistful of feathers. The tiny demon laughed maniacally, “For my collection.” Then she took off to who knows where to do who knows what. 

Yet again, you repeat to yourself, Nifty was not a mystery you wanted to solve. 

“Show off,” you heard Vaggie mutter. 

Okay, you kinda felt bad about Vaggie’s situation, but now everyone knows. 

“Hey, aren't you like her boss or something?” Husk asks. 

And the questions begin.

“Technically no…”

You begin, but Vaggie interrupts you, “The General was in charge of God’s armies. The Exorcists are under Adam’s domain and technically a secret division in Heaven.” 

“Wait,” Husk does a double take. “You mean to tell me that Heaven doesn’t even know about the Exterminations?” 

“Nope,” Vaggie crosses her arms. “Well, they do now…”

“What kind of fucked up…” 

Maniacal laughter interrupts the conversation as Nifty sprints back into the foyer, a ball of golden fluff in her hands. “Look! Look! Look!” She sings like a small child. “Another for my collection!” 

“What isssss that?” Sir Pentious asks. 

Husks plucks it out of her little hands. The tiny demon protests, jumping for her newfound treasure as the cat demon holds it out of reach. “It looks like wool.” 

“Like from a sssssheep?” The snake demon slivers over to get a better look. 

“Nifty, where did you get that?” Vaggie prods. 

“The little flying sheep gave me…”

“Ahhh!” You collapse as a burst of power shoots through your core, the sudden intrusion of magic burning you from the inside out. The room is plunged into an aura of green as your face hits the carpet. 

“No. No!” Vaggie screams and runs for Charlie’s room. 

Husk slowly lifts you off the floor and guides you back onto the sofa. “Are you okay, kid?” 

“Yeah, I’m…” You hold your head to force the world to stop spinning, the pain fading as fast as it had appeared. Whatever the fuck that was, it felt… familiar. “What was that?” 

Husk looked at you as if you had grown a second head. “It looked like Boss’ static.” 

Alastor’s magic. That was impossible. You released Alastor from his contract. You couldn’t have access to his magic anymore. At least, you shouldn’t. Right? 

Looking down at your hands you watch the remainder of the green aura fade into your skin. Your blood, it felt energized as if a surge of electricity had charged it like a battery. It was eerily similar to the feeling you got when you had Velvette by the throat atop V Tower. 

You had wielded Alastor’s magic in that fight as if it were your own. His static jumped at your command, the power pooling into a well large enough to take down one of Crim’s balls of electricity. Fuck, even your voice became riddled with Alastor’s radio filter. 

You had chalked that up to the verbal contract the two of you had made many moons ago atop the radio tower. Now? Now it didn’t make sense…

Sir Pentious joins you on the couch. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I just…” You had an instinct to run to Alastor since whatever had just happened was because of him. That’s why Vaggie took off for Charlie’s room. Did he… Did he make a deal? Is that what that was? You started to panic. 

Did he own Charlie’s soul? Did Charlie even have a soul? 

Shit. That’s not how this was supposed to go. Charlie was supposed to be an intermediary in this plan - a tool to threaten Heaven and nothing more. She wasn’t supposed to become part of the game. 

Wait. Wait! Don’t panic. Alastor also made a deal with Lilith and Lilith wasn’t stupid. If the protection of Charlie was part of your deal then it was also a part of Alastor’s. Whatever the demon had just done, Charlie wouldn’t be harmed. 

Hopefully…

You sat back on the couch, your mind swimming with a million different questions, but deep down… Deep down, you trusted Alastor. 

Fuck. You trusted him. 

“I just need to lie down a bit…” 

You trusted him, and you were okay with it. 

And suddenly, the ever-solo Golden Girl found herself not so lonely anymore. And you didn’t mind it - the thought of your little solo act suddenly becoming a duo. 

Only if that’s what Alastor also wanted…

____________________________________________

Shit. Fuck. Shit. 

You stood in nothing but a towel before the red dress hanging in your closet. That!? Rosie had made you that!? That devil of a woman. You were going to have a serious talk about her recent lengths regarding your wardrobe. Red, you were okay with, but the lingerie and now this!? 

The dress was a red crepe with a low-hanging neckline and thigh-high leg slit. It was completely backless, which meant you were going to have to wear your hair down (which you wanted to do anyway). But, it also meant hiding your rune in public was going to be difficult. 

Which meant you were going to need a shawl or something to cover it up. You didn’t have a shawl, however, but you know who would. And you got the sense that he was royally pissed with you. 

Forgoing your bath towel for a Hotel robe, you quietly tiptoed to Angel’s door. You didn’t know why you felt the need to be quiet; not like Angel was going to attack you or anything, but instinct just took over. 

There was music playing on the other side of the door—some sort of pop music, probably something by Verosika Mayday. You and Angel hadn’t really talked since Lucifer’s visit when he convinced you to tell Alastor the truth. Sure, he watched over you during that week when you and Alastor weren’t talking, but you had pushed him away the entire time. You had snapped, argued, rolled your eyes, and dismissed any attempt he had at trying to break you from your spiral of depression and guilt. 

You had pushed and pushed, and all he did was try to help you. So when you quietly knocked on his door, it wasn’t so much to ask for a shawl or a jacket or whatever. It was to apologize. 

“Go away!” Angel yelled over the music.

“Angel, can we talk?” You rubbed the back of your neck, the bubbles of anxiety festering within. 

There was a moment of silence before the door slowly opened but a crack. The spider demon stood on the other side, closed off despite his willingness to engage in conversation. God, he looked angry. 

“What?” His words were sharp and pointed. 

Fuck, you hadn’t thought this through, you hadn’t rehearsed anything. So, you simply said, “You seem mad…”

Angel raised an eyebrow, “Ya’ tink? Did ya’ big scary Angel powers tell ya’ that?” 

Shit. 

“Angel, I…”

“Be careful what ya’ say, Hairclip. Every time ya’ open ya’ mouth, ya’ lie.” Angel snaps.

Ah, that’s why he’s mad. 

“I…” 

Fuck, you weren’t good at this feelings thing. You were awkward and couldn’t understand how to comfort others. Friendships - not alliances - were new to you. But hadn’t that been what you were doing from the start? Despite your apprehension, you had grown attached to the Hazbin crew and they you. 

They were your friends and so it was time you started acting like one. 

Your Endgame plan was growing more and more complicated by the day. 

“I’m sorry,” it came out as a whisper. “I’ve been a terrible friend. I’ve disappeared on you not once but twice now. I’ve lied. I’ve manipulated. I’ve done nothing but hurt you and use you and for that I am sorry. I’m a horrible friend and for that I do not deserve your friendship.” You hung your head low. 

Angel sucked his golden tooth, the hallway filling with awkward tension. And right before you thought it was going to explode in a wave of anger, Angel spoke. “Look,” he huffed. “I’d be lying if I didn’t say I never pretended to be somethin’ I ain’t.” 

Right. That’s what killed Angel in the end. A gay Italian gangster in his time… The demon’s overdose wasn’t an accident. 

“But, if we’re gonna do this friendship thang, we gotta do it right. No more of this lyin’ and disappearin’ bullshit.” With one set of hands on his hip, the spider demon opens the door completely. 

Wait. What? 

“And you're gettin’ a phone. I want no pushback on that one, sistah. I ain’t havin’ ya’ disappear on me again without at least a heads-up.”

Holy shit. You thought he was going to cut you out of his life like Stolas had, but no, he was making room for you in it. With stipulations, of course, but you could follow his rules, no problem! Whatever he wants so long as you still get to call him a friend. 

A friend! A real friend you didn’t want to kill and who didn’t want to kill you! A friend that wasn’t being ordered by Father to hang out with you or forced to follow your orders! 

You jumped on the demon, bringing him into a bear hug that squeezed the breath from his chest. 

“Thank you,” you breathed into his fluff. 

“Alright, alright, toots. Come inside, we got a lot of catchin’ up to do….”

____________________________________________

“Why is she just standing there?” Cleatus whispered.

“She looks so pretty!” Collin drooled. 

“This is our moment. We should go confront her.” Keenie shoved Collin out of the way. 

“Wait!” Cleatus grabbed Keenie by her floof and hauled her back around the corner. 

“Hey! Stop it! My head is still sore from that rat pulling out my hair!” The sheep protested. 

“What are you going to say?” Cleatus whispered. “Hello, General Morningstar, we’re here to take you back to Heaven, so if you’ll just follow us…” 

“So pretty…” Collin continued to ogle at the Angel standing before the doorway in a red, form-fitting dress. Her hair pooled down her back and shoulders in curled waves of silver. The curved neckline accented her breasts, while the backless dress swooped just above the crest of her hips, highlighting her feminine silhouette. In her hands she held a silver shawl. “She’s as beautiful as she is heavenly.” The goat swooned. 

Cleatus rolled his eyes. “We need a plan.”

“How do you know she’s not here on a mission from Heaven?”Collin stepped in. “Why do you assume she’s Fallen?” 

“She’s in Hell. Cavorting with demons!” Keenie shook him. “She’s killed human souls. We all saw the footage, Collin.” 

“But so did we…!” Collin countered. 

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! 

The three Cherubs stacked their heads as they peered around the corner. A large shadowed figure opened the bedroom door and chaperoned the Angel inside. The door shut and then locked behind her. 

“Now what…?” Keenie mumbled. 

____________________________________________

You wouldn’t be going out tonight. You’d be staying in. As Rolf guided you into Alastor’s pitch-black room, a series of candles lit as if on cue, illuminating a walkway that led into the Bayou. 

“What…”

Rolf smiled as he ushered you down the aisle way of fire, out into the grass of the pocket dimension. Your heels sunk into the ground, the bottom of your red dress dragging in the dirt. The shadow paused to take your shoes and shawl, then bunched the train of your dress for you to carry as you made your way across the plain.   

It was night in the Bayou. The only light was from the candles at your feet, which led you towards the ever-growing forest and the twinkle of the stars above. As you grew ever closer to the trees, the soft sound of jazz quickly replaced the chirping of crickets. 

You smiled as the static found your skin and the aura of Alastor’s scent filled your nose. As you rounded the large trunk of a tree, you came upon a small but familiar clearing. The same clearing he had shadowed you that night he meant to confront you. Now it was surrounded by candlelight and at the center… 

“Perfect timing as always, mon couer,” Alastor spun, a glass of wine in one hand and a bottle in the other. 

The demon stood there, hand outstretched with the goblet, in an all-black button-up and trousers. With his hair pulled back, the demon’s eyes soaked you in, and his smile dropped. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight. 

You dropped the train of your dress, the fabric pooling at your feet. “Have I done something wrong?” 

Alastor fell to his knees then and there, his radio skipping off its track. The goblet of wine and the bottle set gently in the grass. Taking your hands in his, he whispered, “You could never do wrong, mon couer.” 

