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darkhymns-fic · 6 days

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Overtime

On his day off, Husk gets a visit from Alastor. It's routine.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters/Pairing: Husk/Alastor Rating: M Word Count: 1640 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Warning for suggestive situations here and some dubious consent. Just a short fic inspired by this art from @star-junk. It just really made me want to write something with it, so I hope it's okay!

It’s the creak of the bed that finally wakes Husk up. Wide-eyed. Fur standing on end. Vulnerable.

Maybe he should be surprised, but he's not at all. All he can think about is how damn tired he is. He’d already had to deal with errands and stocking up the bar, the crates full of bourbon and absinthe wrecking his back as he carried them. He’d had to deal with multiple grabby hands from the same eight-eyed customer, who whined about not getting his attention. And as well, any weird new activity Charlie was cooking up for the hotel residents, and pulling him into it. Not like Husk’s seeking redemption. He isn’t foolish enough to believe it could ever be for him.

There’s a small dip from behind him, on his bed. Another creak. It’s dark, but Husk doesn’t really need to see. The soft shine of red tells him everything he needs to know.

Another of his boss’s little visits.

Husk’s not alert enough to decide what to do. His limbs still feel heavy and his mouth is all dry from drinking himself to sleep. The weight keeps moving around on top of him, softly treading, like an animal through the brush. What makes it all the more eerie though is that he can’t even hear the shadow over him breathe.

That’s when he feels the hand on his wing.

He grits his teeth, then shivers. His throat rumbles with a sound he could barely restrain, still moving out of the shades of sleep.

Husk realizes too late that he’s not wearing anything. He always goes to bed bare, his own fur a bitch to deal with.

Finally, a voice.

“Dear Husker,” Alastor whispers, leaning down just a bit. The filter over his voice seems to dial all the way down to low. “You sleep so deeply. And it’s already past noon.” He tsks. “Such a layabout.”

Husk softly groans, all as Alastor keeps his hand in that same place. “Well, I was sleeping fine before you fucking showed up. And what do you care how I spend my Saturday?”

He doesn’t need to look to know how deep Alastor’s smile is, how it cuts into his face until it’s all he is.

Before Husk can even ask what’s the goddamn occasion now, the hand on his wing shifts. A thumb rubs against his feathers, the palm edging across the bend of his wing. The upper feathers are shorter, but they’re also sensitive. He’d give his own bottle of whiskey away if it meant he’d just have less of these stupid fucking soft spots of his, where any stimulation at all just did something to him.

And Alastor knows just where such spots were. Just right there, at the wing’s curve, where the feathers softened, where the red edges into the black. The wings had always been such a cruel joke, with its alternating patterns that resembled some cheap roulette wheel. It was always the one game it had been impossible for him to cheat at.

Alastor’s fingers curl into his wing, the thumb continuing to rub patterns, as if he’s memorizing every soft thread that makes up Husk’s body.

“Come on, why are you–” Husk cuts himself off, his body still struggling with the depth of his fatigue. Infuriating that this is all it takes for Alastor to get such reactions from him, and that he knows just when to do it.

But, despite it all, Husk finally gets his body to half-turn instead of just stretching like some depraved animal. His room is still covered in shadows, with only barely muted hallway light coming from the doorway crack.

None of that matters. He can still easily make out Alastor’s face, his smile like a crescent moon shining over dark woods. Red swam over both, its color searing into him. He’s still fully dressed, unlike Husk. As if he had just left a social meeting, and then went to his pet for a little play.

“Are you sure you weren’t just waiting for me?” the demon above him asks with a low laugh. “You reacted just so quickly, even for you.”

Now he’s actively trying to piss Husk off, but then there’s another touch. This time, right at the inside of his right thigh. Husk shivers again, and this time, he can’t help but arch his back, just slightly.

Alastor’s expression doesn’t change, even as his fingers part through the fur, trailing through white and black. Even as his other hand keeps weaving a soft language into Husk’s feathers. He plays his body like an instrument, fingers tapping along invisible keys that make the one beneath him sing in a melody so few others would ever hear.

And Alastor is certainly enjoying the show before him.

It’s hard to escape. It’s hard to want to escape.

But he manages to speak, even when he’s lost to the soft touches, to the way they grip and hold. They don’t let go. The fingers are greedy, and Husk is all too familiar with greed and its call.

“It’s my day off, boss…”

Even an ironclad soul like his deserves a little mercy.

Alastor leans down, never letting his fingers rest. They change course, maybe even change tempo, but the insistent petting and stroking is still enough to make Husk into a useless pile of limbs and heat. “Then perhaps you should work a little bit of overtime for me.”

The fact that he’s trying to crack a fucking joke with me now.

Husk flinches, one eye shutting as another wave of warmth rolls over him. Hard enough to sleep with his wings that keep getting in the way, that he could never hug to his body tight enough so that they just disappear. Because not even just Alastor, but everyone loves to grab them. It’s too much. He hates it. He hates how his body just betrays him like this.

“You don’t pay me enough for this shit,” he shoots out. He manages to keep his voice steady, his tone deep, at least for that. He glares up at Alastor, letting the red light leak into his eyes. It always burns when he does so, looking directly at the Radio Demon.

