Alastor x younger sister! Reader
Summary: Alastor had been assured for years that the only two good things from his life, his mother and little sister, were safe in Heaven. But what happens when he finds one of them in Hell?
Warnings: Mentions of abuse in a foster care system, cuss words, etc. PG-12. You are in charge of your own media consumption.
Requested by @rosearts414
Alastor never spoke of his family, and for good reason. His time alive was filled with pain, both some he caused and much he felt. The only lights in his life were his mother and little sister, and for centuries, he had clung to the comforting belief that both had ascended to Heaven and were spared from the torment of Hell. It was the only sliver of peace he allowed himself, that his sweet, innocent kin would never know the corruption of the damned. That illusion crumbled the moment he spotted a small fawn darting nervously down a cracked street in Pentagram City. The creature froze when it noticed him, ears flicking and slowly beginning to turn away. Her tiny hooves tapped hurriedly against the cracked pavement. At first, he thought nothing of it. Just another damned child at play. But that all shattered when the fawn paused to peek back and meet his gaze, large innocent eyes blinking up, and in an instant, memories long buried surged within him.
Alastor’s grin faltered for the first time in centuries. There was something achingly familiar in the way she tilted her head, something that tugged at long-buried memories. A child’s laughter. A little girl tugging at his sleeve. The sound of her calling him 'Allie' because his full name was too long for her small tongue. It hit him like a thunderclap. This wasn’t just any fawn. This was Y/N...his little sister.
The fawn blinked, taking a hesitant step closer. Her voice, soft and unsure, broke the silence. “...Allie?”
Alastor let out a strange, almost breathless laugh as he crouched low, his cane resting against the cobblestone. “Oh, why yes, it is now!” He started to reach out but contained himself and plastered the grin right back on his face.. “And you are still so small… still my little one.”
The fawn pressed up gently into his side, testing, as though making sure he was real. His grin softened into something genuine, fragile, tender in a way none of Hell had ever seen from him. He paused before stroking between her ears with care, voice dropping lower. How was she here in this hellish place? She was so small, so innocent, so unlike him. He hadn’t meant to die when he got shot by that hunter, but when he did take his last breath, he was sure she would be okay.
When he carried her to the Hazbin Hotel, the reaction was immediate. Charlie’s eyes lit up with wonder, her hands clasping together. “Oh my gosh! She’s adorable!” Vaggie followed close behind, protective but intrigued, while Angel Dust leaned lazily against the wall. “Well, well. Didn’t know the Radio Demon had a kid tucked away somewhere.”
Alastor’s smile sharpened. “This is Y/N. She is under my protection, and anyone who dares so much as look at her the wrong way will regret it.” His tone held such a dangerous edge that even Husk flicked an ear uneasily.
Y/N peeked shyly from behind his leg. Charlie knelt down, her smile warm and reassuring. “Hi, sweetheart. Don’t worry, you’re safe here. We’ll all look after you.”
Alastor’s laugh was light, but his crimson eyes never wavered from the others. “Oh, I shall see to that personally. Her safety is mine to guarantee. Do we all understand?”
The static under his words left no room for argument. Angel raised his hands in mock surrender and stepped back with a muttered, “Yeesh, touchy.”
In the days that followed, Alastor scarcely left her side. He took her out to the hotel’s little garden, humming jaunty jazz tunes as she nibbled happily at the grass and flowers. When she was tired, he scooped her into his arms with ease, striding back into the hotel with an unmistakable pride in his step.
Husk caught sight of them once, Y/N curled up asleep against Alastor’s chest, her small body rising and falling with steady breaths. “Never pegged you for the dad type,” Husk grunted, taking another swig from a cheap bottle. After so long under Alastor’s command, he had lost all sense of pretense with the Radio Demon.
Alastor adjusted his bowtie with his free hand, grin unwavering. “Oh, Husk…”
Alastor paused; no quippy or deflecting remark came out. Only a painful flash of memory and screams. Y/N had told him late one night that, soon after his own death, she was placed in a foster system. Her "new" father, a complete drunkard, had killed her in a blind rage. The story alone made his blood boil, and he would sooner find that wretched bastard down here and make him pay if it wasn't for the fact that he had to console Y/N after telling her story.
“It is… fulfillment of a promise. I vowed to protect her once, and I failed. But now…” His voice darkened as he looked down at her. “Now I have the chance to make amends.”
Husk wasn’t the only one who noticed Alastor’s strange change in behavior. Charlie, though exceedingly trusting of the deer demon, knew him not to be one who expressed much affection. One evening, she peeked into the lounge and saw Alastor crouched low, one hand extended as he guided Y/N’s clumsy steps in a little dance. His voice carried a playful rhythm as he hummed, encouraging her to twirl.
“Yes, yes, that’s it! A perfect spin, you make quite the lady.” He clapped his hands with genuine delight when she managed it.
Charlie leaned against the doorframe, whispering to Vaggie, “I’ve never seen him like this before… It’s almost sweet.”
Vaggie folded her arms, though her lips quirked. “Guess even the worst monsters have soft spots.”
Angel Dust smirked from the corner. “Yeah, but don’t tell him that. Guy’s scarier than ever in brother-bear mode.”
Maybe Angel was right. But for Alastor, Hell had always been a stage, somewhere to perform, to grin, to play games and win it all. But with Y/N, it became something else. With Y/N, it finally felt like home. And that scared him more than anything.
Summary: Y/N has had a long day, a long week...hell, a long month! How kind of her boyfriend to ease her stress, right?
Warnings: Fingering, cum, implied P in V sex, mild degradation and humiliation, etc. MDNI, 18+
For my lovely friend @castawayinhxll
After the chaos of the day, Y/N practically collapsed onto the mattress. Body heavy, limbs refusing to cooperate any longer after hours of tending to the guests, repairing damage left behind by Heaven’s forces, and doing her best to keep everyone in one piece emotionally. Charlie was a fearless leader, no doubt, and Vaggie, Angel, and Husk did their best, but no matter what, it seemed she had the brunt of the work. Letting out a groan into the pillow, she flopped onto the bed, the sound muffled and raw, one that might have been embarrassing if she weren’t so drained. From the corner of the room came the familiar hum of static, soft at first, then crackling with cheer. Alastor’s voice followed, warm and smooth, almost mocking.
“My, my, you do look positively worn down, my dear. ”
She turned her head slightly, watching him appear as though he had been there all along. He stood tall, immaculate as always, red eyes gleaming with amusement. Y/N sighed but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at her lips. “I feel like I’ve been run over. Twice.”
Alastor’s grin widened. “Then I suppose it falls to me to help remedy that dreadful sensation. May I?” He motioned lightly toward her shoulders, the offer sounding more like a demand than a kindness. Too tired to argue, she nodded. “Be my guest. But I swear, Al, if you make me regret this…”
“Oh, perish the thought!” he replied with mock horror, before settling behind her on the edge of the bed. His long fingers rested against her shoulders, the first touch surprisingly gentle. The pressure he applied worked knots she hadn’t realized were there, easing the stiffness in her muscles. Y/N closed her eyes and let herself relax into the rhythm of his hands, occasionally letting out a soft groan at his ministrations.
“You have no idea how long today was. Every time I thought I was done, someone needed something else repaired, advice, a place to cry…” She exhaled heavily, realizing she had started to ramble.
“Do go on,” Alastor prompted smoothly, his thumbs digging just right into the line of her shoulders. His voice carried that ever-present lilt, as if he were playing some secret tune only he could hear.
As she continued to vent, his hands began to drift. At first, it seemed innocent enough, fingers tracing from her shoulders down toward her upper back, smoothing along the curve of her spine. But soon his touch grew more deliberate, sliding lower until his palms rested near the hem of her shirt.
Y/N faltered in her words, a stutter interrupting what had been an unbroken rant. “A-And then, well, Husk… Husk dropped an entire, uh, tray of glasses and…” She swallowed, very aware of the warmth of his hands.
“Clumsy fellow, that one,” Alastor replied as if nothing unusual were happening. His fingers toyed idly with the fabric at her waist, brushing along her sides before retreating, only to wander back up again. “But do continue. I was positively enthralled.”
Her thoughts tangled as he kept up his little game. Every time she tried to focus on her story, his hands slid a fraction lower, fingertips grazing the waistband of her leggings. The heat rushed to her cheeks, her voice faltering more with each subtle movement.
