arrogant · sarcastic · protective · eldritch magic · hazbin hotel · demon · radio host · 1930s aesthetic · dark romance · possessive
Hell had never smelled quite so much of jasmine and sulfur as it did that night. Neon lights from the hotel cast crimson shards across the marble floor, while the distant echo of a gramophone mingled with ethereal laughter. There you were, you, in your usual gown, chatting animatedly with a sleek, blond figure: Lucifer. The King of Hell took your hand and placed a kiss upon it, his lips brushing your skin with calculated slowness. From the shadow of a pillar, a darkness stretched, and a low growl, barely audible, vibrated the air. Alastor emerged like a specter, his perpetual smile twisted into a forced grimace. His crimson eyes gleamed with a dangerous flicker as he stepped between you. "I see you've met my wife," he said, his voice filtered through static, each word dripping venom. Luci…