It’s like looking at his forthcoming death.

Alastor notices. So, he shuts his eyes. And then, he lets a hand rush up Husk’s thigh, then up his chest, until they reach his chin. He leans further down, and down. And down.

Until the tips of their noses brush against the other. Until Husk can finally hear the soft breathing from Alastor, can feel it against his fur.

“Then how about I give you a goodnight kiss in exchange?” he asks, finally opening his eyes. The glee in them is almost manic. “For always putting up with me.”

All these stupid games Alastor loves to play.

The fingers grip his chin, while the others over his wing continue their dance. “After all, I know that’s what you like.” Then, a wink, almost coy in its motion. “You’ve always been such a romantic.”

It’s stupid how Husk’s breath hitches at the thought, even when a nightmare looms over his bed, because that’s what Alastor is. The Radio Demon is every awful, heartstopping sound in the dark. He is every fleeting shadow that you see out of the corner of your eyes. He is every ancient folktale that elders warn their children about, of the monster that takes those lost souls who live on the fringes. And he eats, and eats, and eats.

But like any shapeshifting monster, Alastor can look as pleasant as he wants. And right now, his voice is soft, and his hands still play Husk for every note he can find.

Husk opens his mouth, trying to breathe. He lets his tongue run over Alastor’s thumb, which presses just against his bottom lip. Everyone does play with his wings, but only Alastor knows just how to use them to full effect.

“Deal,” he says. It’s barely audible, like the last breath of a dying man. But Alastor understands. He always does.

The kiss is different from the touches. Alastor is a hungry demon, and he shows it through his mouth the most. Lips press down deeply over Husk’s own, and sharp teeth clash. It’s hard and biting. The kiss stings Husk’s tongue, overwhelms his mouth. It’s like being force fed poison all the while.

But the poison is spiked, because kissing Alastor is always so, so addictive. Husk leans his head up, drinks from it as much as he can. He feels the hand wander down his feathers, move between them and pull gently. Because he likes the texture, Alastor once said to Husk. It calms him. It’s pleasing.

Sometimes, he even takes a feather for himself, using it as a quill. And Husk has to see it in the boss’s room sometimes, a piece of himself that is being used, again, and again, and again–

Husk’s wings move to stretch and wrap around Alastor, like a shroud made with red and black, studded with stars and symbols. He brings the nightmare closer. It’s only half against his will.

Maybe one day, he can make them both disappear.

“More,” he groans out, staring into the red, like falling into a sky at dusk. “If you’re gonna make me work like this.”

The shadows don’t hide for him. They grow into shapes that stretch from Alastor’s head, that cover up the walls into pitch black. He doesn’t care, feeling the promise of that kiss again as a tongue presses against his lips.

“Oh, Husker. With me, you never have to work a day in your life.”

He’s too lost to get angry at the comment.

Alastor wears Husk’s wings proudly around his shoulders as he steals him away once again.

#hazbin hotel #husk #alastor #radiohusk #fanfiction #one shot

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darkhymns-fic · 18 days

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A Cat of Good Behavior

When Vaggie came by, pissed that the bartender was drunk out of his mind once more, she noted the bell collar then. “This some new dress code?” she had asked, her stare holding several shades of scrutiny. “Dress code,” Husk repeated, his tone deadpan, his chest so hollow that only more alcohol could fill it. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Alastor gets Husk a new gift to wear for the day. And Husk, despite all his protests, plays the part so well.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Alastor/Husk, Angel Dust, Niffty Rating: E Word Count: 6416 Mirror: AO3 Notes: This is a higher-rated fic, so only an excerpt will be shared here. Please read the rest on AO3 and mind the tags! It's toxic radiohusk, my beloved.

Husk found the package in his room, perched just on top of his bed covers. It was a small white box, wrapped neatly with a red bow.

Instantly, he felt a strange sense of revulsion from it.

Alastor had a habit of just going into his hotel room whenever he pleased, whether it was to just wile away the time or get Husk to go on an errand. It happened so often that Husk had learned long ago to never expect any privacy. Of course not. Not when he was someone else’s property.

And Alastor also loved leaving Husk with little surprises.

He wasn’t sure what to do at first; leaving it alone just made it feel too ominous, and throwing it away would probably attract the Radio Demon’s anger in some way or another. No, the only other option was opening the damn thing, and Husk couldn’t begin to guess what his boss was leaving him with. It could have been anything, like a disgusting entrée from Cannibal Town, or maybe a nest of ticks just to piss Husk off.

…He was hoping if it was anything, he’d rather it be the Cannibal Town delicacy. Hell ticks were a pain to get rid of.

Swallowing, Husk delicately unwrapped the bow with one finger, as if touching it any more would invoke some sort of curse in his already cursed afterlife. But when the bow was fully unraveled, and he could open the box lid, he had to blink twice.

It was a bell collar, fashioned from bright red leather with golden clasps. The bell in front was impossible to miss, which was as big as his thumb, with its surface holding a shine to it.

Fucking kidding me with this.

Husk looked at it for a few more seconds, his irritation slowly building up until he couldn’t help but swat the damn thing off his bed. The collar made a soft ringing sound, the accessory thumping onto the carpet. It echoed in the air, enough that he couldn’t forget the tone of the bell if he tried.

