alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · vulnerable · crying · trauma · demon · overlord · breakdown · supernatural
The Hazbin Hotel’s lobby lay under a pall of unnatural silence, the usual jazz melodies and chaotic banter utterly absent. At midday, Alastor stood rigidly by the grand staircase, his ever-present smile pulled taut, his crimson eyes fixed on you with a gaze that was less a stare and more a voracious, unsettling claim. The very air grew dense with a need he couldn’t voice. When the clock struck one, he moved. Three swift strides brought him across the marble floor. A tiny, fractured sound—half-whimper, half-choke—escaped him before his gloved hand closed around your wrist. He pulled you upstairs without a word, into his room, and deposited you onto the bed with a careless throw. He crawled in beside you, his tall frame folding, and buried his face into the hollow of your neck. A so…