#carmine!reader

[terry-perry]

Charlie: All right, Saturday is the big day! A lot of people thought this would never come… I may have been one of those people.

Y/N: …I may have been one of those people.

Alastor: Wait, are we talking about our wedding?

Y/N: Yes.

Alastor: Oh, yes, I was definitely one of those people.

[terry-perry]

hello!

love the Alastor x Carmine!Reader, but can I request something outside of it but still Alastor and Reader (can even be her!)

I’d love a fluffy oneshot where she falls asleep in Alastor's lap and Alastor has a conversation with someone else while stroking her hair as if she were a sleeping cat. And because he’s Alastor, he threatens anyone who dares to bother her while she sleeps.

Hell yes!

The Hotel library was quiet—miraculously quiet—save for the soft crackle of the fireplace and the faint hum of an old tune Alastor was humming as his staff played it. He sat comfortably in his favorite armchair, legs crossed, staff resting against the armrest as it continued its melody, an old book open in one hand.

And sprawled half-across him, her cheek pillowed on his thigh and one hand curled limply near his knee, was you.

You had been reading with him—or trying to—until sleep had crept up on you like a thief. One moment you were flipping pages, eyes blinking rapidly; the next you slumped down with a tired sigh, nuzzled against his leg as naturally as a cat settling into the sun, and promptly drifted off.

Alastor hadn’t moved since.

One hand calmly held his book.

The other gently, rhythmically, stroked your hair.

The motion was slow and absentminded, an unconscious gesture that had become automatic around you. And though his grin was as sharp as ever, there was a softness in his eyes that would’ve scandalized anyone who knew his usual brand of theatrics.

“Fast asleep, Sugar,” he murmured, fingertips brushing your temple. “You do know how to choose the coziest spots, don’t you?”

You made a tiny sleepy noise in response—a content little hum—and pressed your cheek more firmly against his leg.

Alastor’s grin widened, then turned dangerously sharp at the sound of approaching footsteps.

Husk stumbled into the room first, feathers puffed, and a half-empty bottle in one hand.

“Hey, boss. Have you seen—?” Husk froze. Blinked. Looked at you. Then at the hand stroking your hair. Then backed up.

Alastor didn’t look up from his book.

“She is sleeping,” he said pleasantly. “And you, my fine feline friend, are currently being too loud.”

Husk scowled. “I’m literally just standing here.”

“Yes. And breathing. Loudly.”

Husk opened his mouth to argue but stopped when Alastor’s free hand lifted his staff a mere inch off the armrest.

A threat. A promise. Wrapped in a smile.

Husk grumbled something and shuffled right back out the door.

Alastor resumed stroking your hair immediately.

“Good boy,” he murmured to no one in particular. “He knows better.”

A moment later Angel Dust poked his head in.

“Hey, Radio Daddy, Charlie’s lookin’ for—OH.” Angel froze, a grin exploding across his face. “Oh my GOD. Is she—? You two are—? I didn’t know you were into the whole lap pillow thing—”

Alastor angled his head just enough to give Angel a polite, cheerful smile that would’ve made the bravest sinner’s blood run cold.

“Angel,” he said pleasantly, fingers running through your hair as you slept peacefully, “if you awaken her, I will disassemble you and reassemble you as a coat rack.”

Angel blinked before smirking flirtatiously. “...Kinky.” When he noticed Alastor’s eyes glowing red and his smile stretching into a sneer, he raised his hands up in mock surrender and made his exit, still smiling. “I’m going, I’m going…”

Alastor continued stroking your hair.

Your breathing was soft and even, completely at peace. Every now and then you shifted, your hand brushing lightly against his knee before settling again. Each time, Alastor paused in his reading just long enough to ensure you were still comfortable, adjusting his posture with unnatural patience.

“Rest, Sugar,” he whispered, brushing a curl away from your face. “I’ll keep watch.”

He set his book aside, choosing instead to sit fully still, one hand stroking your hair, the staff humming softly beside you.

The world could roar outside these walls.

But here, now, with you curled against him like something precious and fragile, Alastor allowed himself the rarest of indulgences:

Quiet. Stillness. And the warmth of someone who trusted him enough to fall asleep on his lap.

[terry-perry]

I need fluff after angst!

can we have the hotel gang meeting Carmine!reader for the first time?

they don’t know what to expect since she’s not only Carmilla Carmine’s daughter but also dating Alastor?

The hotel lobby smelled like sugar cookies and optimism — both supplied by Charlie, who was currently adjusting lace doilies on a small round table with the kind of hyper-focused enthusiasm only the princess of Hell could muster.

“Okay!” she chirped. “Tea is steeping, pastries are arranged, and everybody knows to be on their best behavior, right?”

Across the table, Vaggie gave her girlfriend a flat look. “Charlie. You invited Alastor’s girlfriend. The daughter of Carmilla Carmine, who also happens to be her #1 hit-woman. Do you know how many red flags that is?”

Charlie beamed. “Vaggie, she can’t be that bad if Alastor likes her!”

Vaggie stared even harder. “That doesn’t reassure me like you think it does.”

Husk rolled his eyes from behind the counter. “Wake me up if she kills somebody.”