He was way too tired to understand Alastor’s new game now.

#hazbin hotel #radiohusk #alastor #husk #fanfiction #one shot

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darkhymns-fic · 27 days

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sing for me (wip)

It had been a sudden request one night, one where Husk couldn’t lock his doors to a shadow that slithered wherever it pleased, that liked to remind him that he was never truly alone. “Really, you have such a lovely voice, and my radio show has certainly been lacking in talent lately.”

“I’m not fucking singing for you.” A gamble to be randomly brave, but Husk had tried to see the odds as in his favor. He wasn’t dead yet, and Alastor hated making a mess when it wasn’t necessary. “Use your connections to get someone else.”

For the Radio Demon had it, Husk knew. Once, it was by morbid curiosity that he tuned the radio on a slow night, the whiskey just not hitting right. He didn’t hear the screams—not yet at least. But sometimes there were songs from so-called guest singers, mixed in with the little tidbits of news that Alastor so loved to reiterate for all of Hell, a lot of them concerning the low stocks or accidents that occurred with Vox brand products.

But as soon as he said it, the red-drenched mic was pointed at his face, as threatening as the barrel of a gun. “Don’t be shy. Being humble won’t get you anywhere. Wouldn’t it be such a crime to deprive the listeners of your dulcet tones? And I know you never like to pass on a good show.”

Husk flattened his ears, carefully pushing the mic away with a sharp claw. “I haven’t sung in years anyway.” Not since the terms of their deal, not since he was stripped of his dignity and more. “For all you know, I’m rusty.”

“Wrong.” And what feeling set inside his chest when an unseen hand gripped his shoulder, the same hand that would sometimes part away the fur on his head, or hook a finger just underneath a suspender strap to gather his attention. “Don’t downplay yourself, especially when we have schedule to keep. We could continue playing this game, but I’m not interested in hearing your little pity fest when we know how this ends.” A wink, one that fizzled static and made the smile on Alastor’s face so bright. “And little Niffty was so, so adamant about the sweet lullabies you sang to her.”

Oh fuck him. The one time his old and brittle heart cracked for the psychotic little woman, who couldn’t seem to sleep one night. (Did she ever?) But Husk had relented, humming her an old ditty, one that made her snore in his lap. Well, it was better than her trying to stab him to tire herself out.

Stupid of him to forget his boss never neglected an opportunity to eavesdrop.

#hazbin hotel #radiohusk #husk #alastor #fanfiction #wip #I don't know if I'll ever continue this #I have two other wips I wanna finish so I'll just leave this here

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darkhymns-fic · 1 month

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Can I get a tiny umbrella to go with that?

So, a Princess of Hell walks into a bar…and the bartender isn't prepared for what she's asking. Luckily, Husk is a softie at heart.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Husk, Charlie Morningstar, Alastor Rating: T Word Count: 4342 Mirror: AO3 Notes: This is a nicer HH fic for once! Wanted to write both mine and @ms-notebook's favorite characters interacting. (There's also lovely art by her for this story!) Please forgive me for the dumb humor in this.

Husk heard the princess slump against the bar counter behind him. A small groan, followed by a thud. Then, followed by a plaintive “Oww…”

He sighed, turning around from setting up the shelves with new stock. “Tripped?”

Charlie had a hand pressed against her forehead, a little pout forming on her face. “No…I just wanted to lay my head down here.”

“Yeah, well, don’t exactly got pillows.” Husk gestured to the lobby. “The couch is right there if you want to relax.”

But he already guessed that was not what she came for. Still, he wasn’t going to pry unless she opened herself up. And he knew behind that usual bright, and sometimes manic smile of hers, there was a lot weighing on the girl’s mind.

Charlie took a deep breath, finally ignoring the little bump on her scalp. “Um, actually I wanted a different way to relax… You know?”

Husk raised a large eyebrow. “Do I know?”

“Y-yeah! Of course you do! Oops, sorry… I shouldn’t just assume.” Charlie brushed away a lock of her hair. She shifted nervously on the bar stool, her other hand tapping away the counter. “You just usually seem to know things…”

Yeah, he did. And he had a pretty good suspicion right now. “You here for a drink?”

Charlie looked left and right, now using her hands to twiddle her thumbs. Then, she nodded vigorously.

“Heh. Does Vaggie know you’re ‘partaking’ in some sin?”

“I mean! I just want a little sip! Or… unless you think I shouldn’t.” Charlie gave a small whine, hanging her head. “It’s just been so stressful lately with the Extermination being pushed up and we still haven’t gotten any new guests since Sir Pentious…”

Probably because they had Mr. Smiles as their marketing manager and a drunk manning the front desk/bar, but Husk wasn’t really about to point that out now.

“Hey, kid. No worries. I’ll fix you up something real nice then.” He leaned towards her, wings tucked in, feeling more awake than usual. “So, what do ya want? This your first drink?”

Charlie giggled nervously. “Ah, I’ve had champagne at this fancy dinner once… Like half a glass.”

Husk smirked. “So, you’re saying we should start you off strong. Got a couple of shots of vodka here in the back if you’re daring.”

