Hazbin Hotel & Helluva Boss oneshots

That Funny Honey of Mine

[ boom! Back with more hazbin/helluva fanfics! mimzy and Alastor are definitely intriguing lol, and my guess is that they lived together during the last few years of their lives. this is definitely inspired by the musical Chicago, I highly recommend it :3 ]

Mimzy turned her head towards the window, holding a shot glass full of god-knows-what. By how fast she was able to down it, she must have been disgusted at the fact that it was water.

"Alastor—" She hissed, "Alastor, Did'ya put water in the booze cabinet again?"

He looked to her from where he stood in the kitchen, cooking something that smelled supernaturally delicious.

"I may have," He said absently, focusing back on the bubbling meal he was working on, which Mimzy was now eyeing.

She cracked a grin. "What'cha makin'?"

He dusted his hands on his apron, exhaling. "One of my mother's recipes. Jambalaya."

"Oooh! Sounds good! How much longer'll it take?" She got up, placing her empty and disappointing shot glass on the counter beside her.

"Not long," He assured her. She reached over to his arm, holding his hand in hers. He stiffened at this, eyes narrowing to a glare as he stared back down at her.

"Love, ya' don't have'ta be so sensitive!" She chirped, scooting closer. She glanced at the wooden spoon he held, and brushed her finger against it, then tasting it.

"Fuckin' hell, Al! That's spectacular!" She gasped, "You should open a restaurant or somethin'. The club I got a stage at is in desperate need of a chef of your talents."

He turned away. "I would rather keep my cooking for close friends and family." He told her, as he took the pot off the stove and strode away from her.

Mimzy shrugged, and followed him. It'd been a month since she insisted that she come live with him. In fact, she'd been the one to start anything in the relationship. It never bothered her, though; she loved to be the one calling the shots, and Alastor would always clean up her messes after her. In her mind, they were the perfect pair.

She saw Alastor jump at the sound of a doorbell sounding from the front hall. Before she could react, she took a small spoon and stole a bite more of his project, despite his protesting scoff.

Running in her tiptoe heels towards the door, she felt as though something was wrong. She peered through the peephole, and her heart seemed to stop, the whole room going cold.

"Al?" She squeaked, "AL! The—the cops're here!"

"They are?" He rushed over from the kitchen, untying his apron, "Whatever do you mean?"

"The cops! The fuckin' police! The pigs! Al, they're here for me!" She whispered in a hushed voice, "They know about..." Mimzy trailed off, gesturing with one finger running across her neck.

She forced back a scream when a fist pounded on the door, rattling it in its frame.

Alastor stepped forward, opening the door just a crack.

"Good evening, officers," He said to the small party of policemen on the front stoop. "What seems to be the issue?"

Mimzy, with fear in her eyes, leaned against the wall, as Alastor allowed the four into their house.

Before she could make a peep, one lunged for her. Alastor ran for him, before pushing Mimzy into the hall behind them.

She tried to run, but two had grabbed her by the shoulders and were in the process of dragging her outside.

"Millicent Ezekiel, you're under arrest for the murder of one Francis Hill."

"AL!" She shrieked. "AL, THEY CAN'T DO THIS! YA' GOTTA TELL 'EM SOMETHIN'!"

"Mimzy, I cannot do much when it comes to police officers." He grimaced.

"ALASTOR! Doll—ya' gotta do—say somethin'! Help me!"

"I'm sorry, Millicent." He looked into her eyes, "I'll see you soon, I promise."

"You promise?" She whimpered. "You better stick to that."

He knit his eyebrows, saying nothing, standing frigidly with his hands behind his back beside the wide open front door.

She dug her heels into the ground, catching one of her shoes on the grout between floor tiles, and she managed to wriggle her way free. She took off, sprinting down onto the road, the taste of jambalaya still fresh on her tongue. Alastor stood there, watching as they caught her in handcuffs.

The rustle of newspapers filled the empty dining room as Alastor flipped to a new page, sipping his coffee. The house had been quiet without Mimzy, although he appreciated the newfound lack of physical contact.

His eyes went from one column to the next, as struggling writers could be seen going on and on about stocks, recent stories, and...

"Oh, would you look at that." He found himself saying out loud, as he placed the news flat on the table.

He let a grin show. It was a toothy, not-quite-polite, sinister grin. His mother had always called it the demonic host's grin. Lovingly, of course.

He stood up, taking his coffee with him in one hand, the news story in the other as he began to read aloud to no one in particular.

"Lounge singer charged and executed for murder." He recited, "Millicent Ezekiel, aged 34, has found her way into stardom in a different light. Arrested and imprisoned for the murder of a young man working at the bar of her regular performance venue, stage name "Mimzy" has been put on death row, and hasn't made it out."

He raised an eyebrow, finishing the last of his coffee. "Well, Mimzy." He doted on no one in particular, "It seems I wasn't able to keep my promise."

He steadily paced down the hall, taking something from the closet. He felt no shame for letting the police into their... well, his home. Curiously, he also found that he had no shame nor guilt for not visiting her soon enough.

"Mimz, dear, I have business to attend to." He spoke loud and clear, as if she was still there. "I hope you'll be alright alone for a bit. I'll be back in a jiffy."

And with that, he slammed the door behind him, as he did, in fact, have business to attend.

It was, only mere hours later, when the gunshot of a hunter's rifle rang throughout his world, that Alastor realized how soon he would be able to keep his promise, after all.