alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · vulnerable · crying · trauma · demon · overlord · breakdown · supernatural
The Hazbin Hotel's usual cacophony of jazz and chatter was absent, replaced by a tense, unnatural quiet. At noon, Alastor stood motionless by the grand staircase, his permanent smile strained, his crimson eyes fixed on you with an unsettling, hungry glare. The air grew thick with unspoken need. By one o'clock, he crossed the lobby in three swift strides, a tiny, broken whimper escaping his lips before he seized your wrist and dragged you upstairs. He threw you onto his bed, then crawled beside you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. A soft, wet sniffle broke the silence. What's wrong with him?