hazbin hotel characters x child!reader maybe around 9-10 fluff (platonic) (The probability of their being a child sinner is 0.00 but we don't need to care abt the logistics.)
Hazbin Hotel Characters x Child!Reader
Alastor treats you like a curious little guest he’s determined to keep entertained.
He doesn’t talk down to you — he talks around you, like he’s narrating a 1930s radio show.
He finds you wandering one morning, little feet pat-patting down the hall, half awake.
“Good morning, my small wanderer!” he chirps, cane tapping as he swoops beside you.
You rub your eyes. “I’m hungry.”
In less than a second, he conjures a tray of pastries that smell like cinnamon and old nostalgia.
“Now, now, let’s get some energy into you before your day of mischief-making begins!”
Alastor teaches you swing dancing in the lobby, spinning you gently by your hands until you fall into a giggling heap. He claps for you like you just won a talent competition.
When you get frightened — maybe by a loud noise, a fight in the hotel, or a creepy demon outside — Alastor appears at your side so fast the lights flicker.
His shadow curls around you protectively as he crouches to your height.
“No need to fret, my dear! As long as I’m around, the world will think twice before troubling you.”
And weirdly?
They absolutely do.
Vox insists he doesn’t do “kid stuff,” but you are the exception coded directly into his processor.
The first time you tugged on his sleeve and shyly asked, “Can I watch cartoons… on your screen?”
He glitched, stuttered, reloaded, and then sighed dramatically.
“Fine. ONE cartoon. Something tasteful. No singing vegetables.”
An hour later, you’re curled up on a beanbag, and he’s standing nearby with his hands behind his back, secretly enjoying the silly sound effects playing through his speakers.
He custom-codes apps for you:
— A drawing program with sparkly neon pens
— A “monster identifier” scanner he pretends is scientific
— A puzzle game you love but he keeps adding new levels to
He denies all involvement.
When another demon tries picking on you in the lobby, Vox’s screen crackles with red static.
He steps forward, looking down at them.
“You got something to say to the kid? Go on. Say it again.”
He turns to you afterward, smoothing your hair with a robotic hand.
“…You okay, kid? Good. Don’t go telling anyone I’m nice.”
Lucifer loves having someone small to fuss over again.
He treats you like visiting royalty, bowing dramatically whenever you enter a room.
“Ah! My favorite small mortal! Come here— let’s see what mischief we can get into today.”
He shows you his collection of magical cards, performing dazzling tricks to brighten your day. Cards turn into flowers, flowers turn into glitter, glitter turns into tiny dancing lights that orbit your head like fireflies.
When he notices you’re struggling with the whole “Hell is scary” thing, he sits beside you, tapping his cane on the floor until the room fills with warm gold light.
“You’re safe here, little star. No harm comes to anyone under my roof.”
He gives the best shoulder rides, tall enough that you feel like you’re touching the ceiling.
You cling to his hat while he strolls through the hotel like you’re his crown.
He teaches you silly French phrases. Most of them are compliments. Some of them are swear words he insists are “harmless.”
Charlie disapproves.
Lucifer smiles innocently.
Husk pretends he doesn’t care that you climb into his arms like he’s a giant plush toy.
He sits at the bar flipping cards when you wander in with your blanket trailing behind you. “Huuusk… I can’t sleep.”
He sighs. “Kid, I’m a bartender, not a teddy—”
You’re already curling against his chest.
He wraps a wing around you and grumbles softly. Within minutes, you’re asleep.
He shifts just enough to keep you comfortable, glaring at anyone who comes too close.
If someone asks if he’s your dad, he scoffs loudly.
But when you call him “Husky,” his tail flicks like a pleased cat.
He fixes your stuff — toys, loose buttons, broken crayons — muttering the whole time.
“Tch. Who even breaks a crayon? How’s that happen?”
He gives you a small wooden token he carved himself. He says it’s “lucky.”
You treasure it like gold.
