Pancakes

with Alastor, vox, lucifer, husk, angel dust, baxter, charlie, vaggie, velvette and valentino

Alastor

At first he pauses—his smile doesn’t drop, but it changes. “Dear, you are certainly generous with your praise.” He tilts his head, studying you like you’re the most fascinating thing in Hell. You give another compliment, and his ear twitches. “Careful now,” he purrs, stepping closer, “I might grow dependent on such sweet words.” He’s amused, flattered, and secretly very pleased—but also slightly suspicious in a playful, teasing way.

Vox

He pretends your compliments are expected. “Oh, babe, you finally appreciate the full masterpiece that is me?” But the static dancing across his screen gives him away—he LOVES it. The more you compliment him, the more the screen flickers blushy emojis he tries to hide. “You know… if you keep talking like that, I might actually malfunction.”

Lucifer

He absolutely thrives on it. He leans in, smirking, wings slightly fluffed. “Oh? Another? Really now, mon amour, you’ll make me spoiled.” You give him one more compliment and he laughs softly. He lifts your chin with a finger. “I wonder… do you realize what you do to me with that silver tongue of yours?”

Husk

You absolutely ruin him. He turns red instantly and pulls his hat down over his face. “Quit it… you’re killin’ me here.” He growls, flustered, tail flicking like crazy. If you keep going, he finally snaps— “Why the hell are you so nice to me?” You kiss his cheek, and he just melts. “…Okay… fine. Thank you. Happy?” (He is VERY happy.)

Angel Dust

“Ohh baby, keep those sweet words comin’!” He strikes poses, plays it up… but he craves your genuine compliments. When you tell him he’s beautiful or talented, and mean it? He freezes, blush rising to his cheeks. “Aww fuck… you’re gonna make me soft.” He nudges you with his shoulder. “You’re too good to me, y’know that?”

Baxter

He stares at you like you’re an unsolvable riddle. Compliment #1: he takes a note. Compliment #3: he blushes slightly. Compliment #7: he avoids eye contact. “I… I do not fully understand the emotional return you gain from this behavior. But… I find myself… appreciating it.” He finally murmurs: “…Please continue.”

Charlie

She beams the second you compliment her. “Really?! Thank you, babe!!” Compliment her too much and she starts blushing hard, fidgeting with her hands. “O-okay, that’s—wow, you’re making me feel warm all over.” She hugs you tight. “You’re so sweet… I’m lucky to have you.”

Vaggie

First reaction: suspicion. Second reaction: blush. “You’re doing this on purpose.” But the moment she realizes you’re sincere? She gets SO flustered. She looks away, arms crossed. “…I don’t know how to handle this.” Another compliment slips out of you, and she finally mutters: “Fine… thank you. I love you too, idiot.”

Velvette

“Oh my GOD, more? C’mon—say it again so I can record it!” She poses, acts dramatic, loves every second… But then you drop a sweet, honest compliment like: “I love how passionate you are.” And she freezes. Her eyes soften. “…You mean that?” Then she bumps your shoulder. “Ugh, you’re making me mushy. Keep going.”

Valentino

He smirks immediately. “Mmh, sweetheart… you really know how to flatter a man.” But genuine compliments? They hit him differently. He goes quiet for a moment. “…You’re serious?” He steps closer, voice dropping. “You realize I don’t get that kind of sweetness from anyone but you.” If you keep going, he cups your face. “Say another. Just one more.”

i'm not going to force you to do research— so my symptoms are extreme fatigue, intense headaches/migraines, lack of sleep, loss of appetite, can barely walk, sore throat, issues breathing, and nausea. ofc no need to address every symptom but just to get a photo of what it can look like! thank you so much!

Hazbin Hotel Characters Comforting Their S/O During a POTS & Chronic Fatigue Flare-Up

with Alastor, Vox, Lucifer, Husk, Angel Dust, Valentino, Charlie, Vaggie, Velvette

Alastor

Alastor doesn’t fully understand chronic illness—but he notices patterns. When his partner can barely stand, he subtly rearranges things so they don’t have to move much. Lights dim without comment. Noise disappears. He keeps his tone light, distracting them from the pain with calm conversation or old-time radio music, masking concern behind cheer while quietly making sure they’re never alone during the worst moments.

Vox

Vox goes into problem-solving mode. He tracks symptoms, sets reminders for rest, hydration, and meds without being pushy. When fatigue hits hard, he brings screens closer, adjusts brightness, and keeps communication minimal so they don’t have to talk much. He stays nearby, quietly monitoring breathing and checking in with a soft, “Still okay?” rather than overwhelming them.

Lucifer

Lucifer takes flare days seriously. He insists on rest without guilt, physically supporting them when walking becomes too difficult. He brings food in tiny, manageable portions and doesn’t take it personally if they can’t eat. If migraines or exhaustion make them withdrawn, he simply stays present—sitting close, protective, letting silence do the work.

Husk

Husk doesn’t sugarcoat it—but he gets it. He brings water, helps them sit or lie down comfortably, and grumbles at anyone who expects too much from them. He doesn’t talk much during bad flares, but he stays put, making sure they’re warm and steady, offering quiet company that says, You don’t have to be okay right now.

Angel Dust

Angel tries to lighten the mood, but when he realizes it’s serious, he tones it down fast. He helps them move slowly, complains on their behalf about how unfair it is, and makes sure they don’t feel weak for needing help. If nausea or exhaustion takes over, he keeps things calm—soft music, gentle jokes only when welcome, and lots of reassurance that they’re not a burden.

