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star-junk · 9 days

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Sweet Lord Almighty! I'm completely wrecked over how incredibly dark and beautiful your writing is. The masterful use of your similes and descriptions; Husk's drowsiness, the palpable danger in Alastor's presence alone.

And The Defeat (Alastor's triumph) in their interactions.

And the line: "It's my day off, boss... "

I'm telling you I stopped breathing!

I read all of your fics at least twice because they're just that amazing and perfect! I wish my art did more justice to your talent, regardless please look forward to another humble art offering! <3

And never stop writing!

Overtime

On his day off, Husk gets a visit from Alastor. It's routine.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters/Pairing: Husk/Alastor Rating: M Word Count: 1627 Notes: Warning for suggestive situations here and some dubious consent. Just a short fic inspired by this art from @star-junk. It just really made me want to write something with it, so I hope it's okay!

It’s the creak of the bed that finally wakes Husk up. Wide-eyed. Fur standing on end. Vulnerable.

Maybe he should be surprised, but he's not at all. All he can think about is how damn tired he is. He’d already had to deal with errands and stocking up the bar, the crates full of bourbon and absinthe wrecking his back as he carried them. He’d had to deal with multiple grabby hands from the same eight-eyed customer, who whined about not getting his attention. And as well, any weird new activity Charlie was cooking up for the hotel residents, and pulling him into it. Not like Husk’s seeking redemption. He isn’t foolish enough to believe it could ever be for him.

There’s a small dip from behind him, on his bed. Another creak. It’s dark, but Husk doesn’t really need to see. The soft shine of red tells him everything he needs to know.

Another of his boss’s little visits.

Husk’s not alert enough to decide what to do. His limbs still feel heavy and his mouth is all dry from drinking himself to sleep. The weight keeps moving around on top of him, softly treading, like an animal through the brush. What makes it all the more eerie though is that he can’t even hear the shadow over him breathe.

That’s when he feels the hand on his wing.

He grits his teeth, then shivers. His throat rumbles with a sound he could barely restrain, still moving out of the shades of sleep.

Husk realizes too late that he’s not wearing anything. He always goes to bed bare, his own fur a bitch to deal with.

Finally, a voice.

“Dear Husker,” Alastor whispers, leaning down just a bit. The filter over his voice seems to dial all the way down to low. “You sleep so deeply. And it’s already past noon.” He tsks. “Such a layabout.”

Husk softly groans, all as Alastor keeps his hand in that same place. “Well, I was sleeping fine before you fucking showed up. And what do you care how I spend my Saturday?”

He doesn’t need to look to know how deep Alastor’s smile is, how it cuts into his face until it’s all he is.

Before Husk can even ask what’s the goddamn occasion now, the hand on his wing shifts. A thumb rubs against his feathers, the palm edging across the bend of his wing. The upper feathers are shorter, but they’re also sensitive. He’d give his own bottle of whiskey away if it meant he’d just have less of these stupid fucking soft spots of his, where any stimulation at all just did something to him.

And Alastor knows just where such spots were. Just right there, at the wing’s curve, where the feathers softened, where the red edges into the black. The wings had always been such a cruel joke, with its alternating patterns that resembled some cheap roulette wheel. It was always the one game it had been impossible for him to cheat at.

Alastor’s fingers curl into his wing, the thumb continuing to rub patterns, as if he’s memorizing every soft thread that makes up Husk’s body.

“Come on, why are you–” Husk cuts himself off, his body still struggling with the depth of his fatigue. Infuriating that this is all it takes for Alastor to get such reactions from him, and that he knows just when to do it.

But, despite it all, Husk finally gets his body to half-turn instead of just stretching like some depraved animal. His room is still covered in shadows, with only barely muted hallway light coming from the doorway crack.

None of that matters. He can still easily make out Alastor’s face, his smile like a crescent moon shining over dark woods. Red swam over both, its color searing into him. He’s still fully dressed, unlike Husk. As if he had just left a social meeting, and then went to his pet for a little play.

“Are you sure you weren’t just waiting for me?” the demon above him asks with a low laugh. “You reacted just so quickly, even for you.”