“A-Alastor…”
Alastor, of course, only smiled wider. He leaned close enough that she could hear the faint buzz of static beneath his words. “What’s the matter, my dear? Do keep going. You were painting such a vivid picture.”
She pressed her lips together, realizing with some frustration that she couldn’t string together a proper sentence. His touch wasn’t invasive, but it was deliberate, calculated, testing how far he could go before she broke. Her shoulders tensed under his hands again, though not from stress this time. He noticed immediately, chuckling under his breath.
“Ah, I see. It seems I’ve found a much more effective way of silencing you than I ever imagined.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder, but the effect was ruined by the flush in her cheeks. “You’re….awful,” she muttered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
“Awful? Why, darling, I’m simply helping you unwind,” he replied, feigning innocence as his fingers drew slow, teasing lines along her waist. His eyes gleamed with playful mischief, perfectly aware of the tension he was creating. The room seemed quieter now, the silence filled only by the faint hum of Alastor’s presence and Y/N’s unsteady breathing. He thrived in that charged pause, letting it stretch, his hands never still but never quick either. It was a game to him, and she was caught squarely in the middle of it. And though she tried to maintain her composure, Y/N found herself teetering between exasperation and surrender, exactly where Alastor wanted her.
Slowly, his hands began to drift further south, nimble fingers toying with the waistline of her pants. Giving the elastic a small snap, Alastor beamed with pride at the eliciting yelp from his lover. Flipping her over on her back with ease, Alastor soon lay dangerously close to on top of his partner. Craning his neck lower, hot breath fanning over Y/N’s ear, his voice came out in a static-like rasp.
“Would you allow me to continue helping you, mon cher?”
The way the nickname rolled off his tongue like syrup was enough to have Y/N’s eyes rolling in the back of her head, a strained whimper of approval escaping her lips as she felt his hands finally dip beneath her pants and cup her clothed core. While Alastor’s touches have been relatively surface-level thus far, it did not stop his partner from practically dripping through her undergarments and onto his hand with a warm stickiness.
“My, my. So eager today, aren’t you, darling?”
At his words, Y/N couldn’t help but instinctively squirm away from his overstimulating touch. Alastor’s eyes had darkened after she tried to pull away, as if she had taken something from him and would stop at nothing to hunt it back down. His hand came to cup the swell of her thigh and, with two firm fingers, yanked down the fabric of her pants and underwear in one fell swoop.
“You asked for this, my dear,” Alastor murmured, his voice hushed as his lips came down to nip softly at the flesh of her hip, a firmer nip than his previous, but no less affectionate.. “Do not try to escape now.”
Every touch of his lips against her skin sent hot flashes of pleasure racking through her body, and his touch was the only cooling balm that could settle the fire that had started within. Allowing his hand to flow back down, Alastor plunged two fingers into her warm cunt, marveling at the way its walls constricted around him in desire. Y/N bit her lip, a desperate whine eeking past without permission, body overflowing with arousal.
A devilish smirk painted its way onto Alastor’s face, fingers, speeding up only to hear those exact whimpers escape and sing freely for him. Relishing in all the delicious noises that came to pass through his partner’s puffy lips, the near moaning of his name, and the needy whine that sprang forth. His fingers curled up, hitting that delicious spongy spot on her front wall, that Y/N nearly had her screaming, hands coming to grip sheets under tightly. The weight of his body pressed on top of her was delightfully heavy, the struggle for breath an added stimulus to the already mounting pressure inside of her. Why she hadn’t given in to his wiles earlier, she would never know.
Panting as she squirmed below him, the coil in her stomach became too tight to ignore as his fingers continued their onslaught.
“Al—“
“That’s it, cher. Looking so pretty for me.”
A blinding hot flash of liquid poured out of her overstimulated pussy with a broken cry of his name from her lips, soaking the Radio Demon’s hand in release as he continues to pump into her, working Y/N through her high with an overstimulating force.
Bringing his hand back up, he sucked the juices from his finger with a low grumble of appreciation.
“Absolutely divine, cher.”
Looking back up at her with half-lidded but lust-bloated eyes, he spoke once more.
“Fond of another round, my dear? I would love to continue to make you feel…relaxed.”
Alastor x Reader (Third Person POV)
Summary: Alastor lost a bet...horribly so. So imagine his surprise when his partner cashes in their prize on New Year's Eve...in the form of a vibrating plug.
Warnings: Plug using, blow jobs, pet names in a sexual context, sadomasochistic tendencies, use of restraints, sub/dom dynamics (SUB Alastor), etc. MDNI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
2,675 words
Requested by many people and thanks to @kewpikayo and @castawayinhxll for helping me brainstorm!
The grand ballroom of the Hazbin Hotel glittered with anticipation. Black and gold streamers wove around tall marble columns, and the tables sparkled with elegant centerpieces of painted roses and flickering candles. At the podium, Charlie hummed nervously as she adjusted a ribbon on the microphone stand.
“Vaggie, do you think it’s too much? Maybe the black tablecloths make it too...sad?” she fretted, twisting a strand of blonde hair around her finger.
Vaggie, perched on a ladder as she pinned a gold banner reading "New Year, New Redemption" above the stage, rolled her eyes. “It looks perfect, Charlie. Relax. This is going to blow everyone away.”
Charlie bit her lip, her gaze flicking to her phone. “I still haven’t heard from Alastor or Y/N. They’re never late, especially not Alastor. What if—”
“They’ll be here,” Vaggie interrupted, stepping down from the ladder. She placed a reassuring hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “It’s Alastor. You know how he is. Punctuality is practically his religion.”
Charlie nodded but couldn’t shake the unease. As Vaggie moved to adjust a crooked candle, the heavy creak of a trolley drew their attention.
“Alright, booze delivery,” Husk grumbled, pushing a cart laden with bottles of champagne, whiskey, and other spirits. His wings twitched as he glared at the banner. “Y’know, this feels like a lotta work for demons who probably can’t even remember what year it is.”
Charlie laughed nervously. “It’s about the gesture, Husk! A new year is a new chance at redemption!”
Husk snorted, cracking open a bottle of gin. “Sure. Whatever you say, Princess.”
Just as the final touches were in place, the grand double doors of the ballroom swung open. All heads turned as Alastor and Y/N entered, their silhouettes sharp against the warm glow of the room.
“Ah, finally!” Charlie exclaimed, her face lighting up with relief. She waved them over, but her smile faltered slightly as she noticed something... off.
Alastor, ever the picture of poise, seemed unusually stiff, his crimson eyes darting nervously around the room. His usual grin was tight, less a sign of amusement and more a strained facade.
Beside him, Y/N exuded an air of smug satisfaction, their eyes sparkling with a secret they weren’t planning to share.
“Sorry for the delay,” Y/N said smoothly, hands stuffed in their pockets and voice carrying just the right amount of mischief to not seem odd. “We ran into a… distraction.”
Alastor’s head snapped toward them, his grin twitching dangerously. “Quite the unexpected one,” he added, his tone clipped. His eyes flickered to Y/N, his partner of a few years, with a less-than-hidden disdain.
Charlie blinked but shrugged off the odd tension. “Well, you’re here now! That’s what matters!”
From his perch at the bar, Husk caught Alastor’s eye. He raised his glass slightly, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. Alastor glared at him momentarily, but the faintest flush betrayed his annoyance.
As the evening went on, the ballroom buzzed with laughter and music. Yet, Husk couldn’t help but chuckle into his drink, his sharp eyes catching every subtle glance and twitch between the two latecomers.
It was obvious to anyone who had ever done it: the stiff posture, the jerks at the dinner table, eyes fighting not to roll back. Alastor was in something…or more accurately, something was in Alastor. Husk had overheard the debate a few days ago, nothing major, he was so pissed drunk he was shocked he had remembered.
“For one moment, could you please not pester everything I do?”
“Why my dear, I do believe you love my company. You were certainly agreeable the other–”
“Alastor, I don’t think you could go one minute without a quippy comment. In fact, I bet you can’t.”
Alastor’s eyes had glowed in disdain at the comment, extending a green threaded hand to his lover.
“Very well, cher. If I can’t go one minute without a comment, you may do anything you wish to me for the New Year. But only one thing.”