Valentino

Valentino’s care is… complicated. He doesn’t like seeing someone he cares about vulnerable, but he’s attentive during flares. He makes sure they’re resting, limits outside stressors, and keeps things controlled and quiet. He might not express concern gently, but he’s protective during moments when breathing is difficult or exhaustion hits hard.

Charlie

Charlie is endlessly gentle. She checks in often but never pressures. If walking is hard, she offers support without making a big deal out of it. She celebrates small victories—getting out of bed, drinking water—and reminds them that flare days don’t erase their worth. When sleep won’t come, she stays nearby, comforting simply by being there.

Vaggie

Vaggie is practical and fiercely caring. She notices early signs of a flare and encourages rest before things crash completely. She helps them sit, stand, or lie down safely, keeps track of symptoms, and advocates for them when they don’t have the energy to explain. Her reassurance is steady and grounding: You’re not failing. Your body’s just fighting today.

Velvette

How the Vees react, if there Crush is super beautiful!

The Vees x Reader

Vox — The Control-Freak Admirer

If Vox had a crush on a drop-dead gorgeous, everyone-notices-her Reader:

He’d pretend he doesn’t care, but his screens would absolutely glitch whenever she walks in.

Vox would suddenly:

“Accidentally” schedule meetings where she’s present

Put her face on promotional material under the excuse of “branding”

He gets jealous fast, but instead of sulking, he goes cold and analytical.

Anyone flirting with her mysteriously gets bad press or tech failures.

Compliments from Vox are backhanded but intentional:

“Statistically speaking, you’re… visually efficient.”

When she looks at him?

Brief static.

Volume spike.

Immediate denial.

Crush style:

“I don’t like her. I just… optimize my world to include her.”

Valentino — The Loud, Overconfident Simp

Valentino with a crush on a 10/10 Reader would be obvious and dramatic:

He’d flirt shamelessly—not subtly, not quietly, publicly.

Wants her on his arm at all times because:

He loves that everyone looks at her

And loves more that they know she’s with him

Over-the-top compliments:

“Baby, you’re art.”

“You make this place worth lookin’ at.”

Gets possessive, but in a showy way:

Glares at anyone staring too long

Wraps an arm around her waist like a trophy

If she ignores him?

He acts offended… then tries harder.

Crush style:

“If you’re the most beautiful thing in the room, you should be with the loudest guy in it.”

Velvette — The Mean-Girl-in-Love

Velvette crushing on Reader is chaotic and confusing:

First reaction: competition mode

“Okay but why is she that pretty?”

Then: obsession.

Stalking her socials

Analyzing outfits

Lowkey copying her aesthetic

Compliments come out sarcastic:

“Ugh, I hate that you make everyone look bad.”

She’d absolutely:

Post photos with Reader

Tag her constantly

Flex their proximity online

Gets defensive if anyone insults Reader:

Only Velvette is allowed to talk like that.

Crush style:

HAZBIN HOTEL CHARACTERS FINDING OUT THAT THEIR PLATONIC FRIEND IS TICKLISH

with Alastor, Vox, Lucifer, Husk, Angel Dust, Baxter, Valentino, Charlie, Vaggie, Cherry Bomb, Velvette, Lute

Alastor

Alastor notices everything. He wouldn’t be the one poking or prodding, but he’d clock the reaction instantly—the sharp inhale, the involuntary twitch, the way your composure cracks for half a second. His smile widens just a fraction.

He doesn’t tease openly. Instead, he files the knowledge away like a chess piece. He might lean in closer when talking, or brush past you just close enough to see if you flinch again. If you react, he chuckles softly, amused not by the ticklishness itself, but by the loss of control. He never crosses a line—he prefers psychological leverage over physical antics—but you can tell he finds it delightfully human.

Vox

Vox finds out on accident and immediately makes it everyone’s problem.

He laughs loudly, points, rewinds the moment verbally like it’s a clip he wants to replay. “Ohhh, that explains a LOT.” He teases relentlessly, but in a showman way—calling attention to it rather than actually doing anything. He might threaten to “test the theory” just to watch you squirm, but mostly he enjoys the reaction and the power of knowing.

If you tell him to knock it off, he will—grumbling—but he’ll still smirk every time you sit too close.

Lucifer

Lucifer is genuinely surprised—and then amused in a soft, almost fatherly way. He didn’t expect something so mundane and mortal.

He laughs once, light and warm, then immediately checks your reaction. If you look embarrassed, he reassures you quickly, waving it off. “Hey, hey—it’s normal. Kind of charming, actually.” He doesn’t use it against you. At most, he might make a joke later, but never at your expense. He respects boundaries instinctively.

Husk

Husk finds out because he bumps into you or grabs your arm to stop you from falling—and you react.

He freezes. Stares. Then snorts. “Seriously?”

He doesn’t tease much. If anything, he rolls his eyes and mutters something about people being weird. But once in a while, if he’s annoyed and you’re getting on his nerves, he might threaten to poke you—never actually doing it. It’s more bark than bite. Secretly, he finds it kind of endearing, which annoys him more than anything.

Angel Dust

Angel reacts loudly, dramatically, and without mercy—at first.

He laughs, claps, and absolutely milks the moment. “Oh my GOD, you’re adorable.” But the second he realizes you’re genuinely embarrassed or uncomfortable, his tone shifts. He backs off fast, puts his hands up, and reassures you. “Hey, hey—I’m jokin’. Promise.”

After that, it becomes verbal teasing only. He respects physical boundaries more than people give him credit for.

Baxter

Baxter is fascinated.