Now he’s actively trying to piss Husk off, but then there’s another touch. This time, right at the inside of his right thigh. Husk shivers again, and this time, he can’t help but arch his back, just slightly.

Alastor’s expression doesn’t change, even as his fingers part through the fur, trailing through white and black. Even as his other hand keeps weaving a soft language into Husk’s feathers. He plays his body like an instrument, fingers tapping along invisible keys that make the one beneath him sing in a melody so few others would ever hear.

And Alastor is certainly enjoying the show before him.

It’s hard to escape. It’s hard to want to escape.

But he manages to speak, even when he’s lost to the soft touches, to the way they grip and hold. They don’t let go. The fingers are greedy, and Husk is all too familiar with greed and its call.

“It’s my day off, boss…”

Even an ironclad soul like his deserves a little mercy.

Alastor leans down, never letting his fingers rest. They change course, maybe even change tempo, but the insistent petting and stroking is still enough to make Husk into a useless pile of limbs and heat. “Then perhaps you should work a little bit of overtime for me.”

The fact that he’s trying to crack a fucking joke with me now.

Husk flinches, one eye shutting as another wave of warmth rolls over him. Hard enough to sleep with his wings that keep getting in the way, that he could never hug to his body tight enough so that they just disappear. Because not even just Alastor, but everyone loves to grab them. It’s too much. He hates it. He hates how his body just betrays him like this.

“You don’t pay me enough for this shit,” he shoots out. He manages to keep his voice steady, his tone deep, at least for that. He glares up at Alastor, letting the red light leak into his eyes. It always burns when he does so, looking directly at the Radio Demon.

It’s like looking at his forthcoming death.

Alastor notices. So, he shuts his eyes. And then, he lets a hand rush up Husk’s thigh, then up his chest, until they reach his chin. He leans further down, and down. And down.

Until the tips of their noses brush against the other. Until Husk can finally hear the soft breathing from Alastor, can feel it against his fur.

“Then how about I give you a goodnight kiss in exchange?” he asks, finally opening his eyes. The glee in them is almost manic. “For always putting up with me.”

All these stupid games Alastor loves to play.

The fingers grip his chin, while the others over his wing continue their dance. “After all, I know that’s what you like.” Then, a wink, almost coy in its motion. “You’ve always been such a romantic.”

It’s stupid how Husk’s breath hitches at the thought, even when a nightmare looms over his bed, because that’s what Alastor is. The Radio Demon is every awful, heartstopping sound in the dark. He is every fleeting shadow that you see out of the corner of your eyes. He is every ancient folktale that elders warn their children about, of the monster that takes those lost souls who live on the fringes. And he eats, and eats, and eats.

But like any shapeshifting monster, Alastor can look as pleasant as he wants. And right now, his voice is soft, and his hands still play Husk for every note he can find.

Husk opens his mouth, trying to breathe. He lets his tongue run over Alastor’s thumb, which presses just against his bottom lip. Everyone does play with his wings, but only Alastor knows just how to use them to full effect.

“Deal,” he says. It’s barely audible, like the last breath of a dying man. But Alastor understands. He always does.

The kiss is different from the touches. Alastor is a hungry demon, and he shows it through his mouth the most. Lips press down deeply over Husk’s own, and sharp teeth clash. It’s hard and biting. The kiss stings Husk’s tongue, overwhelms his mouth. It’s like being force fed poison all the while.

But the poison is spiked, because kissing Alastor is always so, so addictive. Husk leans his head up, drinks from it as much as he can. He feels the hand wander down his feathers, move between them and pull gently. Because he likes the texture, Alastor once said to Husk. It calms him. It’s pleasing.

Sometimes, he even takes a feather for himself, using it as a quill. And Husk has to see it in the boss’s room sometimes, a piece of himself that is being used, again, and again, and again–

Husk’s wings move to stretch and wrap around Alastor, like a shroud made with red and black, studded with stars and symbols. He brings the nightmare closer. It’s only half against his will.

Maybe one day, he can make them both disappear.

