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Can I request and Alastor x reader where she was his wife when they were alive but she ends up in heaven while in her early 20’s due to being murdered on her way home from his radio station one night. She never knew about Alastor’s crimes but she finds out about the extermination at the meeting Charlie has with heaven and sneaks down during the next extermination not knowing if Alastor is still alive or not? Maybe some magic like reader singing No Good Deed from Wicked trying to prevent Alastor from being harmed or killed? Once they find each other I can’t imagine Alastor ever letting her leave again, not even to heaven. Can I request a bit of fluff and maybe NSFW to make up for the time spent apart? Thank you!

Title: Ruined Redemption

Warnings: 18+! NSFW, angel!wife Reader, fem!reader, reader & Alastor married, mention of past life, mention of death, demon!alastor, fluff, creampie, rough sex, French, Heaven & Hell, am i missing something????

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #jyoongim #alastor smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Alastor x angel reader #Alastor x wife reader #Alastor request #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction

could you do smth with y/n being oblivious to Alastor trying to court them but oddly enough y/n becomes fascinated with his shadows and he uses it to impress them 0^0 if not its okay ignore this, make sure to stay healthy!

✎ I'll take this request as part two of Oblivion because it's like it can be connected to it 😭 many are already asking for part two that's why I'm so FREAKING thankful to this anon for giving me an idea! (I want to add friend you so freaking bad Anon 😭😭)

╰┈➤ Oblivion (2)

The apple tarts, once baked, vanished with alarming speed, a testament to your baking prowess and the hotel residents' enduring sweet tooth. Alastor, to his internal chagrin, had even taken a bite, his smile fixed and unwavering as he offered a polite, if strained, compliment on its "fascinating texture." He'd endured it, savored the proximity you’d offered, yet the fundamental problem remained: your utterly impenetrable obliviousness. He’d orchestrated an entire baking charade, suffered the cloying scent of sugar, and still, you saw him merely as an enthusiastic, if clumsy, culinary student. The thought was enough to make his static crackle with a frustrated snarl.

He was Alastor, the Radio Demon, a being whose will was absolute, yet here he was, reduced to elaborate theatricals for the sole purpose of making a single, delightful soul realize he harbored an unprecedented, maddening affection for her. It was… undignified. It was infuriating. He found himself pacing his radio tower, the air thick with his mounting annoyance, the usual jazz music occasionally interrupted by sharp bursts of feedback. He knew, intellectually, that he was becoming desperate. A sliver of his rational mind screamed at him to simply state his intentions, to assert his claim as he would with any other territory or soul. But then, there was the matter of Pride.

His pride, sharp and unyielding as a freshly honed blade, forbade such a direct confession. To admit weakness, to lay bare such a vulnerable emotion, was anathema to his very being. He was the one who controlled, who manipulated, who held all the cards. To confess would be to surrender a piece of that control, to expose a facet of himself he’d spent eons burying. And then there was the dreadful, horrifying possibility of… rejection. The thought sent a jolt of ice through him, quickly masked by a furious burst of static. No, directness was out of the question. He had to maintain the illusion of casual interest, of detached amusement, even as his internal world churned with unfamiliar longing.

He observed you constantly, a silent, ever-present specter. He’d watch you reading, sketching, even simply tidying up the hotel’s often-chaotic common areas. He noted the way your eyes would light up when you spoke of your hobbies, the gentle curve of your smile when you were lost in thought. And it was during one such observation that he noticed something else, something peculiar and, to his surprise, potentially useful.

You were sitting by a sunbeam filtering through a grimy window, sketching in a worn notebook. His own shadow, always hovering near him, stretched across the floor, partially obscuring the light from your paper. Instead of being annoyed, you simply paused, tilting your head. Then, with a slow, almost curious movement, you reached out and gently, tentatively, petted the amorphous mass of his shadow. You stroked it like one might stroke a particularly docile pet, your fingers ghosting over the darkness. His shadow, a sentient extension of his will, rippled in response, a silent hum of surprise echoing in Alastor’s mind. You smiled, a soft, content expression, and then went back to your drawing, occasionally reaching out to absentmindedly stroke the shadow again.