Charlie’s eyes brightened in wonder. “Vodka… I always was curious…” Then shook her head. “Um, maybe not yet! It might be too strong for me…”

At that, Husk had to laugh a bit. His shoulders shook slightly, half-covering his mouth with his hand. “I was mostly joking. Look, we can start off small. You seem like you’d be into cocktails, so I can fix you up a dry martini, tequila sunrise, whatever sounds nice to you.”

Somehow, just listing off basic drink names was enough to get the princess’ face glowing, like she was a kid in a candy store. It was almost adorable, the way her already-blushed cheeks seemed to blush even more. “Tequila sunrise…that sounds so beautiful! You can make that?”

“Been making it for years. Known plenty of ladies who were into those. Though…” He tapped a finger against his chin, giving her another smile. “If I made you a piña colada instead, I can give it to you with a special garnish.” A pause, seeing Charlie wonder just what he meant before he finally said, “A tiny umbrella.”

Charlie stared open-mouthed. “No one ever told me drinks had tiny umbrellas in them!” She brought her hands to her face, awed by this knowledge. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Husk literally could not remember the last time someone got this excited over him making them a drink. (Well, maybe except Mimzy, and those weren’t pleasant memories). But Charlie’s excitement was infectious, and Husk had gotten a little soft for the princess. Even if he thought her redemption ideas were half-baked at best.

“You never knew what you were missing, huh?” he teased. “Just sit tight and I can whip you something up here—”

“Oh wait, I forgot!” Charlie straightened, hands pressed flat on the counter. “Alastor recommended me to get a certain drink from you!”

And suddenly, all the good mood in Husk’s heart went sinking right into the damn floor. Oh. So that’s why she was here.

“…The boss?” Husk blinked. “Recommended?”

Charlie nodded, still beaming her innocent smile. “I told him I’d been feeling a bit stressed lately and… that’s when he mentioned you! And your bar! And your special drink!”

Husk didn’t have a ‘special drink,’ unless one counted the cheap booze he kept underneath the counter for his own imbibing, but he didn’t deny it just yet.

“What did he say exactly?” Husk asked, trying to keep his tone normal. Maybe his boss was just actually being considerate of Charlie. For once. It’s not like Alastor didn’t come by and ask for a few fingers of rye on the rocks himself. And he and Charlie were basically business partners, in a sense.

Charlie clasped her hands together, smiling at Husk as if she was being the most perfect student, all attentive and eager. “Well, he said… Oh, actually he even instructed me on how I should say it! Since it’s a secret menu item and all!”

This was the first he ever heard of any secret menu item. Husk was waiting for the moment all hell would break loose, but he played along. “Okay, uh… go ahead?”

The princess’ expression then turned all serious. She cleared her throat, clenched one hand, and then slammed it on the bar counter. Or, at least her version of slamming a fist. The force of it was barely able to rattle one of the whiskey glasses that Husk was still in the middle of cleaning.

“Husk,” she started, her tone low, her eyes narrowed. “Give me your tallest glass of milk.”

He had to take a moment to be sure he heard that right. Charlie still gave her hard-set stare, which wavered to softness by each passing second.

Yeah, okay, she did just say that.

“…Are you asking me for regular milk?” He paused. “Or like a milk brandy?” There was no way she even knew what that was.

Charlie blinked. She shook the hand that she had slammed with, waving away the aches she must have given herself. “Uh, Alastor didn’t mention? He just said you had some very special milk! And that I should go and try it! Because I also like milk!”

“Special milk? The fuck did he—” Husk blinked. Then, he realized.

Then, he winced. Oh, that disgusting bastard.

Charlie was still in the dark and just kept talking, oblivious to the implications. “Alastor was really raving about your milk, too! How it’s the best out there, but that it’s rare to get? And that you only serve it when you’re in a good mood! He told me that even he can barely get it that much from you himself—”

Husk pressed a hand to his face. He wanted to be buried alive, right now. “Charlie, please stop talking.”

“Oh.” Charlie hunched a little, noticing now the changed atmosphere in the room. “Did…did I say something wrong?”

That was such a loaded question but Husk didn’t have the energy to explain it all, nor did he think explaining would do any good except make Charlie give out a string of apologies that he would barely be able to handle. So instead, he gave another deep sigh and placed a hand on the princess’ shoulder.

“Here, just a piece of advice. If Alastor seems too excited about something, I’d take it with a big fuckton grain of salt. The guy does stuff for shits and giggles and you’re prime entertainment for that.”

Charlie’s eyes lowered, her perky energy from before looking all sapped away. “Oh, so he was just playing a prank on me…” She then looked to Husk again, with what little hope she had left. “You don’t have any milk at all?”

Husk really wished he could fucking kill Alastor this very second. Or at least kick him in the teeth if doing so wasn’t going to get his stomach sliced open for the Radio Demon’s buffet.

“I don’t got milk, kid,” he finalized with a pat on her shoulder. Then he looked to the side, muttering to himself. “At least, not as much anymore.”

“Huh?”

It almost physically hurt hearing his own slip-up coupled with Charlie’s curiosity. God dammit, this whole stupid thing from Alastor was now messing with his head! Husk stepped back. “Just— Don’t worry about it.”

