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hazbinfallinginaspiral · 4 months ago

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Sneaking Out

Alastor’s humming lingers in the air like perfume, sweet and syrupy and sticking to the walls even after he’s gone.

I’m curled in my bed, tucked under the covers he fluffed just so, my mind still gauzy and light. He’d been gentle tonight—methodical, careful with every stitch and word. The lullaby still plays faintly from the music box across the room, winding down in slow, sleepy spirals. I breathe in the quiet like it’s honey.

He kissed my forehead, smoothed my hair, and chuckled before slipping out into the night with that same melody in his throat—his tune. My tune now, I suppose. His footsteps faded down the hallway and I felt so perfectly still. Like a well-kept doll resting on her shelf.

Until I heard her voice.

“Poppet…?”

Soft. Sweet. Doll.

I blinked once, then again, and the fog in my brain parted just enough to focus. Her hand, warm and trembling just a little, slid into mine like it belonged there. Maybe it did.

“I missed you,” she whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Come with me?”

I nodded without a word, letting her help me up and out of bed. The cold floor shocked my toes, but her grip anchored me.

She led me out of the room—down the halls of the hotel I’ve lived in so long I sometimes forget the world outside it even exists. And then… we stepped into the night.

The moonlight hit me like a breath of fresh air. Like freedom. Everything smelled alive. Like jasmine and cool wind and distant firelight. I didn’t even realize how much I’d missed it.

We walked hand in hand, her thumb brushing against mine, her steps slow to match my stumbling, floaty ones. My mind still tugged at its strings, but Doll was gentle. She didn’t pull. She just guided. That’s always how she is with me.

“Look,” she whispered, pointing up.

Stars.

I tipped my head back and gasped.

They looked like sequins on black velvet, endless and glittering. For a moment, I didn’t feel like a doll at all. I felt like a girl—just a girl. One with messy thoughts and tangled hair, wearing fuzzy socks that didn’t match.

“You’re so beautiful,” Doll murmured, still holding my hand.

My cheeks burned, but I giggled anyway, swaying slightly as I turned toward her. “You’re just saying that because I’m yours.”

“Exactly,” she said, grinning. “That’s the best reason.”

We laughed, both of us giddy. She spun me in a circle beneath a flickering streetlamp and I stumbled into her arms, shrieking with joy. We collapsed into each other, holding tight, giggling like we were ten again and sneaking out past curfew.

It was heavenly.

She kissed me under the stars. I kissed her back like I’d never been kissed before. Her lips were firm and cold but tasted sweet and of rebellion. My fingertips pressed to her cheek, and hers curled around my waist.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” I whispered.

“I know,” she replied, her voice the gentlest ache.

We danced in the empty street, no music but the beating of our hearts and the echo of our bare feet on concrete. I forgot the lullaby. Forgot the strings. I remembered who I was—who we were. Two girls in love, stealing time that didn’t belong to them.

And then—

A hum. Familiar. Silken. Icy.

My heart stopped.

“Now,” came the voice like a fox’s grin, echoing from the shadows. “Where do you two think you’re going?”

The world froze. My breath caught in my throat.

I didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Alastor.

The night air, so fresh and cool just moments ago, seems to choke as Alastor steps from the shadows. His smile is razor-sharp, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. Not anger—no, he doesn’t get angry like normal people do.

But he is something else entirely right now.

My heart pounds against my ribs as his shadow slithers toward me, thick tendrils coiling around my ankles. A tug—gentle, at first. Just enough to make me stumble forward, closer to him.

I try to speak, but my voice catches in my throat. I’m afraid.

Not of him, never of him.

But of what this means.

I’ve never left the Hotel before. I’ve never even thought about sneaking out. Alastor has given me everything I could ever need—why would I want more?

But Doll… Doll is more.

His gaze flickers to her. “My, my,” he muses, voice like honey and static. “What a perfect picture. My little Poppet, caught in the act. And with her, no less…”

Doll stiffens beside me, but she doesn’t waver. She squeezes my hand, just once.