He notes it like a scientific anomaly—asks when it happens, what triggers it, whether it’s consistent. If you react strongly, he apologizes immediately, flustered. He’s not teasing; he’s curious. If you tell him to drop it, he does, though you might catch him scribbling something down later with a thoughtful frown.

Valentino

Valentino notices and immediately tries to make it a power thing.

He smirks, leans in too close, and makes a comment clearly meant to unsettle you. If you look uncomfortable or assert a boundary, his reaction depends on who’s around. In public, he backs off with fake charm. In private, he scoffs and loses interest—he doesn’t care about ticklishness itself, only control. If he can’t use it, it bores him.

(Other characters do not let him push this.)

Charlie

Charlie is accidentally the one who discovers it—and feels awful about it.

She apologizes profusely, cheeks red, asking if you’re okay. She treats it like a vulnerability she’s been trusted with, even if you didn’t mean to share it. From then on, she’s extra careful around you physically and shuts down anyone who teases you too hard.

Vaggie

Vaggie reacts defensively for you.

The second she sees someone teasing or pushing too far, she steps in. She doesn’t comment on the ticklishness itself much—just gives you a look like “You good?” If you say yes, she relaxes. If not, whoever crossed the line gets shut down immediately.

Cherri Bomb

Cherri laughs—hard—but it’s not mean-spirited.

She might joke about it once or twice, especially if you react dramatically, but she’s not interested in embarrassing you. To her, it’s just another weird quirk. If someone else pushes too far, she’s the first to tell them to chill.

Velvette

Velvette clocks it instantly and pretends she doesn’t care—until she absolutely does.

She won’t tease you directly. Instead, she’ll use it socially: smirking when someone else notices, subtly steering conversations so you end up flustered. It’s less about the ticklishness and more about watching reactions. If you confront her, she shrugs and drops it. She’s not invested enough to fight you on it.

Lute

Lute is confused at first.

Before the Discovery: Yandere Alastor in Denial

Yandere!Alastor x Cheater!Reader

At first, Alastor’s feelings wouldn’t announce themselves loudly. They’d manifest as:

Heightened attentiveness masked as politeness

A possessive streak disguised as “concern for reputation”

An increasing need to know where you are and who you’re with

Because the marriage began as convenience, Alastor would tell himself his interest is practical, even aesthetic. But internally, he’s already crossed the line:

You are mine. The arrangement may have begun on paper, but ownership is ownership.

He wouldn’t suspect infidelity right away. Alastor tends to believe people belong where he puts them.

The Discovery: When the Mask Cracks

When Alastor finds out—whether through surveillance, a careless witness, or his own quiet stalking—the reaction would be cold first, not explosive.

No yelling.

No immediate confrontation.

A long, unsettling silence paired with a fixed smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

This isn’t heartbreak in a human sense. It’s betrayal of possession.

You didn’t just cheat. You violated his claim.

Internally, his thoughts would spiral:

You smiled for them.

They touched what was promised to me.

You made me look foolish.

And Alastor hates being made a fool.

Immediate Aftermath: Psychological Control

A yandere Alastor wouldn’t rush to punish you—not at first.

Instead:

He’d tighten restrictions on your freedom under the guise of protection.

Speakeasies would mysteriously close.

The men you were involved with would begin to vanish, relocate, or fall silent.

He would never describe what happened to them. He’d let your imagination do the work.

When he finally confronts you, it would be quiet, intimate, and horrifyingly calm:

“My dear… did you truly believe I wouldn’t notice when my property wandered?”

His Emotional State

Despite the cruelty, Alastor would be deeply unwell emotionally:

Jealous to the point of obsession

Genuinely wounded, though he’d never admit it

Convinced that your actions prove you don’t understand how much he needs you

In his mind, this isn’t a reason to let you go. It’s proof that you need more guidance.

Long-Term Outcome: “Fixing” the Marriage

Alastor wouldn’t kill you. Not if he loves you.

Instead, he’d aim to:

Isolate you socially

Make you financially and politically dependent

Rewrite the marriage as something “true,” whether you agree or not

He’d become:

Overprotective to a suffocating degree

Smotheringly affectionate in private

Violently intolerant of any perceived rival

To him, loyalty isn’t optional—it’s inevitable.

“I gave you freedom once, my dear. Look what it inspired.”

In Summary

A yandere Alastor discovering infidelity wouldn’t react with rage alone—but with control, calculated cruelty, and possessive devotion. He wouldn’t ask why you cheated.

He’d focus on one question only:

"YOU’RE TRENDING"

The vees x reader

You didn’t mean to catch their attention.

That was the problem.

VOX

Vox noticed first.

Of course he did.

Your face flickers across one of his screens—security cam footage from a street in Pentagram City. Then another. Then another. Different angles. Different days.

You’re not famous. Not powerful. Not particularly dangerous.

And yet—

“Huh,” Vox hums, static crackling in his voice. “Why do you keep showing up?”

He rewinds footage. Zooms in. Enhances. Your expressions catalogued. Your habits mapped. What time you leave. What routes you take. What you look at when you think no one’s watching.

You don’t know it, but Vox already does.

Your voice gets sampled the first time you speak near one of his drones. He plays it back late at night, adjusting the pitch, looping certain words.

“They sound better live,” he mutters. “But I’ll fix that.”

Screens light up whenever you’re near. Ads tailored just for you. Messages that feel a little too specific.

Sometimes, when you swear you hear static whisper your name—

You’re not imagining it.

VELVETTE

Velvette makes you famous without your consent.

You wake up one day to see your outfit—something you threw on without thinking—recreated on dozens of demons online.