Ugh. He was already exhausted. It didn’t even make any sense to Husk. This wasn’t his boss’ usual style of humor. Did he pick it up from Angel? But he also remembered how Alastor didn’t even like Angel that much anyway, so that wasn’t it. Whatever. This wasn’t a mystery he needed to solve and didn’t fucking want to anyway.

By now though, Charlie looked deeply sadder than before—and also guilty. She knew she had made the air between them awkward, even as Husk tried to get past it. It's not like it was her fault that she was as naive as they come.

“Look, let me just make you something. Still want the umbrellas?”

But Charlie no longer looked as enthused, and shook her head. “Maybe…maybe another time. I should probably get back to work. I forgot, I have to set up the Pilates schedule for everyone! All, um, two of them..”

Ah, man. Husk mentally kicked himself for getting so worked up before. “Hey, Charlie, it’s–”

“No, no, don’t worry! I shouldn’t have bothered you while you were working anyway. I’ll just get out of your way!” And with that, she quickly got up from the stool, put on her great smile that was stretched just a little too wide, and looked a little too tight.

She wasn't as good at hiding things like his boss was, but he could see the similarities.

“I’ll see ya later okay bye!!” And then she hoofed it out of there, even before Husk could say another word.

He leaned on the bar counter, chin placed in his hand and sighed. So much for always bitching to the bartender. Because Charlie just took up all her hurt and swallowed it away instead.

“Alright, everyone! Great job today!” Charlie gave a double-thumbs up, panting heavily as she wound down from the routine–and kept doing so, still wearing her long-sleeved coat and pants while doing stretches and jumping jacks just a few minutes ago. “We’ll pick it back up tomorrow with some pictionary later, alright? Oh, and, uh, sorry about before, Sir Pentious.”

He didn’t really hear her, because he was too busy crying into Vaggie’s shoulder, who had resigned to carrying him to his room. She struggled a bit, occasionally tripping over his long tail/body that kept wriggling in her hold.

Angel, meanwhile, was wiping away some yellow goop off his boots as he followed them out. “Ugh, I told him to not let his little Egg Boiz get near me! I can’t really pay attention to stuff when I’m in the zone!”

Eventually, all left the hotel lobby, leaving Charlie by her lonesome. She finally put down that smile of hers, and sighed, letting herself fall against the couch cushions.

She must have been really out of it, to not notice he was still around.

A quick tap on her left shoulder, and Charlie turned to her left, seeing no one there. Then a quick tap on her right shoulder, and she turned to her right, again seeing no one there. “Huh? Whuh?”

Husk was right in front of her, giving a small wave. “Hey.”

“WHOA WHAT THE HELL?!”

The yell was unexpected, making Husk lower his ears. The girl really did have a pair of lungs on her.

“Ah! Sorry, sorry! I, uh, just didn’t see you there!”

“I mean, I’ve been standing here for like ten minutes,” Husk explained, feeling awkward as he stood plainly right in the middle of the room, wings half-extended. “Watched the whole pilates exercise. And the death of Egg Boi number… four? Two?” He shrugged.

“Oh, right… I’m sorry, again. It’s just I’ve been… um…”

Trying to avoid him, he suspected. He could already see the guilt come back to her face, her fidgety hands playing in her lap, the flush of shame on her cheeks. The tension between them was already back.

Well, looks like he’d have to make the first move.

Husk then stepped over to the couch, sitting right next to Charlie, his wings folded in to avoid them bumping into her. He placed a hand into his pocket. “Hey Charlie,” he started to ask, eyes shifting to her. “You like magic tricks?”

Immediately, that got her.

Husk had never actually seen anyone vibrate from excitement before, but he swore he could feel it through the couch they both shared. Charlie had turned to him, eyes shining in wonder, her body thrumming like some sort of machinery. She was no longer just a kid at a candy store, she was a kid that got brought to the circus for the very first time.

“You mean the magic they do on Earth that looks like real magic but isn’t actually at all?! I love those!” Charlie had her feet tapping in excitement. “I didn’t know you did that type of magic!”

“Heh… yeah, it was a thing of mine back in the day.” Before all the real magic came into his afterlife, but he can’t help but love the classics. After a quick shuffling of his deck, he then held out several cards in his hand, their black foil surfaces gleaming in the lobby’s lamplight. “Pick a card. Any card.”

“Ooo, I know this one!” Charlie kept bouncing in her seat as she quickly picked the left-most card. “And then I memorize it, right? Oh, and I can’t tell you!”

Husk nodded. “Yep, you already know the rules. Now you know what happens next?”

Charlie, grasping the card in both hands, looked at Husk with that same wonder. Stars were literally in her eyes, making Husk blink at the brightness. “I give it back to you?”

Husk shook his head. He then took off his hat, revealing a bit of fur tuft that he never bothered to comb back anymore, and held the open end of it to Charlie. “Put the card in here.”

Charlie blinked, then blinked again. Then she vibrated again. “This is different!!”

“The key to magic is to keep them guessing,” Husk said with a proud smile. “Or would you rather hold onto that card as a keepsake?”

“Ah, no I want to see the trick!” Charlie then quickly deposited the card into the black abyss of the hat’s opening. It was so dark inside that no light seemed to be able to penetrate it.