“Then why do you look at me like that?” Your red lips turned down in a pout. 

“Can a demon not be rendered speechless by the most beautiful sight he has ever seen? Can he not be brought to his knees by such a wondrous creature, the embodiment of power itself? Can he not adore the vessel which adorns it, wholly and completely?” 

His words render you breathless, and your mind blanks with a response. Rosie was wrong when she said Alastor showed he cared through his actions, not his words. Alastor took days to show you he cared through action, and by words, well… the demon spoke poetry. 

So when he called you “absolutely beautiful” moments before he stabbed that Angelic blade into your gut, he was not talking about the power itself. He was talking about you. 

You smiled as you cupped his cheeks and pressed your lips to his. For what could you say to match that? 

“Come,” the demon said, climbing to his feet and pressing the goblet of wine in your hand. He had a wicked grin on his face as he led you towards the blanket, which held a picnic of food. “A little birdy informed me you enjoy a nice night in with a home-cooked meal and bottle of wine.” 

You smiled as you sit, “A little cat, you mean?” 

Yes, of course Husk rendered word for word your little rant after your date with Vox. Of course Alastor memorized each one.

“I know not what you mean,” Alastor smiles as he lay next to you, his own glass of wine in his claws. The demon’s fingers found the swoop in the fabric of your dress, his claw tracing the red as it lined your back.  

Goosebumps formed on your skin. “And what of today?” You prod, referring to the small army Charlie arranged to fight Adam and his Exorcists. 

Alastor takes a sip of the glass as he lays back on the blanket, supported by his elbow. “A gift.” 

You blinked. “A gift?” 

“The spark to ignite your war,” he smiles. 

“You did that for me?” You asked. 

Alastor places his glass down next to the picnic basket filled with what you assume is Alastor’s cooking. “Not wholly.” 

You swallowed dryly. “You made a contract?” 

The demon’s eyes fall to the basket. “In exchange, the Princess owes me a favor.” 

Good, not her soul. 

“Charlie can not be harmed,” you said carefully. You were touching upon Lilith but didn’t want to mention her by name, which was a sore topic for Alastor. 

“I cannot, and neither can you,” he said, finding your arm and tracing it to the strap on your shoulder. 

Also, good. 

“We have three days,” Alastor continued. “I wish to spend them wisely.”

A.k.a. no more talking of plans and schemes. 

“Speaking of which, you saw Rosie today,” you take another sip. “How mad is she?” 

The demon hooked his claw under your strap, playing with it as he spoke, “On the contrary, the woman is insufferably happy.” 

You beamed. Of course, she is. 

“She’s taken it upon herself to design you a dress.” 

Your heart skipped a beat. 

“To meet my mother,” Alastor played with the strap, his mind elsewhere. 

Oh… Oh! 

“But she’s… Unreachable at the moment.” You breathed. When had you become so breathless? 

“In Louisiana, darling. I wish to visit her grave. If you’ll take us?” Alastor’s eyes met yours. Nothing but grief and sadness filled them despite the smile on his face. 

“Of course,” you captured his hand with yours and brought it to your cheek. “In a heartbeat.” You press a kiss to his palm. 

The demon smiled. 

“But,” you smirked, “you must promise me something?”

“Anything,” Alastor answered immediately. 

“For the next three days, you’ll train footwork with me.” 

Alastor raised an eyebrow. 

“Your footwork and swordsmanship are atrocious, and…!” 

Alastor grabbed your hand and pulled you onto him. The glass of wine spilled into the grass as the demon wrapped one hand around the back of your neck and brought you into a kiss. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue darted out for yours. 

Alastor broke away, seemingly unphased by the action, a knowing half-cocked grin on his face, “I’m sorry, you were saying?” 

You were… Fuck, your entire mind went blank. 

“I apologize,” he chuckled. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you arrived. I would have greeted you with a kiss, but this dress was distracting.” 

You smiled back, your cheeks turning as red as the fabric. And then the question hit you again. “Alastor, when you spoke to Rosie today, what did you tell her?” 

The demon’s eyes caught on something behind you. “It’s time.” 

It’s time? 

The demon motioned for you to lay down next to him, your back on the blanket and your eyes on the canopy of the trees. “Alastor, what are we…?” 

“Shh,” the demon shushed. “Wait.” 

The candles winked out at once, plunging the two of you into darkness. It was a rather odd change to the conversation, but you let it happen. It's not like the answer to that question wasn’t killing you inside or anything… 

CLICK! 

Alastor’s radio switched stations. Nat King Col’s “My First and My Last Love” began playing.

🎶I recall all the days of my childhood

And that bashful romance that we knew

In my teens, as I roamed through the wild wood

Then my first and my last love was you 🎶

As if on cue, a wave of green fireflies shot out of the darkness. The small bugs surrounded the two of you, as if you were swimming in your own sea of stars. 

And the answer to your question has finally been answered: “was this romance?” 

🎶When I strayed from our green fields of Clover

Still I knew that my heart would be true

Though I wandered the world like a rover

Still my first and my last love was you🎶

No, this was not romance. It was so much more. 

You turned to Alastor, only to notice that he had not been watching the wonder around you but rather you the entire time. 

🎶And your love haunted me like a song

Till it brought me back where I belong🎶

The green danced in his blown-out pupils as you nudged closer to him. Alastor’s forehead met yours as he whispered, “You asked me what I had told Rosie.” 

🎶Now the days of my youth are behind me

And the years we have left may be few

But my memories will always remind me

That my first and my last love was you🎶 

You nodded. You held your breath in anticipation of his answer. 

“I told her what she had told me long ago,” he caressed your cheek with his thumb. “That one cannot live without their heart.” The demon cupped your face. “And you are mine, mon couer. I'm your guy, and you're my gal."

You sucked in a breath, “That doesn’t just mean being with me, Alastor. It also entails what comes with.”

🎶And your love haunted me like a song Till it brought me back where I belong🎶

The Endgame. Although Alastor had shown interest, he didn’t necessarily commit. Yes, today was a show of good faith, but there was something in it for him too. You needed a commitment to you and the plan. He could not get one without the other, but the demon already knew that. 

The demon chuckled low. His other hand coming to the slit in your dress, and you gasped as his fingers met the outside of your thigh and climbed higher and higher. At the base of your ass, he grabbed your leg and threw it over his waist, his eyes never leaving yours. 

The green danced all around you as Alastor ran a hand through your silver hair, his fingers playing with your curls. “Well then…”

🎶Now the days of my youth are behind me And the years we have left may be few But my memories will always remind me That my first and my last love was you🎶

His voice was low and filled with lust as he said, “Let’s kill God.”

And before you had a chance to reply, the demon pulled you in and kissed you savagely. 

There was no more need for words after that. The food was long forgotten - for now. You’d be eating it afterward… The demon pulled you fully up onto him, his vision swimming with nothing but you in red and the green of the fireflies surrounding you, illuminating you.

And as Alastor broke the kiss to stare up at the Fallen Angel above him, he had cemented what he had been telling himself all along. He'd destroy, he'd kill, and he'd raise Heaven and Hell if it meant keeping you here by his side. Killing God was a menial task if it meant he got to keep you as the prize, but the Radio Demon had left out a few details regarding his talk with Rosie. You were his heart, that much was true, but he had much bigger plans in store for you.

The demon ran his claw across your bottom lip, admiring the red. Alastor took his time memorizing the shape of your lips, the pooling of your silver hair, and the flash of yellow in your eyes as the green from the fireflies danced around you. He memorized you as if it was his dying breath, for the demon never thought he'd known Heaven till now and had surely died but just hadn’t realized it yet.

He gladly welcomed the day God died. The thought of anyone making a mark on this skin but him... Alastor instinctively growled at the thought. His hand fell from your mouth to your neck. He pushed the hair aside to appreciate the mark. The bruises had faded thanks to your unnatural gift of healing, but the bite at the base of your neck, that one refused to fade.

Good. Let all of Hell know you were his.

Alastor watched as you unfurled your wings behind you, the black masses stretching to their full width. An Angel... He'd laugh if he wasn't so completely enraptured. Who would have ever thought he, Alastor Hartfelt had fallen completely and totally...

He couldn't say the words. He didn't want to scare you, didn't want you to think him another man in your life obsessed to the point of toxicity. You had a history with men, and Alastor didn't want to become just another face that haunted you at night. You've endured enough emotional, mental, and physical torture for one immortal lifetime.

So he didn't say what he was thinking. He'd go slow, give you space and time. He didn't want to push for fear of losing you.

After all, it takes one emotionally damaged soul to know another.

Alastor caressed your wings and watched as your mouth parted ever so slightly, your lips forming that wonderful "o" they make when he catches you off guard with a sudden sensation. By Satan, he loved the little noises and faces he could draw from you.

"Where were we?" Alastor purred. He ran both hands up your thighs, bunching the dress as he went.

Tiny blue sparks jumped from your form and into the grass. The Bayou was a wet and humid place, and it would take more than that to ignite it.

"We have no vèvè to protect us out here, mon couer," despite the demon's warning, his fingers continued to climb until they crested your hips.

Alastor shot you a knowing look, mischief glowing in his eyes.

You weren't wearing any underwear.

You smirked at the demon as you leaned forward, your hands going to his hair as you settled against his chest, your wings folded behind you, "Try not to electrocute me."

"Try not to set my Bayou ablaze," the demon purred, relishing in the feel of your fingers in his antlers.

With your eyes half-lidded, you purred, mocking his tone, "As you command, Mr. Alastor."

Alastor pulled you down to him, but he didn't immediately tear into you as you expected. No. He kissed you slowly and deeply, as if savouring the very taste of you on his tongue.

There was something very, very different about this time.

Alastor’s radio clicks on a smooth jazz, his favorite, actually: Nat King Col's "Unforgettable."

Slowly, Alastor's hands traced your silhouette, caressing your hips, the dip in your waist, the shape of your breasts. His hips did not buck, his teeth did not bite, his lips did not bruise. The demon did not give you any of the usual signs that he was hungry, insatiable as he had been for the past few days.

And then it hit you. Alastor was letting you take the lead.

You smiled against his mouth, and took the opportunity you didn't have before to roam his skin. You followed the chiseled edge of his jaw, to the spot just below his earlobe, before nipping it and eliciting an extremely satisfying gasp from Alastor.

You followed down his neck, planting featherlight kisses until you reached his chest. Alastor liked having only the top two buttons undone when he was being more casual, so when your mouth found the third, your fingers undid the buttons as your lips continued south.

When you hit his belly button, you pulled back to admire the sculpted chest before you. With his shirt completely undone, you traced his pecs with your fingers, following the lines of his muscles down his abdomen to the lean six-pack of his torso.

