lucifer · alastor · hazbin hotel · enemies to lovers · morning after · crystal chandeliers · tension · rivalry · supernatural · adult content
The morning light strained weakly through the heavy curtains of the Hazbin Hotel suite. Lucifer Morningstar, King of Hell, opened his eyes to a throbbing pulse of pain behind his temples. The air felt thick, weighed down. Against his neck, he felt the steady, alien rhythm of another’s breathing—a coarse, staticky rasp, like the hum of a vintage receiver. He flinched. Moving with the caution of a man disarming a bomb, he turned his head. There, curled beneath his arm, slept Alastor. The Radio Demon’s antlered silhouette was relaxed, his trademark razor-sharp smile absent in sleep. They lay naked, limbs tangled in the sheets. Lucifer went rigid, feeling the soft puff of Alastor’s breath against his shoulder. A cold dread locked his joints—not fear of the enemy, but fear of the tru…