𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 ─ ( yandere hazbin hotel x reader ! )

13 | divinity

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[ 𝙺𝙸𝙻𝙻𝙴𝚁 𝚀𝚄𝙴𝙴𝙽 ]
╰┈➤ ❛ rec. #13 ❜
EPISODE 2 : "radio killed the video star"
playing . . .
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ALASTOR WAS NO FOOL, so surely he hadn't been stupid enough even to begin to fall under the belief that Vox hadn't been trying to kill him. He was, however, denying the fact that it was all purely (Y/N)'s idea.

He was smart enough to know why she had left the hotel so early that day, and why she found a curious interest in the newspaper article relating to Voxtek enterprises. That, and of course the fact that she had also attempted to slaughter him earlier a few nights prior to the fact.

But no, he'd think. There couldn't be a single reason why she would want ME gone.

He had offered her a hand in kindness, all the protection she could ask for, and the affection and love she knew she deserved. It came to a point in which he began to doubt himself in the belief that maybe she didn't like him at all. To that single thought, Alastor would simply push a smile to his very restraint to throw his head back and laugh.

Many women would fawn over the infamous radio demon, even without his attempts to swoon them—which were minimal, mind you.

Why, out of all the beauties in Hell—was he found finally tied up in the intricately spun web under (Y/N)'s own hand?

Of course, she was beautiful. Not only that but Alastor found great interest in her keen work, sly smile, and charmingly daring motives. A woman like that would be the only one to leave a man like Alastor with the wind knocked from his lungs—his cheeks heating with a new confusing feeling. It was addictive—it was euphoric.

Under Hell's sunlight, her round, doe-like eyes glimmered with a thousand secrets. Her smile twisted up in the corners of her lips, almost daring the lucky viewer to dive deeper into her story. She would never spill a single secret. Instead, she'd dangle it above their noses, forever leading them to guess.

She was dangerous.

Scary? My God, she's divine.

Alastor turns to his bedroom, looking out the windows at the thousands of windows glittering in the distance—billboards and advertisements seizing to never tire themselves out or flicker. He grimaces at the view, drawing down the blinds with his disgust at the technological turn Hell has taken upon itself.

When he first arrived in Hell, Alastor found more prey there than expected. Many demons were almost too easy to kill—it was only fair that his rise to becoming an Overlord was so gruesome.

He'd like to think that he did everyone a favor by spicing up the mood. People needed something to constantly be scared of. It's what properly sets them in the places they were always meant to fill. Everyone who had considered themselves powerful soon came falling to the weak.

But when Vox had come down himself—everything changed. The advancement became too much for Alastor, along with the rivalry with Vox that started was simply...

He closes his eyes, grinding his teeth together at the reminder of his seven-year absence.

They couldn't know yet, Alastor thinks.

Don't you forget, an accented voice would giggle in a singsong tone. You're my pet.

And the only reason Alastor had the ranking he did as an Overlord, was because of that damned deal.

He blows out the semi-melted candle perched on his nightstand, tossing on his Scrooge-inspired sleeping cap to keep his ears warm before slipping under the covers. Slowly but surely allowing himself to melt into his dreams.

———

"Alastor? Alastor!" a gentle, motherly voice rings out through a familiar-looking garden, one Alastor had grown all too used to in his life before death.

The flower beds were all carefully laid out in his backyard, all following their own stories and colors. It brought a large wave of nostalgia to cave over Alastor's chest as he recalls the days he used to frolic and carelessly play in his kingdom of roses as a young boy.

"Mama?" Alastor replies in a voice that isn't his own.

A beautiful woman emerges from behind the house, her brown hair loosely thrown up into a frizzy braid sprawled over her left shoulder. She beams at the sight of her boy. "Alastor..." she breathes, running into his arms.

Alastor looks down at himself to see him in his human form, which only makes him clutch his mother tighter. "I've missed you... I want to come home." He becomes more and more baffled with his childish responses—much too similar to the ones he used to reply with when he was a boy.

"Why aren't you with her?" his mother asks, peeking her hazel eyes from his chest to meet his own.

"With...who, Mom?"

"(Y/N), of course. I sent her to you."

His heart skips a beat, his grip on her loosening as Alastor begins to process what she had just thrown at him. "(Y/N)?"

"Who else? You know I was always a little disappointed when you didn't find the right gal. I was beginning to worry you'd live a loveless life. Even after you died, I saw you alone in a crowd of a thousand couples. It saddened me, Al."

"You know I don't bother with that, Ma." Alastor remarks respectfully.

She ignores him. "But when I saw (Y/N), I knew she was the one. Her personality, beauty... The gal's got moxy. Perfect for my Alastor," she pinches his cheek. Alastor doesn't swat her hand away.

"I'm...am I messing this up?"

His mother shrugs. "You're letting the others get too cozy. That Vox character—" she shudders, earning an approving smile from Alastor at their equal distaste in Vox. "—is getting too close to her. It all comes down to you, Allie."

With her final words, Alastor is tugged from his dream only to snap his eyes open the harsh reality. The sunlight hits him like a dagger to the eyes, and a growl of frustration and exhaustion rumbles in his throat.

Only this time, he knows something for sure.

He and (Y/N) are meant to be.

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( to be continued . . . )