#YourNameCore #ObsessedAlready #WhoIsThis

You don’t remember posing for pictures.

Velvette does.

She has folders. Moodboards. Screenshots of you mid-step, mid-laugh, mid-blink.

“They don’t even know they’re iconic,” she says, kicking her heels up. “That’s the best part.”

Your mannerisms become trends. Your expressions become reaction images. Velvette critiques you like a work in progress.

New hairstyle? She hates it—until you wear it twice.

Then she adores it.

“God, they’re so real,” she sighs. “I could ruin them. Or keep them. Haven’t decided.”

You start noticing demons staring at you like they recognize you.

Velvette notices you noticing.

She likes that too.

VALENTINO

Valentino doesn’t hide it.

He watches you like prey that already belongs to him.

You feel it—eyes lingering too long, shadows that move when they shouldn’t. His smoke curls around you one evening, thick and sweet and suffocating.

“You’ve got no idea how popular you are, doll.”

His hands never touch—not yet—but his presence does. He knows what makes you uncomfortable. He knows what makes you flinch.

And he adores both.

Photos of you sit in his private room, tucked between contracts and broken souls. He traces your image with a claw.

“So natural,” he purrs. “So untrained. I could make you perfect.”

Valentino doesn’t want you famous.

He wants you dependent.

TOGETHER

The worst part?

They talk about you.

Vox tracks you. Velvette curates you. Valentino claims you.

You’re a shared interest. A fixation. A living thing caught in the middle of Hell’s most powerful obsession.

“We should tell them,” Velvette laughs. “Nah,” Vox replies. “Let them figure it out.” Valentino smiles, sharp and hungry. “They’re already ours.”

And somewhere deep down—

You feel it.

That crawling certainty that no matter where you go, no matter how far you run—

DuckTales x Lucifer Headcanons

Child!Reader x Lucifer

At first he’s “above it.” Lucifer sees the theme song start and goes, “…Why are they singing so enthusiastically.” Thirty seconds later he’s leaning forward on the couch, wings tucked in, completely silent.

The theme song gets him instantly. By the first “Life is like a hurricane” he’s sold. He doesn’t admit it. By episode three he’s humming it unconsciously while pacing the room.

Scrooge McDuck becomes his new favorite person. Immortal. Rich. Dramatic. Survived impossible nonsense. Lucifer: “Finally. Someone who understands me.”

He takes notes. Literal notes. “Daring adventurer.” “Family loyalty.” “Excellent use of dramatic entrances.” You catch him pausing the episode to write.

He’s weirdly protective of the kids. Anytime Huey, Dewey, or Louie are in danger, Lucifer stiffens. “…If anything happens to them, I will personally rewrite reality.”

You become the “official DuckTales guide.” He asks questions constantly:

“Why do they never stay dead?”

“Is this duck immortal?”

“Why does this show understand family trauma better than most theology texts?”

He laughs—actually laughs. Not his usual smug chuckle. Full, surprised laughter at slapstick moments, immediately followed by: “…I did not expect that to be funny.”

Duckburg becomes canon in his mind. He casually references it like it’s a real place. “This reminds me of Duckburg. Terrible zoning laws.”

He insists on watching it with you only. Won’t watch ahead. Won’t let anyone else touch the TV. It’s your thing together.

Static Doesn’t Scare You

Alastor x overlord!fem!reader

The hotel was unusually quiet.

Not peaceful—quiet in the way a radio goes dead between stations, leaving behind a faint, unsettling hiss. You felt it long before you heard it. As an Overlord, you’d learned to read the undercurrents of Hell as easily as breathing, and tonight, something was off.

Alastor’s presence flickered.

You looked up from your work, setting your pen aside. “He’s having a rough one,” you murmured to yourself.

You didn’t summon him. You never did. If Alastor came to you, it was because he chose to—and that mattered.

Sure enough, the air warped near the doorway, red static buzzing weakly as his form manifested. The usual exaggerated grin was there… but strained, like a mask worn out of habit rather than joy.

You didn’t comment on it.

Instead, you stood and opened your arms.

“There you are,” you said warmly. “Come in, sweetheart.”

Alastor froze.

Anyone else in Hell would’ve been vaporized for using such a tone with him. But you weren’t anyone else. You were an Overlord in your own right—ancient, terrifying when you wished to be—and to Alastor, you were something else entirely.

You were safe.

He stepped forward, stiff at first, then slowly—almost reluctantly—leaned into you. His frame was rigid, like he didn’t quite remember how to accept comfort, but you wrapped your arms around him anyway, firm and steady.

You smelled ozone and old pine. Heard the faint crackle of static near his horns.

“There, there,” you murmured, one hand smoothing over his back. “You don’t have to perform here.”

His voice, when it came, was quieter. Less theatrical. “…It’s been an irritating day.”

“I figured.” You guided him toward the couch and sat beside him, tugging him gently down until his head rested against your shoulder. “You want to talk about it?”

He hesitated.

“…No.”

You smiled softly. “That’s alright too.”

You reached up and brushed his hair back, slow and rhythmic. The static softened, the buzzing lowering to a gentle hum. Alastor’s shoulders finally relaxed, just a fraction.

You thought of the way he threw himself into chaos, into cruelty, into constant performance—always loud, always smiling, never still.

A child who’d learned long ago that being useful was safer than being vulnerable.

Your chest ached.

“You know,” you said quietly, “you don’t have to carry everything alone. Even overlords need rest.”

He huffed softly. “A dangerous sentiment.”

“Mm. And yet you’re still here.”

That earned a small, genuine chuckle—no radio filter, no distortion. Just Alastor.