“More,” he groans out, staring into the red, like falling into a sky at dusk. “If you’re gonna make me work like this.”

The shadows don’t hide for him. They grow into shapes that stretch from Alastor’s head, that cover up the walls into pitch black. He doesn’t care, feeling the promise of that kiss again as a tongue presses against his lips.

“Oh, Husker. With me, you never have to work a day in your life.”

He’s too lost to get angry at the comment.

Alastor wears Husk’s wings proudly around his shoulders as he steals him away once again.

#radiohusk #darkhymn's beautiful fics

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star-junk · 11 days

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Only Bones

Ch. 3

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Alastor x ReaderOC, Vox x ReaderOC, Future Lucifer x ReaderOC

Second Person POV, Change of POV, Slow burn (or fast burn - really moving through the plot quickly), please forgive the typos.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Altered state of consciousness, possessive behavior, mention of dv, non-con elements in the future, cannibalism and just things not being nice--it's Hell.

General Notes: Still not sure if Alastor will remain ace within the confines of my story. Also, operating under many assumptions for Season 2 so walk with me on this one.

Author Notes: I know nothing about TV production so I'm just winging most of this. Continuing with the breakneck pace bc otherwise I'd spend endless chapters setting shit up.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Jo asks.

“Hmm, I think I only feel better about it because it’s Rosie’s friend? He seemed nice enough.” You reply, sprinkling flour over the table for the dough you’re working on. The old radio you bought plays a nice melodic tune as you prepare for the next day’s special orders.

“He’s the Radio Demon, Nuria.” He insists.

“I mean, yes he is, but I hear the Princess is really nice too, so.”

He makes a point to walk over to you so you can see the skepticism on his stare while still stirring pie filling, bowl in hand and everything. “I just find it amazing how quickly you flip once money is involved.”

“C'mon, Jo, it’s not like you’re any different.” You respond.

He pauses his stirring. “Yeah, but I actually have survival instincts." He argues, "You remind me of my uncle, you know. He used to work for the mob in the Greed Ring and guess what? He went missing years ago!” You roll your eyes, concentrating on the dough instead.

Jo refused to come on the agreed upon day, saying he wanted nothing in whatever it was you were getting yourself into. So there you were bright and early at the time and address the Radio De—Alastor gave you.

Parking right in front of the Hotel, you had to admit the renovations made the place look like a 5 star stay. It stood out against the rest of dilapidated buildings in the surrounding area, and much like the V Tower; Different elements come together to represent a single entity. There was a radio tower at one end (no guessing who that space belonged to) and a red apple at the other.

“Quite the sight, isn’t it?”

You nearly jump out of your skin. Alastor stands right outside to your van’s window. Your hand goes to your chest to keep your heart from escaping out of your ribcage as his smile widens.

“H-hi, yes, yes it’s quite beautiful. ‘Morning.” You greet. “Dear Lord, you startled me.”

“My apologies, I tend to have that effect on people.” He opens the door motioning for you. “Please, Charlie is eager to meet you.”

“Thank you.” You smile, reaching for your purse and the tasting boxes. He snaps one of his fingers and suddenly there’s a tiny shadowy creature taking the boxes from you. No matter how many years pass, you don’t think you’ll ever adjust to these kinds of things being a normal occurrence. He then helps you out of the van. “You're very kind.”

“Ha! Aren’t you a darling.” He responds amused. You pause only for a moment before linking an arm with his when he offers it, his old manners shining through. You’re starting to see why Rosie likes him so much - ‘a proper gentleman.’

Walking up to the Hotel you take in the view. The landscape is mostly dead as it is in most places of hell but was at least kept neat. You spot some widow’s kisses blooming here and there, so the soil couldn’t be a complete lost cause.

“Do you have many guests staying?” You ask to give yourself an idea of how much work will be involved if things go well in this meeting.

“Hmm, not currently, no. But Charlie is hoping for more soon.” You get the feeling he's not very attached to the Hotel despite also being its Facility Manager.

“I don’t see why people wouldn’t want to book a stay. The renovations are quite nice, aesthetics alone should draw in crowds, if anything.” You are being completely honest about that.