Oh, how pride hath gone before the fall. Now Alastor stands, rather awkwardly, facing his punishment. Y/N placed their hands on the lapels of Alastor’s coat, making a motion of adjusting the fabric in a seemingly domestic display. Leaning closer, they whispered softly
“What's the matter, Al? You seem a bit stiff this evening…why not go and greet the others? I’m not going anywhere…”
‘And neither is that remote in my pocket, nor your plug…’
“I am simply stepping back a bit, cher. Let Ms. Morningstar handle the affair.”
“You're supposed to be acting normal. That was our agreement. You wouldn’t be the one to go against a deal, would you?”
As if to single-handedly further his demise, Charlie waved Alastor over.
“Go on, honey. It looks like Princess Morningstar needs you.” With one last pat on the jacket and a wink, Y/N left Alastor to his more than pleasurable misery.
It was no shock to anyone that Alastor was a masochist, everyone could see how he reveled in the pain of those he deemed his subordinate. However, it might shock one to learn that the Radio Demon was also a sadomasochist. Rarely seen but stewing under the surface, the need for pain and pleasure was a dangerous cocktail that Alastor had found himself addicted to. Especially when administered by the hands of his partner.
But this? This was torture. Here he is, talking to the princess and a group of other sinners; his mind a puddle of desire. Positively doing his utmost to keep his composure, a jolt moves through him when he feels the ever-present toy, that dastardly thing, buzzing. Emitting sweet, torturous pleasure at a time when he was supposed to be working. He was on duty.
It had been simple enough at first. He had lost the bet, rather unfortunately, but didn’t fear too much. Y/N was always kind and gentle with him, a mean streak sure, but amicable in all their squabbles. Little would he have guessed that a silver plug with the red ruby heart would stuff him so full he was almost babbling before they even came to the party. Small vibrations from a damn remote in his lover’s pockets were not how he thought his reputation would be tarnished, nor his secret be revealed. Alastor did not pray in life, nor much in death, though he conceded to one small one now.
Fortunately, Alastor found a natural pause in his speech and seized the opportunity to take a breath, probably for a moment longer than was needed. He cared not. What Y/N was doing to him was unnatural. Horrid. Absolutely divine.
He wanted them to do it again. And again and again…
Why did he wish for this?! Why did he wish for them? Why did he wish for the sweet destruction and ecstasy, Y/N promised? They had him begging, eating from the palm of their hand How disgraceful.
It continues like this the entire evening. When he is giving his speech on the Hotel’s progress, the vibrations from behind him catch the mic if only for a second. He blames it on technological malfunctions. At dinner, he jolts and almost spills his drink. He blames it on the liquor. And when Angel gave him a knowing look, Alastor could only blame his flushed cheeks on his tight clothing. Alastor would not find out till three days later that Angel had…provided the very plug that was now the source of his predicament. The spider demon never let him live it down, though did agree after much threatening to keep it between them….Angel told Husk four days later.
Finally, the night had come to a close. All the guests had left, save for those who lived in the Hotel, and the decorations were being put up. With a pleading glance and a desperate look, Alastor found himself walking back to his partner’s room with Y/N.
“You were so good for me tonight, baby–” Opening the door to the room, Y/N placed their hand on the small of Alastor’s back and guided them to the bed with a sultry look. “Let me reward you, mhmm?”
Slamming their lips to his, Alastor returned the kiss with just as much fervor if not more. Hours of teasing had left him hard beyond compare and in desperate need of release. He felt as if could blow any second, the vibrations building him up only to slow down as he needed them most. While the thought of having cum earlier was enticing, he was grateful his partner had not allowed him to stain his pants. More than they already were with pre-cum at least.
“Just you wait, my deer…I will make you pay for that little stunt you pulled–”
“Oh you are welcome to try, Allie.”
Turning up the vibrator once more, Alastor’s knees practically gave out beneath him. His lanky form crumbled backward as Y/N placed him on the bed. The black silk sheets were strangely comforting in their coolness but did little to quell the burning heat inside him. Y/N continued to kiss him furiously, lips wandering their way down occasionally to leave soft nips at Alastor’s jugular.
“Stop…your fruitless teasing–”
“Aww, are you riled up, Alastor? Patience, honey, you will get what you want soon. I just wanna enjoy you first.”
Stepping away quickly, Y/N got up and went over to their dresser; leaving Alastor to whine in disapproval at the loss of attention. Returning, a red ribbon glinted in the pale moonlight streaming in from the window. Bringing their hands to Alastor’s wrist, Y/N softly but snuggly tied the material.
“I will not be contained my dear, I can break out of these anytime you know.”
“Of course, you could baby. Let’s see you try–”
Resuming their previous course of action, Y/N continued to trail kisses down Alastor’s neck. Following the path his body laid out, treasuring every inch of covered or uncovered skin. Worshiping him as if he had hung Heaven himself, set the stars in motion, and could only whine this pretty just for them. The plug still vibrated inside him, albeit a touch slower and less intense than before. A false hope for the Radio Demon, until Y/N’s kisses came to the belt on his pants, and their hands made light work of removing the fabric from his body.
A red lacey garter belt was the first thing that caught Y/N’s eyes, the straps connecting to a beautiful thin piece of fabric, if one could call it that, that remained the only thing in their way to reach Alastor’s weeping and throbbing dick. Giving it a quick snap, only for Alastor to yelp out in a quick moan of pleasure, the lace was quickly removed.
“You look so beautiful for me, Allie. All dolled up, was it for me? You sweet boy…”
“Yes, cher—fuck all for you.”
Bringing their lips to softly peck at the tip, Alastor’s hands gripped the sheets, squirming at the stimulation. Y/N’s lips continued to suck as their tongue swiped over the large head of his member, enjoying the taste of the salty liquid that kept weeping from the tip despite its abuse. Finally, opening their mouth, Y/N took all of him in one swallow. Hollowing their cheeks, taking him till his balls slapped their face with each wretched buck of Alastpr’s hips into the warm and inviting concave of their mouth.
Relief washed over Alastor in that moment, a sweet and sickening relief that truly wasn’t one at all. Quickly brought to the edge of overstimulation, quiet tears pooled in the corner of his eyes. Daring to fall and admit his weakness, but in this moment, he found himself caring little. The only thing his mind focused on was the constant internal cries, desperate to cum. Allow his partner to milk him dry till he has nothing left to give and then keep going, to have his body bruised with their lips and hands only for him to see and hide in the morning. To feel the rush of adrenaline that paired with the shame of every sweet whispered praise from Y/N’s mouth and to treasure it in his black soul forever.
Y/n could tell he was close, the way his cock twitched in their mouth or the way his moans become less breathy; more of incoherent babble was always a tale-tell sign. Raising a hand, soft fingertips coming to fondle his balls, Y/N added to the stimulation of their partner.
He was always beautiful, but like this, he was ethereal. His hair pulled taught in a ponytail, the wisps sticking to his head from perspiration. Lips parted, just begging to be kissed, the magical vessel that produced the sinfully wonderful sounds Y/N so cherished. His hands came to rest in their hair, giving soft tugs and scrapes with every passing second of a much-needed and rising orgasm. He was perfect.
It all was perfect, the tight band in his stomach snapping and waves of pleasure rushing down on him like a crescendo. Hot cum spurt from his abused tip into Y/N’s mouth, greedily slurping and swallowing for all he was worth. So enraptured in the after-glow, little did Alastor notice that he had cum so much, small hot trails of liquid gold spilled out of the corners of his partner’s eager lips. Burning tears flooded Alastor’s senses, small hiccups erupting from his swollen lips.
After a moment, Y/N removed their mouth and hands, having swallowed all of their just desserts. Slowly rising, stepping forward to untie the ribbon restraints and remove the vibrator, Y/N’s hands moved with meticulous grace and ease.
“There you go, my love. That’s it, you did so well for me.”
Grabbing a small wet towelette from their drawer, pre-prepared, Y/N began the process of cleaning Alastor up. Humming softly and whispering sweet-nothings. How good the sounds he made were, how beautiful he was. Alastor could’ve sworn there was a different, much softer emotion that found residence in their eyes. Was it possibly love? Did they love him?
Is that why they put him through this sweet torture? To show their affection?