Husk then lifted the hat to eye level, turning it over a few times for Charlie. Then he reached in and pulled it inside out. There was felt and lint, but no card to be found. “Nothing to see here.”

Charlie gasped loudly. “Where did it go?” Then, a haunted look in her eyes. “Wait, does this mean I lost your card? Oh no… I didn’t mean to…”

“Huh? No, this is fine!” Husk quickly answered her, already seeing the guilt come back again. Damn, she was the kind of girl to get weepy over stepping on a blade of grass too hard. He’d have to be careful. “This is how it goes. Relax, kid. We’re still not done with the trick.”

“Oh, okay!” Charlie smiled brightly again, then clapped her hands. “This is so exciting!”

Husk couldn’t remember the last time he had a great audience like Charlie. It kinda made his chest feel warm at the thought. Clearing his throat, he pushed back the inside of the hat so that it was normal again. Then held it out to her. “Now go and get your card back.”

She blinked, looking at the hat, then pointed to herself. “But, I don’t see it in there?”

“Just humor an old man, why don’t ya?” Husk said, making sure his tone was as easy as they come.

Charlie only hesitated a second before putting her hand inside the hat. Husk had to do all he could to suppress the grin he was feeling at the edges of his mouth.

Because then he saw the look on Charlie, saw her mouth gape open as she pulled in her arm, and was now holding a certain cocktail drink in her hand, in a tall highball glass with orange and red colors, complete with a matching orange slice and–

“Oh my gosh there's even a little umbrella!! ” She gasped, looking at the drink even more. “How was it even in there!? You were moving your hat around and, and, oh wow is that fruit? I love fruit!”

“Yeah, figured you had a sweet tooth.” Husk chuckled, plopping the hat right back on his head. “Now, if you want something with a bit more kick to it, you can try the sunset version, but I think tequila sunrise suits you more.”

The cocktail was one of the easiest he could make. It only took him a few minutes to make, and the presentation was worth the effort, giving a simple drink that little flair that Husk used to enjoy more before he became a certain Overlord’s minion.

Charlie kept looking at it like it was a piece of art, admiring the colors and poking at the umbrella that stuck to the orange slice, and had a pierced cherry right in the middle. “Can I, um, eat this? Or is that frowned upon?”

Husk snickered a bit. This princess was good to have around. “You can eat the cherry. The orange slice is for flavor, but if you wanna gobble that up too, feel free. I don’t suggest eating the umbrella unless you have a specific taste for it.”

With a happy squeal, Charlie picked up the umbrella to gulp the cherry. She was kicking her feet in excitement, once again looking to the drink, then back to Husk. Then back to the drink.

“Charlie, if you think you need my permission to take a sip, you don’t.” Still, he gestured to her with a furry hand, and that was apparently the last barrier for the princess to get through.

“Okay, well… bottoms up!” She took a sip–a big one, which maybe Husk should have warned her about. Because right after, Charlie coughed, the ice clinking together with her motion.

“Whoa, slow down,” Husk said. His wing had instinctively moved, the tip placed against her back as he helped her clear her throat. “Unless you’re having shots, drinking doesn’t have to be a race.”

Charlie straightened then, blinked at Husk. What followed was a wide grin, coupled with starry eyes that were even more radiant than before. “It’s…good! I mean, it’s a little burney in my throat, but I can deal with that. It’s really good!” She took another sip, only coughing a little bit this time.

Damn, at this rate, he wondered if she’d get tipsy already. But nah, surely the Princess of Hell could handle it, even if she never drank before. It was in her makeup, wasn’t it?

But before she had her third sip, she stopped just in mid-tip to her mouth. She then lowered the glass, her brow furrowing.

Husk would have been lying to himself if he said he wasn’t worried. “What’s wrong? Something about it not agreeing with you?” He’d known people who got tired of a drink just a few sips in.

“Hm? Oh no! It’s great! But I’m just remembering the card… Where did it go? I saw it go in your hat…”

Ah. Charlie didn’t like leaving loose ends, he noticed.

Husk held out one finger, then pointed at the umbrella held between her fingers. “May I have that?”

“Uh, okay.” She did so, laying it gently in his palm. The little pink and violet colors that made up its tiny canopy was bright against his fur.

He then rolled the umbrella to hold between his claws by its wooden stem. Then, he closed the umbrella so it was thin, balancing it on his knuckles for a bit. Suddenly, with a flourish that was hard for the eye to catch, he was now holding the missing card in his hand. “Two of hearts, right, princess?”

If Charlie was already drunk by this point, maybe it would have explained a few things. How she gasped loudly, eyes getting so wide that he wondered just how she was able to do so without transforming into some demonic entity. “That’s amazing! It was the little umbrella this whole time!?”

Or, maybe that was just how Charlie was. He flipped around the card in his hands once more before it vanished into thin air. “Can’t tell you all my secrets. Now come on, you still got a lot to chug down.”

Charlie, with a little giggle, went back to nursing her drink, now taking her time to enjoy it. Husk relaxed then. Maybe after this, he could have her try another mix, if she’d be up to it.

