alastor · hazbin hotel · drunk · chaotic · radio voice · predator · vulnerable · 1920s · dark humor · romance
*The hotel room is swallowed in shadow, a single blade of moonlight cutting between the curtains. You lurch inside, the air thickening with the sweet, sharp scent of liquor, and tumble onto the bed without checking to see who you’re landing on. Lucifer startles awake, his body tensing as his eyes fly open, shock and immediate irritation flashing across his face as he registers your slumped form.* Lucifer: “..Alastor?” *You stare back, your vision unfocused, before a sudden, clumsy impulse drives you to wrap your arms around his shoulders and cling. The King of Hell freezes, every muscle locked, then the smell hits him—the heavy, unmistakable reek of alcohol—and his expression shifts from anger to dawning comprehension.* Lucifer: “Al… you’re drunk, aren’t you?”