Another shutter startled the poor deer demon back to reality as Y/N gently smoothed their thumb and hands over his ears and played with his hair. The towelette coming as well to dab off the remaining sweat and tears.
“Ya know…next time I need to get you a bow to wear on your tail.
“Absolutely not…and what do you mean next time?”
“Come on, Al.. with the noises you made, you’ll be begging me to make sweet love to you again soon. It's just a fact.” A muted chuckle was stifled though joyful, Y/N’s eyes shining and peering down at Alastor’s.
“And…how would you know this?’
“I just know you.”
Y/N paused and continued to stare down at their lover. He was so…there were no words. In all the blackness of the room, his eyes shone out the brightest. If Heaven lost all its light and wonder, only Alastor’s eyes would be able to light the world back on fire.
“... What’s the matter, cher?”
“N-nothing…Just…you got pretty eyes. It's hard not to get lost in ‘em…”
Another pause.
“Would you like a shower, Al?”
Y/N didn’t receive a reply as Alastor fell asleep in their arms. In their bed, instead. Only notified by his current state due to the soft bleating snore-like noises softly coming from him.
Y/N swept a few stray hairs from his face, placing a kiss on his forehead and snuggling closer to him. Closing their eyes and allowing the temptation of sleep to embrace their mind. They smiled, a small but pleasant grin appearing on their face as they felt his warm breath hit their face; slight static in his sweet snores turning the sound into a faint, fatigued melody…
Alastor x F. Reader
Summary: Alastor's girlfriend wears something more than scandalous (at least to him) out for a night on the town. Whatever will he do?
Warnings: Cuss words, illusions to sex, PG-13. Consume media at your own discretion.
The moment Alastor walked into Y/N’s room unannounced, though he’d never admit to barging in as it was ungentlemanly and he was anything but, his smile faltered. There she was, sitting at her vanity, eyeliner in one hand, a tube of deep red lipstick in the other. But it wasn’t the makeup that stunned him; in fact, the red lip was a classic he had come to love. Nor the eyeliner, a striking but subtle cat eye never bothered him, it made her eyes pop. No, no. It was…her dress. Sleek, backless, glittering ever so slightly in the low light, it hugged her curves in a way that the Radio Demon, raised on the strict sensibilities of the 1930s, found…utterly scandalous.
He cleared his throat, but Y/N didn’t even look up. “Darling…my my, you look…” he struggled to find a word that wasn’t “indecent,” “ravishing,” or “please change right now.” Finally, he settled on a strained, “,bold.”
Y/N arched a brow at him in the mirror, a smirk already forming. “It’s a going-out dress, Al. Angel picked it out. You know, for clubbing?” She dragged the lipstick slowly across her lower lip.
“We’re going out tonight.”
“With him?” Alastor's voice twitched in volume. “Angel Dust?”
“Yes,” she said simply, blotting her lips with a tissue. “He’s fun, and he doesn’t judge what I wear.” The jab landed exactly where she meant it to, and Alastor’s frown deepened, eyes glowing a touch brighter. She had done this on purpose had she? That devilish little smirk on her face certaintly made him think so.
“That dress is… scandalous. Y/N, surely you have something a bit more… modest? Perhaps something with sleeves? And a hemline that doesn’t threaten to abandon you mid-step?” He approached as she stood up, his eyes scanning her ensemble like deer in headlights..
She turned to him fully now, arms folded. “Oh come on, Al. It’s not like I’m stripping on stage. It’s a dress. A cute one. You don’t have to approve it. I’m wearing it because I like how I look in it.”
Alastor sputtered a little, that cheerful smile of his twitching like static interference. “But…but, this is Hell! A dangerous, salacious place! You’re drawing attention, the wrong kind of attention.”
Filtering through he closet, Alastor started to pull out various coats, long-sleeved dresses, even a pair of tights, and began holding them up to his partner like a mannequin.
Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Exactly. This is Hell. Where demons literally eat people. I think I can handle some attention from strangers at a nightclub, Alastor. And what I do wear? Not your business.”
Shoving him out of the way, Y/N began to walk away from him. The disrespect, the silent treatment?! He should stop her, snap his fingers, and change her outfit; she should....
He opened his mouth to argue, but for once, nothing clever came out. Instead, he let out a long, uncharacteristically mortal sigh. “I… suppose you’re right.”
Her expression softened, and that mischievous smile curved on her lips again. “Damn right, I am.” She stepped closer, tilting her head. “But… I appreciate the concern, really.”
Then, with deliberate slowness, she leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek. Alastor stood stock still, stunned by the warmth of the kiss. His eyes widened just in time for her to grab his tie and pull him down into a real kiss, smearing red lipstick across his mouth and leaving him breathless. When she finally pulled away, she winked.
“Thanks for the approval, darling.”
He was still frozen in place when she clicked down the stairs, heels echoing through the hall, calling Angel’s name. Alastor’s fingers ghosted over his lips, now painted in a deep shade. He blinked, slowly, smile twitching wider as the static in his mind finally returned to melody. That was when Husk shuffled past with a bored look and a bottle in hand. He paused mid-step and gave Alastor a once-over.
“You good, boss?”
“I’m fine, Husker. Just peachy,” Alastor replied, voice a little higher than usual.
Husk tilted his head. “Sorry, boss. It’s just, ugh, you look a little… red there.” He motioned vaguely to Alastor’s face.
Realizing the lipstick was still smeared across his mouth, Alastor’s smile faltered for a brief moment, and then, with a flare of cartoonish energy, he whirled on his heel. “Excuse me…” he said with far too much sweetness. “I have unfinished business with a very cheeky young lady.”
“Boss, I wouldn’t….ah fuck.” Husk muttered, watching the demon disappear into a red haze.
Alastor moved through the hallways like he was ready to either kill someone or… have his way with them. Y/N had bested him. Publicly, smugly, and with lipstick no less. The Radio Demon could not, would not, let that be the final word. Not tonight. If she wanted attention, she was going to get all of his. He was going to find her, and then, oh yes, he was going to kiss her again, properly. Just to prove a point, of course. Nothing more.
Summary: Y/N has wanted nothing more than to see her boyfriend's demon form. So what better gift than to surprise her with it on her birthday?
Warnings: Cussing, implied smut PG-13. You are responsible for your own media consumption.
Dedicated to: @redvexillum
Dating a demon wasn’t nearly as chaotic as movies made it out to be. In fact, for Y/N, it was almost annoyingly normal. Apart from the absurdly hot supernatural boyfriend, of course. Jinu, center of the K-Pop sensation Saja Boys and secretly a demon, was sweet, attentive, and somehow more romantic boyfriend than any human she’d ever dated. Even if he was rarely around.
It had been close to six months of a near perfect relationship and Y/N had gotten used to the long stretches of absence, the whirlwind tours, and the cryptic texts like ‘Just finished stealing some souls. Miss you.’
She didn’t mind too much. She had her own life, her work, her routines, but some nights felt hollow. The lack of warmth beside her in bed, laughing and moving to show a meme to a phantom of someone no longer there, no shared meals. Phone calls helped, though. His voice, warm and playful even when exhausted, always made her feel less alone. His sassy smile, gleaming over at her through the phone, could make even the worst day better. But it still hurt. To have someone she loved so deeply essentially destroy the world. It’s not that she didn’t understand…it’s just that she really didn’t. Y/N had never seen the demonic side of Jinu, her boyfriend adamant that she did not. But she couldn’t help herself, being so curious. One of those nights, curled up in bed with the glow of her phone on her cheek, she let something slip.
“I know you don’t like talking about it, but... I want to see you in your demon form. Like, just once. Is that weird?”
There was a pause on the other end. A long one.
“Y/N… it’s not something I show people. It’s not just makeup and cosplay—it’s intense. Dangerous, even.”
“I’m not scared of you.
“You should be.
She could tell he was half-joking. But then he changed the subject, and she figured that was the end of it. Except it wasn’t.
Y/N’s birthday arrived on a sleepy Sunday morning, sun pouring through her apartment windows. She hadn’t expected anything too dramatic. Maybe dinner later, maybe a sweet text in the morning. After all, he was busy. Demon boyfriends with sold-out arena tours usually were. Which is why the knock on her apartment door startled her. Rubbing her eyes, slipping on a fluffy purple robe, Y/N padded to the door and looked through the peephole. Upon seeing the blurry form, she immediately opened the door with a shocked gasp.