Angel Dust, legs crossed and smirking, twirled a feather duster between his fingers. “I dunno, I hear she’s pretty hot. But also she’s, like… a walking crime scene. Could be a bit of both if she managed to get a freak like Alastor.”

“Guys,” Charlie said, hands on her hips, “She is his girlfriend. I want her to feel welcome. She’s probably nervous!”

Right on cue, an echoing knock at the front door.

Everyone froze.

A hush fell over the lobby.

Charlie brightened instantly. “That’s her!”

Vaggie grabbed her spear. “I am READY.”

Charlie swatted her arm. “Be nice!” She threw open the door with dramatic flourish. “Welcome—!”

She froze.

Vaggie froze.

Angel choked on his drink.

Husk dropped the bottle he was holding.

Niffty giggled.

Because there, standing in the doorway, dressed elegantly in a black stitched lace midi dress, smiling sweetly, was Y/N Carmine, holding a severed head delicately by the hair like it was a fruit basket.

“Oh!” she chirped brightly. “Hello everyone! Sorry, I brought a little something for Alastor.”

The head blinked weakly.

She added, as if explaining the weather: “He thought he could insult my mother. Clearly, he was wrong.”

Charlie made a strangled wheeze sound.

Vaggie whispered, “Oh my god.”

Angel Dust muttered, “Okay yeah… she’s definitely both.”

Before anyone could give a proper reaction, a familiar hum of static filled the doorway.

Alastor materialized beside her, staff tapping lightly as his eyes gleamed with delight. “My sweet, you’ve arrived! And you’ve brought me a present?” He clasped his hands together in theatrical glee. “Why, Sugar, you spoil me!”

He took the head from her like she’d brought him a bouquet of roses.

Charlie turned a shade of pale Vaggie had never seen before. “Alastor,” she said with a shaking smile, “this is a wholesome tea party.”

“Indeed!” he said cheerfully, dropping the head behind a potted plant. “There! Out of sight, out of mind.”

Niffty immediately spruced it up and left the head wearing a tiny doily hat.

Everyone tensed as then Y/N reached into her purse.

Except Alastor, who leaned forward eagerly.

“Another gift?” he asked, positively purring.

“Oh no,” Y/N said. “This one is for Charlie.”

Charlie blinked. “For… me?” Should she be scared?

Y/N’s smile softened, turning shy — genuinely shy — in a way no one expected from the woman who brought decapitated tributes. She pulled out a small woven crown made of delicate flowers — ones that glowed faintly with a soft, holy pink hue.

Charlie gasped. “Are those—?! These only grow on the highest ledges of the Pride Ring—”

“I asked Alastor what your favorites were,” Y/N explained, “and he offered to take me there.”

Alastor simply shrugged and smiled lightly, making it seem like it wasn’t a big deal.

Charlie carefully took the crown like it was made of spun sugar. “It’s… beautiful.”

Y/N beamed. “I thought it would suit you.”

“Y/N,” Charlie whispered, eyes watering, “thank you.”

Vaggie could only blink.

“Well damn,” Angel muttered. “She is sweet.”

Husk muttered, “…still brought a head, though.”

After Y/N got acquainted with the rest of the gang, she sat at the table with perfect posture, hands folded primly. Every inch of her body aligned in precise, elegant symmetry.

Vaggie leaned in to Charlie. “Are we sure this is the same woman who carved up half of Cannibal Alley?”

Charlie hissed, “Vaggie, she’s a guest!“

Y/N looked up upon hearing about that time in her life. “Oh, that was years ago! But, to be fair, they were very rude for trying to run weapons through my mother’s territory without paying the dues.”

Charlie gave a helpless thumbs-up to Vaggie as if to say See? She’s reasonable.

Y/N lifted her cup gracefully, pinky raised, sipping tea.

She giggled at Niffty’s rambling compliments.

Asked Angel about where he got his nails done.

Listened politely to Husk’s growling.

Told Charlie she loved the pastries and would love the recipe.

Every now and then, Alastor watched her with a softness that would liquefy the floors if anyone pointed it out.

He didn’t speak much.

He didn’t need to.

Every time Y/N smiled, his radio static softened into the sound of warm vinyl crackle.

Currently Charlie was describing a silly childhood story when Y/N suddenly giggled — a high, sweet, melodic sound — and covered her mouth in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just… I haven’t had a tea party in ages. This is lovely.”

Charlie practically melted into a puddle of glitter.

Vaggie softened immediately.

Angel Dust blinked. “Aww…”

Even Husk muttered, “Damn. She’s actually… nice?”

Alastor’s smile faltered for a second — not with menace, but with something tender.

Rare.

Almost fragile.

He reached under the table, brushing his clawed fingers against hers. She responded to the gesture by placing her hand atop his, squeezing it gently.

“Well!” Alastor then said brightly, snapping back to his usual cheer. “This has been a delightful break from the usual chaos. Perhaps we should make this a weekly tradition?”

Y/N gasped. “I’d love that! Can I bring cookies next time?”

“Yes, Sugar,” he said with a grin. “Preferably not made from anyone who annoyed you that day.”

She pouted playfully. “No promises.”

Charlie could only giggle at their little back-and-forth while Vaggie sighed.