Minutes passed in silence. You continued stroking his hair, grounding him, letting him exist without expectation. If anyone else walked in, they’d never believe the sight: the Radio Demon, curled at your side like a tired child.

Eventually, his voice drifted up again. “…You’re terribly indulgent with me.”

You kissed the top of his head without hesitation.

“That’s what mothers do.”

He stiffened—just for a second—then exhaled, melting further into your side.

“…Then,” he said quietly, “I suppose I don’t mind being your child.”

You smiled, holding him a little closer as the static finally faded into silence.

Hazbin Hotel Characters x Child!Reader

(Fluff / Platonic)

Alastor

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

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.”

Nobody does. Not twice.

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

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

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.

“…Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

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 Dust

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

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

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

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

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

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.”

Angel dust x reader

pre dating, fluff headcanons.

First Meeting

You arrive at the Hazbin Hotel, either as a new resident or helping Charlie out. Angel tries his usual flirt, but you just answer casually:“Uh-huh, and coffee or not?”He freezes—no swoon, no grimace, just casual. You treat him like a person, not a spectacle, and he ends up following you around “by coincidence” for the rest of the day.

Early Bonding

He likes being around you because you actually listen. You patch him up after rough days without asking for details. He starts bringing little gifts: feather boas, donuts, random “vintage” junk. Banter forms naturally—his sarcasm, your dry humor.

Quiet Moments

You share calm moments together: smoking on the balcony while you read, watching cheesy old movies, or raiding the kitchen late at night. He’s quieter, less performative, more Anthony than Angel Dust. Your presence becomes his safe place.

Developing Feelings Angel

Notices he cares about what you think, panics, flirts “as a joke,” gets genuinely flustered, and becomes overly protective.You: Start noticing his attention to little things, catch yourself smiling after he leaves, then deny it.

Realization Angel

Sees you laugh without expectation or mockery and realizes he wants to be the reason for that joy.You: Hear him use a gentle nickname, and your heart just tips over.

REACTIONS OF OTHERS

Charlie:

Beams at you two and calls you cute together.

Vaggie:

Notices Angel’s unusual behavior around you.

Husk:

Offers snarky remarks about confessing.

Niffty:

Ships you aggressively, pushes you together.

Alastor:

Smiles too widely when Angel softens around you.

Pre-Dating Vibes

If he falls, I'll catch him.

Baxter x shorter reader // angst + fluff

The radio in Baxter’s workshop crackled with static—sharp, angry bursts that matched the tension tightening his shoulders.

Wires were strewn everywhere, beakers rattled, and the smell of burning ozone hung thick in the air.

He hadn’t spoken to you in hours.Hadn’t even looked at you. You stood near the doorway, watching him fiddle with the unstable contraption on his workbench, his claws trembling with frustration.

“Baxter…,” you tried softly. Silence. More static.

You stepped closer.

“You’ve been at this since last night. You need a break.” “I do not require a break,” Baxter snapped, antennae flaring.

“I require silence.”

The words hit harder than he intended—he knew it instantly from the way your expression fell.

You were smaller than him, physically and presence-wise, and he hated that his sharp tone could cut you so easily.

You swallowed, about to step back.

“Right. Sorry.” The apology wasn’t what he wanted. Not from you. He slammed the tool onto the desk, the echo making you flinch.

Guilt twisted in his chest.

“Wait,” he said quickly, voice cracking in a way he despised. “Please… don’t go.”

You froze, eyes wide, looking up at him. Even while slumped, he towered over you—another reminder of how easily he could overwhelm you without meaning to.

Baxter ran a hand down his face, exhaling shakily.

“I did not mean to—my frustrations are with myself, not you.”

“…I know.” Your voice was small.Too small. He hated it. You reached up, resting a gentle hand on his sleeve—barely able to touch his arm unless he lowered it.

“I just worry about you,” you murmured.

“You get so caught up in fixing problems that you forget you don’t have to do everything alone.

”Baxter’s chest tightened. His usual defenses felt fragile in the warmth of your concern.

He crouched—awkwardly, knees popping—until he was eye-level with you. You blinked, surprised by how close he was now.

“Apologies,” he said softly.

“For raising my voice. For… everything.”

You smiled a tiny bit.

“You’re forgiven.”

He hesitated before leaning in, resting his forehead lightly against yours—careful, delicate, terrified of breaking the moment or you.

The height difference made the touch clumsy, but he tried anyway.

Your hands slid up to cup his cheeks.

“You know,” you said gently, “you look a lot less intimidating down here.” He huffed out a laugh—quiet, but real.

“Don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my image.”

You nudged his nose with yours.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Slowly, Baxter wrapped his arms around you. His embrace was awkward at first—he had to curl around you, bending down to pull you close—but once he settled, his hold became warm and protective, almost desperate.

“You help me more than you realize,” he whispered into your hair.

“And I’m… very grateful you're here.”

SECRET FAVORITE EMPLOYEE

Vox x reader headcanons

Vox’s Secret Favorite :

Vox won’t admit it, but from the moment he hired you he mentally tagged you as different.

Not just smarter, quicker, or more creative — but someone who actually intrigued him. Of course he can’t show favoritism… publicly. Privately?

Oh, you’re doomed. He always finds a reason to visit your department personally instead of calling.

He walks in all smooth, one hand casually in his pocket, the other lifting in greeting only to land on your shoulder in a “friendly” squeeze.

Touchy!Vox :

The Corporate Casanova He’s an expert at “professional intimacy.”

Hand on the lower back to guide you through hallways.

Leaning over your desk to “review” something (and conveniently brushing your arm).

