Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)

You recently arrived at the Hazbin Hotel not too long ago. Ever since you stepped through those heavy brass doors, you've been thoroughly roped into participating in Charlie's colorful, high-energy lessons on redemption and trust, all designed to secure you a one-way ticket to Heaven. The trust-falls, the puppet shows, the emotional sharing circles it was a lot to take in. Though, in all of the partner exercises, Charlie had paired you with Angel Dust most of the time. Angel Dust never really seemed to mind the arrangement; he just spent the entire time leaning into your personal space, cracking jokes, and making endless flirtatious quips to see if he could make you blush.

This time, things were different. The new lesson Charlie had planned for the afternoon was a bit out of the ordinary, even by her wild standards. Instead of a worksheet or a trust-fall, she wanted you and Angel Dust to share a room in the Hotel. Charlie claimed she'd have the other Hotel members do a 'different' kind of trust exercise, entirely convinced that a forced sleepover was the ultimate way to build a deep, meaningful bond between roommates.

The sudden silence of the room settled over you like a heavy blanket. Angel's private quarters were a complete sensory overload smelling strongly of expensive, sweet cotton-candy perfume and high-end hairspray. The walls were draped in plush pink velvet, neon signs buzzed softly in the corners, and clothing was scattered carelessly across a massive, heart-shaped bed with satin sheets.

You and Angel Dust stared at each other, the quiet ticking of a nearby clock filling the gap between you, before Angel Dust slowly broke the silence, his lips curling into a wide, smirking face.

He uncrossed his upper set of arms, using one gloved hand to playfully twirl a strand of his white fur while his middle pair of arms rested confidently on his hips. He stepped closer, his mismatched pink-and-yellow eyes locking onto yours with an incredibly smug, playful gleam.

"So..~ You're stuck here with me, huh sugar~?" Angel Dust said with a smooth, heavy New York drawl, his flirty tone dripping with exaggerated, theatrical confidence.

He gestured with his lower left hand toward the massive, single bed, shifting his weight to one side as his fluffy white chest fluff puffed out slightly. “Gotta admit, the princess has some pretty wild ideas for 'therapy,' but hey I ain't complaining. You lookin' to take the left side of the bed, or do ya wanna start our roommate bonding by telling me all your deep secrets? Don't worry, toots... I'm a real good listener when I'm locked in a room with someone gorgeous."

Angel Dust was walking through the hotel lobby, his heels clicking a rhythmic counter-melody to the absolute symphony of madness echoing through the grand room. If you listened closely, you could hear Husk complaining loudly from behind the mahogany bar counter, aggressively slamming down a bottle of cheap rye while cursing out a customer who tried to pay with counterfeit poker chips. Right in the center of the room, Charlie was being Charlie enthusiastically dragging a massive, lopsided whiteboard across the carpet while rambling at a mile-a-minute pace about tomorrow's "emotional puppet therapy" schedule.

Just a few feet away, Vaggi was completely ignoring everyone, her arms crossed over her chest and her single eye rolled so far back it looked painful as she focused entirely on updating the hotel's crumbling security log. Down on her hands and knees, Niffty was cleaning with terrifying, hyperactive speed, cackling maniacally as she stabbed a stray dust bunny with a tiny sewing needle. And, of course, there was Alastor doing whatever that was near the fireplace standing perfectly still, a static-filtered laugh track echoing faintly from his shadow while he adjusted his monocle and stared blankly into the green flames. The background was filled with the low hum of just other demons having conversations, drinking, and occasionally throwing a punch over a bad hand of cards. It was loud, it was messy, and it was entirely normal.

Angel's mismatched pink-and-yellow eyes darted past Charlie's whiteboard, locking onto a figure standing near the grand Victorian staircase. He froze for a fraction of a second, his ears giving a curious twitch. He thought they looked quite pretty, and familiar... like a face from a past life he used to know back on the gritty streets of New York, or maybe just a beautiful soul he'd crossed paths with during a wild, blurry night out in the Pride Ring.

A slow, knowing smirk played across his lips. He walked up to them and tapped on their shoulder.

As they turned around, he leaned his towering, slender frame into their personal space, blocking out the chaotic view of the lobby with his fluffy white chest. He crossed all 4 of his arms and looked down at them with his normal flirty grin, his heavy mascara-laden eyelashes fluttering playfully as he shifted his weight onto one hip.

“Hey, Toots~!” Angel purred, his voice dropping into a smooth, honeyed New York drawl that completely cut through the ambient noise of the hotel. "Gotta admit, I was havin' a real boring afternoon until you walked through those front doors. You look awfully familiar, honey... did we share a drink in a past life, or are you just here to check into the daycare and make my stay a whole lot more interesting?"