Alastor's face was red with lust, his eyes glassy, his heart beating at a million miles an hour beneath your hand. To think, you had the Radio Demon completely undone, and you hadn't even taken off your clothes.

And you weren't going to let this go to waste.

You pulled off his belt and then undid the button of his pants. Without hesitation, you grabbed Alastor's shaft and pulled his cock free. The demon grits his teeth as his claws dig into the meat of your hips. You stroke, eliciting a growl deep from within his chest.

Oh, no, you were going to savor this moment.

His head swells as you drag your thumb over his slit.

"Fuck," Alastor moans as a few green sparks of static sink into the grass.

You debated using your mouth, but to be honest, you didn't know what to do with it, but your hips? You knew how to use those.

Alastor’s head rolled back at the sight of you tugging your dress above your waist. With one hand firmly wrapped around his cock, you lined your clit up with his shaft and rolled your hips, timing it with the stroke of your hand.

Alastor made a noise halfway between a whimper and a moan that made you roll your hips again.

If you knew all it took to take down the infamous Radio Demon was the roll of your hips, you’d have had this man begging on his knees weeks ago. Oh, there is definitely more than one way accrue power and you had just found it.

“Beg,” you command, referring to all those times Alastor made you crave him, desperate for him to be inside you, hopeless for release.

The demon’s head shot up as if he didn’t hear you correctly, but you silenced any protest he would have made with another stroke and another grind of your clit into his shaft.

“Fuck,” he groaned again.

“Come on now, Mr. Alastor, where are your manners?” You pouted, drawing his attention to your lips. You licked them, if only to incite more annoyance with your demand.

Alastor growled, showing off his canines like an alpha male ready to pounce, but the demon wasn’t giving in just yet.

So you decided to up the anty.

Scooting back, you leaned down and ran your tongue across the head, lapping up the pre-cum leaking from the top. Alastor gasped, his hands instinctively knotting in your hair.

“Ah, uh, uh,” you tutted, pulling away. You leaned over his belly, stroking his cock as you intentionally brought it closer to your cleavage. Alastor’s eyes practically bugged out of his head at the sight.

You weren’t wearing a bra either and from this angle, Alastor had full view of your cleavage and breasts as you stroked again.

“What will it be, Mr. Alastor?” You kissed his lower belly, following a trail up to his neck before seating yourself atop his waist once more.

You stroked as you sat there, waiting for the demon to find enough sense - and enough air, was he even breathing? - to respond to your demand.

But oh, it was practically killing him to do so. Alastor had never begged for anything in his life.

“Please,” he moaned as you stroked, the demon completely disheveled beneath your. “Please, darling.”

Aww, how cute.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his nose, “Only because you asked nicely.”

You lined him up and gasped as you sank down to the hilt.

“Fuck, Alastor!”

The demon shot up and captured your moans with his mouth, his one hand helping to guide your hips as you slowly lifted up and came back down. With his other he palmed your breast and pinched your nipple through the red fabric causing you to yelp. Alastor continued to let you take the lead, his actions but mere assistance as you bounced up and down on his cock.

Using his antlers as leverage, you opted for hard rather than fast - knowing that’s how Alastor liked it. And with every bounce of your hips, the demon grew thicker and thicker inside you.

Alastor’s groans turned into full on moans, the most vocal you had ever heard the demon. And as your walls twitched, your climax building, you felt Alastor growing closer and closer to his own.

“I’m afraid I’m not going to last much longer, darling,” Alastor breathed.

“Good,” you smiled against his mouth. “I want you to cum.”

“Fuck,” the demon moaned.

“Cum in me Alastor,” you demanded, your hips moving faster and faster.

Alastor grabbed your hips then, his claws sinking into your flesh as he slams you down onto him harm. Sheathed to the hilt, his head bruising your cervix as he spilled inside of you with a low guttural grunt.

It was enough to send you into your own orgasm, your own personal high as the demon spilled inside of you.

You breathed heavily as your body rode the tingling aftershocks. Collapsing into Alastor, your head rested on his shoulder as the two of you sat there surrounded in a sea of green stars, your wings limp behind you.

It wouldn’t become apparent to you then, but about ten feet in every direction, with the two of you at the center, was a circle of scorched earth. You hadn’t burned down the Bayou but you had lit it on fire at some point.

And yet, the two of you did no harm to each other.

“Mon couer,” Alastor cooed as he ran a hand through your hair. “My heart,” he whispered. “Mine.”

The two of you sat there for a long moment, just drinking each other in, before continuing on with a long night of drinking, eating, laughing, and genuinely just being happy for the first time in your lives. You talked of jazz and radio, of Heaven and your life on the run with Eve. You talked of everything and nothing. You talked well past the point of exhaustion, never wanting the night to end.

And you savored every moment of it, for you had gotten good at recognizing the good times when you were in them, but knew they always had to come to an end eventually…

Awww, so cute. What could go wrong? *cough* foreshadowing *cough*

Possible alternate endings???? I'm indecisive AF

-> Chapter Seventeen

Tagged Hoteliers (Let me know if you wish to be added!):

@sirens-and-moonflowers @wonderlandangelsposts @saccharine-nectarine @mommymilkers0526 @goyablogsstuff

@eris-norwega @missgirlsstuff @alastor-the-radio-demons-blog @sillywormtrixareforkids @its-a-dam-blue-brick

@cloverresin20 @blue-bird251 @speedycoffeedelight @littlebluefishtail @saw1987

@mopeyghost @beelz3bub @fraugwinska @minamilinaqueen @demoarah

@diffidentphantom @divineknightmare @animecrazy76 @sleepykittycx @graunta

@reath-solia @satansdaughter123 @mysticatto @freshonyourpages

@chibistar45

[sugoi-writes]

This is Not a Love Story, This is an Autopsy - Part 1

A/N- PHEW! I wanted to kick out of my hiatus with something I've been itching to do... An original series! I wasn't quiet happy with some of my longer works (and trust, they will probably be rewritten, too). So, this is the start of something new! Something that'll be fresh!

I've been heavily inspired/influenced by @minkdelovely and @hazelfoureyes, who keep encouraging me to just... do it. So I'm doing it!

BEFORE you get too invested, this story WILL be dark. It will be GOREY, graphic at times, there will be filthy, raunchy smut... But this is gonna be a LOT of hurt, with VERY LITTLE comfort. Alastor will NOT be a kind man. The title should be taken seriously, if you wish to continue. BUT FOR NOW... PHEW... sorry, here's part one!!!

Warnings/Promises: Mystery murder woman, Alastor is intrigued, a poor demon suddenly doesn't have a face, cursing, banter, Mystery woman wants to kill Alastor, and Alastor doesn't have GREAT intentions either... Just-- Alastor being ALASTOR! (Mystery woman is referred to in 3rd person, but this may change! Not sure yet)

Please enjoy! ❤️ Header image created by bat-boness on Tumblr! ❤️

Alastor's evening stroll simulated any other: pleasantries exchanged with himself, and his dainty, dated tunes filling the air. This served as a chipper contrast to his surroundings of hurried footsteps, startled shrieks, and the general cacophony on this side of The Pentagram. Oh, tonight was certainly a good night! ...But it was about to get so much better.

The sound of wet squelching, akin to a crushed watermelon, caught his attention. His deer-like ears twisted in it's direction, his smile expanding. What a curious sound! One he was aptly familiar with! It could only be one thing...

Gurgling, disjointed cries and the sputtering of fluids sounded like a grotesque melody. Alastor could hear steady, heavy breathing keeping the tempo. An act of passion... well, in the killing sense, surely. Ever the curious sort, Alastor sent his shadow to investigate. Its wide eyes take in the sight of the alleyway expectantly, eager to witness the fuss first.

A large figure loomed over a hapless victim, the arms flinching and trembling subconsciously as the attacker worked diligently. The sounds from before had morphed into a gut wrenching cutting noise: the unmistakable sound of a sharp knife carving through flesh... but where?

The shadow blinked, inching closer to the scene to get a better look. However, the attacker flinched, turning towards the apparation with a speed that would snap the neck of a human. It was spotted.

In the blink of an eye, a knife came off of a thigh garter belt, hurdling full force towards the Shadow. The knife struck between the entity’s eyes, a heated hiss thrown back to the stranger. Alastor's obedient pet slinked back to its master, unable to give a more helpful report. Alastor hummed in amusement, taking two wide strides to his right. Now, he was stationed at the mouth of the alley, his teeth gleaming under the dim streetlight.

"Do forgive me, dear, I am not known to eavesdrop," a lie, Alastor thought," But I couldn't help but overhear a scuffle~ What did that poor beau do to deserve such fury?"

Alastor wanted to be nearer, to see what you had done to the now-corpse of the demon... but alas, he couldn't just yet. Even with the back facing him, the Radio Demon got a better glimpse at the disheveled stranger.

A large, wide shoulder span dipped in and flowed back out in a delightful curve: a tasteful hourglass shape. Brunette and blonde hair cascaded just past the shoulders, spattered with blood… that was even more tasteful. Judging from the spray's pattern, this blood came from somewhere else… or someone else, in this case. The broad shoulders led to muscular, intense looking arms. The limbs were so red that it seemed they were dipped in a vat of coagulated blood. He could scarcely see the little nicks and scars that littered the taunt skin.

When Alastor continued to walk forward, a sharp turn of the head greeted him. Startling, grey eyes with bloodshot whites glared back at him. The figure didn't answer him, staring him down with a look that could frighten a dictator. Blonde and brunette fringe framed the face, a soft contrast to the rest of the body. Full, flushed cheeks from exertion, complimented by wide eyes and a set of thick, heavy lashes. And, dozens of shallow, silver-white scars littering the pale, plump face. Alastor's eyebrows rose with interest, the silence only motivating him to get closer.

The figure growled, snarling like a caged animal as it turned fully towards him... a woman, he assumed. This woman had blood sprayed across her entire upper body, indicating that this was indeed a passionate act of murder.

Alastor ceased his advances, both hands coming up in mock-surrender.

"Oh come now, dear, I mean no harm... 'just curious~ Won't you humor a demon for a spell? You might just hear your little story on my broadcast tonight~" he nearly sang, eyes squinting and watching carefully. He could tell that this beast of a woman was on high alert, and would likely try and jump him if he so much as thought the wrong word. Though he was confident in his abilities to defend himself, he was no bodybuilder: a fisty cuff that got too heated could mean his second death.

The woman’s gaze remained unphased as she came to her feet. Then, it morphed into a look of recognition.

While the mystery woman realized who was speaking to her, Alastor discovered what she had been carving off of the victim: his face. Alastor watched with an irrational sense of delight as the heavily scarred woman faced him properly. He couldn't help but shift his eyes to the scalped face of the victim, feeling his hands ball up into eager fists behind his back.