A nefarious, yet brilliant, idea sparked in Alastor’s mind. He couldn't express vulnerability, or perform overtly affectionate gestures himself. It went against every fiber of his being, every carefully constructed façade of the ruthless Radio Demon. But his shadow… his shadow was another matter entirely. His shadow was an extension, yes, but also a separate entity, something he could command to do things he would never deign to do. It was the perfect scapegoat, the ideal intermediary. He could project his desires, his desperate yearning for affection, onto his shadow, and should you ever question it, he could simply blame the erratic nature of the demonic entity. Brilliant.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next day, Alastor put his plan into action. He found you in the dining room, attempting to untangle a particularly stubborn knot in a long piece of decorative ribbon for some hotel event. You muttered under your breath, utterly absorbed. Alastor stepped into the room, his form casting a long, distinct shadow. He commanded it, silently, mentally: Engage.

His shadow rippled, detaching slightly from his feet, and flowed across the floor towards you like dark ink. You looked up, startled, but then your eyes widened in fascination as the shadow, instead of merely resting, began to shift. It lengthened, then narrowed into a slender, almost finger-like appendage. It reached out, hovered over the ribbon, and with surprising gentleness, began to prod and manipulate the knot. Its movements were fluid, almost delicate, a stark contrast to Alastor’s usual forceful precision. You watched, captivated, as the shadow patiently worked, subtly pulling here, nudging there, until with a final, almost imperceptible flick, the knot loosened and unraveled.

"Oh, wow!" you breathed, eyes wide. "Thank you, Alastor's shadow! That was amazing!" You leaned down, your fingers reaching out to lightly tap the shadow's 'surface' in appreciation.

Alastor felt a strange, almost physical thrum in his chest as you praised his shadow. He stood stiffly, a detached smile on his face, but internally, he was preening. He offered a noncommittal chuckle. "Ah, yes, my shadow can be… quite resourceful when it wishes to be. Always surprising me, that one." He infused his voice with a feigned annoyance, as if the shadow's helpfulness was an unexpected burden.

Over the next few days, the shadow became his primary instrument of "covert" affection. You had a messy strand of hair falling into your eyes while you worked? Alastor would appear, and his shadow would deftly lift the strand, tucking it behind your ear with a softness that he would never directly exhibit. You'd instinctively lean into the gentle touch, humming contentedly. Alastor, meanwhile, would simply observe, his internal monologue a chaotic blend of triumph and a strange, unfamiliar yearning. Yes, my dear, feel the gentle touch. This is what I long to give you, had my nature not been so… direct.

One particularly chilly evening, as you shivered slightly in the surprisingly drafty lounge, Alastor entered. Before you could even voice a complaint, his shadow stretched out, swirling around your shoulders like a living shawl, seemingly radiating a subtle warmth. You gasped, then giggled, snuggling into the inexplicable comfort. "Oh, Alastor's shadow, you're so cozy!" you murmured, your hand reaching up to pat the shadowy "fabric" wrapped around you.

Alastor felt a pang, sharp and unwelcome. He stood a few feet away, poker-faced, but his mind screamed. She's patting my shadow! She's comfortable with my shadow! She's getting warm from my shadow! He wanted to be the one providing the warmth, the comfort. He wanted your touch, your soft murmurs directed at him. But he couldn’t. His pride, his carefully constructed persona, forbade it. So he merely chuckled, a dry, radio-static laden sound. "Indeed. Quite the… obliging companion, isn't it?"

The shadow, however, seemed to revel in your attention. Alastor often found it stretching towards you of its own accord, almost as if sensing his unspoken commands, performing small acts of service or comfort. It would hold objects for you, shield your eyes from sudden flashes of light, or even, once, untangle a particularly stubborn shoelace while Alastor watched, a rigid smile plastered on his face, a growing sense of disquiet swirling within him.

You, meanwhile, had grown genuinely fond of Alastor's shadow. You spoke to it, thanked it, and sometimes, when you thought no one was looking, you'd reach out and gently stroke its form, as if petting a cherished companion. You'd even given it a silly little nickname: "Shady."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The "Shady" nickname grated on Alastor's nerves more than he cared to admit. It implied a familiarity, an almost intimacy, that you withheld from him. Yet, he persevered, instructing his shadow to perform increasingly complex and oddly tender acts.