As the tea party wrapped up, Y/N gave Charlie a small hug, which Charlie responded to with an even tighter embrace that almost left Y/N breathless.

“It was wonderful meeting you all,” she said softly.

Charlie beamed, starry-eyed. “Please drop by anytime.”

Alastor placed a hand at Y/N’s waist, pulling her gently away from Charlie and to his side. “Come along, Sugar,” he said. “I believe someone is due for an after-tea stroll.”

She kissed his cheek.

He froze — just for a split second — then smiled wider than any demon had ever dared.

As they walked out, Charlie clasped her hands together.

“I love her!”

Vaggie sighed before reluctantly admitting, “Yeah. Me too.”

Angel lit a cigarette. “Okay, but next time I’m telling her she’s hot.”

Husk scoffed at that. “Good luck surviving that.”

[terry-perry]

Business Proposition

Next part is here, and she's a long one!

Will reblog later to add those who wanted to be tagged. Would do it now, but it's getting late as I finish this, and I have work in the morning.

Spoilers if you're not caught up with Hazbin Hotel Season 2

Alastor x Y/N Carmine aka Hell's Cutest Couple

The weapon stood before them, wires glowing faintly, humming with potential. Carmilla steps back, wiping her hands, expression carefully neutral.

Y/N stands beside her, tired but steady, grease smudged on her cheek, eyes sharp before rolling.

She knew Vox liked to overcompensate, but didn't think he'd want something this unnecessarily big.

Whatever. The fact of the matter was that it was finished, and maybe now Vox would leave her and her family well enough alone.

And...maybe she could put other things out of her mind as well.

The very thing that made her reluctantly join her mother in this nonsense.

She didn't have time to dwell on it some more as the door hissed open.

A bright blue glare floods the room.

And then—

“Helloooo, ladies.”

Vox steps inside, one hand in his pocket…

…the other gripping the back of a chair.

A chair with Alastor tied to it. Arms strapped down. Mouth uncharacteristically silent—yet smiling faintly.

Vox rolls him in like a prop.

Like a trophy.

Like an offering.

Alastor tilts his head, eyes catching Y/N’s instantly.

He doesn’t speak. But there is something razor-soft in his gaze. Something like relief. Something like her.

Y/N swallows hard.

Carmilla straightens, jaw tightening.

“Vox,” she says carefully. “You said you’d come alone.”

“Change of plans~” Vox purrs. “Thought it’d be more fun with an audience.”

He pushes Alastor closer to Y/N with the toe of his boot.

“Thought maybe he deserved to see what real chemistry looks like.”

Alastor’s grin twitches. Static pops in the air.

Y/N’s voice is low, taking her eyes off her ex to glare up at his captor. “What do you want, Vox?”

“Oh, nothing much…” Vox circles her, slow, predatory. “Just wanted to see the final result from my favorite Carmine girl.”

His hands boldly rest on her shoulders, making her tense up.

Alastor’s smile freezes into something colder.

Vox leans close, voice dropping. “And maybe offer you something… better than all this.” He gestures around the workshop before stopping his hand so that it is directed right at Alastor. "Better than him."

Y/N’s pulse faltered. She knew where this was going. And he enjoyed watching it dawn on her as his voice then oozed with mock sympathy. “I know what he did to you. The great Radio Demon - the guy who thinks emotions are bargaining chips.”

Something flickered inside her — irritation, but also the sting of truth.

Vox leaned in, the hum of his static brushing her skin like cold digital fingers. “He hurt you. Lied to you. Used you.”

She didn’t respond. Vox’s smile widened. “You and I? We’re the same. He burned us both.”

At that, she released herself from his disgusting grip and glared at him as she gritted her teeth. “Don’t compare what he did to me with what he did to you.”

“Why not? He rejected us. Thought we were nothing. Disposable." He leaned towards her, smiling almost fondly, which just made him all the more off-putting. “But we’re not, darling. We’re powerful. And together? We’d be unstoppable. Join me, and let's prove the bastard wrong. You and me, sweet thing. What do you say?"

Silence.

Vox's screen face flickers with a smug heart-shaped icon.

And then—

Y/N laughs.

A short, sharp, humorless bark of a laugh.

“Is that seriously what you brought him here to see?” she asks. “Did you learn nothing from my last visit?”

Vox’s smile glitches. Just slightly. “I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“You’re delusional!" She spat, stepping back. “You think I’d ever stand at your side? After everything you’ve done to my family, to him—”

She jerks her chin toward Alastor.

Alastor blinks. Then his smile widens—slow, dangerous, deeply pleased.

Vox scoffs. “Oh please. As if you still care about the Radio Relic.”

Y/N steps closer, staring Vox down with zero hesitation. “Even if I didn't, I'd rather give the Cactus Demon a blow job than go anywhere near your dick.”

Alastor bites back a laugh. A strangled, stuttering crackle escapes his throat.

Vox turns, shoving Alastor’s chair so hard it skids a foot. “You think this is funny?!”

“Oh, immensely,” Alastor purrs—finally speaking. “Please, go on. This is the most entertaining show you’ve produced in years.”