The cadaver’s face was grasped in the brunette’s calloused, large hands, blood sliding through her knuckles like a babbling creak in the woods. Had he been a sane man, he would have found the image unsightly. But between his fall from grace and his afterlife of trouble… he found the sight utterly delicious.

Alastor swallowed something in his throat... nerves? Excitement? A mutual interest between strangers? What an evening to find a like-minded individual…

"...You're the Radio Demon..." the murderer said simply. Her voice was a hard, uneven gravel, as if she hardly spoke at all. Alastor's smile widened, giddy at the budding interaction.

"Ahh, my reputation precedes me~ But you can call me Alastor, sweetheart. And what may I call you, hmm?" The tone of his sing-song charm did not match the cannibalistic mania of his too-wide smile. His voice was the cheese, nestled inside an obvious mousetrap.

Alastor stepped even closer, extending a hand out to the rabid-looking woman. Her steely eyes looked to his hand, before back to his face. Her expression remained unchanged.

"...I don't do handshakes," she replied bluntly, her gaze burrowing holes into Alastor's complexion. She seemed to watch him just as intently, acutely aware of his dark aura. Her words sought to disguise her own intrigue.

"Ahh, apologies, dear-- Deeeaaaar...?"

Alastor raised a brow while he drew out the last word, eye twitching with annoyance. He cocked his head slightly as he leaned in, trying to goad her into a response. He expected a name sometime tonight. A name... just a name. If he had her name, he could work with that. Just let him get under that barrier, even if it's just a crack--

"I don't have one," the woman spat back, either uninterested or able to see through Alastor’s antics (of which, the Radio Demon wasn't sure).

A record scratch leaked through his frequency at the abrupt response. The curtness throttled his already thinking patience... Alastor's wide smile stammered for a moment, a tense chuckle bleeding through his clenched jaw. His fuzzy and sound-dampened amusement was practically oozing irritation...

Likewise, the tension that hung between the pair was far too thick.

This needed to be carved through with a knife, Alastor thought. He could still do this.

"Nonsense dear! Why, EVERYONE has a name!!! Surely there is something that people use to call you? To refer to you???" Alastor was a bit surprised by his own persistence. Why did her lack of name manage to throttle him?

...right. He found her fascinating, that's all. And fascinating people in Hell were often easy to exploit... easy to force into a deal. And by extension, she would be useful and entertaining.

"...people usually don't get the chance to talk to me," the brunette replied. Her stoney, hardened face slowly shifted into a sly smile. She chortled wickedly, licking her cracked lips,"...but they usually beg for their lives right about now."

Her sudden lunge surprises Alastor momentarily, before his pitch tendrils snap into action. The mad woman is caught and suspended mid-launch, a heavy tentacle struggling to keep her knife-wielding arm in check. Alastor clicks his tongue mockingly at her aggression. Back to square one, it seemed. What a simple creature!

"Ohh dear, is that a way to talk to someone? If you plan to stab me, at least offer to take me on a stroll first. Perhaps to a coffee shop?" The deranged woman's mouth was tightly pulled into a horrifying snarl, teeth bared and glistening with spit. Had she contracted rabies? Or was she still riding the feral high of a fresh kill? Neither option seemed to startle or surprise Alastor all that much.

He paid her no mind as he walked around her in a slow, teasing circle: like a predator circling helpless prey. But the woman grunted and struggled just the same, hair falling into her face as she tried to break free. The noises she made had shivers of pride running up Alastor's spine. This interest almost seemed... more than that. More than morbid curiosity… He shook the thought away from his mind, his cheeks burning from how harshly he forced himself to smile.

Alastor stepped within striking distance, another tentacle wrapping around the knife-wielding hand as he looked at her troubled face.

"G-Go-- nnnhhhfucker-- Go fuck yourself, freak," the woman hissed, spitting towards the Radio Demon. He simply tilted his head, the spittle missing his pristine cheek. Annoying and gauche... he would have to break her of that garish habit.

"I'm afraid carnal desires haven't interested me for quite some time. Well... past the one you dabbled with moments ago. I must say I'm mighty interested in your handywork~"

Alastor's taloned hand squished the cheeks of the captured woman, turning her face this way and that. Alastor was smirking with an air of superiority as he took in every imperfection and scar that maimed her round face... To him, she was breathtaking, each scar revealing an incident or story he would be familiar with. He felt interested in dissecting her, and figuring out just what or who caused the nicks and cuts.

Thankfully, his brush with murder and other crimes made breaking down her injuries a breeze. Most of them could be summarized as self defense marks left by a weaker victim. This woman was STRONG... There was no question about that. And she wasn't afraid of getting dirty to get her desires fulfilled. He could find that quality to be quite charming... quite useful.

"If you truly do not have a name... might I suggest one?"

The question puzzles the brunette, eyes blinking in rapid succession. It took her a few moments to process the offer.

"You... want to name me?" She retorted, her squished face distorting her bewilderment," Like some goddamn PET?"

"I’m simply offering you one, dear. No need to make a fuss. Perhaps you could find it helpful, should you ever need to be referred to more... directly. With familiarity. You needn't take it, if it displeases you."

Alastor sighed dramatically as the woman thrashed in anger, shaking his head in tandem. It was quite easy to backtrack with this one, wasn’t it?

The woman stared back at the Radio Demon, intense grey embracing hellish red in a heated standoff. One could kill the other in a heartbeat, their acts only halted by straining tentacles. They were in a tense ceasefire, if only for their own sakes.

The woman sighed, relenting after what felt like an eternity," If it causes you to let go of me... you may give me a name, Radio Demon."

"Alastor," the male corrected, pinching her cheeks with harsher intent. The woman winced, but nodded curtly," A-Alastor..."

The venom that oozed from her harsh tone made molten heat fill Alastor’s chest. She could be obedient… how interesting.

The deer demon sneered, face reflecting his earlier delight as his eyes briefly flickered. The name rolled off her tongue so easily... Oh, he liked seeing her like this. Another charming quality he could get used to… and take use of.

"Carver."

The woman blinked, scoffing," Really?"

"Yes. Carver. You could always go by 'The Carver', if you wished, but I rather think the name suits you... a little on the nose, maybe, but simple. Just like you." Alastor's thumb rubs over the woman's cheek, a claw dangerously close to gouging her eye out. The demoness’ face softens, the touch causing conflicting feelings to flit across it.

Fright, anger, surprise, and… yearning. Had Alastor not been observant and experienced with reading people, he might have missed a few of these. Hell, the micro expressions lasted for seconds, if that… But thankfully, his eyes were as sharp as the blade hovering above his head.

Alastor’s hand pauses on her flushed cheek, stashing the useful information in the recesses of his dark mind.

"...fine... That name is fine, Alastor."

Carver fell to the dank and rancid ground with a heavy thud, Alastor clasping his hands together resolutely. Tentacles were dismissed as he eyed her eagerly.

“Splendid, dear! Carver it is! Now, about our earlier topic–”

Carver dusted off her knees as she stood, eyeing the deer-esque demon cautiously. She allowed him to continue, despite her better judgment to gut him then and there.

“What do you say to a bit of coffee, over lunch?”

Carver blinks for a moment, then another, arms folding in front of her chest,” You're joking, right?”

Alastor practically giggles, a dark tendril reforming to hold up the skinned face of her victim,” I'm more of an emcee than a comedian, dear… though I can never pass on a good punchline! Haha!”

When Alastor extends the face to the woman, he squints mischievously,” But no, I'm being quite genuine… Tomorrow, Cannibal Town. There's a quaint little shop by Rosie’s Emporium, the Brimstone Brew… I trust that you've heard of it?”

Curtly, Carver nods, taking her trophy from the Radio Demon indignantly,” Vaguely. I just started working a new job closeby, actually,” she admits. The moment she does, she mentally curses herself. Alastor’s eyes widen, a hand childishly coming to cover his lips. Or more accurately, like a elitist, royal woman with her hand fan, trying to stife her reaction to juicy gossip.

“Pray tell, what do you do~?”

Carver scoffs, casting her gaze anywhere other than the man’s demented smile,” …just some butcher shop. The manager apparently got… well, butchered. So there was a vacancy that the Assistant Manager filled. Soooo… I– I was pulled in to become the new assistant there.”

Alastor seemed on the verge of jumping out of his own skin, leaning forward intently.

“You? Working in one of my favorite stops? Oh, how convenient, dear! Then hows about I ‘meat’ you there! Haha!”

The joke did not go unnoticed, a gruff ‘really?’ following after. He would need to work on her enthusiasm, too.

“See, we could go for a little stroll, and you can tell me more about this new venture of yours! Why, if it's entertaining enough, I'm sure your story would captivate an audience! My audience!”

Carver didn't get the chance to protest as the dapper demon took a few steps back, tipping his imaginary hat her way.

“Let's shoot for 11 o’clock, ‘sharp as your knife! I look forward to getting to know you better… Carver.”

And within a second, the crimson and ebony demon vanished into the shadows. Carver was left confused and stupefied by the entire interaction. She didn't even get a chance to tell Alastor that she actually had work that morning… not that the Radio Demon would stand for it. But, maybe she could brush him off easier this way… She was sure her new manager would intervene or prevent the entire situation from escalating...

The woman dug around in her satchel, until she found a gallon freezer bag. She unceremoniously threw the bloody, skinned face of her victim into her pack, rolling her eyes. Maybe ‘Carver’ was an alright name after all…

What a fucking day… and what a fucking man, to have the nerve to be so… so…

Carver blinked a few times, words escaping her. He was an asshole, but also seemed to have manners… He was infamous, but didn't seem to match the dark reputation… He was bitchy, but also… surprisingly gentle with her?

Carver touched her cheek, where a taloned finger once lingered. A swift flush ghosted across her face as she kicked the corpse on the ground, huffing defiantly. The sooner she could shake this guy off her back, the better. She didn't do ‘friends’. She didn't even have acquaintances. And yet, all in one night, she was given a nickname and asked to go on a coffee date, seemingly just to… talk?

Never would she have imagined such an odd scenario before now. But, she did have an interesting opportunity. Take him out on a date before you stab him, she loosely recalled. And she was more than eager to take him up on that offer to get him off her back.

Carver chuckled, clicking her tongue as she started the trek to her apartment. Maybe she could call in sick tomorrow! Why not?

She could humor this man, if only to hear what his screams would sound like. She hoped that his terror sounded as desperate and sweet as the ones from his broadcast… An artist often immolated their work, and she had a feeling that his anguish would taste just as divine...

This is not a love story. This is an autopsy.

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Undercover in a Skin Tight Skirt

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Summary: The BAU Chief isn’t fond of sending his scantily clad wife in as bait 

Warnings: Misogyny, mentions of rape and murder, near sexual assault, suggestive language, provocative clothing, description of gore, alcohol, religious allusions

Work Count: 3.4k

Masterlist

“The unsub is hunting within what seems to be a pentagram,” Reid explained. “Each club creates a point on the star while the bars have already formed the circle.”