One morning, you were humming a forgotten tune as you meticulously watered the hotel’s potted plants – some of which still occasionally tried to bite. A particularly thorny vine snagged on your sleeve, threatening to tear the fabric. Before you could react, Alastor’s shadow darted out. Instead of simply pulling it free, the shadow gently, almost coaxingly, untangled the tendril, its dark form shifting to mimic the delicate movements of fingers. It then lingered, its 'hand' briefly brushing yours before retracting. You looked up, a soft smile on your face. "Oh, Shady, you're so careful! Thank you." You leaned down and patted the shadow's surface, a gesture that made Alastor's internal static buzz with a frustrated mix of triumph and agony.

Another time, during one of Charlie's overly enthusiastic, yet ultimately ineffective, "team-building exercises," you found yourself awkwardly trying to balance a stack of wobbly, oddly-shaped demonic board game pieces. Just as they threatened to topple, Alastor’s shadow flowed around you, acting as an impromptu brace, holding the pieces steady until you could secure them. You glanced at Alastor, who merely offered his usual wide grin, but then turned back to the shadow. "You're always there when I need you, aren't you, Shady?" you murmured, a genuine fondness in your voice. Alastor felt a sharp, unwelcome stab in his chest. I am always there. I am the one orchestrating this!

He even commanded his shadow to do things that hinted at a softer, more protective nature he actively suppressed. If you coughed, the shadow would manifest a tiny, ethereal cup, seeming to offer a silent drink. If you sighed in exasperation, it would gently pat your arm. These were acts of pure, unadulterated solicitude, gestures Alastor would never permit himself to display openly. He watched, always watched, hoping to see a spark of recognition, a flicker of something more than just casual appreciation in your eyes. But you remained, frustratingly, adorably, oblivious. You simply took these acts as quirky, endearing traits of Alastor's unusual companion, attributing them to the shadow’s own, seemingly independent, personality.

This increasing personification of his shadow by you was becoming a serious problem. You’d chat with it, sometimes even confide in it about your day, treating it less like a sentient extension of a powerful demon and more like a quiet, comforting friend. You found joy in its silent presence, its helpfulness, its uncanny ability to anticipate your needs. Alastor heard these soft conversations, watched these gentle interactions, and felt a burning resentment blossom within him. It was getting harder to maintain his facade of detached amusement.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

This was where Alastor’s brilliant plan began to unravel. The thing he thought could be his unassailable advantage slowly, insidiously, became his torment. He found himself being jealous. Jealous of his own shadow.

The jealousy was a foreign, noxious emotion, coiling in his gut like a venomous snake. He, the Radio Demon, a being of immense power and cold ambition, was jealous of an extension of his own being. It was absurd. It was humiliating. And yet, there it was, burning hot and inescapable every time you offered his shadow a gentle touch, a fond word, a quiet smile that you never quite gave him with the same unreserved affection.

He yearned for what his shadow was earning from you. He yearned for your hand to rest on his arm, not merely brush against it. He yearned for your genuine, unguarded smile to be directed solely at him, not the amorphous dark shape he controlled. He yearned for you to lean into his presence, to find comfort and warmth in his proximity, not just his commanded reflection.

One afternoon, you were struggling to reach a particularly ancient, heavy tome on a high shelf in the hotel’s ridiculously tall library. Alastor appeared, as if on cue, his staff resting lightly against his shoulder. His shadow immediately extended, gracefully plucking the book down and placing it gently into your hands.

"Oh, Shady, you're the best!" you exclaimed, laughing softly as you patted the shadow, which rippled contentedly under your touch. "So much more helpful than Alastor sometimes!" You glanced at him and winked playfully, completely missing the flicker of something sharp in his crimson eyes. "No offense, Alastor!"

Alastor’s smile wavered, a barely perceptible twitch. No offense? No offense?! His shadow had just performed a task that he could have done with a snap of his fingers, a gesture that was meant to showcase his protective nature, and his own shadow was getting the credit, and worse, your playful affection. A low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in his chest, quickly covered by a cheerful burst of static. "None taken, my dear," he managed, though his grip on his staff tightened imperceptibly, his knuckles turning white beneath the red glove. His shadow, sensing his sudden, intense irritation, shrunk back slightly, as if attempting to placate its furious master.

The situation was getting… annoying. Beyond annoying. It was maddening. He had created the perfect shield for his pride, but in doing so, he had created a rival, a rival that was literally a part of him. He found himself resentful of his shadow’s successes, even though those successes were entirely by his own command. He wanted to snatch your hand away from it, to demand your attention be solely on him. He wanted to banish the damn shadow to the darkest corners of Hell if it meant getting your unadulterated affection.