Fixing a stray hair behind your ear like it’s part of his job description. At first, you assume it’s just Vox being Vox — charismatic, over-the-top, a showman even in his own office.

And he loves that you don’t shrink away from his closeness. Most people do. But you? You’re calm. Collected. Almost immune.He finds that… irresistible.

When Feelings Start Sneaking In It starts small :

you notice how your pulse jumps when he stands too close at morning briefings; how your breath catches when he leans down to murmur a compliment.

He’ll praise your work with a hand on your shoulder that lingers just a second too long, and you suddenly forget how language works. The first time you get noticeably flustered, Vox pauses. Not surprised. Not confused.

Delighted. His eyes narrow with that sly, predatory amusement — the kind that tells you he noticed everything.

And that is the exact moment he becomes a menace.

Vox’s Teasing Escalates :

He becomes even more touchy. Deliberately, shamelessly, wickedly.

Passing by your desk? His fingers graze your waist instead of your shoulder. Handing you documents?

He lets his fingers brush yours slowly. Sitting beside you in meetings? He leans in close enough that his breath ghosts over your ear when he speaks.

He starts watching you instead of the presentation, smirking every time your cheeks heat. Sometimes he’ll whisper something low like:

“You alright there, sweetheart? You look a little warm…”

And then he’ll tap a cool hand under your chin to tilt your face toward him.

You Try to Stay Professional… :

You Fail He’ll be reviewing something with you when his hand casually rests over yours — and you immediately lose your train of thought.

You’ll stutter, and Vox will look up from the document slowly, one brow raised in smug satisfaction.

“Distracted? Should I repeat myself?” He knows damn well why you’re distracted.

But Vox Has Layers Beneath all the teasing, he’s genuinely protective of you.

Anyone who speaks over you in meetings gets shut down instantly with a smooth, cutting remark from Vox.

You’re the only employee whose workspace he visits without an appointment.

You’re the only one he softens his voice for. The only one he actually listens to. The only one he cares to impress.

The Fluffy, Soft-Underbelly End :

One evening, after everyone’s gone, you’re finishing up a project when Vox appears in the doorway.

No theatrics. No entourage. Just him.

He puts a hand on your desk, leaning down to your level.

His voice is warm, lower than usual. “You know… you’re my favorite part of this company.

”You get flustered — of course — and he gives a small, genuine chuckle, the kind he doesn’t let the public see.

Then he reaches out and brushes your cheek with his thumb, slower than usual, far more tender.

“I tease you because I like your reactions…”He pauses, eyes softening.“… but I keep coming back because I like you.” And for once, the flashy CEO isn’t smirking. He’s just… sincere.

You admit you feel the same, shy but earnest, and Vox’s smile shifts into something warm and proud.

He doesn’t kiss you (not yet)… but he leans his forehead against yours for a moment, fingers intertwining with yours on the desk.

Hazbin Hotel Kissing Headcanons

I also did Alastor and Lucifer.

Angel Dust

• Teasing is 90% of the build-up, affection is the other 10%. Angel will lean in, purr something flirty, hover a breath away……and then poke your nose instead. He loves watching you fluster.

• But when he actually kisses you? It’s soft. Shockingly soft.Angel kisses like someone who’s starving for real affection but terrified of asking for it.

• Loves kissing you after a long day. He’ll wrap all four arms around you, pull you into his lap, and press slow kisses to your cheeks and mouth while murmuring:“Missed ya, sugar.”

• Lip gloss kisses. He always leaves a mark on you—glittery, glossy, and unapologetic.

• If you kiss him first? He melts.Instant heart-eyes, tail curling, voice cracking into a soft little giggle.

Vox

• Vox kisses like he’s making a point. Confident, possessive, and sharp around the edges.

• His kisses are cool to the touch.Static hums against your lips— sometimes literally. If he gets emotional, the screen on his face flickers.

• Not big on PDA, but he loves having you close. A hand at your waist, pulling you in, low voice:“C’mere. I want a taste.”

• He prefers slow, deliberate kisses. Ones where he can tilt your chin up and read your expression.

• When you surprise him with a quick kiss?He freezes, screen glitching, before pulling you back for a much longer one.

Alastor

• Alastor rarely initiates. He treats kissing like a privilege—one he grants sparingly, but meaningfully.

• Old-fashioned to his core. He starts with hand kisses, cheek kisses, temple kisses…Actual lip kisses are rare and intentional.

• When he kisses you, it’s quiet. Almost reverent. No theatrics, no showmanship—just the warm pressure of his lips and the faint scent of old radio static.

• He smiles against your lips. A sharp, foxlike curl that tells you he’s more affected than he lets on.

• If you kiss his cheek unexpectedly? His ears twitch, his grin widens by a millimeter, and his voice gains a noticeable stutter of radio static.

Lucifer

• Lucifer kisses like a king who expects to be adored. Dramatic, sweeping, theatrical—he dips you, he poses, he makes an entrance.

• He loves kissing your hand. Especially when others are watching. He’ll lift your fingers to his lips with a smug smile: “Only the finest deserves my affection.”

• His actual kisses, though? Devastatingly tender. He cups your face like you’re something precious.

• Loves forehead kisses. Enjoys the feeling of your face warming under his touch.

• If you kiss him first, he becomes VERY smug. “Ahh, irresistible once again, I see~”

Alastor

When he realizes he’s in love, he treats it like an amusing problem he can’t quite solve. He laughs to himself softly, static humming around him. He becomes more attentive, lingering near you, offering help he normally wouldn’t. But he hides the affection behind teasing and old-fashioned charm. Only his eyes give him away — warm, focused, fascinated.