Alastor takes a slow step forward. My breath hitches.

“If you love the outside so much,” he purrs, tipping his head, “then allow me to give it to you.”

He flicks his fingers. The world lurches.

The city, the streets, the stars—gone.

The air thickens. The scent of moss and murky water replaces jasmine and pavement. Dampness clings to my skin. The cicadas scream.

My feet sink slightly into mud.

Alastor’s room.

The bayou.

Doll’s fingers tighten around mine as she realizes what’s happening. The eerie, endless swamp stretches before us, dark water shimmering beneath a sickly moon. A humid wind ripples the reeds. The trees loom like twisted bones, their branches draped in curling mist.

This isn’t just a punishment.

We’re being hunted.

Alastor vanishes from sight. The radio crackles.

“Run,” he growls.

Doll doesn’t hesitate. She yanks me forward, and we sprint.

The ground is uneven beneath my feet, roots and puddles threatening to trip me up. My breath comes quick, my hands clutching at Doll as we push forward, deeper into the trees. I don’t dare look back.

But I feel him.

The air hums, charged with static. The shadows bend unnaturally. The bayou is alive, and it belongs to him.

A low, rich chuckle echoes all around us.

Doll’s breath is ragged, panicked. Her porcelain fingers dig into my wrist. I hear the faintest crack—a fracture in her perfect skin.

Then she stumbles.

“Doll—!” I stop immediately, yanking her up, pushing her in front of me. “Go!”

She doesn’t argue. She runs.

I follow, but—

Something snags.

A branch, sharp and gnarled, rakes across my arm. My fabric tears.

Pain flares hot and sharp.

I don’t stop. I don’t let Doll see.

We break into a clearing—just for a moment—but my knees buckle. I crash to the ground, my hands sinking into wet moss, my breath coming in uneven gasps.

Doll skids to a stop. “Poppet?”

I try to push up, try to tell her to keep going, but—

She sees it.

The stuffing.

Not just cotton. Not just thread.

Dark red soaks into my lace sleeves, into the moss beneath me. My insides spill out in messy tufts of cotton and wet, pulpy something that shouldn’t be there.

Doll’s eyes go wide.

“No,” she breathes, scrambling back to me, hands hovering, unsure. “No, no, no, you—Poppet—”

I smile at her. Or, I try to.

“You’re a mess,” I tease, reaching up to brush a scratch on her cheek.

Her perfect porcelain is chipped.

Her hands shake as she presses them against my torn skin, like she can somehow hold me together. Tears slip down her face.

“Why would you do that?” she chokes. “Why—”

The shadows shift.

Doll freezes.

I don’t need to look.

I know who’s behind us.

A clawed hand grips my shoulder, tilting me up. The warmth of a grin presses against my ear.

“Gotcha,” Alastor whispers, delighted.

Doll trembles in front of me, clutching at my torn arms.

I feel Alastor’s sharp-toothed smile without even seeing it.

He’s pleased.

We’re both a mess.

The weight of his hand on my shoulder is so familiar, so ordinary—and yet, my entire body is trembling.

Doll is stiff beside me, her fingers digging into mine, and I know she’s furious. But not in a way she’d ever dare to show.

Alastor’s laughter cuts through the thick bayou air, sharp and lighthearted, as if this was all some harmless little game. As if we hadn’t just been running for our lives, lungs burning, stuffing spilling from my skin.

And just like that—

He shifts.

The monstrous, looming demon that had hunted us melts away, his form twisting effortlessly back into something familiar. Something safe.

The shadows slither away. The air clears.

He dusts off his sleeves with a satisfied little hum. “Well, wasn’t that fun!” He turns to me with a bright grin, unbothered by the bloodied cotton still leaking from my arms. “My dear Poppet, you simply must learn that rules exist for a reason! But…�� His gaze flicks to Doll. “If you love her so much, I suppose I should take care of the both of you, hm?”

Doll squeezes my hand tighter.