“What is he sacrificing virgins?” Garcia rhetorically asked over the phone. “I don’t know about you but night clubs and bars isn’t where I’d be hunting virgins.”

“Maybe he’s trying to point to the immortality of these types of places. You know alcohol, sex, drugs,” Emily suggested.

“So he’s kidnapping these girls and then he’s raping and murdering them to what? Punish them for their promiscuity?” Morgan suggested.

“Or he feels entitled to them,” I suggested. “Maybe he’s taking them because he believes in polygamy because he’s a man but isn’t receiving the female attention he feels he deserves?”

“Or he feels he deserves as certain woman. Given that every victim was between the ages of 20 and 30, had H/C hair, E/C eyes, and a S/T (skin tone) complexion,” my husband, Aaron suggested.

“Okay so we’ve got a religious man who feels entitled to women, shouldn’t be too hard to find,” JJ said sarcastically.

“Well we need to find him before he finds another girl tonight. If he follows his pattern we’ll have Phoebe Simpson,” the girl who was currently missing, “show up dead tomorrow.”

~

After some research from Garcia and more talking through the profile we found the unsub, Pastor Daryl Richardson. Now the team was just trying to figure out how to catch him since we knew we’d need to catch him in the act. Unfortunately everyone was dancing around me going undercover since no one wanted to suggest putting the boss’ wife in danger.

Finally I had had enough. “Why don’t I just go undercover? Everyone knows I perfectly match the unsub’s type.”

“Y/N,” my husband’s voice immediately warned, not happy about the suggestion.

“Why not?” the local sheriff asked. “Seems like a good plan to me.”

“Because this is an increasingly unstable and erratic unsub and I won’t put my wife in that kind of danger. We’ll figure out another way to catch him. End of discussion,” Hotch declared before storming off.

“Aaron,” I called after him, getting out of my seat to follow. “Aaron what the hell?” I asked once I caught up with him. “Even before I even got into the BAU we both agreed we wouldn’t let our personal lives interfere with a case. Now you’re letting our marriage get in the way of catching this unsub.”

“I am not making this personal,” Aaron insisted.

“Then why’d you say you wouldn’t let your wife do this?” I challenged. “Why didn’t you say my agent or team member?” Aaron was at a loss for words. He knew the ‘that’s not what I meant’ argument wouldn’t work on a profiler. “Look me in the eyes and honestly say you wouldn’t let JJ or Emily do this if they fit the unsub’s type.”

Aaron couldn’t lie to his wife. Truthfully he would be hesitant to allow this with any of his other agents but he wouldn’t forbid it the same way he did with his wife. “I can’t,” he admitted. “Fine you can go undercover but there will be cameras on you at all times, you’ll have a weapon, an agent or officer within ten feet of you, and your outfit won’t be too revealing,” he listed. I rolled my eyes at the final command but agreed nonetheless. Seeing my eye roll, Aaron switched to my lighthearted husband that I rarely saw at work. “What? I have to keep some things just for me.” I let out a laugh at that, heading back into our workspace as Aaron returned to the stoic BAU Chief.

“Agent L/N will be going undercover to be picked up by the unsub. Officers and agents will be stationed throughout the club keeping an eye out for Richardson and my agent. Agent L/N will also have a weapon on her in case of emergencies but there will be cameras on her at all times. When Agents Prentiss and Reid tell us to move over the comms we all move to apprehend the suspect. Is that clear?” Aaron command the room. He wasn’t going to allow any slip ups while his wife was the most vulnerable person in the room. “We’ll reconvene in an hour to give everyone their positions.” The officers all agreed, splitting off to get ready while the sheriff and the rest of your team began looking at the layout of the club.

“Y/N, do you have something you can wear that would attract the unsub’s attention?” Derek asked.

I thought for a second, considering what was usually in my go bag. “No it’s all t-shirts and business casual outfits.”

“There’s a mall just a mile up the road,” the sheriff offered.

“Reid, JJ, go with her to find something for tonight,” Hotch ordered.

“Why am I going shopping?” he protested.

“Because you have sense and will make sure whatever she wears isn’t too bad,” he explained, the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

So Spencer begrudgingly followed JJ and I to the Suburban, with me in the drivers seat. “Do you need something too?” I asked her.

“Probably, I don’t travel with a lot of mini skirts,” she joked.

“Can you believe Aaron actually said my outfit can’t be too revealing?” I asked with a scoff.

“Oh I believe it,” JJ laughed. “He sends death glares to every officer who looks at you a little too long.”

“He does not,” I dismissed.

“He does,” she insisted. “You seriously haven’t noticed?”

“No, have you Spence?” I asked, glancing at him through the rear view mirror.

“He does sometimes,” he agreed.

“Oh my god how did I never notice?” I wondered as I pulled into the mall parking lot.

~

After a few minutes I found a leather skirt and a bustier top. An outfit similar to the ones many of the girls were last seen wearing.

“What do you think?” I asked JJ, stepping out of the dressing room.

“You look great! Hotch is going to lose his mind when he sees you in this.”

“Yeah he definitely will. I’ll make it up to him,” I shrugged. Walking out into the public area I found Spencer in a seat, tapping away on his phone. “What do you think, Spence?”

He glanced up, his jaw dropping open. He had never seen me dress like this, usually I stuck to business casual or field gear. “Wow, you look…” he couldn’t even stutter out the words.

~

Later that night I was doing my makeup in my hotel room, having already gotten changed and done my hair. I heard the door unlock, alerting me to Aaron’s presence. “The cab is here,” he announced walking into the bathroom. Through the mirror I could see him freeze as he caught sight of me. “This is what you’re wearing?” he asked carefully. What he really wanted to say was that there was no way in hell he was ever letting another man lay his eyes on his wife like this.

“It’s similar to what most of the other girls were wearing,” I explained nonchalantly, standing to face him. His gaze immediately slipped down to my chest before settling on my face again. “I’ll make it worth your while tonight,” I promised, sliding my arms around the back of his neck.

Aaron pursed his lips, considering your prospect. “Fine,” he agreed. “C’mon, we need to get you and JJ in the cab.”

Once I got downstairs the team was waiting for me. Derek immediately wolf whistled. “Damn.”

“Wow, you’re really gonna let this happen, Hotch?” Rossi asked.

Aaron shrugged. “Nothing I can do about it now.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay in the field? We’re gonna have to let this get fairly far before we can give the order to grab him.”

“I’ll be okay,” he insisted. “I’m not letting her go into that club without me. We made vows to not let our personal lives interfere with our professional ones.”

~

JJ and I rode in the cab together acting like already tipsy friends. She almost immediately split off with one of the officers, leaving me at the bar alone. Everyone had a comm except for me, leaving me in the dark about where Richardson could be. The only protection I had as a tiny gun strapped to the inside of my thigh, just barely hidden by the skirt. It was the only place I could conceal it given the tight and revealing nature of my outfit.

It wasn’t long before the pastor slid into the seat next to me. “Can I top off your drink?” he asked, a southern accent detectable in his voice.

“Um sure,” I agreed shyly. “Thanks.”

“I’ve never seen you around here. And I’m sure I’d remember you,” he flirted, his hand already on my knee.

If I didn’t know what I knew about this man I’d honestly be charmed. He didn’t seem to hate women like we profiled but given his level of violence and dominance towards his victims I knew he was picturing all kinds of fucked up ways to torture me. “Oh I’m visiting a friend but she seems to have found a new friend for the night,” I nodded over to JJ who was still dancing with that officer.

“Well maybe I can be your new friend?” he suggested, his fingertips now grazing the hem of my skirt.

“I’d like that,” I smiled brightly, downing my drink before slipping off the stool, leading him to the dance floor.

We danced for a little while, letting him put his hands almost anywhere he wanted. I caught glimpses of my teammates but they were always gone in the blink of an eye and I was a little disappointed to not see Aaron. But nevertheless I let this guy grind on me for a few songs before he pulled me close to his body. “How about we go somewhere quieter? So we can get to know each other,” he suggested in my ear. I nodded eagerly, whirling around to take his hand.

He led me through a series of back doors and hallways. We went so far into the building I began to fear that the team would lose sight of me on the cameras.

Eventually we ended up in a back room. He held the door open for me, forcing me to enter first. “Finally, we can talk,” he said through a creepy smile, locking the door behind him.

My alarms were going off. I knew I was in serious danger now as I tried to back up a little. But he advanced quicker than I anticipated, dragging me onto the floor with him already straddling me. Surely this was enough evidence and my team would come to the rescue. “Get off of me,” I insisted, trying to push him away.

“Girls like you dressing like fucking sluts, just asking for it. You need a Man of God to show you how you should behave,” he said, pulling out duct tape which he began putting over my mouth. He began placing the tape on my arm when he froze. I was still struggling against his weight, all of my FBI training useless against this beast of a man as he put his full weight on me. He reached his hand underneath my skirt when his fingers met the metal of the gun. “What the hell is this?” he yelled angrily, ripping the gun out. He immediately pressed it to my temple. “What are you? A cop?”

“It’s just for protection!” I insisted. “Please I’ll do anything you want.” That was a genuine plea for my life. I had no clue if the team knew where I was or if they had even seen me leave.

“Take off your top,” he ordered angrily, pulling the gun away from my head but still pointing it at me.

“Okay, okay,” I agreed, my trembling hands immediately going to the fasteners of the top. Based on what we profiled this was a major deviation from his routine. But before the man got too frustrated by my genuine inability to undo the top I hear Derek’s scary voice.

“FBI!” he yelled before the door burst open. It all happened so fast Richardson didn’t even have time to react as the door swung open. Several agents and officers were immediately on top of him, pulling him off of me. The next thing I saw was my husband’s face. His rough palms were immediately holding my jaw asking me if I was okay, gently pulling off the duct tape.

“Y-yeah, I’m good,” I agreed, standing up on shaky legs with his help.

Reid and Prentiss ran in, Spencer already holding out his jacket for me. Hotch took it, wrapping it around my shoulders as he tucked my head under his arm as he led me outside. There were already news reporters eager to get a shot of the man that had been terrorizing the city but they became equally interested in “the lone survivor” being escorted under the FBI agent’s arm.

~

Back at the police station I had been given hot coffee and a blanket as Aaron sat beside me on the couch. “He didn’t… touch you, did he?”

“No, the furthest he got was reaching the gun,” I tried to shrug him off. I hated feeling like a victim. I’m an FBI agent who did the job I signed up for.

“He won’t talk,” Derek said, exiting the interrogation room. “We’re not going to be able to intimidate him.”

“Let me try,” I immediately suggested. “We profiled him as a narcissist. The fact that he didn’t get to hurt me will drive him insane. He won’t like that a woman has power over him either. Especially one dressed like this,” I said, gesturing to my outfit.

