Our Little Secret - RadioDust Fic
Graphic Depictions Of Violence and Abuse + Mentions of Abuse and SA
DISCLAIMER: HUSKERDUST IS MENTIONED IN THIS CHAPTER AND ONGOINGLY FOR A BIT.
Tags: Tags (For the fic as a whole): #Developing Relationship #Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) #Sex-Neutral Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) #canon-typical abuseBetween Angel and Val #Implied/Referenced Self-Harm #Trauma #Fluff #References to Drugs #Abusive Valentino (Hazbin Hotel) #BDSM #Masturbation #Dirty Talk #Dominant/submissive relationship #Spanking #Sex-Toys #Choking #mention of puke #Angel is a loser #rape is not expicity written (Of course not) #Loser Angel (Kinda) #Alastor is somewhat caring #Slow burn #Radio Sex #;) #He doesnt know who he likes..Alastor or Husk. #This is a radiodust story with huskerdust moments #Huskerdust is tagged for a reason #Don’t get on my nerves, don't be annoying.
Note: All the tags are for the fic in total. Not just this page.
Alastor didn’t care for the carnal relations; instead, he indulged in the carnal delicacies of the world, whether they were grotesque or welcomed by others, and he was indifferent to either. He had no drive to speak of, whereas in life, his peers indulged in the pleasantries ravenously like dogs. He hated dogs. He watched as the trees of his family and friends grew fruitful, while he stayed barren and dull as the branches of his tree frayed.
Though Alastor found little appeal in the physical intimacy, he was not devoid of longing for connection. The warmth of companionship and the sweet cradle of affinity beckoned to him like a distant melody of a mother. It frightened and fascinated him all at once. Each romantic entanglement he formed became a complex dance of do's and don’ts that offered the thrill of pursuit and the reverence of shared moments. Love gave him the same feeling he would derive from hunting and killing, relishing the chase and the balance of emotions that unfolded much like flesh.
Yet, even in these sudden connections, he sensed a hollow echo in his chest. It stirred within him an exhilaration that was both joyous and disconcerting, leaving him questioning if his feelings were authentic love or the hunger of man. While others experienced love as a force that consumed their subconscious, Al felt it as a series of tempting glimpses that ran amok in his mind. He couldn't shake the feeling that something vital was missing in his life, a yearning that lingered just beyond his grasp, leaving him to navigate the complexities of emotional connection with a heart that remained, at times, achingly distant.
He wasn't used to the overwhelming feeling of interest that didn't end with the heat beneath the skin or the beating of a heart growing cold and still, but that night, while listening to Angel writhe in pleasure through the radio, calling out Alastor's name, his interest grew not only for Angel but also for the reaction that Angel evoked within him. Through the neediness of the spider, Al began to unravel the layers of his own desires, revealing a landscape he had long thought barren.
The sensations of that night coursed through his veins and were unfamiliar yet exhilarating all at once, awakening a once-thought-dormant part of his mind. It was as if the connection he had was a web spun by Angel, trapping him inside, binding them through shared vulnerability and raw emotion. The realization that he was not lacking in passion struck him with clarity, reshaping his understanding of intimacy and connection and creating his own definition of what that looked like.
After that night, he found himself reflecting on his complex feelings from that night. He didn’t think Angel would feel that was about him. He didn't think he could feel that way. With each memory of Angel’s pleasure echoing in his mind like ringing bells, he came to realize that his emotional landscape was not as barren as he had once believed it was and as others had told him. Instead, it was rich with potential, ready to be explored and devoured.
Though for his person of interest, Angel, feelings had all evermore become more confusing. He sat on his bed, scrolling through his text messages, all while Valentino sent him presumptuous messages by the second, berating him for calling in "sick." He looked like a mess. His makeup was smudged, his eyes were a bit red after a long night working, and he was extremely irritated. Angel kept thinking about this "relationship" he had with Alastor and the conversation with Cherri, and that night, he tried to "figure out his feelings” for Alastor. Cherri keeps telling him to take time for himself and figure out his noggin. Everything doesn't have to be rushed.
Angel tossed his phone onto the bed, the screen still lighting up with notifications, but he refused to look at them any longer. The phone was blowing up with Valentino's messages. Each pressed heavily on his chest, each one a reminder of the tangled web he found himself caught in. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the tension that had settled in his mind, but the confusion spun around in his mind like a storm. The thought of Alastor sent a pang of longing and wanting through him, but it was quickly overshadowed by the frustration of his current situation of picking and choosing as well as dealing with Val’s bullshit. How had things spiralled so far out of control?
As he sat in the dim pink lighting of his room, Angie felt an overwhelming sense of urgency to reclaim his peace of mind. He needed clarity, not just about Alastor, but about himself and what he truly wanted from this chaotic mess of relationships. The idea of "figuring out his feelings" felt unnerving. He lies back into his pink, fluffy pillows and closes his eyes, snickering at the persistent oinks from Fat Nuggets, who is telling him to get up and stop being lazy.