He began subtly withdrawing the shadow, making it less readily available. He’d make it appear only briefly, perform its commanded task, and then retract it quickly, hoping you’d start to seek him out for help. But you, in your characteristic obliviousness, simply thought the shadow was busy, or perhaps just having an "off day," or that it was being "shy."

"Is Shady feeling alright?" you once asked him, your brow furrowed with genuine concern as his shadow flickered erratically before vanishing mid-gesture. "It seemed a bit… tired lately."

Alastor nearly choked on his internal scream. Tired? His shadow? It was an extension of his very being, powered by his own demonic energy! He was just trying to subtly redirect your adoration! "Perfectly fine, my dear. Perhaps it merely needed a moment of… quietude," he replied, his smile stretched thin, betraying none of the furious maelstrom churning within him.

The internal conflict raged. His pride demanded he maintain distance, his fear of vulnerability screamed against confession, but his burgeoning, desperate love for you yearned for connection. And his shadow, the very tool he'd designed to bridge that gap, had become a frustrating, affectionate barrier in itself. He wanted to feel your soft touch, to hear your affectionate words, not have them filtered through a demonic extension of himself.

As time passed, the thing he thought could be his advantage became not. He felt a burning jealousy every time your attention strayed to his shadow, every time you spoke to it with a familiarity you hadn't quite yet granted him. He found himself yearning for what his shadow was earning from her. He was Alastor, for crying out loud! The Radio Demon! He didn't yearn for anything, let alone affection from a mere soul, let alone affection his own shadow was monopolizing! It was getting… Annoying. And somewhere, deep within the tangled, unyielding fortress of his pride, Alastor knew, with a terrifying certainty, that his next move would have to be far more direct, far more perilous to his carefully constructed façade. Because if this continued, he might just find himself strangling his own shadow.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Alastor’s frustration simmered, a low, constant crackle beneath his usually composed façade. The jealousy, a bitter, acidic taste he found utterly repulsive, intensified with every affectionate murmur you directed at his shadow. He was the Radio Demon, for crying out loud! The very idea that his own extension, a mere projection of his will, was garnering more genuine, unguarded affection from you than he, the master behind it all, was almost unbearable. He found himself fantasizing about sending his shadow on permanent "vacation" to some desolate, lightless corner of Hell, just to see if your attention would, by sheer force of habit, finally gravitate towards him.

His pride, usually his unbreakable shield, felt like a brittle shell, cracking under the relentless pressure of this ridiculous, unprecedented emotion. To confess overtly was still out of the question – it reeked of weakness, of vulnerability, of a desperate plea for something that should simply be. Yet, the subtle machinations, the calculated displays of chivalry via his shadow, had clearly failed. You remained charmingly, maddeningly dense. He was trapped in a self-made purgatory of unexpressed affection, tormented by the success of his own proxy.

One sweltering afternoon, the hotel's antiquated air conditioning finally sputtered its last breath, sending a wave of oppressive heat through the building. Charlie, ever the delegator, had tasked everyone with finding solutions. You, ever resourceful, decided the best course was to try and clear out some of the dust and demonic cobwebs that had accumulated in the higher, usually ignored vents in the grand ballroom.

Alastor found you there, perched precariously on a rickety, ancient ladder, armed with a feather duster and a determined expression. The ballroom was unusually quiet, most residents having fled to cooler, shadier corners of the hotel. He watched, a faint hum of static building in his ears, as you stretched, reaching for a particularly stubborn patch of grime near the ceiling. The ladder wobbled ominously.

"My dear," Alastor drawled, stepping into the room, his voice sharp with a sudden, uncharacteristic edge of alarm. "Perhaps a sturdier apparatus would be… advisable?"

You giggled, not looking down. "Oh, this old thing's fine, Alastor! Just gotta lean into it." You stretched higher, a bead of sweat trickling down your temple. "Almost got it!"

But the ladder groaned, a splintering sound echoing through the cavernous room. Your eyes widened as it began to tilt violently, slowly, inevitably. Before you could even cry out, before your own reflexes could kick in, Alastor moved.

It wasn't a shadow’s gentle nudge this time. It was instinct, raw and unthinking, overriding centuries of careful detachment. In a flash of crimson, Alastor was there. His staff clattered forgotten to the floor. His large, gloved hands shot out, not to simply steady the ladder, but to catch you. He seized your waist, pulling you off the teetering contraption with a sudden, powerful yank, bringing you crashing against his chest.