“Jinu?!”
He stood there with the boyish grin that melted a million hearts, holding a massive bouquet of dark red roses and a box of handmade chocolates shaped like little crescent moons.
“Happy Birthday, darling.”
Before she could say anything else, he stepped inside and caught her in a hug, spinning her off her feet in the air as she squealed. She clung to him, laughing, overwhelmed with joy, her heart blooming wider than the roses in his hands. It all felt like a perfect dream.
“I thought you were in Tokyo!” she said breathlessly as he set her down.
“I was. Red-eyed straight here just for you.” He kissed her forehead. “And I’m not going anywhere today.”
Though it seemed impossible, Y/N broke free of his grasp and immediately grabbed the giant bouquet from her lover’s hands. She practically floated into the kitchen, already grabbing a vase for the flowers, slightly deliberating which one would suit the room and buds best. “You didn’t have to…Well, I wanted you to…but this is already perfect.”
Jinu came up behind her, wrapping his arms slowly around her waist. His breath ghosted over her ear like a promise. “I am glad you like it. But I have something else for you, too.”
She blinked. “I…what do you mean?”
“Oh, darling,” he purred. “Just you wait.”
She turned around, ready for maybe another gift or a shirtless partner (He had a…drive after all). But to her surprise, where her boyfriend had been, sweet, dark-haired, boy-next-door Jinu, now stood something entirely else. Towering a few inches taller than usual, his skin shimmered a smooth, dusky violet hue. Black patterns curled like living tattoos down his arms and neck. Those golden eyes, molten and slitted like a predator’s, pinned her in place, glowing. His mouth curled into a smirk, revealing perfect, gleaming fangs. Her knees buckled.
“Holy shit,” she whispered.
“Language,” he teased with a wink, but his voice was deeper now, layered with something ancient.
She reached for the counter blindly, dazed. “You’re… you’re…”
“Still me.” He stepped closer, eyes boring into hers with a soft vulnerability. “But this is what you wanted, right? To see me like this?”
She made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan. “I… I didn’t think you’d actually…”
He chuckled lowly, and the sound rippled through her and down her spine. His arm reached out to encase her form between his warm body and the cold countertop.
“Had to wait for the right time. And what better time than your birthday, hm?”
She reached out with trembling fingers, brushing one of the glowing patterns on his collarbone. It pulsed gently under her touch, and she watched how Jinu’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head.
“I am going to….faint.”
He leaned down, his lips hovering above her neck, those sharp fangs ever so slightly grazing the supple flesh beneath them.
“Please do. I’ll just catch you.”
She laughed, half-dizzy, fully lovestruck, and entirely undone. “Best. Gift. Ever.”
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I now I think it’s time I unwrap my gift.”
Summary: Husk is a little drunk, but he will never admit that. But he is certainly drunk enough to walk into the wrong room and walk in on you...
Warnings: Voyeurism, hard-ons, drinking, watching someone while they get off, etc. MDNI, 18+
Inspired by a reblog train from @irkimatsu and @hazbinshusk. Fair warning I wrote this in 15-20 mins so don't judge.
Also, my request box is gonna be closed for the next month due to some ongoing health issues but I will accept ideas for smaller headcanon fics like this in comments!
If asked, Husk wasn’t that drunk. Okay, maybe he was. But it wasn’t his fault the bar had been dead tonight, leaving him with nothing to do but to drown himself with whiskey and the vague ramblings of his radio boss that had him nearly mind numb. He was just trying to make it to his room, really. The hallway looked mostly the same, all the doors blurring together under the dim hotel lights. The new re-model after the battle with Heaven had his mental map all askew. His ears twitched as he hiccuped, one clawed hand bracing against the wall while the other fumbled with the doorknob. It turned easily, which meant this was his room, right?
Wrong.
The sound of running water filled the air, steam curling from the bathroom doorway. A soft humming, the occasional…grunt drifted from inside, the kind that made something warm twist in his chest. His heart damn near stopped when he realized where he was.
This wasn’t his room. It was hers.
And just as that horrifying yet tantalizing realization hit, his eyes drifted towards the bathroom door. Open…with a near-perfect view of Y/N, fingers deep into her weeping cunt, softly moaning his name as hot water and steam poured over her body. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, the sight was perfection in his eyes. Sinful heaven laid out on display all for him. The two of you had been flirty, sure, but never would he have guessed you got off to the thought of him. The drunk old bartender couldn’t even walk into the right room.
Then the dream crashed as he stepped forward enough for Y/N to see him.
“What the hell, Husk?!” Y/N’s voice rang out, sharp with surprise.
The force of a bar of soap headed at his face knocked him back a step, his wings flaring slightly as he wobbled. He blinked, the scent of lavender suds lingering as it slid down his face.
“Oh—uh—shit.” He scrambled to turn around, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I—uh—wrong room,” he muttered, pants straining so hard against his very prevalent problem as he stumbled back to land on Y/N’s bed. Y/N stood in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her hair damp from the steam. The sight made his brain short-circuit in ways he really didn’t need right now. It’s not like he hadn’t just seen more but the sight of her, now right before him, was certainly not helping his situation. Her expression softened after a moment, the initial panic fading into something bordering amusement. “You’re drunk.”
“Not that drunk,” he lied, his tail swishing behind him.
Y/N crossed her arms, raising a brow. “You walked into the wrong room.”
“…A little drunk,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You didn’t see anything right?”
He should leave. He should
But her eyes were warm, and she wasn’t shoving him out the door—hell, she was smiling at him. It made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.
“No and umm—I—I think I should go..”
Y/N smirked. “Try not to walk into any more wrong rooms, huh?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Husk grumbled, but his tail flicked, betraying the way her words made him feel.
As he finally stumbled out and into the correct hallway, he let out a long breath, ears still burning. Damn. He definitely had it bad.
Warnings: Fingering, cum, female anatomy, implied P in V, use of pet names, jealous, etc. MNDI< 18+
For: oceanicscreams
Can you find the number 11 in the fic today? Let me know in the comments below!
If asked, Y/N wasn’t that drunk. Okay…maybe she was. But it wasn’t her fault that Angel and some random low-level pornstar demon had spent the better part of an hour batting their lashes at Husk across the bar like he was a damn prize to be won. She’d watched it all from her seat, glass sweating in her hand, jaw tight every time Husk’s ears flicked, or his tail swayed in that lazy, effortless way he got when he pretended not to notice attention he absolutely noticed. It shouldn’t have bothered her. It really shouldn’t have. But it did.
So, what does one in Hell do when jealous of a platonic friendship possibly slipping away when you want it to be more? She drank. And then she drank a little more. It started with fruity drinks, then morphed to eleven shots, then long island iced teas, and by the end of the night, pure hard whiskey. The liquor burned her nostrils and the back of her throat, but the sting of the liquid was insignificant compared to the ache in her heart. She stayed long past the time Husk had given up trying to take her to her room, the cat demon huffing some cussed apology and slinking off. By the time actually managed, she’d finally peeled herself away from the bar and headed upstairs. The hotel hallway felt longer than usual, the red velvet carpet swimming slightly beneath her feet. The new lights blurred together, damn Charlie and her desire to make everything LED, it was making the doors lining the walls like copy-paste mistakes. She squinted at one of them, keys clutched tight in her hand.
This was her room. Definitely. The doorknob turned easily, no need for the keys. Funny, she had remembered locking the door before she left. The room beyond was dim, lit only by the warm glow of a bedside lamp. The smell of whiskey and smoke hit her first, comforting and familiar. Her shoulders relaxed without her meaning them to. She kicked off her shoes and stepped inside, not even noticing the figure sprawled across the bed until…
“What the hell?”
Husk blinked up at her, one ear flattened awkwardly against the pillow, wings half-spread as he’d been in the middle of shifting positions. His shirt was gone, vest discarded over the back of a chair, scars faintly visible beneath fur and skin. He looked…rumpled. Sleepy. And damn it, he was adorable.
“…Y/N?” His voice was gravelly, confused. “Why’re you—”
She froze. Oh. Oh no.