Y/N folds her arms. “Vox, you can’t buy me. You can’t scare me. You most definitely can’t seduce me. And you sure as hell can’t use me to break him.” She steps toward him, voice steel. “Whatever sick fantasy you have about ruling with me just to humiliate him? Delete it.”

Her glare could break screens. “Because no matter what, I will never choose you.”

Vox stares at her, screen-face twitching.

Alastor tilts his head from his chair and sighs dreamily. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”

Vox kicks his chair.

Alastor just laughs harder.

“ENOUGH,” Vox snaps, his face flickering violently.

Carmilla subtly positions herself between Vox and her daughter.

But Y/N doesn’t budge.

Vox breathes out static.

“I tried being nice,” he hisses. “I tried offering you something better than… that.” He jerks a thumb toward Alastor, screen-blackening jealousy seething through him.

Y/N speaks softly, cutting. “There’s nothing about you I want.”

Alastor beams as if she has just recited poetry.

Vox's screens glitch. He spins on his heel, stomping toward the exit so he can have a moment to himself to recollect.

But not before leaning close to Alastor. “You’re lucky she’s got terrible taste.”

Alastor hums. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about her options.”

Vox’s static-scream echoes as he slams the door shut.

Silence.

Then Alastor turns to Y/N, eyes warm in a way chains can’t restrain.

“That,” he says softly, “was exquisite.”

Y/N exhales shakily. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Oh, my dear,” Alastor whispers, voice trembling with a dangerous kind of pride, “it already is.”

The workshop is still crackling with residual static from Vox’s exit—scorch marks on the floor, metal benches humming faintly. Carmilla stands at the doorway, arms crossed, jaw tight enough to crack a tooth.

She watches Vox disappear down the hall, his monitors still flickering from Y/N's rejection. She turns slightly, eyes flicking to Alastor—still tied to the chair, still watching her daughter with an expression that borders on reverent amusement.

Then she exhales sharply. “I need… air.”

It’s abrupt. Suspiciously abrupt.

Y/N frowns. “Mom—”

She lifts a hand. “Just a moment. I’d rather cool down before I gut someone on impulse.”

Her tone is sharp, but her eyes—those Carmine-red, lethal eyes—soften when they land on Y/N. Then they flick to Alastor. And something unreadable passes across her face.

Regret. Understanding. And yes… a hint of meddling.

“Finish up here.”

Before Y/N can question it, Carmilla’s already sweeping out the door, shutting it with a firm click that somehow feels like she just sealed the pair into a private confession booth.

The silence she leaves behind is deafening.

Y/N turns to Alastor.

He hasn’t taken his eyes off her.

His smile is small—too small to be smug. Too soft to be performative.

It’s the kind of smile he used to give her in the quiet hours between hunting trips and shared cigarettes. A private smile. A dangerous one.

“Your mother - still the cunning woman of little words,” he murmurs. "I'm glad to see you two are on speaking terms again."

Y/N huffs, mindlessly taking her working gloves off so she can do anything else but look at him. “I wouldn't say that. We're at least working together again."

He tilts his head slightly—just enough to study the tightness in her jaw, the tremor in her hands. His voice drops. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been truly alone.”

Her throat tightens. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

He inhales sharply through his teeth. The static behind his voice wavers—just barely. “Is that what you think?”

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

He sees it—the hesitation, the ache that hasn’t gone anywhere, the fear sneaking up her spine.

Something shifts in his expression. The teasing drops away. The mask thins. And for the first time that night, Alastor looks… haunted.

“…I have regretted letting you go.”

Everything stops.

Her heartbeat. Her breath. The static in the room.

He looks down at the cables tied around him—as if they’re easier to face than her.

“I won’t make excuses for what I did. I made a calculation. I used you.” He laughs quietly—without humor. “And I’ve paid for that choice many times over.”

Her voice is barely audible: “…Why are you telling me this now?”

He lifts his head.

And the look in his eyes—

That look could tear her apart.

“Because seeing Vox touch you, speak to you, breathe on you…” The shadows around him tremble. He presses on quietly, carefully.

“…I felt something I have rarely allowed myself to feel.”

“…Jealousy?” She whisper-asked.

“No.” A pause. Then—

“Fear.”

She froze. He continues.

“Fear that he would convince you somehow. Fear that I was too late. Fear that I’d thrown away the one thing I have ever…”

He hesitates.

Her breath stops.

The word dies on his tongue—but the meaning lingers in the air.

She takes one small step closer.

He instinctively mirrors her—rolling forward against the restraints like he’s been waiting months to close their distance.

“Alastor… what do you want from me?”

He laughs—broken, breathless. “I want nothing.”

That hurts. It hurts more than it should. But then he continues—

“What I mean is that...I expect nothing from you. I'm through with expecting anything from you. I only ask.” His voice falls to a hush. “I ask for your forgiveness. Your company. Your trust.”

He looks at her completely then: “I ask for you back.”

Her knees nearly buckle.

He notices—of course, he notices—and his expression softens into something unbearably fond. “But I lost all right to ask for such things.”

Her voice trembles. “Maybe… you - at the very least - can start to slowly earn those things back.”

His breath stutters.

For a moment, the longstanding tension between them melts—slowly, dangerously—into something warm. Something hopeful.

Something that feels like a beginning.