You gasped, the air knocked from your lungs, your feather duster falling unheeded to the floor. Your face was pressed against the crisp fabric of his coat, the unsettlingly fast beat of a heart you hadn’t known he possessed thrumming against your ear. Your hands instinctively flattened against his chest, seeking balance.

"Are you quite alright, my dear?" Alastor's voice was devoid of its usual cheerful radio filter, stripped bare of all artifice. It was rough, urgent, laced with a genuine concern that made the hair on your arms stand on end. His crimson eyes, usually so amused and calculating, were wide, dilated, and filled with an intensity you had never witnessed. They bore into yours, devoid of his usual smile, showing a flash of pure, raw fear that was completely, utterly un-Alastor.

For the first time, in that suffocatingly close moment, pressed against his rigid form, the scent of brimstone and something uniquely him filling your senses, you saw it. The genuine alarm in his eyes. The way his hands, still gripping your waist with surprising tenderness, were trembling ever so slightly. The rapid thrum of his pulse beneath your palm. This wasn't the detached Alastor who joked about cannibalism. This wasn't the Alastor whose shadow lent a helping hand. This was him. Exposed. Vulnerable. And utterly, terrifyingly, worried about you.

His shadow, which had darted out the moment the ladder tilted, now hovered nearby, not intervening, but watching, almost with a knowing stillness. It seemed to have faded slightly, its edges less defined, as if its master's direct, unthinking action had momentarily usurped its role.

The silence in the ballroom stretched, broken only by the distant sounds of the hotel and the surprisingly loud thumping of Alastor’s heart. Your eyes, wide with a sudden, blinding realization, slowly drifted from his frantic gaze down to his gloved hands still clamped around your waist, then back up to his face.

The gifts. The constant proximity. The possessive stretches of his shadow. The way he always seemed to be there. The subtle brushes. The baking charade. All of it, every single confounding action, suddenly clicked into place with the sickening force of a falling domino. He wasn't being friendly. He wasn't being peculiar. He was… he was trying to court you. He was showing affection. And you, in your blissful, impenetrable ignorance, had missed every single sign.

Your cheeks flushed a deep, mortified crimson. Not from embarrassment about the fall, but from the horrifying realization of your own monumental obliviousness. And then, a new, exhilarating warmth spread through you, a feeling that had nothing to do with Hell's oppressive heat.

Alastor, sensing the shift in your gaze, the sudden change in your breath, slowly became aware of how intimately he was holding you. His eyes, though still intense, regained a sliver of their usual cunning. The moment of raw emotion, of unguarded vulnerability, had passed. His smile began to return, slowly, almost imperceptibly, stretching across his face, trying to rebuild the mask of nonchalance.

He loosened his grip slightly, though he did not fully release you. "Forgive my… abruptness, my dear," he purred, his radio filter returning, albeit with a faint, trembling undertone. "But one simply cannot allow such a delightful resident to suffer an unfortunate tumble. It would simply not do." He attempted a jaunty chuckle, but it sounded a little forced, a little strained.

You, however, were no longer listening to the words. You were staring at the single vein still throbbing ever so faintly at his temple, a physical manifestation of his barely contained emotion. You were looking at the raw fear that had momentarily consumed his eyes, a fear that was clearly for you.

"Alastor," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes wide with revelation. "You… you like me." It wasn't a question, but a dawning, incredulous statement.

His smile froze. The radio static surrounding him spiked, a harsh, painful screech that reverberated through the ballroom, making the remaining light fixtures flicker erratically. His shadow, which had been observing, suddenly dissolved completely, as if unable to bear the directness of the moment. Alastor’s eyes, now back to their usual, unnervingly focused red, bore into yours. He had been caught. His carefully constructed wall of pride and control had just been breached by a single, simple, blindingly obvious statement.

A long, excruciating silence descended, broken only by the crackle of Alastor’s own internal turmoil. His facade was crumbling, and he knew it. There was no retreat, no witty deflection, no blaming the shadow now.

He cleared his throat, his smile wavering for the first time you had ever seen. He tightened his grip on your waist just for a fraction of a second, a small, possessive gesture that felt less like an accident and more like a silent, desperate confession. His voice, when it came, was lower, deeper than usual, completely devoid of its cheerful filter, barely above a murmur.