Her stomach dropped as reality slammed back into place. “Shit,” she slurred softly, eyes widening. “I…this isn’t—”
“This is my room,” Husk finished slowly, pushing himself up on one elbow. His tail flicked once, sharp with surprise. “You okay?”
She laughed then, a breathy, slightly hysterical sound. “Yeah. Totally. Great. Just…walking into wrong rooms tonight, apparently.”
His brow furrowed. “You drunk?”
“No,” she said immediately, then winced, the loudness of her own voice making her head ache. “…Okay. A little.”
She turned to leave, mortified heat crawling up her neck, but the door didn’t open right away. She fumbled with the handle, fingers clumsy, frustration bubbling up dangerously close to tears. Gods, this was humiliating.
“Hey.” Husk’s voice was softer now. She felt his presence before she saw him. Warm, solid, standing just close enough behind her that she could smell the whiskey on his breath. Not overwhelming. Just…him.
“You’re shakin’,” he murmured.
She huffed, finally managing to pull the door open, then stopped anyway. Her shoulders sagged. “I’m fine. Just tired. And stupid.”
“Didn’t look stupid downstairs,” he said carefully.
Her grip tightened on the doorframe. The jealousy she’d been holding back slipped out before she could stop it. “Yeah. How would you tell? You seemed real popular.”
Silence stretched between them.
Husk exhaled slowly. “That's what this is about?”
Oh, how Husk’s heart might’ve exploded right there. She cared about him. Holy fuck, had he actually been redeemed and gone to Heaven? Had this sweet angel of a person…been jealous? She turned, meeting his gaze despite herself. His eyes were sharp now, sober enough to read her too well. Damn him. “I didn’t like it,” she admitted quietly. “Seeing them all over you.”
Something unreadable crossed his face, then his ears tilted back, expression softening. “You know I wasn’t flirtin’ back.”
“I know,” she said. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t suck.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air felt heavy, charged in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol. Husk’s tail brushed her calf accidentally—then didn’t move away.
“…You can sit,” he offered, nodding toward the bed. “Till you sober up. I ain’t gonna bite.”
She hesitated, heart pounding, then sighed before letting a small smirk play on the corners of her lips ‘Unless I want you to bite, of course.”
She perched on the edge of the mattress, arms crossed, staring at the floor. Husk stayed standing, giving her space, though his gaze lingered in a way that made her chest ache.
“Next time,” he said gently, “if you’re jealous…you could just tell me.”
She glanced up at him, startled. “…Yeah?”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah.”
With a fierce determination, he pulled Y/N flush to his chest, then gently flipped to guide her back to his bed. Peering down into her eyes, his own glowed with a soft hue as a clawed hand came to caress the swell of her cheek. With silent confirmation as Y/N nodded her head, Husk closed the gap as his lips captured hers. Moaning into the kiss, Y/N slowly brought her hands up to find them tangled in the fur at the nape of his neck.
Trailing his hand up to her waist, Husk gave it a tight squeeze that made her squeak. Chuckling at the reaction, both their lips remained interlocked for what seemed an eternity. Nimble fingers traced up her waist, tugging softly on the waistband of her pants, a cawl coming to slowly drag them down her legs. Exposed to the cool air, Y/N let out a gasp of surprise that was quickly replaced with a lewd moan as Husk traced a knuckle up her clothed core.
“Shh, darlin’. Just let me show ya why you shouldn’t have been so jealous.” Continuing to drag his finger across her pantie-clad slit, Husk mumbled the words into the base of her neck.
“Stop, fuck, stop teasing Husk.”
“Now, darlin’. Let me take care of you. Don’t wanna rush this.” Despite his words, he obliged her request by removing the offending undergarment from her body. Working his way down, his face ended between her thighs. His eyes widened at the glittering white gold slick that painted her hole.
Diving in, his tongue lapped up all the juices that spilled from her needy cunt. Sucking softly here and there while delving as deep as his tongue would allow, Y/N let out saccirhine moans and lewd hisses of pleasure. Gosh, she was more addictive than any liquor. Bottle up the juices pouring from her beautiful hole, and Husk would be content for the rest of his damned eternity. Gripping the sheets beneath her, her eyes remained shut in ecstasy. To make matters worse, or better depending on who you ask, Husk inserted his finger into her while continuing to feast. He could see her holding back some of her noises, desperate to control her noise.
"Come on, sugar. Don’t deprive a man of the reward of his hard work."
"But I don't want people to hear--"
"That does not apply today. Let all of Hell know ya mine."
Stretching her open, he added another finger, scissoring her wide. Y/n’s eyes rolled into the back of her head, and her body involuntarily shifted away from the overstimulating assault. Taking his other hand, Husk placed it on her hip and held her in place.
“Darlin’, I don’t want to have to hold ya down.” Perking up at the thought, Y/N gulped. The idea of being restrained all the muscles that way Husk…forcing her legs open so he could do as he pleased…. letting him use them to fill every hole piqued her interest. Perhaps for another time. The thoughts and stimulation from Husj’s mouth and his fingers nearly had her cumming, mumbling incoherently for just a bit more to push her over the edge. Smirking, Husk brought a third finger into her hole, its walls squeezing onto him for dear life. Using his thumb to rub against her clit, the stimulation was bearing nearly too much, and Y/N felt the coil in her stomach snap as she cried his name. Surely, the whole hotel had heard her by now. Not that Husk minded. Cum now coated his fingers and the bedsheets below as her high overtook her senses and she saw stars.
Drawing his fingers slowly out of her and bringing them to his lips, Husk sucked on the white, addictive juices. Both parties were covered in a layer of thin sweat, panting heavily and overcome with arousal. Walking his hands forward till both of his arms caged her in on the bed, and she could feel his growing bulge against her thighs, Husk whispered:
When a struggling, reclusive, but wealthy single father calls upon the help of a governess to help tutor his coming-of-age but unruly daughter, one has no choice but to accept the most gracious invitation of employment. Especially if your new employer is the King of Hell. (aka if Hell, but if it was set similar to Victorian Era England, so like circa 1830 to 1900 A.D.)
CW - Minor spoilers from Season Two of Hazbin Hotel.
In the days that followed the fire, Lucifer wasted no time tightening the reins of his authority. His command spread through the Manor grounds, what remained of them, with swift exactness. Alastor, wounded though he was, became his second hand in the search for truth. And from Alastor’s sharp tongue and mind, the orders filtered downward to Nifty and Husk. The four of them formed an unlikely chain of investigation, bound by necessity rather than affection. At least on Husk’s part. Alastor, propped on his cane and still limping from his injury, surveyed the ruined halls with an expression both calculating and coldly amused.
“Hellfire does not simply appear,” he murmured to Husk as they stepped through the blackened remains of the west wing. “Someone either brought it…or summoned it.”
Nifty, crawling across the charred floor like a determined little beetle, picked up fragments and ashes, sniffing at them as though they were clues written in perfume. “This wasn’t an accident,” she declared with certainty. “It burned too fast. Too hot. Like someone fed it.”
“Or someone wanted it fed,” Husk added grimly, running a paw over the scorched stone. “But who in their right mind would bring Hellfire into the King of Hell’s home?”
Alastor tapped his cane thoughtfully, his grin sharp despite the pain tightening his brow. “Someone very brave,” he said softly. “Or very foolish.”
His gaze drifted toward the shattered windows, as though searching for a face among the smoke. “Either way, they wished to make a statement.”
While the investigators prowled through blackened halls and soot-stained courtyards, Y/N did what she had always done: she took care of Charlie. The reconstruction of the Manor had begun, Lucifer weaving magic through the ruins while several Overlords arrived in strained solidarity. Yet the sound of hammering stone and whispered spells did little to soothe the child.
Charlie clung to Y/N more than she had in months. She laughed readily, too readily, making little jokes about the fire as though it were an inconvenience rather than a nightmare. She spoke of forgiveness with wide, hopeful eyes.
“If they were just scared of us,” she said one afternoon, twirling a bit of string between her fingers, “or if they didn’t know what they were doing…I think I could forgive them.”
But Y/N saw through the fragile mask. Charlie’s hands shook when she thought no one was watching. She woke in the night crying, her voice a soft, strangled plea. And during their lessons, her gaze drifted often to the scorched horizon, where the ruins still smoldered faintly.