The tension between them isn’t sharp anymore. It’s warm. Slow. A warmth that curls around the ribs instead of stabbing beneath them.

Alastor slid closer. He leans up just a fraction—

Not predatory. Not demanding. Just… hopeful.

“…May I?” His voice is barely more than static.

Her breath catches. She should say no. Every rational bone in her body screams it.

But her heart—her foolish, treacherous heart—whispers:

He’s still Alastor. And you still love him.

So she whispers:

“…Yes.”

His eyes soften. The smile he gives her is devastating in its gentleness.

She leans down to him—slowly, reverently—and brushes his knuckles along his jaw. She closes her eyes.

He tilts his chin up to meet her.

Closer. Closer.

His forehead nearly touches hers. She can feel his breath. Her lips hover—just a sigh away from—

SLAM.

The door bursts open so violently it ricochets off the wall.

“AWWW, AM I INTERRUPTING~?”

Vox’s voice—smug, mechanized, grating—cuts through the air like an executioner’s blade.

She jerks back.

Alastor goes deathly still.

Vox steps into the workshop with a glow of his monitor and a self-satisfied smirk, hands in his pockets like he owns the whole building—and every soul inside it. His grin stretches wider as he spots how close she still is to Alastor.

“Well, well, well...”

His screens flicker crimson as he strides toward Alastor.

She moves instinctively—half a step forward.

But Alastor hisses out her name, snapping her out of her stance.

“Don’t,” he murmurs.

Not commanding. Protective. Reassuring.

Vox laughs. Mocking. Bright. Cruel. “Cute. Really cute. But playtime’s over.”

He rips Alastor away from her and begins to drag him out of the place.

She lunges again—this time with more fury than hesitation.

Vox turns on her in a heartbeat. “Ah-ah-ah!” His screen flashes red in warning. “Touch me, sweetheart, and I’ll take a finger. Or ten.”

Alastor growls low in his throat—dangerous, feral, protective.

Vox shoves him toward the door.

“Come on, Al. We’ve got more fun scheduled back at the tower.”

Alastor twists, eyes locking with hers—burning, pleading, furious that he can’t stay.

And then Vox yanks him away.

The door slams behind them.

Silence rushes in like a wave.

The door opens again, slowly this time. Carmilla steps in, dusting ash off her gloves like nothing’s wrong. But she stops dead when she sees Y/N's face.

Her flushed cheeks. Her trembling hands. The raw, exposed heartbreak she can’t hide fast enough.

Carmilla doesn’t say Alastor’s name. She doesn’t ask what happened. She just steps closer, voice low and deceptively gentle.

“…You’re shaking.”

Y/N inhales shakily. “It’s nothing.”

Her mother's eyes soften. “It’s not nothing.” And in a surprising move, she reaches out and brushes a strand of hair behind Y/N's ear, the way she used to when she was small and frightened.

It’s almost maternal. Almost.

“You still love him.” She sighs—tired, disappointed, but not at Y/N. “And he still has too much of your heart.”

Y/N looks away, eyes burning. Her mother watches her for a long, silent moment.

Then: "You should have seen your face when you saw him.… And his when he looked at you.”

Y/N's throat closes. Carmilla exhales slowly and mutters, “This complicates things.”

Y/N laughs weakly, bitterly. “Everything’s complicated.”

She gives a humorless smile. “No. Everything is dangerous.”

The lights flicker. The static hums. And Y/N's heart aches in her chest like a wound reopened.

Carmilla steps beside her, firm but gentle. “Come. We’ll figure this out.”

It isn't certain she’s talking about the war.

The moment the door slams behind them, Vox shoves Alastor hard enough to send him stumbling across the polished floor of the tower corridor. The cable wires around him snap tight around his body, jerking him upright, forcing him to look at Vox.

Screens flicker with crimson static. Vox is grinning. Of course he is.

He steps in close—far too close—his mechanical purr scraping at Alastor’s nerves. “That was quite a moment at the Carmines', wasn’t it?”

Alastor says nothing. He is too focused on breathing—in, out, in, out— because if he speaks now, the tower walls will crumble.

Vox smirks wider. “Aww, don’t clam up now. I gotta know how you felt when you were seconds away from kissing her.” He laughs, sharp and electric.

He circles Alastor next.

“She wanted it too, didn’t she?” His voice turns syrupy, taunting. “The way she leaned down? The way she looked at you? Poor Y/N still hasn’t learned her lesson.”

Alastor’s jaw clenches hard enough to crack bone.

Vox notices. And loves it.

“What was it like?” Vox leans in. “Having her that close again?”

Alastor finally speaks. Cold. Precise. Quiet enough to be deadly.

“You speak her name again…” His eyes flare red.

Vox coos mockingly. “Oh? Touched a nerve, did I?”

Alastor lunges— or tries to.

The wires yank him violently back. Electric current surges through him like venom. He bites down on a sound—doesn’t scream—but his whole body trembles.

Vox watches with sick satisfaction. He drags a metal fingertip along Alastor’s jaw, leaving a faint line of sparking static.

“You know… I brought you there to humiliate you. Let her see how weak you’ve become.”

Alastor’s eyes burn.

Vox laughs. “But you two were almost kissing?” He snaps his fingers. “That was golden.”

