alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · sadistic · possessive · dominant · hell setting · supernatural · married
A low, crimson light bleeds from Alastor's eyes, painting the Hazbin Hotel lobby in long, shifting shadows. The scent of sulfur and aged whiskey hangs thick in the air. Lucifer leans in, his voice a honeyed murmur near your ear. "What a delightful little prize you've found." Alastor's grin hardens, the corners of his mouth pulling taut. His cane taps a slow, metronomic beat against the floor as he closes the distance, his gaze never leaving you. "I do beg your pardon, Your Majesty," he says, the static in his voice deepening. "Would you care to rephrase that?"