“They’re… acceptable, I suppose.” And there it is again. As if he didn’t have a hand in that either, but for all that you know maybe he didn’t. “Though the staff is wonderful, a very welcoming bunch, you’ll love them!” He concedes.

You sure hope so. You swallow nearing the Hotel’s entrance, your hold unconsciously tightening around his arm.

“Oh there’s nothing to fret, my dear, there’s nothing but good ol’ chums here, mostly.” He says with a bit of flare as the doors to the Hotel open and you step inside.

It’s just as luxurious inside as it is on the outside, of course it is, you don’t know what you were expecting. The varied crimson hues are heightened with the golden touches here and there. The furniture with elaborate designs looks expensive as all hell and yeah, maybe you could make good business here if—

“Hello, HI! Welcome!”

A youthful cheery voice greets you. It’s Ms. Morningstar the Princess of Hell herself. You hardly have time to return the greeting as she takes your hand in a very enthusiastic handshake. Her eyes and smile outshine anyone you’ve ever met before. “We are sooo excited to make business with our first vendor.” She gushes with not an ounce of malice in her voice, “Alastor spoke very highly of your pastries.”

“Thank you, your Royal Highness. A pleasure to meet you.” You reply, finally letting go of Alastor’s arm.

“Charlie is fine.” She waves off the title.

“Hon, we need to see if we even like them first.” Someone says behind her.

"I'm sure we'll like them, Vaggie." She replies to a girl with long pale hair and sooty skin. "This is Vaggie, she’s our Hotel’s Manager .” She smiles, dragging the other girl by the hand. They must be close. The other girl gives you a once over before extending her hand.

“Hi, nice to meet you.” Her tone is way less cheery than her companion, but is at the very least neutral. “You’re one of Alastor’s little… friends?”

Oh, whatever idea she has of you must be reset at once. “I just had the honor to make his acquaintance last week, Rosie introduced us.”

Her brow perks up at that. “Wait, these are not— “

“No, Miss, I wouldn't dare.” You assure her. “Rosie has her own special orders. These are the ones we sell at my shop for the general public.”

“So these are not people pies?” A girlish voice draws your attention below. A short crimson bob frames a single intense eye. “Are you Alastor’s new soul? Are those wings? You smell good!” The petite girl waves, her eye trained on you with a mixture of curiosity and predatory glee.

“And this is Nifty, our Cleaning Staff.” Alastor introduces.

Ah. “Hi… Nifty, a pleasure to meet you.” You don’t even dare shake her hand.

“Alright that’s enough of introductions,” Vaggie claps stepping forward, “show us the goods, we still got work to do putting this event together.” Her bossy tones gives her away former (current?) military.

You glance at Alastor who merely chuckles before commenting. “She’s always like that.”

Ah.

Charlie guides you to the currently unstaffed bar where the tasting boxes were set. “I wish everyone could be here to give their opinion.” She sighs.

“Babe, as long as you like them it should be enough.” Vaggie is right about that, you think. “Who knows what time Angel will come back and Husk? At this time of morning? Forget about it.”

“Alright, but maybe Dad wants to come down?” She says procuring her cell phone as you get busy setting up the samples—wait, the King of Hell is staying here too?

“Oh don’t bother His Highness, dear, it’s far too early in the morning.” Alastor says, resting a gentle hand over hers. “And hadn’t he been feeling rather… undisposed lately?”

“Yeah, but I mean he shouldn’t spend so much time holed up there.“

“I can set some aside, if you’d like.” You offer, you weren't so eager to meet him, tense and overwhelmed as you are right now.

She smiles, turning to you, “That would be great, thank you.”

“Of course.” She was a breath of fresh air. It’s ironic the Princess of actual literal Hell turned out to be one of the nicest people you met down here. You hand everyone a plate with the pie samples. “Alright so starting from the right is our shop’s best seller, it’s darkberry with yumava fruit. I should mention our flour is made with a combination of actual topside flour and wheat from the Wrath Ring. We use organic butter from cattle also from Wrath, its brought up by my shop’s assistant. And the sugar comes from... “ You go on about the ingredients and cooking method, watching as their faces go from skepticism to full enjoyment. “I can make the more savory ones as appetizers as well. Princess, I think these would go great with the event if you’re trying to foster a kind of environment sinners can call home and you know what they say, there’s nothing more comforting than homemade pie!”

