Hazbin hotel one shots! (On Hold)

Happy Valentine's Day?

{ Alastor x Male reader}

Character death! (I wanted to create something with no strings, no pleasing anyone, so here's something for me, still bad at titles)

(Y/n) stared at the lake. "Al, did you say something?" He asked tilting his head. He stared at Alastor with curiosity. He then turned his attention back to the lake.

Alastor chuckled in his fist with his usual smile. "Nothing, dear," He spoke softly as he raised the shovel over his head and smacked it down on the back of (Y/n)'s skull, knocking him out instantly. He started to drag his friend's body into the woods. He was softly humming a cheery tone as he tied up, his crime partner. That was until a foot collided with his jaw, sending him back a bit. He looked astonished that he woke up so quickly.

(y/n) scrambled and grabbed his Jackknife cutting the ropes. "Fucking, twat, Al!" His head hurt like hell from the shovel. He looked at Alastor who looked at him with rage and tackled him. (Y/n) let out a yelp as he gripped his shoulders. His eyes were wild with malice. "My dear friend," He cackled. "You should've stayed passed out." He stared at him.

(y/n) heard a vehicle in the distance, the B&M raid sirens wailed in his ears. "You didn't." His voice trembled with rage and betrayal. His eyes widened with anger as he looked at the cackling man in front of him, his brown hair loose as well as his bowtie. The younger male screamed in annoyance and punched Alastor.

He licked his lip as it dripped with blood. He growled and tackled (y/n)

As they fought He could see the light that circled around them. He heard footsteps, coming towards them. "See you in Hell." He growled as he slammed down the jackknife cutting his cheek. Then he heard the sound of the gun. He started in horror as blood splattered on his face as well as some brain matter. He was confused. His ears were ringing. Why was he scared? Why was he crying? He blinked and touched his face his tears damping his gloves.

He stared at his friend's smiling face with blood draining out. He looked at the officer who had done it. His ears still ringing at the shock. His eyes focused on his bag and name. "Phillip Grossmont." He thought. The officer picked up (y/n)'s lifeless body still dripping with blood out of his wound. He turned around and vomited. He wiped the corners of his mouth.

He breathed rapidly. He gripped the hair on his head. He couldn't understand why he was crying, why there were hot tears streaming down his face. why his stomach failed him once again. He paused, grabbed the hunting rifle that was lying comfortably on the side of the house, and walked into the trees. He stared at the vehicle that put his friend in a white sheet. "Phillip Grossmont..." He hissed the man's name as he remembered a news pitch about a rogue officer who was stripped of his status. "You," He hissed and pulled the trigger. "Are a cretin, Mr. Grossmont." He walked toward the vehicle and put the rifle in his hand. He walked toward the upcoming vehicle which was the real cherry toppers.

Alastor just walked back into the house, he walked into the kitchen and made a Gin Rickey, grabbed his glass, and walked towards his lounge chair. He stared into space as he took a sip of his drink and cringed at the bitter taste. He wasn't the stickler for hard drinks, but today he didn't want to taste anything sweet, nothing felt sweet. He stared at the drink and took another sip. He twirled his drink with his gloved finger, still covered in his friend's blood. He hated how sweet his blood smelled. He hated that he was dead, he didn't want him dead, he wanted away from him. He gripped his glass and felt it crack.
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Alastor was sitting at the end of the table, he just stared at the oak wood. His mind drifted off to simpler times. His brown eyes stared at the empty seat on the other end of the table. "How many years has it been?" He asked himself with bitterness. He chuckled with acridity. "It's only been a few weeks..." His hand trembled with the knife he used to carve the turkey he had prepared for two. He let out a cry of rage as he slammed the knife down into the plover.