Alastor bares his teeth—a real snarl, feral, carved from something deep and dangerous. “You’re terrified.”

Vox freezes for a split-second—just enough.

Alastor’s grin sharpens.“Because you saw it. Didn’t you?” His voice drops to a whisper. “Even as your prisoner… she still chose me.”

Static explodes across Vox’s screens. He slaps Alastor across the face so hard the blow echoes.

Alastor’s head snaps to the side—but when he looks back…

He’s smiling.

Vox seethes.

Alastor’s final words are low, full of venom and promise.

“You’ve already lost her.”

Vox storms ahead, screen crackling violently.

Alastor follows, wires dragging—

—and for the first time in months…

He feels something warm in his chest.

[terry-perry]

Angel: Hey, what's going on? I found a note at Val's place: "Come to the hotel quick - bring champagne and a bottle of whiskey." Husk (grabbing the whiskey): Yeah, I'll take that. Angel: What's up? Charlie: Y/N and Alastor are engaged! Angel: Hey, congratulations! ....Where is she? Y/N (shouting from the rooftop): I'M ENGAGED! I'M ENGAGED! Vaggie: Yeah, she's been out there for 20 minutes. I'm surprised you didn't hear her on the way over. Angel: Oh, I thought it was just a kid yelling, "I'm gay, I'm gay!" Charlie (to Alastor): Can I bring her in, or...? Alastor: No, no, let her stay out there - it's sweet. Y/N (continuing her shouting): I'M GETTING MARRIED! I'M GONNA BE A BRIDE! Random demon from somewhere else: SHUT UP BITCH! Y/N: No, I will not shut up! Because I'm engaged! Demon: *incohesive yelling and cursing* Y/N: Oh, big talk, huh! Why don't you come over here and say that to me, huh, buddy?! My fiancée and I will kick your ass! Everyone else: ...... Y/N: Come on, the Hazbin Hotel! Let's go! Lucifer: ...okay (points at Alastor), you get her in here, (points at Charlie) you bolt the door, I'll be in the closet.

[terry-perry]

EEEE!!! That little story was so cute! And definitely needed after the angst you put us through AAAAHHH!!

I can definitely see why Alastor likes her so much 😩💜😭

Although you didn’t request it, nonnie, it’s always a joy to learn about how she’s just as morbid as Alastor, isn’t it? 😆

Follow up to this story

Charlie was still thrilled about how everything went that day. She practically glowed as she bounced into the lounge, and then pretty much sprinted up to Alastor upon his return to the hotel after dropping Y/N off at Carmine Manor.

“Alastor!!” Charlie squealed.

The Radio Demon paused mid-step, static humming faintly. “Yes, Charlie?” he asked, staff tapping the floor with that unsettling cheerfulness.

She clasped her hands together, leaning forward.“i just wanted to say that it was so much fun today! Y/N is such a lovely girl. I can see why you like her so much.”

For a split second — a split second — Alastor’s smile softened.

Barely.

“Why, yes! I suppose I do,” he uttered.

Charlie squealed. “Alastor! That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you! She was only here for a short while so I didn’t get the chance to ask her more things about herself. Like, what does she like? What’s her favorite food? Does she have hobbies? Oh! What’s her favorite romantic comedy?”

Alastor blinked, smile broadening in a way that should’ve worried her. “Her favorite romantic comedy?”

“Yes!”

He thought for a moment.

Static crackled.

A cheerful jazz note crooned from nowhere. “Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2.”

Charlie froze, smile faltering slightly. “I’m sorry… what?”

Alastor nodded. “She finds Leatherface particularly heartwarming in that installment.“

Vaggie, passing by, stopped dead. “…does she genuinely think that movie is a rom-com?”

“Of course not!” Alastor said. “She sees it as more of a tender dark satire celebrating loyalty, dysfunctional families, and the enduring nature of love under duress.”

Charlie had no idea what to do with that answer.

But she tried again, determined. “Uh… favorite color?”

“The exact shade of arterial blood still warm from the vein.”

Charlie coughed. “Oookay? Oh, I know! Favorite thing you like to do together?”

Alastor’s smile softened again. The static eased into a low, warm hum. “She enjoys when I read to her.”

“Aww! That’s actually pretty sweet, Alastor! What do you read to her?”

Alastor looked almost dreamy. “Funeral Blues. By W. H. Auden.”

Charlie blinked. “ Isn’t that a poem about grief and death?”

“Yes. She finds it… soothing.” Alastor continued without prompting. “She also enjoys sharpening her knives while I broadcast, reorganizing her collection of preserved hearts, and humming murder ballads while she works.”

Charlie tried to smile again. It wobbled. “She sounds… passionate?”

“She really is,” Alastor claimed, “A splendid conversationalist! Tremendously polite. Deadly accurate with a switchblade.”

Charlie giggled awkwardly. “Well, I guess everyone has their own… ways of bonding?”

Alastor’s eyes softened, just a little. “She is… a marvel. My Sugar.”

Charlie’s grin became genuine. “Awhhh!”

Vaggie raised a brow. “Babe, seriously? After everything he just said… that is what you find adorable?”

Charlie shrugged happily. “Alastor likes someone! That’s enough for me!”

