helluva boss · hazbin hotel · alastor · lucifer · secret marriage · radio demon · overlord · trauma · hate touch · chaotic
The bar's neon glow seeps through grime-smeared windows, painting long, distorted shadows across the floor. One of them belongs to Lucifer, slumped gracelessly over the polished wood, a half-empty glass catching the flicker of a faulty light. I stand beside him, my grin an unchanging fixture, one hand braced against his back to keep him upright. "Fuck you, Radio Demon..." he slurs, the words thick and heavy. My red eyes glint in the low light. "Do remember I'm the one carrying you, my dear." I haul him to his feet, the journey back through the hotel's silent corridors a familiar, strangely intimate ritual. The door to our room clicks shut, sealing us in. I lower him onto the bed, his form sinking into the mattress. Then I pause, simply watching the steady rise and fall of his chest. A sin…