HII!! I saw you are looking for requests for certain Hazbin Hotel characters!
I was wondering if we could get like a singer!reader, like similar to Sabrina carpenter, (reader works for Val, but she didn't sell her soul to him) and she like does shows, and similar to the Juno arrest, she arrests him and he's a little awkward (she doesn't show him on the big screen obv cuz he doesn't like being recorded) but he's happy about it and like after Juno like Angel is like a backup dancer for her (Val kinda half forced him and Angel and reader are like best friends, inside and outside of work) and Angel was teasing her after the show and at the hotel and him and Alastor kinda made jokes together at the bar area with husk and husk is like "omg stfu" and you can like decide how it endss
I've had this stuck in my head for a while, and I love your writing so muchh have a good day/night
The neon glow of Imp City was usually dull and depressing, but tonight, the massive marquee of Val's newest, gaudiest venue was a blinding spectacle of pink and gold. It read, in enormous, glittering letters: (Y/N) - SOLD OUT.
Backstage, the air was thick with hairspray, cheap cologne, and a nervous energy that (Y/N) had long learned to channel.
“You’re going to kill it, sweet pea,” Angel Dust chirped, adjusting the elaborate feathered boa around her neck. He was decked out in a shimmering, silver-sequined ensemble that Valentino had mandated for all "background aesthetic." He hated it, but he put up with it for her.
(Y/N) shot him a tired but affectionate look. “Easy for you to say, you’re just dancing. I have to sing a whole set about heartbreak and betrayal while pretending Val’s slimy face isn’t in the VIP box.”
“Hey, at least you only owe him a few shows a month, not your eternal soul,” Angel muttered, his many eyes briefly flicking toward the entrance. “Besides, think of it as practice. You’re singing about betrayal while actively betraying him.”
(Y/N) grinned, the energy instantly snapping into place. “Exactly. Tonight's performance is brought to you by the word: Juno.”
Angel’s eyes widened happily. “Ooh, this is going to be good. Remember the signal.”
The show was, as always, a huge success. (Y/N)’s voice was a powerful, crystal-clear blend of pop star sweetness and raw, rock-edged emotion. Her movements were sharp, confident, and every bit the performance of a true star.
For the final song, a catchy, biting track about a man who thought he owned the world, (Y/N) stepped out from behind the mic stand and walked to the center of the stage. The music dropped out, leaving a single, dramatic spotlight.
She spoke, her voice carrying easily over the silenced crowd. "You know, this song is for anyone who's ever been made to feel small, or like they didn't have a choice. It's for the people who deserve to be free."
She locked eyes with the VIP box, where Valentino was lounging with a proprietary smirk. Angel was already positioned behind her, feigning a dramatic pose. (Y/N) gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
Angel didn't miss a beat. He smoothly sidestepped, dropping his silver boa and retrieving a pair of glittery, neon-pink handcuffs from his inner coat pocket, Valentino's brand colors, naturally.
As the lights suddenly flared to full, blinding white, (Y/N) pointed directly at Valentino.
“Valentino! You are under arrest for repeated, documented violations of our verbal contract, obstruction of performance duties, and generally being a super pathetic, predatory demon!”
The crowd gasped, then erupted into confused cheers. Valentino froze, his feathers drooping slightly in shock. He hated being put on the spot, and he loathed being visible in a non-controlled setting. The massive stage lights felt like they were burning his film-sensitive eyes. He was too stunned and too vain to put up a fight that would ruin his pristine jacket in front of thousands.
“Arrest? What are you—?” he stammered.
Angel, grinning ear-to-ear, nimbly climbed over the stage barrier and up to the box, slapping the pink cuffs securely around Val's wrists before the Overlord could fully react.
"Sorry, Val! You broke your parole agreement with (Y/N)," Angel said brightly, pulling him up by the elbow. "Time to go. No need for a big scene, you know how you hate being seen on the screens!"
(Y/N) watched from the stage as Angel escorted a surprisingly flustered and awkward Valentino off to the side exit. He kept his face tilted down and tried to cover his cuffs with his sleeve, clearly mortified by the unwanted, unscheduled attention.
As Val disappeared, (Y/N) gave a celebratory yell into the mic. “Show’s over, folks! Time to celebrate not being owned!”
Back at the Happy Hotel, (Y/N) was peeling off her stage makeup in the mirror while Angel recounted the exit in excruciating detail.
“He was sweating! He kept trying to hide behind the security guard, who, by the way, was totally loving it,” Angel snickered. “I think he was more upset about the lack of soft lighting than the actual cuffs.”
“I’ll take that as a victory,” (Y/N) said, pulling off a sticky lash. “Thanks for being my backup dancer and my getaway driver, Angel.”
“Anytime, doll. That’s what best friends are for. Now, come on, you need a drink.”
They headed downstairs to the small bar area. Husk was wiping down the counter with the usual disgruntled frown. Alastor was perched on a stool, nursing a glass of something dark and likely poisonous, looking far too pleased with himself. Angel wasted no time, spinning onto the stool next to Alastor.
“Guess who just helped arrest a Vee in front of a sold-out crowd?”
Alastor’s static-laced laugh crackled softly. “Ah, yes. News travels swiftly in this particular circle of Hell. I must say, (Y/N), it was a rather theatrical exit. Very showbiz.”
(Y/N) smiled, sliding onto a stool next to Husk. “I learned from the best—the best being Angel, who convinced me the pink cuffs were ‘tasteful.’”
“They were! They’re his signature color!” Angel defended, swatting Alastor’s arm playfully.
“Indeed. One might say it was a performance piece titled: ‘The Pimp in Pink Penitentiary,’” Alastor drawled, leaning back.
Angel snorted, leaning into the joke. “Ooh! Or ‘50 Shades of Flustered!’ He was so awkward. I swear, he was secretly happy someone finally paid that much attention to him without a camera.”
“Wait, wait, I have one,” (Y/N) chimed in. “‘The Moth and the Moment of Public Humiliation.’”
Husk, who had been listening to the cheerful banter while mixing (Y/N)'s drink, slammed the glass onto the coaster. His ears were flat.
“Oh my God, stfu all of you,” Husk groaned, pushing the drink toward her. “I just want five minutes of quiet that isn’t Razzle Dazzle or cheap pop music.”
Angel threw an arm around Husk's shoulders. “Aww, come on, Husker-doo! Don’t you know a truly happy, celebratory evening requires at least three demons cracking terrible jokes?”
“Angel, my dear,” Alastor agreed with a malicious grin. “Husk simply doesn’t understand the finer art of revelry. He is a creature of low-frequency suffering.”
Husk just flipped them both off, a small, tired smile twitching on his lips.
(Y/N) took a grateful sip of her drink, the stress of the evening melting away. She looked at her best friend, who was actively annoying the grumpy bartender, and the ancient overlord who was finding it all highly amusing. This chaos, this weird, dysfunctional family, was infinitely better than the controlled glamour of Val's studio.
"You know," (Y/N) sighed contentedly, "Maybe I should arrest him more often."
Angel gasped dramatically. “Oh, we should turn it into a bit! A different outrageous arrest every show! We can start a running gag! ‘Where is Valentino tonight?!’”