"My dear," Alastor said, his crimson eyes holding yours, an uncharacteristic sincerity bleeding through their depths. "It seems… that is no longer a secret, is it?"

And in that moment, as the realization solidified into an undeniable truth, and the Radio Demon stood before you, stripped of his usual theatricality, you knew everything had irrevocably changed. The era of oblivion was finally, wonderfully, over. And the dizzying dance of whatever came next had just begun.

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

✎ It's end y'all 😭 but idk if you send good ideas i may continue it UwU

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x femreader #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #the radio demon #other lxxahazel work #other LxxaHazel #alastor fanart #alastor fanfiction #Alastor request #anon I LOVE YOUR IDEA #UwU #Part two :D

Preferred ships are Alastor/Vox/Lucifer/Adam x Reader (and whatever fandom I may be in)

Though I will try to work on the request by order of receipt, if there is a particular request that really piques my interest, I will write it first. After all, this is for fun.

Anonymous function is turned off HOWEVER, if you wish to remain anonymous, let me know - I will be more than happy to protect your identity. I got you covered, fam.

I reserve the right to decline your request without notice. After all, I write to have fun and during my free time, no less.

There is no turnaround time. I will get to them when I do.

If you do not have your age on your bio and are requesting smut, I will have to politely decline.

Some requests may be hard for me to write, so I may opt-in to write it as imagines/head canon (bullet list form)

I struggle to write MLM and WLW requests, so more often than not I will have to politely decline

If the requests are interesting enough, I may take a crack at it. But no promises on the quality!

REQUEST STATUS: CLOSED

Last updated: May 10, 2025

I'm curious on what alastors turn ons would be, can you write something about that please?

This is my second request if this so I must give the people what they want 😤😤

Alastor’s turn ons would be simple:

Seeing you take care of the domestic part of running the hotel

Your love and devotion to him;how you are always willing to do anything he ask of you.

You having his scripts already laid out for his broadcast

Seeing you cook

Hearing you sing

The way you always adjust his bow tie

When you’re angry oooh that really do something for him, especially if you’re chewing out Vox or defending the hotel

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor request

Saw that your requests are open and I'm LOVING your fics!!! I was hoping I could ask for this: in plenty of fics we see Alastor biting the reader. But how would he react if you bite him back? Would the power shift? Catch him off guard? Would he like it???

Thank you for liking my writing☺️☺️☺️

Not a full fic but just some thoughts from this ask:

During sex If you bit Alastor back, I think that he wouldn’t mind. IN FACT the cocky bastard would encourage you to (seeing he has cannibal tendencies). He would consider you marking him, it’ll be a great honor that you are so consumed by your desire that your decided to take a chomp out of him.

He would very much like you biting him.

“Ooh my dear I hadn’t expected you to want to a bite out of me what a honor” he’ll purr in your ear.

He’ll even offer that you can take a bite out of him anytime.

Through your bites never hurt nor draw blood Alastor wouldn’t be deterred if your lips were covered in his blood.

Alastor thinks you look good bloody and being covered in HIS blood just makes his claim to you even more real

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #jyoongim #alastor x y/n #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor imagine #alastor request

╰┈➤ Oblivion (2)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Oh, wow!" you breathed, eyes wide. "Thank you, Alastor's shadow! That was amazing!" You leaned down, your fingers reaching out to lightly tap the shadow's 'surface' in appreciation.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Is Shady feeling alright?" you once asked him, your brow furrowed with genuine concern as his shadow flickered erratically before vanishing mid-gesture. "It seemed a bit… tired lately."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"My dear," Alastor drawled, stepping into the room, his voice sharp with a sudden, uncharacteristic edge of alarm. "Perhaps a sturdier apparatus would be… advisable?"

You giggled, not looking down. "Oh, this old thing's fine, Alastor! Just gotta lean into it." You stretched higher, a bead of sweat trickling down your temple. "Almost got it!"

"Alastor," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, your eyes wide with revelation. "You… you like me." It wasn't a question, but a dawning, incredulous statement.

"My dear," Alastor said, his crimson eyes holding yours, an uncharacteristic sincerity bleeding through their depths. "It seems… that is no longer a secret, is it?"

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

✎ It's end y'all 😭 but idk if you send good ideas i may continue it UwU

#alastor request

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