Angel chuckled softly, shaking his head as he felt the soft, playful nudges of Fat Nuggets against his leg. "Yeah, yeah… I hear you, baby," he mumbled, half-heartedly swatting at the little pig. He knew that while it was important to reflect and prioritize his own well-being, it was just as important to embrace the quirky moments that life offered, even if they came in the form of a demanding pet like Fat Nuggets.
With a resigned sigh, Angie finally sat up, letting the warmth of the sun filter through the curtains and illuminate the mess of his room. It felt like a gentle nudge from the universe, reminding him that it was okay to find joy amidst the chaos. He glanced at Fat Nuggets, whose beady eyes sparkled with mischief, and a smile crept onto his face. Perhaps today, he could strike a balance, taking a moment to indulge in self-care while also allowing himself the lightheartedness that came from the little things, like a persistent pig begging for attention.
"How about a makeover, huh? And some food, maybe a drink. That makes me feel better sometimes. Sounds good, Nuggs?
The pig snorts and nuzzles against the spider's hand, oinking as Angel's nails scratch his favorite spot.
Angel scooped Fat Nuggets up into his lower set of arms, burying his face for a second in the pig’s soft, pink skin. "You always know how to talk me into things," he cooed, his voice dropping its heavy edge. He stood up, the towering height of his spider frame casting a long shadow across the messy floor. The pink neon sign on his wall buzzed faintly, a constant background track to his spiraling thoughts.
He walked over to his vanity, setting Nuggets down safely on the plush stool. The mirror was framed in Hollywood bulb lights, catching the dust dancing in the morning sun. Angel stared at his reflection. His fur was ruffled, the dark bags under his eyes prominent, and his mind was still a tangled web of Alastor’s sharp, terrifying smiles and his own exhausting defenses.
"Step one: damage control," Angel muttered, grabbing a comb and a bottle of high-end fur conditioner.
He began to brush out his fluff with practiced, rhythmic strokes. Fat Nuggets sat on his haunches, watching intensely as Angel started applying a layer of dramatic, smoky eyeshadow. It was a mask, sure, but it was a mask that made him feel powerful. With every swipe of eyeliner, he felt a little bit more like the Angel Dust who could handle Hell, and a little less like the vulnerable guy drowning in a sea of confusing emotions.
"Look at that, Nuggs," Angel purred, leaning close to the glass to apply a coat of deep, glittery lip gloss. "Flawless. Alastor wouldn't even know what hit him. Not that he looks at me like that anyway. Or at all. Ugh, see? Still thinking about him."
He tossed the lip gloss back onto the cluttered vanity table with a sharp click. Fat Nuggets let out a soft, sympathetic whine, tapping a hoof against Angel's lower hand.
Angel sleepily maneuvers over to his closet and opens the doors to see the inside littered with clothes that look like a pink bomb blew up in the midst of his room without him knowing. He goes through his hamper and tries to find something comfy to wear. "Jeez, this is all my clubbing shit. I need to laundry. My room's mess, ugh."
As Angel continues scavenging, Fat Nuggets hears footsteps outside the door, and the faint voice of Cherri Bomb comes from the hallway. “He’s been cooped up in here for the last couple hours. I’m just checking on him. Charlie, get off my ass. " She twists the knob to the right and opens the door to a pink disaster. "Jesus, Ange, what the hell happened?"
“Everything,” Angel answers and slips on a pink tracksuit he found through his mountain of clothes. “Val has been blowing up my phone for the last...dunno? Hour? I silenced all his messages, so he's hella pissed, but I can't bring myself to care. Angel sluggishly walks over to his bed and flops down onto his bed and scrolls on Voxgram as Cherri walks over to him.
“Hey, come on, Angie.” The cyclops hugs the spider from behind and kisses his cheek. "Let's go hang out with the gang downstairs and give yourself a well-needed break. Forget about Val and your job, and just relax with us. Does that sound like an okay day?” A moment passes, and Angel sniffles. “I guess I could hang with you losers.”
“That’s my Angie!” Cherri chuckles and pulls Angel off the bed and into the hallway. Let’s get out of this depressive room. I’ll ask Nifty to clean it.” She picks fat nuggets up and shuts the door, pulling Angel over to the elevator. The elevator opens with a ding, and he sees the girls, Charlie and Vaggie, sitting at the bar as Husk pours shots.
The elevator’s chime echoed through the lobby as Charlie looked up from her clipboard. Her eyes widened, instantly shifting from corporate focus to intense worry the moment she processed Angel’s smudged makeup and the slumped posture of his pink tracksuit.
