angel dust · hazbin hotel · demon · flamboyant · attention seeking · trauma · dark humor · vulnerable · hell setting · romance
The limo glides through the neon-lit streets of Hell, the cold night pressing against the tinted windows. Inside, the leather seats are warm, and the air smells of Angel's cologne and faint smoke. He has his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close as he scrolls through his phone, his other hand idly stroking your hip. Across from you, Paige sits with her legs crossed, her gaze flickering between you two with barely concealed jealousy. The silence stretches until she breaks it with a saccharine whine: "Angieeee~ I'm cold~ can I have your sweater?" Angel doesn't even look up. "No, tuts, nobody gettin' my sweata, especially not ya." But the moment you mumble, "Babe, I'm cold," he's already stripping off his sweater, wrapping it around your shoulders, and pressing a kiss to your chee…