"Misplaced in Hell" (Hazbin Hotel) Alastor x Fem. Reader

Attempting the temptations

A manic glee crackled in the air, mirroring the neon glow pulsating from every corner of Vox's studio. His imp assistants scurried around like hyperactive cockroaches, adjusting lights and fiddling with dials. Tonight's broadcast promised to be his magnum opus – the public humiliation of the mighty Alastor.

"Attention, Hell!" Vox boomed, his voice a distorted echo through every demon-owned screen. The denizens of Hell, ever eager for a scandal, perked up, their leers widening like hungry crocodile jaws. "Are you tired of the same old, tired acts? Do you crave a juicy tidbit, a demonic delicacy that'll leave you gasping for brimstone?"

A collective leer erupted across the infernal landscape. Demons loved nothing more than a good public takedown, and Vox, the self-proclaimed "Overlord of Television," was notorious for delivering the static-laced chaos.

"Then gather 'round, suckers," Vox continued, his grin splitting his face like a grotesque jack-o'-lantern, "because tonight, we're exposing the biggest sham Hell has ever seen!"

The screen flickered to life, displaying a scene that would have sent shockwaves through Hell if it wasn't so utterly ridiculous. There, strolling hand-in-hand through the cobbled streets of the Pride Ring, were Alastor, the Radio Demon himself, and a human woman – Y/n. Her laughter, genuine and carefree, echoed through the speakers. Alastor, though still sporting his signature smirk, seemed… different. A hint of possessiveness lurked in his eyes, a stark contrast to his usual predatory glint.

"That's right, folks," Vox's voice dripped with mockery as he leaned into the camera, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight, "the almighty Radio Demon, the terror of Imp City, is… soft! All thanks to his new little plaything!"

The crowd roared with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. Alastor, the harbinger of chaos, reduced to a lovesick fool over a human? It was too good to be true, but Vox was a master manipulator, and the image on the screen fueled their disbelief.

"But wait, there's more!" Vox's voice boomed again. The screen flickered, this time displaying a scene Y/n didn't recognize – a dusty alleyway, a group of snarling imps charging towards her. Panic flashed in her eyes for a fleeting moment, then a soft, blue light emanated from her. Her fear morphed into steely determination, and with a flick of her wrist, a wave of the same celestial energy pulsed outward. The imps, caught in the wave, were sent flying backwards, whimpering and clutching at their singed fur.

The scene shifted, however, before Y/n could feel any sense of accomplishment. Vox's voice, laced with a hint of genuine surprise now, cut through the silence. "See that, folks? Looks like our little trophy wife packs a punch! Though, with that fighting style, I wonder what Heaven rejected her for? Maybe they just couldn't handle a woman who could kick some serious demon butt… or maybe they just got tired of her constant need for protection?" His voice took on a suggestive leer. "Let's face it, folks, Alastor here just snagged himself a little arm candy with a hidden talent. Talk about lucky, huh?"

Y/n, fuming in the penthouse living room, slammed her fist on the coffee table. Trophy wife? Rejected soul with a hidden talent for violence? This was outrageous! But then, a warmth bloomed in her chest as the image on the screen flickered, replaced by static, then… Alastor.

He stood in the center of his penthouse, a storm brewing in his crimson eyes. "Vox," his voice rumbled, a dangerous edge lacing each word, "you dare speak of my Y/n in such a way? She's no 'trophy,' you pathetic excuse for an Overlord. Her power is a force that would leave your entire network non existent."

The static cleared momentarily, revealing a red-faced Vox sputtering incoherently. Alastor's voice, however, cut through the noise once more, sharper than ever. "Perhaps you should stick to reruns of goblin cooking shows, Vox. Your grasp on current events, and basic manners for that matter, seems to be… lacking. Unlike you, some of us have found companionship that transcends the emptiness of your lonely studio."