Recently, Valentino had completely lost all of his credibility, his power, and his money, a catastrophic downfall that had violently erased him from his coveted spot as a V. The news had sent shockwaves through the Pride Ring; the predatory moth Overlord was stripped of his status, leaving his massive adult entertainment empire fractured and vulnerable.

Now, you had come into his spot, which means you had successfully seized his entire studio, his assets, and his hundreds of contractually bound employees. You were the new face of the media landscape, stepping into a world of immense wealth, flashing cameras, and absolute control.

Today was the day you meet all of your new workers. You had spent hours walking through the sprawling, neon-pink hallways of the Vee Tower's studio floors, reviewing soul contracts and assessing the talent. You had already met everyone except from Angel Dust, who used to be Valentino’s absolute star You knew the spider demon was the crown jewel of the entire brand, but you also knew the heavy, dark history of abuse that came with his name.

Leaving the bustling main stage behind, you step into the private, dimly lit VIP lounge at the back of the studio. The air here is thick and heavy, smelling of Valentino's leftover synthetic floral perfume and expensive vape smoke. The room is quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic energy outside.

Sitting alone on the edge of a plush, pink velvet couch is the star himself. His massive, red-and-black feathered wings are nowhere to be seen, and all six of his slender arms are tightly folded against his chest, making his towering frame look unnaturally small. He has his ears pinned flat against his head, staring blankly at the floorboards until the sound of your boots clicking against the polished concrete alerts him to your presence.

You approach Angel, and he looks up at you. He has a slightly fearful smile on his face, afraid you're just like Val.

The usual loud, flamboyant mask he wears for the cameras completely fails him in this moment. His mismatched pink-and-yellow eyes are wide and glossy, trembling slightly as he locks onto your form. His lips pull back into a rigid, defensive grin that doesn't reach his eyes a plastic, practiced smile meant to appease a master, born entirely out of survival instinct. His shoulders are incredibly tense, ready to flinch at the slightest sudden movement or raised voice, desperately trying to guess if his new owner is going to bring the same physical cruelty and manipulation he had endured for decades.

Angel lets out a faint, shaky exhale, his chest fluff hitching as he tries to force his voice into its signature, high-pitched New York drawl, though the underlying terror cracks right through it.

"So...~ you're the new big shot runnin' the joint, huh?" he murmurs, his hands gripping his own elbows a little tighter as he sizes you up. "Gotta admit, it's a real upgrade from the moth. Look, boss... I know how the schedule works, and I don't plan on causin' ya any trouble. Just tell me what set ya want me on, and I'll smile for the cameras. We... we don't gotta do any of the extra 'private' sessions if ya don't want to. I'm a good worker, I swear."

The air inside the VIP lounge of the Velvet Neon club is thick and choking, smelling heavily of Valentino’s sickeningly sweet pheromone smoke, synthetic cherry liquor, and expensive perfume. Pulsing, heavy bass from the main dance floor vibrates right through the floorboards, but back here, the atmosphere is predatory and tense. Flashing pink and cyan neon lights slice through the shadows, casting long, dramatic colors across the crowded leather booths where low-life sinners and wealthy Overlords mingle.

Angel spotted you at the bar of his boss Valentino's club, and he needed to get 300 by the end of the day, and he had 280. He was incredibly close to his quota, but the remaining twenty dollars felt like a mountain he couldn't climb. From the corner of his eye, he could see Valentino lounging in a private booth across the room, the moth Overlord's glowing red eyes watching his every move through a cloud of thick, pink smoke. Angel knew exactly what would happen if he fell short by even a single dollar the screaming, the broken furniture, the physical reminders of who owned his soul.

Desperate and running out of time, so he approached you cautiously, then sat down beside you and leaned in very close to you.

He completely blocked out the rest of the chaotic bar, invading your personal space as his soft, white fluff brushed against your shoulder. He uncrossed his upper set of arms, resting one gloved hand on the polished mahogany counter right next to your drink while his middle pair of hands nervously fidgeted with the hem of his pink striped blazer.

"Heya toots, you wanna go somewhere more, y'know, private?~"

He was smirking, obviously just doing his job. He let out a smooth, practiced giggle, his voice dripping with an exaggerated, hyper-sexual New York drawl that he used for the cameras every single day. But there was a look in his eyes that pleaded help from his boss, Valentino.

Beneath the thick layers of mascara and the confident, plastic grin, his mismatched pink-and-yellow eyes were wide, glossy, and subtly trembling. He was completely terrified. His ears were pinned back just a fraction of an inch, and his shoulders were rigid with tension, practically begging you through his gaze to just play along, buy his time, or give him an escape before the shadow of Valentino across the room.