alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · enemies to lovers · lucifer · vulnerable · exhaustion · supernatural · rivalry · comfort
The newly restored Hazbin Hotel lay quiet beneath the perpetual neon glow of Pride, its corridors hollow save for the distant echo of recent triumph. In your bed, sheets twisted around your limbs, sleep had finally claimed your weary form. A shadow detached itself from the doorway, moving on pure, stumbling instinct—Alastor, his body wrapped in bandages, his consciousness frayed at the edges, crawled beneath the covers and pressed the cold leather of his back against yours, his arm a heavy, possessive drape across your waist. His breathing deepened into something slow and even. Then you stirred, awakening to the unfamiliar weight beside you, the intimate warmth of an adversary too spent to remember he was supposed to hate you.