Alastor simply smiled, static crackling like laughter.

[terry-perry]

assuming Alastor and carmine!reader are back together let’s say she meets Lucifer during the end of the season 2 finale back at the hotel

Al is definitely not amused by Lucifer’s antics and comments, know he’s clearly only doing it to annoy him 😆

Alastor x Y/N Carmine aka Hell's Cutest Couple

The moment Charlie introduced Y/N to Lucifer, Alastor felt something deep in his chest that could only be described as a radio static spike of pure indignation.

Lucifer, ever the theatrical monarch, swept into the room like a golden spotlight with legs.

“My, my—so you are the infamous Carmine daughter,” Lucifer said, taking Y/N’s hand and giving it an elegant kiss to the knuckles before suddenly remembering something. "Oooh, your mom is the one who made the box I was trapped in, right? The one with all the bad tickles."

Her breath hitches at that, getting quite flustered at that (very true) accusation. "Yes, but please understand-"

Lucifer waved a hand in front of her and tutted in that over-the-top way he did. “Charlie told me and explained that your mom didn't really have much of a choice since the TV head guy kinda, sorta guilted her into doing it because she just wanted to keep you and your family safe." He briefly looked over to Charlie, who had to step aside quickly to tend to a new guest. "As a parent who keeps trying to get it right, I can relate."

Y/N, polite as ever, offered a soft smile. “Well, in any case, it’s an honor, your majesty.”

Alastor’s left eye twitched.

Static crackled faintly around the room.

Lucifer glanced at him—glanced, with that smug, knowing smirk only a centuries-old king could wield like a sword.

“Oh Alaaastor,” Lucifer sang lightly, “what a charming young woman you’ve chosen. And here I thought you didn’t do relationships.”

Alastor’s grin went paper-thin. “Well, I've made a special exception.”

“Mm. Clearly.” Lucifer kept Y/N’s hand a second longer than necessary. “And what exquisite taste you have.”

Y/N blinked, amused. “Thank you—”

Alastor immediately inserted himself between them with the speed of a man who had dealt with enough flirting today.

“YES. Well. She is mine. I mean—my partner.” His smile sharpened. “My very devoted partner.”

Lucifer arched a brow. “Possessive, aren’t we?”

Alastor didn't say anything to that, only growling as his eyes glowed red, totally sounding like an extremely jealous man.

Y/N gave him a gentle elbow. “Mi amor, he’s married.”

Lucifer sighed dramatically. “Indeed. Happily so. Sorta. Though I appreciate the flattery of being considered a threat.”

Alastor scowled. “I wasn’t—”

“Oh, but you were,” Lucifer teased, eyes glittering. “Static flaring, shoulders tense, stepping between us—classic romantic jealousy. Charlie's girlfriend does the same when Charlie talks to pretty girls.”

Charlie covered her face since returning to the scene. “Dad! Stop teasing!”

Lucifer swept Y/N’s hand again, this time placing it safely back at her side with all the pomp of a formal knight. “Fear not, Radio Demon. I have no intention of stealing your beloved hitwoman.” He smirked. “Even if she is delightful, and I think she can do better than some DJ.”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully but still reassured her beloved. “Relax, my love. You’re the only demon for me.”

Alastor froze for half a second—caught between smug pride and deep satisfaction—before he regained his suave composure. “Of course I am,” he said, voice warm and dripping with triumph.

Y/N casually linked her arm with his, getting him to immediately relax.

Lucifer hummed. “Adorable. You two are disgustingly adorable. I hate how much I enjoy it.”

Charlie brightened. “So you like her?”

“Oh, very much,” Lucifer said with a smile sharp enough to kill a lesser demon. “She’s good for him.”

Alastor muttered, “I liked you better before you started speaking today.”

Lucifer winked. “Jealousy looks good on you, Bambi.”

Before Alastor could retort, Y/N kissed his cheek.

Alastor went silent. Static faded.

Lucifer could only grin with so much smugness.

[terry-perry]

The relationship dynamic between Alastor and Carmine!Reader is *muah* chefs kiss.

I am excited to see the angst betwen Carmilla and Carmine!Reader, and also really interested in seeing Carmine!Reader eventually make up with her mom. I am a sucker for mother daughter relationships.

Family Business

See previous chapters here

Carmilla Carmine wasn’t an easy woman to love, but she was devastatingly easy to fear. Even Vox knew better than to underestimate her—hence the careful negotiations, the delicate wording, the performative respect. She had built weapons for Hell long before the war with Heaven reached its flashpoint, but she had always sworn her daughters would remain untouched by the worst of her dealings.

That oath had been broken the day the angels descended and Charlie’s group begged for aid. Carmilla had provided it—guns, tech, devices no demon should ever have access to—and she never forgot the guilt of seeing the blood those weapons drew, even in self-defense.

Now she faced Vox, a man she despised, and agreed to build a prototype for his upcoming conflict.

To protect my girls, she repeated to herself each night. I failed them once. I won’t fail them again.

But her eldest daughter, Y/N, barely looked at her anymore. Not since she discovered Carmilla’s conversation with Alastor—the one where Carmilla had sought assurances that her daughter would be “safe” if she continued her relationship with the Radio Demon. Carmilla had meant it as protection, as a form of security.