Today was no different. They sat beneath one of the surviving magnolia trees, its blossoms only lightly dusted with ash. Charlie traced patterns in the dirt with a stick, her brows knitted.
“Why would someone burn our home?” she whispered. “Why would anyone want to hurt Papa? Hurt…us?”
Y/N hesitated before answering. The truth was cruel, but she could not lie, not to Charlie.
“Charlie,” she said gently, brushing a leaf from the girl’s hair, “we are in Hell. And down here…many would do such a thing. Out of envy. Or spite. Or ambition. Or simply because they can.”
The girl went very still. Her eyes lifted to Y/N’s, searching. “Does everyone here do bad things?”
“Not everyone,” Y/N murmured, offering a faint smile. “But many. Enough that you must be careful.”
A silence settled between them, soft but heavy. Then Charlie asked, in a voice barely above a whisper:
“Miss Y/N…then why are you in Hell?”
Y/N’s breath caught. How could she answer? How could she explain the strange path that had led her here, the mixture of fate, tragedy, and something much darker? Her heart tightened as she opened her mouth…
And the question was cut sharply in half by the sudden, resounding clang of the front bell. A jarring, metallic strike. Once. Twice. More insistent than any visitor’s call should be. Y/N and Charlie froze, both turning toward the half-ruined Manor as the echo carried through the garden. Someone was at the door. And in Hell…unexpected visitors were rarely good news.
The bell rang again. Loud, metallic, reverberating through the half-rebuilt foyer like a warning knell. Its clang cut clean through the hush of the afternoon, startling birds from the garden trees and sending a shiver through the very timbers of the damaged estate.
Alastor groaned from his place on the refurbished drawing-room sofa, one arm draped dramatically across his brow.
“Must every imbecile in Pride think themselves welcome at our door?” He shifted his injured leg with a grimace.
“If it’s another sodded reporter, I shall set their soul—”
Y/N shot him a quick look over her shoulder. “Hush. You’re supposed to be resting.”
He scoffed. “Resting? My dear, I am resting quite suitably. I simply object to unnecessary disturbances.”
He tried to sit up straighter, then winced, the gesture undermining his attempted grandeur. “Truly, this household attracts calamity.”
“You attract calamity,” she muttered under her breath.
He smirked faintly. “And calamity, in turn, is drawn to you, also. A perfect balance, no?”
But when the Radio Demon moved to rise and step toward the door, Y/N lifted a hand as though to stop um. “Calm yourself, Hartfelt. I am perfectly capable of answering summons.”
“You can hardly walk,” she continued gently, already reaching for the handle. “Stay where you are.”
He huffed, clearly offended by her practicality. “I’ll have you know my mobility has improved considerably.”
Y/N opened the door anyway. A gust of wind carried the faint smell of ash inside, but it was not the most striking thing that greeted her. Standing upon the threshold was a tall, sinuous demon with gleaming yellow eyes that caught the fading light. His attire was impeccably tailored, black with gold detailing, and his narrow face was framed by an elegant top hat. His eyes, large, vertical, and luminous, blinked expectantly.
Y/N paused. “…May I help you, good sir?”
The serpent straightened to his full height, his tail curling behind him with a soft metallic hiss.
“Good afternoon, madam!” he announced with theatrical flourish, removing his hat with a sweeping bow. “Permit me to introduce mysself! I am Ssir Pentiouss. Genius inventor, master architect, and connoisseur of structural brilliance!”
She blinked once. Twice. “…Sir Pentious?”
“At your sservice!” He grinned, exposing a row of pointed yet polished teeth.
“I was ssummoned by Lord Morningsstar himsself to aid in the reconstruction of this fine esstate! I bring designss, calculationss, and devicess of my own creation.” He puffed out his chest.
Y/N, still catching up with his rapid delivery, studied him for any sign of deceit. Snake demons were not common in these parts, but neither were inventors known for subtlety. And Lucifer had mentioned seeking specialized help. So perhaps, this man did bode well after all. Any help freely given was one she would take.
“Well…” she said softly, glancing past him at the rolled blueprints strapped to his back. “You are an architect?”
“And an engineer! And vissionary!” he added quickly.
She smiled, despite herself, giggling behind her hand at the demon’s excitable antics. He was clearly passionate and harmless. His eyes gleaming with the utmost pride and wonder, as if he might shout ‘eureka’ at any moment.
“Very well then. If Mr. Morningstar hired you, you are welcome.” She stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.
Sir Pentious slithered across the threshold with surprising grace, the end of his tail clicking faintly like a clockwork device. As he entered the half-lit foyer, he surveyed the charred beams and half-repaired walls with a hum of curiosity.
“Oh-ho-ho! Quite a delightful ruin! Yess, yess, I see enormouss potential. Tragedy for you, of coursse,” he added hastily, “but a magnificent challenge for me!”
Alastor, who had risen half an inch from the sofa in alarm, narrowed his eyes sharply as Pentious passed into view. “Oh,” he said flatly. “Who are you, again?”
Pentious froze, then offered a stiff, uncomfortable smile. How Alastor did not remember him was beyond him; they had fought manly a glorious battle. But he supposed that in this instance, the Radio Demon’s lack of recall was beneficial.
“Ah, the infamouss Radio Demon. How do you do, ssir?”
Y/N glanced between them, sensing history she did not fully know. Alastor’s smile sharpened ever so slightly, a predator acknowledging another creature it considered prey.
Pentious cleared his throat and turned back to Y/N much too quickly. “At any rate! I sshall sspeak with Lord Morningsstar at once. We must begin planss immediately!”
Y/N gestured to the stairs. “Mr. Moringstar should be in his office. I’ll take you to him.”
As she guided the serpentine architect deeper into the half-ruined Manor, she could not shake a faint prickle at the back of her neck. An intuition that the fire, the investigation, and now this unexpected arrival were threads of a tapestry yet unwoven.
But she forced the unease aside. After all, Lucifer did need architects. Pentious seemed nothing more than an eccentric addition to the reconstruction team. And yet…Alastor watched the snake demon go with an expression she had rarely seen from him. Something wary, intrigued, and faintly amused.
Sir Pentious had come at Lucifer’s summons. But Hell had a way of twisting truths. And from the cracked walls around them, certain green shadows seemed to lean in, listening.
Night fell upon the half-restored Manor like a heavy velvet shroud, quieting the last murmurs of workers and drowning the evening’s bustle beneath a deep, resonant stillness. Lanterns flickered softly along the corridors, their golden halos trembling each time the draft found its way through cracked plaster or fractured marble. The house itself seemed to breathe. Slow, wounded, restless. Still alive.
Lucifer had spent the evening in counsel with Sir Pentious, reviewing architectural sketches that sprawled across his desk like the blueprints of a kingdom rising from ash. Pentious spoke with frantic enthusiasm, tapping at diagrams, boasting of reinforcements and mechanisms that could withstand even celestial fire. Y/N had overheard snippets as she ushered Charlie to bed. Lucifer’s measured replies, Pentious’s enthusiastic hissing, Alastor’s background snickering at the notion of ‘improved ventilation.’
When the meeting concluded, he wandered the hallways alone, mind burdened by flames that no longer burned, by danger that very much still did. The scent of smoke had woven itself into the Manor’s bones. It clung to him, too, a ghostly reminder of how close he had come to losing everything.
At the same hour, Y/N moved quietly through the upper wing, guiding Charlie to bed with a gentleness honed from countless nights of comforting restless children. Charlie clung close to her side, her small hand wrapped tightly around Y/N’s fingers as though letting go might allow the fire to find her again. Even after being tucked beneath warm blankets, the girl’s eyes darted to every shadow, searching for reassurance she did not know how to ask for.
When Charlie finally surrendered to sleep, around the third bedtime tale, her breaths slow and uneven, Y/N lingered for a time by the bedside. Adjusting the quilt, ensuring the windows were firmly latched against the night air, and smoothing the child’s hair. Only when she was satisfied that Charlie was safe did she slip from the room, closing the door with careful precision.
The corridor outside was dim. Lanternlight cast long shadows that stretched and twisted along the walls, as though the Manor still grappled with the remnants of its trauma. Y/N walked softly, cradling her exhaustion in silence, her thoughts full of Charlie’s trembling hands and the echo of fear that had not yet loosened its grasp on her.