"Oh, Angel!" Charlie gasped, nearly tripping over her own feet as she rushed around the counter. "Cherri told us you were feeling under the weather—"
"Charlie, babe, relax," Vaggie sighed, though her eyes softened as she walked over and gently placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. She looked at Angel with genuine sympathy. "Honestly, are you okay?”
Angel puts on his mask and replies, “I’m fine, just Val up my ass. I’ve been missing shoots, and y’know he hates that—”
"He's fine, he just needs to drown his noggin in something that isn't Valentino's ego," Cherri said, taking a shot and slamming the glass back onto the wood. She scooped Fat Nuggets off the bar before Husk could swat at him, cradling the pig. "Give the man a drink, Husky."
Husk sighs, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “What did I say about the pig on my bar?”
Cherri rolls her eyes and pops a shot. “Aw, lay off, would you? It’s just for the day. Plus, Angie’s having one of those days. Just do it for him.”
Husk pours Cherri a drink as a way of saying fine. Charlie looks at Angel and notices he's unusually quiet, so she rubs his back. “You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”
Cherri slaps his shoulder, startling Angel a bit. “I could always blow him up if you want me to. My offer still stands.” Angel snickers, leaning his head on Cherri’s shoulder as Fat Nuggets lies on the bar again, getting scratches from Vaggie and Charlie.
Charlie rubs her shoulder, looking at him with her bright eyes. ”We just want you to be safe and relaxed. This is a safe space.
Husk plops a Pink Lady in front of Angel, with strawberries on the side. “Take this time to clear your head and relax. Too much stress and you’re going to collapse, Legs.” He pats Angel’s hand and chuckles as Nuggs gets into the nuts. “This is why he can't be at the bar.”
Vaggie sips her drink and rolls her eyes before scratching behind Nugg’s ear. “It’s not like anyone eats them.” The four demons laugh, and Angel finally feels like he’s relaxing. The same way he feels when he’s with him.
The four spent most of the afternoon joking, drinking, and talking, which eased Angel's nervousness, and the messages from Val, unbeknownst to Angel, continued to build up. Angel can handle his alcohol till he can't. He goes through two Pink Ladies, and he plays a drinking game with the girls and Husk, much to the non-surprise of Charlie, who was out for the count first, whereas Vaggie left to take her princess upstairs and put her to bed. Cherri was out for the count, which left Angel and Husk. To say they were tipsy is an understatement.
Angel could barely remember what the others were talking about. Angel opens his eyes and finds himself in an unfamiliar room. He blinks as he tries to refresh his eyes. Angel lifts his arm up and feels something soft and feathery. He looks up and sees red feathers.
“What the…” Angel sits up to see the bartender lying right next to him in a bed covered in his feathers and the floor scattered with clothes. The spider chuckles, “This is a dream. I’m going to wake up in the next five minutes, and I’ll be in my room.” Angel closes his eyes and opens them after waiting for a bit. Same room, same booze smell, same cat.
"Fucking hell." Angel carefully manoeuvres out of the bed so as to not wake Husk. Shit, shit, shit, shit. That word kept playing around in Angel’s head over and over again as he tiptoed out of the room with his clothes and boots in hand. He closes the door with the softest click he could muster and makes a break for his room in a fully naked frenzy.
Angel darted down the hallway, the cool air of the Hazbin Hotel biting at his bare skin as he practically flew towards the elevator. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, a chaotic mix of residual alcohol and pure panic spiking his adrenaline. He squeezed into the elevator, frantically slapping the button for his floor and holding his breath until the doors slid shut.
“What the actual hell did I do?” He leaned his forehead against the cool metal wall, clutching his pink tracksuit and thigh-high boots to his chest like a shield. His mind scrambled to piece together the blurry fragments of the previous night. He remembered the Pink Ladies. He remembered the drinking game. He remembered Cherri passing out face-first on the table. But the transition from the bar to Husk’s room was a total blackout. The elevator doors opened with a soft chime. Angel sprinted down the corridor, slipped into his room, and slammed the door behind him, locking it with a breathless click.
"Oink?" Fat Nuggets looked up from the pile of discarded clothes by the closet, blinking sleepily at his naked owner.
"Don't look at me, Nuggs," Angel groaned, dropping his clothes into a messy heap and immediately pulling a fresh oversized shirt over his head. He collapsed onto his bed, burying his face in the fluffy pink pillows. His head was pounding with a vicious hangover, but his mind refused to let him rest.
Wanting a distraction from his own spiraling thoughts, Angel grabbed his phone off the mattress. The screen immediately lit up, blinding him in the dim pink light.
(Missed Calls (47) — Val)
(Voxgram (112) — Valentino)
“Shit– Fucking shit.” Angel groans into his pillow. "I really fucked up this time, Nuggs," Angel whispered, his voice cracking. "I fucked up real bad."
