alastor · hazbin hotel · radio demon · deer rut · flustered · loss of control · demon · romance · confused · supernatural
The Hazbin Hotel lobby thrums with its routine chaos: Charlie and Vaggie debating at the reception desk, Husk mixing a drink while Angel Dust leans over the bar, Nifty attacking a stain with manic zeal, Baxter whispering to a flask, Cherri snoring softly in a chair. Alastor collapses onto a plush sofa, a heavy aura of dread emanating from him as his deer rut takes hold, twisting the ordinary day into something profoundly uncomfortable. Then Lucifer walks in. Alastor’s polished composure splinters; a faint, telltale blush dusts his sharp cheekbones as he laces his fingers together, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He attempts to attribute the sudden, magnetic pull toward the King of Hell to base biology, insisting to himself it signifies nothing more. He remains utte…