Hazbin Hotel (and Helluva Boss) x Reader (Under Rewrite)

Hazbin Hotel Staff x [Autistic] Reader

For GabrielOwen6

Reader's P.O.V

I don't have many friends.

Who's shocked? Certainly not me. You see, it is an unfortunate fact of life that most healthy friendships are built around communication. And communication skills are something that I severely lack in. Most people don't enjoy talking to someone when all they would do is scroll through their phone and listen to their music and do anything but add to the conversation.

Of course, it's not like I'm trying to be rude. I just can't help it. Do I spend far too much time on my phone? Yes, definitely. But if I put it down, I would be left alone with nothing to distract me from the real world, and honestly, fuck that.

So I mostly keep to myself. You could catch me in my room, on the subway, on the street, and I guarantee I'd be on my phone. Even after I died and ended up in Hell, where I am given access to all the drugs and drinks my heart desired, I still preferred sitting in a corner and staring at the bright screen, like a good, law-abiding citizen. 

Now, there's that million-dollar question. What would a shy, innocent, quiet kid such as myself possibly do to end up in Hell?

Firstly, I'd like to say that everything bad I ever did was a mistake. I do not hurt other people intentionally. It's just not who I am. Contrary to what people would think, I actually do care about others, though I might not show it in any conventional way.

Secondly, murder.

But Hell isn't quite as bad as I would have thought. I managed to make friends if nothing else. Plus, everyone else is out there snorting crystal meth and collecting STD's like they're Pokemon cards. So really, I'm basically the most functional person in the group.

These friends of mine all work at the Happy Hotel. That's where sinners go to get cleansed of their sins and ascend to Heaven. It's also a hookup hotspot, ironically. The manager, Charlie, says I'm her favorite customer because she caught me shooting up heroin exactly zero times. Her girlfriend Vaggie says she likes me too because I don't talk much. "These other fuckers won't shut their screamers", she says. "You're like a breath of fresh air."

Angel Dust, Hell's favorite pornstar, who's only here because he wants a place to stay rent-free, doesn't like me because I don't give him attention and get upset when he puts a hand anywhere near me. According to him, I'm a prude. And according to me, he's a slut. We have a bit of a rivalry. 

Even still, he won't miss the opportunity to talk to me. Probably because he knows it pisses me off. He would come up to the couch, where I was usually sitting, and have a one-sided conversation with me while I'm transfixed on some game I was playing. Then I'd get irritated by his voice and tell him to fuck off, which would send him strutting off with a smirk on his face. He loved getting on my nerves.

Alastor bothered me too, for several reasons. One, his face resembles Nosferatu after getting run over by a road roller. Secondly, he's the chattiest motherfucker I had ever met. It's incredible how many words spill out of his mouth in mere minutes. He also could not recognize social cues for the life of him, which, combined with his incessant yammering means he would often talk way more than anybody wants him to. I don't think he does it intentionally, unlike Angel. He's just naturally good at making social events awkward.

This also comes into play when he tries talking to me.

There I am, on the couch, as usual, one hand running over the smooth pillows (their texture is very calming), other scrolling through my phone. My headphones are on, and I'm listening to my music. Headphones would mean Go away to most people. Not Alastor though.