“No, absolutely not,” Aaron immediately disagreed. “Y/N you just went through a major trauma. He was a second away from raping you.” He was basically begging me to understand how afraid he was.

“He’s in cuffs, I’ll be fine. Aaron, this is the only chance we have if finding Phoebe Simpson alive.”

He sighed deeply. “Fine,” he relented. “But I’m in the room.”

“He won’t talk to me while you’re in the room, I have to be in there alone.” Aaron didn’t like it but he he knew I was right so he just nodded before following me towards the interrogation room.

As I entered the room I could immediately feel Richardson’s eyes rake down my body. “You know for a ‘Man of God’ you sure do have a habit of looking at girls like they’re pieces of meat.”

“It’s your job as a woman to fulfill me,” he shrugged, leaning back in his seat.

“Isn’t one of the Seven Deadly Sins lust, Pastor?”

“It’s not lust to look at what’s mine. God told me that you’re mine.”

“A little late for that,” I mocked, wiggling my ring finger to show off my wedding rings. “Married.”

“Your husband lets you dress like a slut for other men to see? This is why you needed me tonight to show you your place below men, satisfying men.”

“Well I know you’re unsatisfied. They’re already calling me the lone survivor,” I bragged, taking a seat finally. I crossed my arms under my chest, revealing even more cleavage.

Richardson’s eyes immediately went to my chest and stayed there. “What do you mean lone survivor? I haven’t done anything wrong. Except apparently showing you the consequences of your actions is against the law.”

“You know, we have profilers here. That’s how we caught you, they figured out that you kidnap, rape, and murder women to have control over them.”

“I do have control over them.”

“So you are the one that has been kidnapping and murdering these women.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are you just tried to do it to me.”

“No I’m not!” he yelled lunging across the table. I didn’t even flinch, knowing he was restrained, something I was proud of until I heard the door bang open.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Hotch storm up to Richardson, trying to intimidate him. “Hotch, it’s fine. He’s restrained,” I said, never taking my eyes off the unsub. He opened his mouth to protest but I cut him off. “Leave.” Closing his mouth again he complied, storming out of the room.

Outside every member of the BAU had their jaws dropped. Even if it was part of the plan they’d never talk to him the way Y/N just had. Hotch was fuming, not at his wife but at the man who was looking at her like a piece of meat.

“We already know you’re the one hurting these girls, tell us where Phoebe is and I’ll tell the prosecutor you were compliant.”

“What so my sentence gets reduced from five life sentences to four?” he spat.

Establishing my dominance wasn’t working anymore so I stood up. “Among other privileges in prison,” I coyly suggested, sitting on the table next to him. I was keenly aware of how high my skirt was riding right now.

Outside Hotch was screaming in his mind for his wife to not get within reach of the very dangerous man she was interrogating. The team nervously observed his angry expression.

“So tell us where Phoebe is and maybe I’ll make an appearance in your life again once or twice. I’d be so grateful.”

His hands were now straining against the cuffs to touch me but I was just out of reach. Unable to let the idea of sex with a woman he wanted to control go, he relented. “I brought all the girls to a friend’s farm.” With that I quickly hopped off the table, strutting out of the room. “Hey! What do I get?”

“Nothing, you get nothing,” I promised, exiting the room. “I’m coming with,” I said to the team already grabbing the bag of extra clothes and heading for a bathroom. I changed the fastest I ever had in my life and soon I was running out to the Suburban, my team and field gear already inside. Hopping in we took off as I strapped on my vest and boots.

“Never knew you were such a temptress,” Derek laughed.

“Men are so easy to manipulate when you take away what they want.”

We caught up with the rest of the SWAT team just as we pulled up to the farm. “We’ll take the house!” Aaron ordered and we followed him. Morgan kicked down the door and we were immediately confronted with the most putrid smell.

We went through clearing the rooms until I entered the bedroom. The smell became so strong I nearly gagged and I was horrified to see the already decomposing body of Phoebe Simpson. “We got a body in the bedroom,” I announced.

“Is is Simpson?” Rossi asked as he entered.

“Yeah,” I sighed dejectedly.

As Aaron came in he was horrified to see the state of the body. Aside from the decomposition she had been left in an abused state, cast aside like garbage. He became disgusted realizing that could’ve been Y/N. He knew she was safe, there was more law enforcement surrounding that nightclub than the White House but he still couldn’t help but think of the worst case scenario. He immediately reached for his wife, pulling her into his chest to assure himself she was there. Breathing in the scent of her hair as they exited the room.

Masterlist

Smutty follow up

[fallenangelics]

The Taste of Your Lips All Over Mine

PAIRING | Angel Dust/Husk

WORD COUNT | 2632

SUMMARY | Invited to the annual Overlord ball, Angel has big plans for the night. With his father and brother overlooking his every move as the family business is put in jeopardy, there isn't much room for mistakes. Good thing Angel's target for the night willingly walks straight into his trap.

RATING | Mature

WARNING/TAG(S) | Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings

A/N | @rubra-wav created the beautiful banner below so go check out their content since they have some amazing stuff.

EVENTS | @eclipsingbingo | First Kiss | Whispering Sweet Nothings | @fandombingo | Repeatedly Checking Their Pulse To Assure Yourself Their Still Alive | @multifandom-flash | Drugged Lipstick | How Many Fingers | Have I Mentioned I Am Sexually Active Today? | @fandom-free-bingo | Curiosity Killed The Cat | @character-a-character-b | Primal Encounters

AO3 LINK | Read Here

The dress that Angel wore hugged every curve of his body, keeping him snug within the black and pink fabrics. As he walked through the Overlord gathering he held himself with poise, playing the part he needed to for tonight. 

It wasn’t often that a gathering such as this was held. The monthly meetings were a bore of politics that Angel never bothered showing up for, sending his brother in his place so he could hear the conversation later on, but this was different. This was an event that only happened once a year, a gathering of everyone important with even the chance of one of the Deadly’s making an appearance.

Angel had a mission though, one he couldn’t afford to mess up while his father and brother were mingling in the crowd keeping Sinner’s occupied. Recently a chunk of their territory had been stolen, and with it vanished some of their profit all due to a certain Gambling Demon earning more confidence and attempting to reach further across the pentagram.

Though Angel hadn’t cared personally for the loss, his family had taken it as a personal attack, sending him to deal with the problem and what better place than the annual gala that he would attend? That’s why he was walking around the large hall looking out for the short demon while in the best dress he could find, hoping to catch his attention one way or another. 

It was a shame it was Angel who had to complete this mission since he would much rather spend the night getting drinks and mingling with some of the crowd but he couldn’t blame his family for being picked as he was the best choice for this job. No one could seduce an Overlord like he could, it was how he first started getting his family some recognition before they began climbing the ranks of Hell.

A quick and seamless job is all he could hope for but he wouldn’t mind if it got a little bit messy; That just came with the territory.

It wasn’t Angel who found the Overlord, instead, Arackniss came towards him, his pace slow as to now raise any alarm bells, simply making it look as if he had something to say to his brother that didn’t involve singling out an attending Overlord. Having to end his current conversation with one of the Vees who were trying to strike a fashion deal with him, Angel made room for his brother, waiting to hear the new intel.

“You’re boy is over by the bar,” Arackniss started, tossing the drink in his hand in a circle as he stared into it, subtly flaunting the liquor that Angel wasn’t currently allowed to drink. 

Though Angel knew better than to look over at the bar immediately, Angel couldn’t help but take a glance at who may be seated over there. Upon seeing the workers attending the event, he also caught sight of an overly red Overlord sitting beside his short but well-groomed target.

Beginning the short journey over to the bar while doing his best not to spark any unwanted conversation on the way over, Arackniss snorted from behind him, “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I’m not goin’ to,” Angel hissed over his shoulder, shooting his older brother a glare before he focused back in on his target. 

Making sure to rid himself of any prior annoyance, Angel sauntered his way over to the bar, situating himself on the other side of his small target before feigning as if he hadn’t noticed him, instead making a show of pondering what he might get from the drink menu provided.

The ditzy dress may have made him look clueless, or the fact that he was almost unrecognisable as an Overlord since he almost never attended meetings, but the golden eyes of his target turned to his, Alastor turning to shadows as the attention left him. Angel continued to ignore him, waiting for the Overlord to speak up before letting him fall into his trap.

“If you need help I can see if they’ll let me whip something up for you,” His gruff voice pierced through Angel’s ears, making him slowly turn his gaze towards him. Schooling a drink of his own that was almost empty, the Gambling Demon stared up at him, half a smirk lacing his features. “Of course, I’m sure anything on their menu will do.”

“I bet you’d be able to make me somethin’ perfect if you’re offerin’,” Angel took him up, taking a slow seat as he watched the Overlord shoot one of the workers a look, gaining approval which the Sinner would’ve been foolish to deny before he was rounding the counter and taking a look over the stock that the bar had. 

Using the time it took the Overlord to place a martini glass in front of him and begin throwing different alcohols in a mixer, Angel took in his appearance. He wore clean black dress pants paired with some slacks, a slightly lighter suit jacket lined with gold covering a simple white shirt, all of it being topped off with a golden bow. Angel couldn’t help but admire how his hair was slicked back or how the red of his wings almost glowed in the lighting.

“So, what brings a guy like you to one of these parties?” The Overlord questioned as he slid the drink over to Angel, not a drop of it spilling as he came to a stop. Bringing the drink to his lips and taking a slow test sip, making sure the glass or the liquid didn’t actually touch his lips, Angel felt the eyes of the Overlord on him as he swallowed. “I don’t think I’ve seen your face at one of these things before.”

“Oh, my brother invited me. He’s recently started workin’ for one of the Overlords and is apparently ranked high enough for the both of us to turn up here,” Attempting to act as if it were no big deal Angel flapped one of his free hands around, waving off the status he held to lower the Overlords guard. “But what about you mista? What’s a fancy little kitty like yourself doin’ up here?”

“I’m one of the Overlords that’s meant to be trying to bargain for more territory or some sort of deal,” He acted as if the title was a pain in his ass as if it was more hassle than it was worth as his eyes quickly skittered around the room, easily tracking the other Overlords that were doing just that. Pushing one of his hands forward, he offered it to Angel, waiting for him to take it before bringing it softly to his lips where he placed a delicate kiss on the back of his hand. “Where are my manners? I’m Husk, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Throughout the whole interaction, Husk kept his golden eyes locked with Angel’s two-toned ones, both an intimidating aura surrounding him that radiated power as well as a comforting glow that wanted to reach out to him. It was almost as intoxicating as the drink Husk had made for him. “Angel, it’s nice meetin’ you.”

“Hm, fitting,” Husk hummed, his smirk growing if that was possible. Remaining on the opposite side of the bar, Husk leaned forward, resting his forearms on the countertop as he stared up at Angel through lidded eyes. “Who did you say your brother worked for, again?”