Vox

His screen glitches constantly when you’re around. He gets jealous way too easily and hates it. Tries to flirt, tries to act cool, but ends up stuttering in digital distortion. Starts showing up “coincidentally” wherever you are. He even updates his screen themes to colors that remind him of you.

Lucifer

He embraces it instantly. “Ah, of course I would fall for someone wonderful like you.” He becomes showier around you — little tricks, dramatic gestures, thoughtful gifts. He always positions himself between you and danger. Beneath the bravado is genuine adoration.

Husk

He panics quietly. Feels his chest tighten whenever you smile at him and immediately downs a drink to hide it. He tries to act uninterested, but he watches you from the corner of his eye constantly. His tail gives him away — swaying whenever you talk to him. He softens around you more than he’s willing to admit.

Angel Dust

He jokes, flirts, teases — but the moment you compliment him sincerely, he melts. He blushes hard and looks away, not knowing what to do with real affection. He becomes protective and surprisingly gentle with you. Also shows off constantly to get your attention.

Baxter

He treats love like a science experiment he can’t figure out. Runs emotional diagnostics on himself. Gets flustered every time you speak to him. He prepares little inventions for you “just because” and practices conversations beforehand. He looks at you like you’re the one variable he can’t control.

Valentino

He’s shocked by it. Love isn’t something he’s used to feeling — or wanting. So he hides it hard: snarky remarks, smug smirks, dismissive teasing. But his tone softens around you. He listens more. He watches you closely. He protects you without bragging about it.

Charlie

She becomes SO obvious. Bright smiles, nervous giggles, little stutters. She goes out of her way to spend time with you and asks about everything you like. Gets completely flustered if you compliment her. Her whole aura glows around you — literally.

Vaggie

She tries to hide it at first. Gets super protective and always positions herself near you. She’s more patient with you than with anyone else. Whenever you touch her arm or shoulder, she gets stiff and blushy. Eventually, she starts trusting you with her softer side.

Velvette

She acts like she’s in total control — but she’s not. Shows off, poses, makes snarky flirts. But when you compliment her genuinely, she freezes for a second, blushing. She starts inviting you to spend time with her and lets you see tiny cracks in her tough persona.

Lute

A Little Less Magic, A Little More You (Val × Reader, poly w/ Vox)

Angst → Comfort

Val should’ve known better than to expect a fairytale.

That’s what he muttered into the hollow of his own palms as he sat hunched on the edge of the couch, neon lights buzzing low over his head and throwing sharp pink shadows across his face. The apartment was quiet—eerily quiet—like even the building itself was trying not to look at him.

You stood in the doorway a moment, watching him. He looked smaller like this. Shoulders curled forward, glasses pushed up on his head, the bravado he wore like a designer jacket nowhere to be found. Just Val. Just your boy.

You approached slowly. “Val?”

A humorless chuckle scraped out of him. “Don’t. I don’t need—” He stopped, throat tightening around the lie.

You sat beside him anyway, your thigh brushing his. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned—barely, instinctively—like his body recognized you even while his brain tried to run damage control.

“So,” you said gently, “rough day with Vox?”

Val scoffed, eyes glaring at the wall instead of you. “Rough day? No. Rough day is when the coffee machine breaks. This was—” He flicked his fingers dramatically, mocking himself. “—a full-blown cinematic humiliation. Real Disney-prince-gets-dumped-in-the-first-act energy.”

You bit back a smile. He didn’t notice—he was too busy boiling.

“What happened?” you asked.

He breathed in hard. “I had this… stupid idea, okay? I thought maybe Vox and I—maybe we could have one of those moments. You know, the kind people post online with sparkly filters and captions about true love like idiots.” His voice cracked sharp. “I set up the lights, the music—hell, I even practiced the stupid speech. And Vox just—”

Silence. A heavy, burning silence.

“He brushed it off,” Val whispered. “Said he was busy. Didn’t even look at me.” His jaw clenched. “I put myself out there, and he didn’t see me at all.”

Ah. There it was. The part that hurt—not the rejection, but the invisibility.

You reached out and touched his hand. He went still, like every muscle had paused mid-breath.

“Val,” you murmured, “I see you.”

His eyes flicked to yours, sharp and disbelieving. “Yeah? Well someone should tell my heart that, because right now it’s acting like a little bitch.”

You snorted. He glared—but the edge softened.

You shifted closer, taking his hand fully this time, fingers linking with his. “Listen. Vox’s reaction doesn’t mean your feelings weren’t real. And it definitely doesn’t mean you’re ridiculous for wanting something soft and meaningful.”

Val blinked at you, lashes trembling ever so slightly. “You’re not making fun of me?” he asked, voice smaller than he meant.

“Never,” you promised. “You want romance. Connection. Someone who actually listens when you talk about all the things you pretend not to care about.”

His lip wobbled. Just a millimeter—but enough.

You leaned your head onto his shoulder. “And for what it’s worth,” you added, “your Disney moment sounds perfect. Vox missing it? That’s on him. Not you.”

Val let out a shaky breath—half relief, half heartbreak—and rested his cheek on the top of your head. “You’re too good to me,” he muttered.

“Maybe,” you said, squeezing his hand. “Or maybe you just deserve to be treated gently sometimes.”

He went quiet for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was almost shy.

“Can I… get a do-over? Not with Vox. With you.” He swallowed. “I just— I wanted someone to share the moment with. Someone who’d actually want it.”

Your heart melted like sugar in hot tea.

“I’d love that,” you whispered.