Her brows rise at that; Yup, she’s yours. She sets her fork and plate down, grasps your hands coming inches from your face declaring. “We’ll take 100 of each!” Oh Boy.

“What— Charlie, we don’t even know if that many will show up in the first place!”

“Because we don’t know Vaggie, we should prepare!” And you can’t help but chuckle at her enthusiasm.

“She a funny one.” Alastor comments, having read your mind.

“Princess, how about we do 10 of each? That would still be plenty.” And more realistic to the numbers of attendees. “I’m sure you’ll have other foods to offer as well.”

“Okay, yeah, sorry… I’m just kind of nervous, we’ve had a lot of inquiries lately” (‘Five is not a lot,’ the little maid chirps but you pretend not to hear her.) “about the Hotel so I want to make a good impression.” She admits scratching the back of her head and wow, she really does seem to care for this place.

“I understand, Princess, but your friend is right, it be a pity if the food went to waste.” You rest a hand on her shoulder. “But let me write down this really good recipe I know for frazzled nerves in the meantime.” You offer with a smile.

You thank the Princess once more for her business, it has been the smoothest transaction you’ve ever done, half of the commission already paid in advance.

Alastor waits for you, offering his arm again to walk you back to your van.

“She’s great.” You comment, making your way down the pebbled road leading to the gates.

“That she is, my dear.” He answers, “Nothing like her Father.”

Oh. “Got a beef with the King of Hell?”

“Hah ha ha!! No, of course not, nothing of the sort...” His frown at odds with his sharp smile. You prod no further as you near your van. “I thought you’d certainly take her initial request for a hundred pies— Oh the hilarity!”

You laugh along with him. “It just didn’t feel right doing that, you know? But maybe it would have been different if she had been a brat.”

He laughs, “Seems like you and I have a lot in common,” and who would have thought? “Well, I’ve delivered you safe and sound to your vehicle, so I’m afraid this is good bye— “

“Wait, Alastor.” You interrupt climbing inside the van, “I have something for you.” You procure a bottle of wine, it’s the kind Rosie said he likes the best. “A thank you gift for everything.”

He looks from the bottle to you for a brief moment before responding, his head tilting to the side as if deciding how to respond. “Oh My, you shouldn't have!” He says finally bringing the flat of his palm up to refuse. “I cannot accept.”

“Aw, after I went through the trouble?” You shoot him your best hurt puppy dog eyes.

“Hmm.” The soft sound of changing stations comes through the strange filter he emits as his eyes settle on the wine. “Well, who am I to scorn a lady’s thoughtful gift?”

You chuckle, handing him the bottle.

………………….

The next day you stopped by Alicia’s seedy bar to pay the rental for the bakery space, being one of the handful of buildings she owned around the city. Dim cool light welcomes you as you enter, alongside the smell of cheap beer and cigarettes. Goodness knows how you were able to work here every night.

“The usual, Nuria?” Old Vince asks as soon as he sees you take a seat.

“Yes, the usual.” You nod. “Is she busy today?”

“When is she not, doll. But let me let her know you’re here.” He leaves to get her as soon as he’s done with your drink. You hope Alicia comes quickly. One time you had to wait almost two hours before she remembered you were there. ‘I forgot’ she said, though you’re sure she did it on purpose - never getting over you leaving her employment. You’re gonna be so mad if she makes you do the same, you had some shopping to do today. In the mean time you sit there reviewing your shopping list making sure nothing is missing while you wait. Declining offers for company here and there.

“Hey there, beautiful.” Alicia’s fake affection draws your attention up. Her scaly skin and green eyes glistening in the low ambiance of the bar. Draping dark fins parted to one side to hide the ugly scar at the corner of her mouth.

“Hi Alicia. I’m here to pay rent.” You get to the point, going through your purse to retrieve your wallet.