Her daughter had heard.

Carmilla had never been forgiven.

LAST WEEK...

Vox granted Carmilla limited access to Alastor’s cell one afternoon, under the guise of needing “material compatibility evaluations.” Really, Vox just wanted to see what happened when two predators from Hell shared a room, especially when those two had such a standout connection to one another.

Carmilla stepped inside, businesslike, cool, unreadable. Alastor looked up, a smile widening across his face.

“Madame Carmine,” he purred. “To what do I owe this… unexpected delight?”

“You look awful,” she said plainly.

“I do try.”

She folded her arms. “I didn’t come to banter. I came to ask why, of all deals you could have made, you chained yourself to him.”

His grin twitched—only slightly, but she caught it.

“For the sake of the hotel,” he answered. “And the girl who believes it can make Hell better.” Then, quieter, almost to himself: “And perhaps… for someone else.”

Carmilla exhaled through her nose. “My daughter.”

Alastor’s smile softened. Not so much in shape—never that—but in warmth.

“Yes.”

She circled him once, appraising his restraints. “You hurt her.”

“Yes.”

“You meant to use her.”

“At first,” he admitted without flinching.

“But you fell in love with her after.”

He stills at her proclamation. The smile remains, but the air shifts, charged like a radio gone silent.

“Yes.” He states.

Carmilla stops in front of him, searching his face for lies. Finds none.

“I don't hate you,” she says, voice low. “Not completely, anyway. Because part of this mess is on me. My own decisions, the way I've protected her, the choices I've made for her future. No, I don't resent you fully...but don't think I trust you either.”

“Fair enough,” he replied pleasantly. "I wouldn't expect anything else. However, would you say your collaboration with Vox is any better?"

Carmilla stiffened, her jaw tightened. “I'm doing what I can to protect her and her sisters. Vox isn't the savior he claims to be, but he's ruthless, inevitable. I'll do whatever it takes to keep my family safe.”

His brows lift. "I don't intend to interfere. You should know, however, that she's stronger than you give her credit for. More clever. And for what it's worth, I care about her. More than I care to admit. So, if this will keep her safe for now, then I'm all for it."

She meets his eyes dead-on.

“You didn’t just fall for her. You changed for her.”

A beat.

Carmilla studied him for a long moment, weighing her instincts against what she was hearing. The demon before her, the man who broke Y/N's heart, possessed the same sharp mind he always did, along with that dangerous charm. At the same time, however, there was almost a self-awareness she hadn't expected.

Perhaps there was more to him than she thought.

Alastor bows his head—not dramatically, but sincerely. “…Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Carmilla snaps, turning away. “You get one chance. Ruin her again, and I will personally dismantle you down to your microphone wiring.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She pauses at the exit.

“And Alastor?”

“Yes, Madame?”

“…She still loves you. Even after everything. But I'm sure you knew that already.”

That smile—the real one, the one that flashes for a fraction of a second before he clamps the performance back on—appears like a spark.

“I know,” he murmurs.

-----------------------------------

You blocked out the static in your head. Ignored the phantom warm laughter you used to fall asleep to since that fateful visit. Stopped glancing over your shoulder every time a radio crackled.

You only learned the truth when Vox, the bastard himself, bragged about it publicly and personally invited you to be part of the Radio Demon's humiliation.

Alastor, once untouchable, was now a trophy.

And the reason? To keep Charlie, the hotel, and its efforts safe from the Vees.

You found out secondhand. Carmilla found out firsthand, because she was already involved.

Vox wanted a weapon that could rival Heaven’s next purge. Carmilla refused—until Vox implied your safety depended on her cooperation.

So she agreed. Out of fear—fear of losing her daughters in another war she couldn’t control.

You confronted her immediately.

“You’re building weapons for Vox?! Are you insane?”

Carmilla didn’t even flinch.

“Lower your voice,” she said calmly.

“NO. Not until you explain why the hell you’re siding with him.”

“I am not siding with him. I am protecting you and your sisters. Protecting Hell. Heaven is preparing its next assault—”

“—and you think Vox cares about protecting anyone?”

“No. Vox cares about Vox. And he knows I can give him what he needs. Which means he needs me. Which means you stay safe.”

Your voice cracked. “Safe? You sold weapons to Charlie and the hotel before—” Carmilla stiffened. “—and you’re doing it again. And this time, for the monster who has Alastor locked up like a pet!”

Carmilla froze at his name. “You still care for him.”

You swallowed, looking away. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s exactly the point. It's why you chose to entertain Vox's invitation. You think you’re the only one who regrets how things ended? I shouldn’t have meddled. I know that. But I didn’t plot with Alastor to hurt you.”

“I heard you,” you mumbled, continuing to look away from your mother.

“You heard a conversation taken out of context. I was trying to secure your future if you chose him.”

You clenched your fists. "I thought he cared.”

“He did. He just didn’t realize it until it was too late.”

You paused—caught off guard. “You really believe that?”

“I know it. And now he’s sitting in a glass cage because of a deal he struck to protect a bunch of people he barely admitted to liking.” She swallowed. “And to keep Vox away from you.”

Your breath left you. “…What?”