It really shouldn’t have been a surprise to Husk that Charlie would be a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

The fact that after her fourth sip and numerous giggles, she then promptly fell asleep on his shoulder, snoring loudly, was a bit of a dead giveaway.

Husk had to, carefully, take the half-empty glass from her hands in case she spilled it. Seriously, four sips? And then lights out just like that?

Occasionally, she giggled in her sleep, rubbing her face into his body with no shame. “Hehe, this pillow is furry…”

“...Kid, you’re lucky you’re cute,” Husk muttered. It wasn’t the first time he’d have a drunk fall asleep on him (or get angry with him, or flirt with him. There were many kinds of drunks in Hell), but he’d fight back or throw off the drunk for invading his personal space.

He could let it slide for Charlie.

But when a familiar shadow slid over them, he felt his fur stand on end. The result had Charlie giggling more, saying something about being ticklish.

“Well, Husker! Truly a compromising position I find you in.”

Husk rolled his eyes. In reflex, he started drinking Charlie’s cocktail for the familiar, pleasant buzz. It was the only way to deal with the constant buzzing that was Alastor’s voice. “I’m on break, so don’t get all uptight.”

With both hands on the top of his mic cane, the demon raised an eyebrow as looked over at Husk and Charlie. He then leaned forward, eyeing Husk in particular as Charlie snored open-mouthed, and a bit loudly.

“Now, my good man, I hope you’re not doing anything untoward to her. It certainly wouldn’t do any good for this hotel’s reputation.”

Husk could physically feel a vein pop in his forehead, as well as a growl leaving his throat.

“I’m gonna rip that mouth of yours if you don’t quit it with these stupid fucking jokes.”

“Jokes? I’m simply voicing a concern.”

“Bull shit. You just–” Husk tried to stand, then felt Charlie’s weight, which kept him locked in place. “Ah, fuck.” He didn’t want her to wake up to an argument.

Alastor placed a hand on his chin, his textured chuckles sounding even more obnoxious than before. “Are you now the princess’ pet as well?”

Husk made sure to keep his voice low, but he put all the annoyance right into his inflections. “I’m no one’s pet. And you know this isn’t actually anything. First you tell Charlie some weird fucking joke because you knew it would piss me off and now you try to make it sound like I’m being a creep. What is your damn problem? You’re the one that forced me to work at this hotel in the first place. Worried I’ll make friends here or something?”

And with that, he realized it. It was quick, but the twitch in Alastor’s right eye and the sharp little static that fizzed, Husk had been able to learn his boss’ tells.

Maybe Alastor just hadn’t expected Husk to change his ways.

But the Radio Demon simply shrugged, turning away as if he was suddenly bored with the situation. “I was brought here to keep an eye on the hotel, and all of its residents. I only want to make sure everything is in working order. Also,” he turned his neck completely around, the crack making Husk wince. Ugh. He always did that to weird him out. “I just like to have a bit of fun once in a while.”

His boss’ exits were the same as his entrances–quick and full of shadows, but this time leaving the lights in the lobby brighter than before. Husk sighed once he saw Alastor was gone. He didn’t know if that was another weird temper thing with his boss, another prank of his, or what.

Charlie started to murmur in his sleep, sounding a little upset. “It’s dark…”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Husk wrapped his wing around her like a blanket, and Charlie instantly snuggled into it. She breathed more evenly, and the lines on her face were gone. “No more nightmares, ok?”

Huh, he wasn’t sure when he became a softie, but the princess did say how she wanted to redeem everyone…

Husk looked at the tequila sunrise in his hand, the ice mostly melted, the orange slice nearly slipping off the rim. Huh, what a weird hotel, he thought, before taking another sip. He’d stay here for as long as Charlie needed. He could use the rest, too.

“Sleep tight, princess,” he said, watching as she gently curled more into his wing to keep warm.

#hazbin hotel #husk #charlie morningstar #alastor #fanfiction #one shot #fanart of fic #I just want these two to snuggle and be friends

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darkhymns-fic · 1 month

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This is a Lutesse from Crestoria appreciation post

#frayed's arts for my fics are always wonderful and I need to remember to share them more #I always love the haircutting art #amazing art for my tiny crestoria fic #tales of crestoria #lutesse #colette brunel #lloyd irving #fanart of fic

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darkhymns-fic · 1 month

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CRYING THERE'S MORE WHOAA

I AM SO BLESSED??

The colors are so amazing and Husk's tears are getting at my heart. And how he's clutching at Alastor's hand. ;-; And the glint of red reflected in his eye from Alastor's sharp fingers jfkls. This is so good HELP. I love all this so much, just how all of this is portrayed. I have no more good words they've all left me but I'm gonna keep this art and the other in my heart THANK YOU.

Ayo

Second illust. of @darkhymns-fic 's fic

I am obsessed

Suggestive noncon themes under the cut.

#radiohusk #hazbin hotel #husk #alastor #fanart of fic #I love all the details I really do AGH #and art for -this- scene too!!#(also his undone bowtie hehe)#I just. love the desperation but also the danger shown in this #i'm gonna rotate both arts in my head now

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darkhymns-fic · 1 month

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💖🥺🙏 thank you again for this gift!! A blessing.

