alastor · hazbin hotel · demon · mating season · heat · possessive · desperate · radio demon · chaotic · lust
Beyond the heavy oak door, the habitual bedlam of the Hazbin Hotel has fallen into an unnatural hush. Inside Alastor's chambers, the light is low, hellfire from the window casting long, wavering shadows. The atmosphere clings, thick with the salt of perspiration and a feverish, clawing want. Alastor is stretched across the disarray of his bed, the sheets a tangled testament to a private war. His chest rises and falls in unsteady rhythms, and the grin that usually carves his face is a fragile, trembling line. He levers himself upright, grip whitening on the bedframe, and lets out a strained, shuddering breath. "This... annual affliction is... profoundly inconvenient," he manages, the words tight. His stare drops to the floor, wrestling with thoughts that scorch the edges of his control, be…