“I didn’t,” Angel muses, finishing his drink before he sets it down and leans into one of his hands, resting his head there as he matches Husk’s expression. Doing what he did best, Angel propped his chest fluff up as his dress opened up, one of his fingers toying with the stem of his drink as his lashes fluttered. A quickly raised brow from the Overlord pulled a chuckle out of him, adding, “But he works for the Mafia Demon I think. I tend to tune him out when he rants about work.”

“Maybe you should start paying attention,” Husk spoke slowly, his deep voice gruff around the edges as the words were almost purred to him. Angel couldn’t help but wonder if there was an underlying meaning to Husk’s words. “You never know when he might say something important.”

“I’ll start payin’ attention when he starts talking about somethin’ interestin’,” Angel responded in a purr of his own, bringing a finger up to trace down the fur that lined Husk’s cheek. It wasn’t often an Overlord allowed him to get this close and personal, especially not when they knew who he was. “I ain’t got time to worry about which goon he chased after or whose debt he’s out collectin’. This however is quite interestin’ and seems worthy of my time.”

A huff of laughter snorted its way out of Husk, glee lining his golden eyes as Angel stared into them. He couldn’t help but work his charm; If the old sucker fell for it then that was on him. 

“Say, why don’t we get out of here?” Husk offered, one of the corners of his lips ticking up in a smirk. Staring up at Angel with hooded eyes, mischief poorly concealed behind them, Angel knew he had the Overlord right where he wanted him. The way Husk leaned forward before speaking as if sharing a secret, told Angel everything he had to know. “Away from prying eyes. Somewhere it can be just the two of us.”

“I think… that’s a brilliant idea,” Angel paused deliberately, taking a second to think over his next words as if this had all been a spontaneous encounter. Taking a look around the large hall that they were currently in, Angel’s eyes landed on his father's and Arackniss’s, both of them watching him and Husk’s every movement. It hardly did anything to light Angel’s nerves on fire, instead turning back to stare into the warm glow of the Overlord turned bartended in front of him. “Too bad I don’t know any places nearby. I wouldn’t want to keep a pretty thing like you waitin’.”

“I’m sure I can figure out something for the two of us,” Husk shrugged off Angel’s feigned worries, his posture remaining confident as he stared up at Angel from where he leaned. “I do after all own the building we’re hosting this in.”

That piece of information had been something Angel missed. He wasn’t certain if he wasn’t listening close enough when he was being debriefed on the mission or if it had been something his whole family had missed. Regardless, Angel hadn’t a clue he was standing on enemy territory until a few seconds, nothing having given away since the building was located on what could be considered neutral turf. “Why don’t you leade the way then, Handsome?”

As Angel spoke to him, a challenging glimmer sparked to life in Husk’s eyes. Chancing a glance over Angel’s shoulders for a few seconds, locking onto something before they flicked back to Angel’s. Leaning up for a kiss, pulling Angel down slightly so he could reach Husk’s elevated height from where he was leaning across the bar counter. Husk made a show of licking his lips, savouring the taste of Angel on them. All Angel could think about was how he had just taken a dose of the poison that laced his lips, the reason he had avoided anything touching his lips all night.

“Shall we?” Husk offered Angel his hand as he rounded the bar once more, standing as tall as his short frame would allow. Angel placed one of the hands from his top set of arms in Husk’s, slowly raising himself from the stool. With the additional height of his heels, Angel stood at almost double Husk’s height, towering over him. That however did little to deter Husk as the shorter Overlord began leading the way through the large hall, weaving their way to one of the many exits. 

As Angel trailed behind them, his eyes locked onto Arackniss’s, giving his brother a clear nod as they passed by one another even if Angel was sure he had witnessed Husk planting a kiss on his lips. The job was done. Whatever happened after this wasn’t up to Angel. 

Husk had led him to a hidden door that blended with the hall's walls. He easily pressed a concealed pressure plate as two doors slid open, revealing an elevator. Holding the door open for Angel, Husk allowed Angel to walk in first before he stepped in moments later, the door shutting behind him. As soon as Angel was sure the two of them were alone, his hands were immediately on Husk’s, trying to smear his lipstick from the Overlord’s lips.

“You idiot,” Angel hissed. Husk stood stock still as Angel fretted over him, wiping his thumbs over his lips and trying to eliminate any of the remaining pinkish colour. His efforts didn’t matter too much as Husk had already tasted the lipstick, making that clear right after they had kissed. “Why would you kiss me? You knew the lipstick was poisoned.”

“To make sure your family got off your back,” Husk’s hands fumbled for Angel’s, putting a stop to his frantic attempts to clean his lips. Husk didn’t take into account Angel’s other set of arms or even the third set that were kept hidden most of the time. A new pair of hands were instantly on Husk’s face, attempting to do the same thing that the first pair had failed to do. “We had to make sure they saw you give me the poison so they couldn’t blame you for me not dying.” 

“You didn’t have to go lickin’ your lips to rub it in their faces though,” Angel almost shouted, panic seeping into his words. Husk stared up at him with a small smile on his face despite it all, only pushing Angel further on edge as he turned frantic. “Now you’ve consumed it. Quick, how many fingers am I holdin’ up?”

“Stop with that bullshit,” Husk had to drag another one of Angel’s hands away as he attempted to check his pulse to make sure it was still beating smoothly. Rolling his eyes at the low squeak that erupted from Angel as he was dragged around, being pulled out of the elevator doors once they opened as sat on a plush bed after they walked through a long hallway. “I’m the one who gave you that drugged lipstick, don’t you think I’d make sure I’m immune to it first?”

“Oh,” Angel came to a slow end, sitting on the edge of one of Husk’s beds, his two sets of arms being held by Husk, a soothing thumb running over the back of both of them. Angel guesses he should have thought of that. Husk hadn’t become an Overlord off of pure luck, even if that was his trademark. Though, now that the worry had fled from Angel’s being, a firey annoyance filled it instead as he glared at Husk. “Why’d you scare me then? You could’ve said somethin’ sooner so I didn’t freak out.”

“I’m sorry Legs,” Husk murmured, finally releasing Angel’s hands so he could use one of his own to cup the spider’s chin. His hand alone almost dwarfed Angel’s face, just like most things in comparison did–other than his height, of course. “Didn’t think you’d work yourself up so much over it. But since we’re up here… we might as well put this room to good use.”

A large grin split across Angel’s face as he wound a hand up Husk’s suit, tangling the Gambling Overlord’s tie within his fingers before tugging him forward, bringing their faces within inches of one another. “I like the sound of that Whiskers.”

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Another Day in Paradise- Chapter 1

Pairing: Eventually Alastor x OFC, later- Alastor x ofc x Lucifer Rated: E for eventual smut Content warnings: It's Hazbin Hotel- this feels redundant. Sex, eventual smut, referenced implied suicide to be discussed in more detail later, drugs, drinking, poor coping, toxic behavior, controlling behavior, cannibalism, idk, it's fucking Hazbin Hotel, if it's worth a content warning it's probably going to come up at some point?

AN: Coping with mental heal spirals with new fandom crack? Fuck yes we are. Did I think I was over simping for cartoons at 33? Also fuck yes, but here we are. Idk how long this will be but hey, it'll get finished eventually if there's interest in it. I'm playing some with the timeline, starting off prior to season 1 and we're running through it.

Chapter 2

Summery: Amber hated her life but she smiled and took what it gave her. She had tried to be a good Christian wife. She tried to give the to God everything he was due. She tried to be devoted enough. She tried to survive the cult she was raised in. She tried until the day she couldn't try anymore and then, she had hoped to never have to try again.

Instead of an eternal sleep as her punishment for not trying hard enough, she woke in the very place she had been taught was a lie fed by false Christians- Hell. With her body changed, her resilience gone and no way to get her feet under her in her new afterlife, she pulled herself up the hill to the newly renamed Hazbin Hotel, tail between her legs and without anything to offer in exchange for mercy and charity.

Could the safety of the hotel provide her what she needs to finally blossom? And what, if anything, could she blossom into? And why is Alastor interested? And what role could she fill for the King of Hell himself?

~~~~~~~~~~<3~~~~~~~~~~<3

Amber opened her eyes, which was something she shouldn’t be able to do. It was supposed to be over. Everything was supposed to be over. It was supposed to have ended. So why was she still alive? 

Sounds flooded her ears as she regained her faculties. That was another thing she was never supposed to do again. Yelling, screaming, explosions, engines and the simple sounds of city life which made no sense. She didn’t live in a city, she lived in bum fuck rural ass no where and more pressingly, she was dead. Or she should have been. 

That was something she had personal seen to, for fucks sake. 

“Good, you’re awake.” A voice that was soft as velvet spoke from a distance. The voice sounded like bells, musicale. 

“Where am I?” She pushed herself up against the wall. 

The room she was in looked to be abandoned, a thick layer of dust covered the ground and trash had gathered in the corners. There was an open exterior door, giving way to what looked like a busy street and the source of the trash. Next to her was a golden office door that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. Another wall housed a closing elevator door. 

It was from the elevator that the voice seemed to come. 

“For your sins, you’ve been sentenced to an afterlife in hell. Sorry, that sucks.” 

“What?” 

~~~~~<3

That was how her first day in hell went. She had woken up, dumped on a dirty old office floor with a tank top and cargo pants that didn’t belong to her. She didn’t even have shoes on her feet. 

It took less than a month for her to end up exhausted in front of the hotel that promised to rehabilitate sinners. Amber didn’t know if she wanted to ascend to heaven but she did know she wasn’t going to survive on the streets of Pentagram City for much longer. 

She was weak. she was tired. Her body was starved. In her short time in hell she had learned that she like many of her fellow residents, didn’t have fuck all for powers and no way to defend herself. Unlike many of the others however, she struggled to find the fight to gain a foothold. 

After spending a lifetime being told to be smaller, meeker, and weaker, she simply had no bite to her. No one wanted to hire a girl who was too timid to keep their shop from being robbed. No one would rent a flat to a girl who couldn’t manage the income to afford food, let alone the rent. 

Sleeping on the streets, on benches and in whatever alley she could find provided little rest. More often than not she’d wake with a start, hands on her. When she was lucky, they’d just take what little things she had managed to acquire. Other things it was her body itself they wanted. 

Those that bothered her were so much like her though, weak. Powerless. Timid. Easy to frighten. She easy target for them when she was asleep but as soon as she woke, like cockroaches they would scatter. It was better to not sleep.

Refocusing on the present, she took a deep breath and tried to gather the courage she needed. Her heart was in her throat as she stood at the door. 

In life, you didn’t knock on hotel doors and wait to be let in. It was weird. This was weird. She had almost convinced herself to walk back down the hill when the door opened. 