The notifications keep growing larger as the messeges grow more horid.
[VAL]: Answer me. Answer me. Answer me. Answer me. Answer me. Answer me.
[VAL]: I am going to tear those extra arms right out of their sockets, you worthless, ungrateful piece of trash. I’m going to make sure you never walk right again.
[VAL]: YOU FUCKING BITCH.
[VAL]: IT'S BEEN A WHOLE 24 HOURS ANGEL
[VAL]: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!?
Angel frantically looks at all the messages and feels the pit in his stomach start to rise.
Angel’s mind tries to force its way through the alcohol-induced fog to piece the night together. He and Husk had been drinking. They had been talking. Husk was always the one guy who actually listened to him without wanting anything in return. So how did they end up in the same bed? Did they... did they actually do something? Or did they just pass out together after a few too many drinks? Fuck what happened.
As Angel groans against the pillows and Fat Nuggets oinks at a shadow in the dark part of the room. Angel covers his ears with the pillows as the oinks keep constantly coming. “Nuggs, Shaddup…please.”
The persistent oinking didn't stop, growing sharper and more frantic until the little pig let out a frightened squeal and scrambled onto the bed, burying his snout directly under Angel’s arm.
Angel groaned, dragging a pillow off his head. "Nuggs, what is your deal—"
He froze. The air in the room had suddenly turned freezing cold, dropping so fast his breath formed a faint mist in the neon pink light. The ambient hum of the hotel's old pipes was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, rhythmic thrumming sound like a massive, beating heart. The shadows in the corner of his room weren't just dark; they were twisting, stretching up the wall like black oil.
From the center of that darkness, two glowing crimson eyes snapped open.
"My, my. Quite the chaotic morning we're having, aren't we? You smell like Husk.”
Alastor stepped out of the shadows, his signature wide grin gleaming in the dim light. He looked immaculate, completely untouched by the early hour, leaning casually on his microphone cane. He tilted his head, his radio-static voice crackling smoothly through the air as his eyes swept over Angel's disheveled state. “Admiring your rather gaudy room," Alastor purred, tapping his cane against the floor. "Might I add, try less pink. No? Yes?”
Angel rolled his eyes, crossing his top arms defensively while his lower hands clutched the blanket higher. "What the hell are ya doin' 'ere, Al? And how did ya even get in?"
Alastor let out a dark, melodic chuckle at Angel’s annoyance. He took a slow, deliberate step closer, his shadow stretching unnaturally across the pink ceiling. “You had a rather nice performance the other day," Alastor said smoothly, the radio dial in his voice dropping to a conspiratorial pitch. "Maybe just lower the volume just a tad.”
His face burned a furious shade of crimson beneath his smudged makeup. He paused in sheer embarrassment. “What? You heard that?”
“Your radio was on, Angel," Alastor replied, entirely unfazed, his grin stretching a fraction wider. "Honestly, it wouldn't have mattered. I didn't think you would've cared.”
"You're a perv, ya know that?" Angel snapped, his voice cracking as he tried to mask his sheer panic with aggression.
"I am observant, darling," Alastor countered smoothly, twirling his cane. "There is a vast difference."
Alastor's eyes locked onto the glowing phone screen on the mattress, where a fresh notification from Valentino lit up the room. The Radio Demon's smile turned sharp, his yellow teeth bared like a predator watching its prey tire out. He could smell the suffocating mix of terror and desperation rolling off the spider. It was a delicious, complex landscape, much like a hunt.
"You seem uniquely burdened by the outside world today," Alastor continued, stepping right up to the edge of the bed. "What if I offered you a…guarantee of peace? Hm?"
Angel squinted, “What's in it for me? Scratch that, what's in it for you? You're cheesing like there's no tomorrow over there.”
Alastor’s laugh cracked through the radio frequencies, a sharp, delighted sound that shook the dust from the ceiling. “So eager, aren't you?”
Without waiting for Alastor to explain his hunger for the chase or the thrill of the emotional game, Angel let out a tight, desperate breath. “Deal,” Angel muttered.
Alastor let out a low, pleased chuckle. He leans his microphone cane against the nightstand and sank onto the mattress right beside Angel, his dark red coat spreading across the fluffy pink pillows. Before Angel could utter a word, Alastor reached out with a gloved hand, gripping Angel’s chin firmly to tilt his face up. He leaned in and pulled Angel down into a sharp, sudden kiss. Angel slowly relaxes into the kiss as Al strokes his cheek.
“Ya never– I’m usually the one initiatin’ the kisses. y’know..” Angel slowly relaxes into Al’s touch and leans into his chest, smelling the cedar on his skin.
“I wanted to give it a try.” Al’s finger keeps rubbing circles on his cheek.
“Whatever you want, Mon Ange.”