Angel is loud, messy, sparkly, and 100% your self-appointed older sibling.
He picks you up with all six arms and spins you around until you’re laughing uncontrollably.
He teaches you the absolute worst catchphrases that Vaggie has to forbid instantly.
Angel sulks but promises (lies) that he won’t teach you any more.
He braids your hair, adding bows and stickers until your head looks like a craft store.
When someone teases you, Angel goes dead silent.
He steps in front of you, all arms crossing in a protective cage.
“You wanna repeat that, sweetie? No? Then scram.”
He hugs you with all six arms when you’re sad, rocking you gently.
“C’mere, kid. Big bro’s got ya.”
He gives you sparkly sunglasses and calls you “my starlet.”
Baxter has absolutely no idea how to interact with children.
You enter his lab one day, asking, “Whatcha doing?”
He freezes like he’s been caught doing something illegal.
“I— I am performing experiments! Scientific ones! Which are, um… child-safe. Mostly. Probably.”
He creates special experiments for you:
• a bubbling potion that turns blue when you laugh
• a cloud of harmless glitter-spores that float like snow
• a tiny robot bug that crawls into your palm
He gives you safety goggles that are way too big.
When they slip off, he panics and fixes them like you’re delicate glass.
He proudly shows you how his inventions work, voice softening when he sees your eyes light up.
“You… you are remarkably bright for your age.”
You hug him once.
He stands perfectly still and short-circuits emotionally.
Charlie loves you more than sunshine. She sees innocence in a place without any.
She plans entire days of fun for you:
• cookie baking (she burns half of them and laughs)
• dancing around the lobby
• drawing murals on big sheets of paper
• building pillow forts that block half the hallway
She talks to you like you’re the most important person in the world.
If you look sad for even a second, she drops everything to kneel beside you.
“Hey, hey— what’s wrong, sweetheart? Talk to me.”
She sings you lullabies with her soft angelic voice.
Her hugs are warm, protective, and smell like vanilla.
You'll often be found sitting on her shoulders as she excitedly introduces you to guests.
“This is our little friend! Aren’t they adorable?”
Vaggie stands behind her like: “Charlie please don’t let random demons near the child—”
Vaggie is the hotel’s strict parent and you are her favorite headache.
She always checks on you:
“Did you eat yet? Did you brush your teeth? Who taught you that word?!”
She holds your hand when the streets get crowded.
She makes sure you don’t see anything frightening when guests get rowdy.
If she hears even a whisper of someone bothering you, she’s already in battle mode, spear in hand.
Nobody messes with her kid.
She teaches you tiny self-defense moves — just enough to help you feel safe and confident.
When you’re sad or overwhelmed, she sits with you quietly, letting you lean on her shoulder.
Charlie always melts seeing that.
Velvette treats you like a living dress-up doll.
“Come here, Mini-Me! I’ve got accessories that’ll make you ICONIC.”
She gives you sparkly hair clips, glow-in-the-dark stickers, LED shoelaces, and way too many bracelets.
You two make goofy dance videos together, Velvette spinning the camera while you try to keep up.
She teases the others for being “too soft,” yet she shuts down anyone who looks at you wrong.
With a snap of her fingers, she can turn the ground under them into a giant pink trampoline.
You laugh so hard she does it again.
She buys you candy every time she goes shopping.
Velvette says she’s “corrupting you,” but she’s weirdly protective deep down.
Lute pretends she’s stern, but you make her wings fluff out involuntarily.
She plays harp music when you have trouble sleeping, fingers gliding gently over the strings in a lullaby that seems to glow.
She teaches you simple melodies, guiding your hands with careful tenderness.
“You catch on quickly. That is… impressive.”
When you cling to her leg because a loud demon yelled, she stiffens — then wraps her wings around you like a soft white blanket.
“No one will harm you. Not while I stand here.”
She might not smile often, but with you?
Her eyes soften every time.