Finally—finally—Val cracked a real smile. Small, tender, vulnerable. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said. “You can have as many Disney moments with me as you want.”

And for once, Val didn’t hide his face. He let you see him—truly see him—glasses askew, eyeliner smudged, heart wide open.

He leaned his forehead against yours, breathing you in like solid ground.

“Then maybe I didn’t lose anything today after all,” he murmured.

“Warm Bones & Candy Nights" Ribecca x Reader

Genre: Fluff, comfort, Halloween vibes Setting: Gourdy’s carnival grounds at night Reader type: Gender-neutral (can be read as any gender)

You didn’t expect Ribecca to grab your hand—especially not hers. Cold bones with surprisingly soft gloves interlocked with yours, pulling you toward the Ferris wheel without warning.

"You're dragging me again," you said, trying not to trip over the uneven gravel.

She threw a look over her shoulder, smirking under her green dripping eye makeup. "Well, someone’s gotta get you to actually enjoy the Halloween event. You’ve been brooding like a cutscene NPC."

You laughed under your breath. "I wasn’t brooding—"

"—You were absolutely brooding," she cut in. Her voice had that confident, smug lilt you were starting to get used to. "Now shut up and get in. You’re riding with a literal undead queen, you should feel honored."

She tugged you into the Ferris wheel’s gondola and plopped down beside you with theatrical flair, legs crossed, arms sprawled across the seat like she owned the ride. Which… she probably did. Ribecca gave off that kind of energy.

You sat beside her, careful not to get in the way of her oversized jacket’s green fur trim.

"Are you always this dramatic?" you asked, glancing sideways.

"Only when I’m trying to impress someone."

Your heart skipped a beat. The wheel jerked into motion, rising slowly above the carnival. Lights blinked below, painting everything in oranges and purples. Jack-o’-lanterns grinned up at you from scattered hay bales.

Ribecca leaned her head back against the side of the gondola, watching the stars as they started to come out. The chill air didn’t seem to bother her.

“You cold?” she asked without looking.

“Nah, I’m good.”

"You’re lying. I can hear your teeth thinking about chattering." She rolled her eyes and opened her jacket. “Come here, skeleton-approved warmth zone.”

You blinked. “That sounds fake.”

“I’m dead, not un-cuddly. Big difference.”

You hesitated… then leaned into her side.

Her laugh was low and satisfied. “See? You are trainable.”

“Is teasing your love language?”

“No. Winning is.”

You looked up at her, only half-joking. “So am I just another win to you?”

Ribecca tilted her head, that signature half-smile softening just a little. “No,” she said. “You’re the one prize I don’t want to trade in.”

The ride paused at the very top. The air was quiet. The wind was crisp, but her arm was warm around your shoulders. She wasn’t just bone and makeup—there was something deeply alive in the way she made you feel.

“…Hey, [Your Name]?”

“Yeah?”

“Next Halloween, let’s be matching. You and me. Purple and green. Dead and adorable.”

You grinned. “Deal. But only if I get to be the dramatic one next time.”

— Soulvester x Toon!Reader (Fluff | SFW)

The autumn air in Dandy’s World was crisp, unusually quiet for once. The usual chaos had taken a break, and orange leaves drifted lazily from the cartoon trees lining the haunted plaza.

You sat at the fountain’s edge, swinging your legs over the stone rim, humming a little tune. It was rare to get a moment of peace here. No chases, no traps, no screams echoing through the fog.

Then you heard it — a familiar clink... clink... clink — slow, deliberate footsteps made of armor against cobblestone.

“...Hey,” came the soft, slightly echoing voice from behind you.

You turned, smiling as you saw the tall armored figure approaching. Soulvester, always looking like he’d walked out of some ghostly fairytale. His helmet gleamed under the purple sky, and a faint, cyan flame flickered from beneath the visor — his “eye,” if you could call it that.

“Hey, Soul,” you greeted, patting the spot beside you. “Tired of lurking in shadowy hallways?”

He hesitated for a second before sitting beside you, joints creaking softly as his heavy form settled down. Despite his fearsome look, Soulvester was oddly... shy. Gentle. You’d even caught him feeding the spectral cats near the edge of the map once.

“I... uh... heard you got caught in one of Dandy’s trapdoors earlier,” he murmured, glancing at you sideways. His voice had a ghostly echo, but his tone carried genuine concern.

You laughed, waving your hand dismissively. “Pfft, just a scratch. Those reset platforms are the worst. I’m fine though — thanks for checking in.”

There was a pause. Then:

“I made you something.”

You blinked. “You... what?”

He turned his gauntlet palm upward and opened it slowly. Resting in his metal hand was a tiny, handmade charm. A cartoon heart, stitched from scraps of in-game fabric and tied together with thread. Your Toon face was scribbled on one side — a bit clumsy, but clearly made with care.

Your own heart fluttered.

“It’s dumb,” he said quickly, helmet tilting away, “I just thought maybe... it’d bring you luck. Or at least... you’d think it was funny.”

You gently took the charm, holding it up to the sky. The little heart swayed in the breeze like a flag of affection.

“I love it,” you said softly. “And you’re kind of sweet when you’re not scaring the new players.”

He chuckled — a low, echoing sound like wind through an old corridor.

Silence settled in again, but this time it was comfortable. You leaned your shoulder gently against his armored one, and though he was cold to the touch, you could feel a warmth inside him — a ghost’s warmth. Real. Sincere.

“I’m glad you’re haunting this place with me,” you said with a smile.

He didn’t say anything at first. Then his voice, softer than ever:

“I’m glad you see me... not just the armor.”