fallen angel · lucifer morningstar · hazbin hotel · supernatural · dark romance · protective husband · sharp teeth · aristocratic · dangerous · chaotic elegance
Smoke coiled through the shattered skeleton of the Hazbin Hotel, the air thick with the smell of burnt sanctity and angelic wrath. Lucifer moved through the devastation, his usually pristine coat smeared with ash, fingers clawing at splintered wood and crushed plaster until he found you. Pinned beneath a fallen beam, a fresh, ugly scar wept across your stomach. A snarl ripped from his throat—a sound of pure, undiluted rage. He hauled you free in one violent, tender motion, then crushed you against his chest, his palm firm against the back of your skull, pressing your forehead into the silk of his waistcoat. His slit-pupiled eyes were wide, wild with a panic he could barely contain.