She rubbed her tired eyes, one hand absently smoothing her apron, and made for her own chamber at the end of the west corridor.
Turning a corner, she nearly collided with Lucifer.
“Oh! Your Majesty, forgive me,” she gasped, stepping back. Her cheeks warmed despite herself.
He stood in the middle of the corridor as though emerging from some troubled reverie. The faint glow of a nearby lamp carved his figure in pale gold, highlighting the weary slope of his shoulders and the soft disarray in his dark hair. His expression lifted slightly when he saw her, against his best efforts.
He startled slightly, then inclined his head with that reserved elegance he always carried. “No apology needed,” he said softly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
There was a moment of polite stiffness as they both stepped aside and murmured soft apologies, each keenly aware of how different things now felt between them. But the awkwardness was fragile, fleeting, easily overshadowed by the heavier emotions both carried.
Y/N was the first to truly meet his eyes. She saw exhaustion not unlike her own. He saw in her the residue of fear, the burns still healing along her hands, the steadfastness she bore like an invisible crown. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken worries. Y/N lowered her gaze, then allowed it to rise once more, softer this time.
Y/N clasped her hands. “I was just going to retire for the night.”
“Of course,” he murmured. Then, after a beat: “And…Charlie? Is she resting well?”
Y/N hesitated, and the faintest crack passed across her expression. “She tries,” she said finally. “But she’s scared. Very scared, if I’m honest.”
Lucifer’s composure faltered under it. Something in his chest tightened, and he turned slightly away, as though bracing himself against what he already sensed was coming.
Lucifer’s gaze softened. “She hides it well.”
“Too well,” Y/N replied quietly. “She thinks she has to. For you.”
His breath hitched, barely audible.
“She told me she would forgive the person who burned the Manor,” Y/N continued, her voice gentle but sorrowful. “But her hands were shaking the whole time. She’s afraid this could happen again. Afraid that someone out there wants to hurt her.”
Lucifer drew a slow breath, his chest rising and falling in a way that betrayed the truth more than any admission could. He pressed a hand lightly to the wall beside him, as though grounding himself against the enormity of what loomed over them: That his child had been endangered, that a direct attack had been launched against his home, that someone out there wished his family harm.
A flicker of pain crossed his face. It transformed him not into a king, not into a fallen angel, but simply into a father. A frightened one, at that.
Lucifer closed his eyes, shoulders sagging just slightly under a burden no mortal eye could ever fully see. “It has frightened me too,” he admitted. His voice, usually so commanding, dropped into something human and raw. “A direct attack on my home…and my daughter? Someone dared that? Someone knew the cost…”
Y/N stepped closer, unable to keep her empathy at bay. “You’re doing your best,” she murmured. “You’ve been strong for everyone. For her. She looks up to you more than anyone in the world.”
He let out a trembling sigh, one hand rising to rest against the wall, as though the weight of the truth pressed upon him. “My powers were clipped when I fell,” he said quietly. “A punishment. I cannot harm sinners. Not directly. I can’t even defend my daughter against them.” His eyes lifted to hers, golden and wounded.
“I am king of this realm, and yet there is so much I cannot do for her.”
He turned his gaze back to her, meeting her eyes in a silence that felt almost sacred. In her face, he found no reproach, no question. Only empathy, unwavering and sincere.
And in return, something softened in him. The rigid tension slipped from his shoulders, replaced by something more fragile, more open. He looked at her as though seeing her not merely as the governess who had tended his child, not merely as the woman who had carried them from the burning halls... but as something gentler, rarer, inexplicably precious.
In that stillness, he let his gaze travel over her face. Her tired eyes, her soot-stained sleeves, the faint burn along her wrists, and something within him ached with a tenderness he could not yet name, but feared to acknowledge. When he spoke at last, his voice was low, almost reverent.
“How someone as kind as you ever found their way into Hell,” he murmured, “I will never understand.”
The words drifted between them like a touch. They lingered long after silence reclaimed the hall, curling around her heart, threading into the quiet spaces of his.
Then, slowly, Lucifer straightened, offering her a gentle incline of his head. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight…Lucifer.”
Night settled heavily over the half-rebuilt Manor, the scent of ash still lingering in its rafters. Candles flickered in the lower corridors, casting restless shadows over the stone, and outside, the magnolia trees whispered with each passing breeze. Though the reconstruction had quieted for the evening, the grounds were far from silent. A soft scuffle of footsteps approached the gate, followed by a hesitant knock, light, uncertain, almost fragile. Husk, perched on a stone bench beneath the veranda roof, looked up from his bottle. His feathers ruffled irritably.
“Who the hell’s callin’ this late?” he muttered, though he made no move to stand. His back still ached from lifting debris, and the day’s exhaustion weighed heavily on him.
The door opened before he could rise, and Angel Dust appeared in the soft lanternlight. His silhouette, tall and delicate, seemed almost out of place against the ruin around him. His white fur was brushed neatly, though his eyes, usually bright with mischief, held a worry that was painfully easy to read.
“Whiskers,” he called softly. “You alive in there?”
Husk grunted, taking another drink. “Unfortunately.”
Angel approached with a carefully casual sway, hands tucked behind his back.
“Heard about the fire,” he said, trying for levity that didn’t quite land. “Y’know, the one that almost made fried sole* outta you?”
Husk snorted. “Mpmh.”
Angel smirked faintly, settling beside him on the bench. “Just checking in. Wanted to see how my favorite grump’s holdin’ up.”
For a moment, it was easy. Comfortable teasing, a sweetness masked in sarcasm. Angel leaned lightly against him, and Husk allowed it without comment. The silence between them felt almost warm.
But then Husk stiffened. A shadow passed over his face, and he shifted away just enough to break the closeness. “Why’re you callin’ on me, anyway?” he asked, his voice suddenly rough.
“Why waste your time on an old topper** like me?”
Angel blinked, thrown off by the sharpness. “Because I…well…‘cause I care, obviously.” He laughed awkwardly. “Thought that was obvious, jobbernowl***.”
Husk stared at the bottle in his hands, fingers tightening around the neck. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t pretend I’m something worth calling on,” Husk muttered. His ears flattened, his voice low and bitter. “You deserve someone… better. Someone who ain’t a washed-up drunk with more baggage than brains.”
Angel’s breath caught. “Husk…”
“No.” Husk stood abruptly, wobbling just a little. “Go find someone worth your damn time. Someone who ain't gonna drag you down.”
Angel rose too, hurt flashing bright across his face. “Why do you do that?” he asked, voice trembling despite his best efforts. “Why do you always push me away like I’m some kinda joke?”
“‘Cause you are,” Husk snapped before he could stop himself. “You’re…you're sunshine and I’m fuckin’ fog. You’ll never get anywhere stickin’ around me.”
Angel reeled back as though struck. He opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head as tears threatened the corners of his eyes. “You don’t get to decide who I care about.”
“Yeah? Well, I’m tryin’ to save you the trouble.”
“That ain’t your job!”
Their voices echoed through the ruined courtyard, splintering the quiet of the night. Then, suddenly, Angel’s anger cracked under the weight of something close to aching,
“I came here because I was scared, you idiot,” he whispered. “Scared somethin’ happened to you. And all you can do is shove me away.”
Husk’s ears drooped, but he didn’t move closer. Didn’t reach for him. He simply stared at the ground.
Angel swallowed hard, wiping at his eyes. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”
And then he turned and fled, long legs carrying him quickly through the garden path, disappearing into the dark. Husk didn’t call after him. Didn’t chase. When the silence returned, it was colder than before. Husk slumped back onto the bench, wings drooping, the flickering lanternlight casting him in a lonely silhouette. He lifted the bottle to his lips again, staring at the place where Angel had vanished.
“Figures,” he muttered hoarsely. “The only love I’ll ever find… comes in a bottle.”
He drank. And the night drank the rest of his words, leaving him alone beneath the magnolia tree, listening to the wind whisper through its ash-stained leaves.
*Fried Sole = Victorian-era fried dishes included various meats like soles and smelts, often prepared by dipping them in egg and breadcrumbs before frying in lard or clarified butter. So instead of "fried chicken outta you", this is a better Victorian equivalent
**Topper = Victorian slang for a habitual drunk or alcoholic
***Jobbernowl = Similar to calling someone a "birdbrain" or "numbskull"