“Hello~” The tall woman swept the door open with such cheer and energy, attention focusing on Amber in a instant. “Are you here for a chance at redemption?” 

“I don’t know.” Amber answered reflexively, honestly. She had heard tell of how kind the Princess of Hell was but being faced with the first ounce of kindness in her afterlife left her speechless and feeling the urge to run just as much as she would have if faced with aggression. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.”

The Princess watched her as she turns to leave and though Amber couldn’t explain it, it was like a switch flipped in the tall woman. The kindness and warmth remained but it subdued as she took in Amber’s appearance. 

The Princess’s eyes took stock of the girl in front of her. She was wearing much the same clothes she would have arrived in hell in, if not the very same- it was near standard issue. The girl outside the hotel looked simply rough, hair dirty and tangled. 

“Are you alright?” Amber flinched as the Princess reached out, snagging her fingers. Amber jerked away from the contact on reflex, sure she was going to be hurt. 

“I don’t- I’m not- redemption isn’t for me.” She settled as she backed away a few more steps.”

“You’re new, aren’t you?” Stepping outside of the hotel, the Princess allowed the door to close behind her before she continued. Amber didn’t know it at the time but she was seeing something few had gotten the chance to see- Princess Charlotte caring for one of her people, not Charlie the over energetic dreamer. 

“I’m Charlie. It looks like you’ve had a rough start to your life here. I’m sorry for that. Mom used to have staff that greeted new sinners, helped them find their feet but Dad- He’s fallen away from that. It makes for a rough landing, I bet. Why don’t you come in?” 

~~~~~<3

The princess of hell was in possession of a bleeding heart that made her eager to collect the stray fox regardless of her weak protests at the door.

The reality was, Amber didn’t have the strength to offer much protest at all, though she did try. Trusting in theory was a lot less scary than trusting in reality, she discovered as the Princess dragged her inside the hotel. There were eyes on her as she walked, head down and shoulders slumped but Amber didn’t dare face them. Bitter tears stung at her eyes.

Charlie led her through the halls and to a room to call her own. It was a modest room, though mainly at Amber’s insistence. She had no money to pay for her stay, no hope for redemption and nothing to offer. She wouldn’t take a nice room that they could give to someone better deserving.

“Stay as long as you want. All I ask in return is that you help or participate, even if you don’t think anything will come of it.” Charlie said, as she stood just inside the room. 

“Why?” Amber hated that her eyes stung with emotion she didn’t want to name. “Why are you letting me stay?”

“Because you came for help and this place; it’s about helping people. Clean up, take some time for yourself and when you’re ready, come down. We have dinner at six, if you want you’re welcome to join. You’re safe here.” 

~~~~~<3

Amber didn’t have anything to store in her room. It wasn’t like she could unpack to kill time. She’d have to make do with what she had been ever so generously provided, and she would, without complaint. 

The bed called to her. She was so tired. The call of the shower, of being clean was stronger though. She wouldn’t dirty the bed with the mess that was her clothes, hair and body. 

Dragging herself to the bathroom, she stripped and started washing out her clothes in the bathtub. Dirt, blood and god knows what else dislodged from the fabric while she did the best she could to clean it. It was disgusting.

It was humiliating but she reminded herself that this wasn’t the first time she had washed her laundry in a bathtub. It wasn’t as uncommon as it should have been in her living life. It wasn’t like she had another option, anyway. She didn’t have any other clothes.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a knock at her room door. “Hold on!” Amber called, searching for something to cover herself with. 

“It’s me again.” Charlie’s voice came through the door, “Can I come in?” 

Amber wrapped a towel around her and left the soaked clothes in the bottom of the tub where they made a dirty puddle of water as she made her way to the door. Opening it, she peeked out at the tall woman. 

“I brought you a change of clothes.” She said, passing the bundle to Amber. “They’re some of my girlfriend’s old stuff, she doesn’t really wear them anymore and she’s shorter than me so they’ll fit you better than anything I have. I hope that’s okay?” 

“Why?” Amber could feel the way her ears sagged, nearly flat against the crown of her head. 

“It’s okay.” Charlie smiled down at the little fox demon, so beaten down by the world she was sentenced into. How could someone so meek and timid manage enough sin to end up down here? “I want to help you.”

Amber nodded, shoulders sagging as she tried to will the burning from her eyes. 

“What’s your name?” Charlie asked as she rested her hand on a bare shoulder, softly rubbing while she watched the girl try to hold herself together. 

“Amber.” Her voice was hardly more than a whimper.

“Do you want a hug, Amber?” 

Amber nodded weakly and stepped into the Princess of Hell’s embrace. Charlie’s arms wrapped around her and held her tight. Amber nuzzled her head under Charlie’s chin as the tall woman stroked her hand down the waves of red hair. 

At first, Amber didn’t realize she was crying. She hadn’t had a chance to grieve until now, the life she had lived and all that she had lost. When death encroached on her, she had thought it was over and she could rest. 

Sobs ripped through her chest as she clung to Charlie’s jacket, trusting the towel to stay in place where it was tucked into itself. Amber grieved for the life she had lived and the sins she had committed. She cried for the bodies she saw ripped apart in the streets over the last few weeks. Her shoulders shook with the power of her grief until the tears finally tapered off, soothed away by the soft weight of the Princess’ hand running down the length of her hair. 

“Go get yourself a hot shower, okay? Throw out those ‘welcome to hell’ issued spawn clothes. I don’t know how long you’ve been here but you can start your life over. You can have happy days in hell.” Charlie spoke softly, glancing down the hall and locking eyes with her worried girlfriend before returning her attention to the small girl in her arms. Amber hadn’t realized she never let the woman in, instead stepping out in just a towel. 

“Okay.” Amber sniffled before forcing a smile that felt as weak as it was forced. “I’m sorry for crying on you. So much for everyone being tough in hell.” 

“It’s okay. It’s hell, not everyone’s big bad and tough but everyone is broken.” Charlie smiled down at her and couldn’t resist resting her hand on Amber’s head, fingers stretching between the soft ears. 

~~~~~<3

Soaked clothes were left to drain in the sink while Amber sat in the tub under the burning spray of hot water. Pain, lovely sweet pain she could control filled her senses as she continued to grieve. She had thought she had run out of tears in the Princess’ arms but she had found a new well to tap when the hot water hit her skin. 

Eventually, the tears stopped and she pulled herself off the floor. Mechanically she used the complementary soaps to wash her body. Washing her hair was a struggle, she accidentally sent water and suds into her ears more than once. It wasn’t a great experience but it did manage to shake her out of her sadness and replace it with indignant annoyance. 

“How the fuck do I do this?!” Amber grumbled to herself, pinching an ear between her fingers and pulling it painfully down, trying to block the water from entering the stupid tall ear while trying to rinse suds from the fur and hair around it. 

It took a her a moment to decide what was the proper thing to wash a tail with, a debate that felt surreal. Did you wash a fur covered body part with shampoo or a body wash bar? Dogs were washed with shampoos, she decided, so that was what she would use but God above, she’s never felt so uncertain on how to clean her body in her life. 

It felt weird to her still, to touch her tail. The changes her body had undergone upon her death were strange but easy enough to forget about as long as she didn’t touch them or look at them too long. She could pretend her nails were just freshly manicured for Halloween into claws. While running, hiding and scavenging, it was easy to not see herself and forget about the new form of her body. 

This was the first time she had a chance to come to terms with the changes. It was also the first the she had no choice but to acknowledge them. Still, it was weird. 

In a way, she was thankful all in all. She’d seen imps that look more like monsters and people that looked like massive bugs. She’d seen ogres and people that looked more beast than man. There were people with more than two arms or legs, only one eye or far more than two eyes. Things walked the streets covered in scales and fur and yet she looked oh so similar to what she had in life. 

Why was that? Why did she seem to look so human? Amber wasn’t sure there was a rhyme or reason to anything in hell. 

She squeezed the water out of her tail after wringing out her hair. This was the most she had handled her tail since realizing it existed. Thick dark red fur ran down the length until it gave way to white at the tip. The fucking thing could hold a lot of water in all that fur, that was for sure. When it was wet, it was heavy and uncomfortable.

Wrapping herself in a towel and stepping out of the tub, she prepared to properly face her reflection for the first time. Glimpses in mirrors, glass and puddles had been the most she had braved looking until now. 

There wasn’t a reason to put herself through that stress while trying to survive in a world of monsters. She’d seen people stabbed to death and some man with a dog’s head step over the still warm body as if it was nothing. 

Now she was safe. Or at least, Charlie said she was and it seemed like she could be trusted. What a world Amber had woken up in, where she drags herself to the devil’s daughter’s hotel for charity. And gets it! 

A giggle at the thought threatened to spill from her throat. It was misplaced, a reaction to stress and anxiety. Wiping off the steam from the mirror as the giggle died down, she took a deep breath and faced herself. 

In life, her skin had been olive and kissed by the sun. Now she looked washed out, pale as a corpse. That was a common skin tone, she had noticed in the last few weeks. Everyone looked pale as the dead if their skin wasn’t covered in fur, even those with darker skin tones were washed out and ashen.

Curly brown hair had been replaced by bright red waves. The eyes that looked back at her should have been rich chocolate brown and instead they were inhumanly green. That wasn’t the only inhuman feature about her. Her face was more angular and her teeth sharp points in her mouth. 

On top of her head sat tall red ears, tipped with black. She watched as they twitched, seeming to communicate her curiosity. It reminded her of how the husky she had as a child would express himself with his ears, always flicking and flattening to tell his mood. It wasn’t something she was very good at controlling but she found she could intentionally move them. 

It was weird. Lifting the hair at the side of her head, she looked at where her ears should have been. It wasn’t just that the ears were missing, the hairline was shifted, going to her neck in a smooth curve rather than dipping back around where the ear would have been. 

Weird. This was so fucking weird. 

She was just thankful looking at herself in the mirror didn’t add much to her trauma or make herself vomit. It was more of a curiosity than anything. The woman looking back at her was so much like herself and yet in every way, wrong. 

She had no bra but thankfully her new body didn’t come equipped with a particularly sizable bust. She would have liked the support and security of a bra for the normalcy the feeling would have provided but beggars and all that shit. The shirt was long and thin, a pretty basic tee shirt that was almost a dress, reaching to her upper thighs.

That was good because Amber didn’t know if these clothes were to keep or to be returned. She tried stuffing her tail in the pants but decided quickly that it didn’t work. There wasn’t a way to fold it up so the pants could rest where they should have. 

It was painful to try. 

The pants were very much like leggings and she rolled the top down so it rest low on her hips. 

“Welcome back to the 2000s,” Amber mumbled to herself as she looked at how dangerously low the pants sat. This allowed the pants to sit so that her tail could hang out overtop. 

It wasn’t comfortable but if she stuck her tail out a good bit but it worked.