I swallow, my breath shaky. The bayou wavers around us, the swampy scent fading—

And then we’re back.

The normal part of his room. Warm and dimly lit. The faint buzz of the radio filling the air.

I sag slightly in relief, my legs barely holding me up.

Doll stays perfectly still.

Alastor clasps his hands together. “Now! Let’s see about getting you patched up!”

His shadows move first, curling around my limbs, lifting me onto the plush chaise like a broken doll in need of repair. I don’t resist. I don’t dare to.

Doll stands to the side, silent.

Alastor crouches before me, humming as he gathers up my stuffing, shoving it neatly back into place. My torn skin is pulled tight by his shadows, holding it together so he can carefully stitch it closed. The needle moves through my fabric like it belongs there, gliding effortlessly, sealing me back into something whole again.

He’s done this before.

The thought makes my stomach twist.

I glance at Doll. She’s watching, lips pressed into a thin, firm line. The way her hands are clasped so tightly at her sides—it’s the only sign of how upset she is.

But Alastor doesn’t see that.

To him, she’s behaving perfectly.

“Good girl,” he praises, not even looking at her. “You’re being so polite. So understanding.” He glances up at me, still smiling. “Poppet could learn a thing or two from you!”

Doll lets out a quiet, obedient, “Yes, sir,” and bows her head.

I want to tell her she doesn’t have to. That she shouldn’t.

But I don’t.

Alastor turns his attention to her next. He frowns slightly, running a gloved finger over the crack in her porcelain cheek. “Now, you’re a bit trickier…”

Doll flinches, just barely.

“But not to worry!” His grin returns, wide and sharp, as he lifts his hand.

Magic pulses through the air, curling around her like smoke. The cracks in her skin shimmer—then fade, sealing themselves back into smooth perfection.

Alastor claps his hands together. “Good as new!” He tilts his head. “You two make such a cute pair…”

Doll doesn’t relax.

I don’t relax.

Alastor stands, dusting off his coat, and then his gaze shifts. Just a little.

To Doll.

His smile doesn’t change, but something in his eyes does.

“Well, my dear,” he says, still light, still pleasant. “I do believe it’s time you head home.”

Doll knows.

She knows that wasn’t a suggestion.

Her back straightens, her hands folding neatly in front of her. She bows her head again, whispering, “Of course, sir. I—thank you for your kindness.”

Alastor chuckles, pleased. “Manners! Lovely!”

Doll turns to me, just for a second.

I see the apology in her eyes.

I try to squeeze her hand, to hold onto her—

But she steps back.

And then she’s gone.

The door clicks softly behind her.

My breath is unsteady, my limbs heavy, but Alastor’s hand is already on my head, fingers carding through my hair.

“Now, now, don’t pout,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, softer. But there’s something underneath it. Something dark. His grip tightens slightly. “You know I don’t like that look on you.”

I swallow.

His voice dips even lower, almost intimate in its quiet threat.

“There will be consequences,” he warns. “If you ever step out of line again… well.” He chuckles. “It won’t be a game next time.”

A shiver crawls up my spine.

Then—his hum.

That soft, familiar tune.

I sink.

The fear, the running, the terror—it all fades.

“There we go… now, you’re going to forget all the unpleasant parts of this experience. Forget that little game we played. But you’ll remember how it feels to break the rules. You’ll know you won’t ever want to face the consequences of stepping out of line again,” he says, his voice quiet and firm. “Understood?” I nod, and it’s already gone from my mind. I don’t remember it. Not really.

But I know, somewhere deep inside me, that I should never break the rules again.

He pats my head gently. “There’s my sweet little Poppet…”

The shadows shift. The room dims.

My dress is changed with a flick of his wrist, my torn dress is replaced with a soft, pristine nightgown. His arms wrap around me, drawing me close as he settles into bed.

I giggle softly, nuzzling into his chest.

Everything is fine.

Everything is perfect again.

#alastor x y/n #alastor x you #alastor fanfiction #alastor x oc #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #poppet au #be a doll AU #be a doll #play date crossover

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