“Yeah, about that, doll. Rent went up.”

You have to be kidding.

“What?! Again?!”

“Yeah, turns out demons from other rings are interested in setting up shop in the city now that we know angels can be handled” She explains, crossing her arms to inspect her nails.

“Alicia, please don’t do this to me.” This could really affect the rate of your savings, you’re barely making enough of a profit - discounting the debt you have for the equipment, packaging materials, ingredients, electricity, Jo’s wages, the van, and your own personal expenses - your own rent. Why the fuck do you still have to pay rent in hell?!

“I could keep it the same if you came back to perform at the bar,” Oh this scummy bitch, “Dezba is long gone, so he can’t tell you what to do anymore!” She snorts mockingly.

“Do not!!” Your voice low as your body moves on its own, jabbing a finger at her chest. “Don't you ever dare bring him up again! Now how much is the increase, you vindictive old bitch!”

“Twice for that.” She answers, unbothered.

Fuck!

………………………..

You pour over the budget books back at the pie shop, reviewing receipts and expenses. The careful balancing act that took you months of hardwork and dedication to get going toppled over by that single one unexpected expense.

“Relax, Nuria, is not as bad as you’re making it out to be!” Jo tries to console you, hand on your shoulder. “You’re still making enough to cover even the rent increase.”

“But now I can’t save Jo! That’s the issue here! And what happens when the next increase comes? And yeah we’re doing okay right now, but who can say this will always be the case? Will other expenses start increasing too?! When will we ever own a place of our own if— ”

“Nuria, Nuria! Relax, okay? You still got options, ask Rosie for help.”

“No, I could never… “ She has been helping you enough, you slump over the table, you want to cry. You know you’re truly in hell when capitalism exists even down here.

Knocking at the front of the bakery pulls you out of your misery, you both look at each other. No deliveries were expected today. Peeking from the corner of the kitchen you spot a tall corpulent figure. You really should invest in a security system, you think in hindsight. You swallow turning one of the lights at the front of the shop.

The light reveals a man dressed in a swanky suit, a manic smile plastered on his face - a poor attempt at friendliness when his shark incarnation speaks to a predatory nature.

“I told you we should keep at least a gun or two on hand.” Jo whispers.

“You must be Ms. Nuria! May I please come in? I mean no harm, I’m a representative from VoxTek.”

VokTek? You and Jo exchange puzzled glances before you decide to open the door. Jo goes to stand where he kept his studded metal bat for shady situations like this. Not like it could do much if someone with that influence wanted to do something to the shop.

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“Good evening, ma’am. I am here because your lovely pies have been quite a hit at the Network.” Really? That was days ago. “One of our producers would like to extend a warm invitation for you to join us as a special guest for our early morning program, The Vibe!”

Well, this is very unexpected. “I… don’t think I’ve heard of the program before?”

“It’s a talk show, with a focus on celebrity gossip.” Jo supplies.

“Celebrity gossip is such an unpleasant way to put it. The Vibe keeps up with the latest trends, entrepreneurs and entertainers of our time!” The VoxTek representative corrects.

“Then it sounds like my humble pies would be out of place in a show like that.”

“Nonsense, why our very own Velvette gave them her seal of approval.” He flashes his phone with a picture of a very staged-going-for-natural picture of a female demon holding one of your pies, your shop’s box visible right next to her with a caption: Wanted to see what the fuss is about. Gotta say, pie was pretty legit. That was… nice, though why does she look so off-put by it? You don’t get a chance to make more observations as the phone is pulled away and the shark demon extends his hand toward you, “Whaddaya say?”

“Nuria, if you get on the show we could get more customers and hike up the prices too!”

"Your imp is right, once in an eternity opportunity!"

“He’s not my imp.” It’s the first thing you clarify. “But I… “ There’s something you don’t like about this, un mal presentimiento, looking at the demon’s hand. But Jo has a point, this one thing could balance the books again. “Alright.” You reply, taking his hand.

He squeezes it hard. His fanged smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“My boss will be delighted, Miss!”

---

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel oc #Only Bones

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