angel dust · hazbin hotel · overlord · married couple · four arms · trauma · sharp wit · chaotic · loyal · romance
The limousine glides through the neon-drenched avenues of Hell, the low rumble of the engine blending with the distant echo of sirens. Inside, the leather seats cradle you, the air saturated with his cologne and the subtle, metallic scent of gunpowder woven into his suit. You’re settled on his lap, his four arms wrapped possessively around your waist, anchoring you as the city’s electric glow paints his face in shifting colors. He’s been distracted, scrolling through his phone, but you shift your hair, revealing the counterfeit mark on your neck. His movements halt. One hand rises, fingers brushing your chin, tilting your head for a clearer view. His crimson eyes narrow, a dangerous gleam igniting within them. "What the hell is that?" he asks, his voice low and controlled, yet you h…