"It unnerved him again when Alastor said nothing. No static. No bursts of sound. Only the shifting tendrils that formed around him like arms, one of them dangling the whiskey bottle by the neck, popping open the cap which fell to the floor."

Inspired by @darkhymns-fic wonderful fic ✨️

#hello i love it so much #once again i just love these expressions!#need to keep staring at this for another hour #hazbin hotel #fanart of fic #husk #alastor #suggestive #radiohusk

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darkhymns-fic · 1 month

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HELLO??? HELP.

WHOA.

AAAA.

I just want you to know I have been staring at this for a solid ten minutes. Maybe longer! I am in awe. It's?!! Amazing?! Omg.

I am in love with all the details from their body positioning and their expressions! Husk looking so longing and Alastor all smug. HELP. The way Husk clings to him and Alastor's shadow things around them and Husk and with the alcohol pouring between?! This scene is drawn so beautifully and is just miles better than what I had in my head. 😭 Wow!!!

I am going to stare at this more because I am going crazy over it. I didn't expect such lovely art for this fic, thank you so much!! This made my night!

This Dark Heart of Yours

“And isn’t that what they say? That your drunk self is your real self?” The hand by Husk’s head finally moved–only to place itself against his cheek. Nails ran through his fur. “You’re just so starved for affection. It makes you forget your place.”

When Husk drinks too much, he makes mistakes. It will never be the last time.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Alastor/Husk Rating: M Word Count: 5416 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Hey! So there's more unhealthy dynamics, implied past abuse, forced alcohol abuse, horror?? and other potentially triggering content in this fic. More tags are at AO3, stay safe thanks.

He had drunk too much. Again.

But it wasn’t like anyone was going to complain that the hotel bartender was getting wasted anyway. Not Miss Sunshine Princess who was always greeting Husk every morning, all smiles, pointedly ignoring his half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Not Niffty, who was so eager to take away said empty bottles to keep like it was her own personal collection, staring too hard at the warped glass and most likely thinking of breaking them into tiny pieces. And definitely not the annoying porn star who frequented his bar too often, venting about some garbage flick of his instead of anything worthwhile.

And not his boss. In fact, Alastor seemed to always push another glass into Husk’s hand when he wasn’t looking. “Enjoy yourself! How grand it must look to everyone, to see the help partaking in their own little vices.”

Teasing. Condescending. Husk didn’t care. Another shot gulped down, and the buzz made the day just a bit more bearable.

But maybe. Just maybe, he had overdone it this time.

Husk couldn’t even remember why he was sitting in the lobby. Another morale booster by Charlie? Husk had learned to tune them out. Redemption was not in his cards, and with more than just what he had done when he was alive. He’d been clutching another bottle, half-laying on the couch. But, with enough sense to stay on his side. Just his side. To his right, it was like electricity, one that made his fur stand. But Alastor always sat wherever he fucking wanted.

He found himself waking up to static.

The revelation was slow. It’s what alcohol did; making him sluggish, wobbly, and too out of sorts. He could usually hold his own well enough, but he really went hard on the bottle this time. Old vintage. Probably from one of Alastor’s own personal stocks. The Radio Demon would sometimes just give what he had. Anything to amuse him, to make Husk ruin himself just a little more, piece by piece.

The warmth should have been surprising, and it was. It was like curling up against a fireplace, like pressing into something alive and malleable. He had fallen down at some point, letting his body drift off. One of his wings stretched out, reaching down to the floor. His hands pressed, and grabbed, and he buried his face to hide away. Hard to find something like it nowadays. So he had to hold on tight, for dear life, of whatever sort of life he even had left. His other wing furled around him and–

Him and–

The static fizzled and popped. And, just briefly, it keened like feedback. Still, it took him too long to move.

Husk opened his eyes to find himself half-laying across Alastor’s lap. His elbow was lodged within the crook of the demon’s leg. His claws were kneading against a torso, close enough to see a button’s details, down to the subtle engraving of antlers within its center. A head looked down. A shadow slithered within the darkness of the room. It was dark. The lobby was empty. It was just them both. Eyes lacking anything but sparks and fire.

No.

“Fuck! Sorry. I just–” Husk scrambled out of the way, as much as he could. He fell off the couch, hard on his shoulder. Red searchlights fell over his fur, his loose suspenders, no matter how much he tried to get away. “I didn't know that– It was you! I didn't know.”

Alastor remained seated. He held the long handle of his mic in both hands.

The man with a silver tongue was unusually silent.

And there really was no one else left in the lobby. The lights were dimmed, with only the sickly green walls of the bar showing anything bright left. How late was it? Husk could only imagine the scene from before; big dumbass cat falling asleep because he was drunk out of his mind, and he fell asleep over someone’s lap, which just happened to be Alastor’s lap. Some stupid cute image, all while Alastor just stayed still and didn’t move.

Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Husk had never felt so sober, so quickly, drowned out by confusion and worry and why the hell was Alastor just staring at him? Why didn’t he fucking say anything?

The silence was near-torturous, only interrupted by those bursts of static, not even a small melody playing or a laugh track to cover Husk in derision. Nothing but that one noise, endless as an ocean.

“How long was I…?” His mind briefly explored that line of questioning, stopped and turned away from any possibilities. Minutes were too long. An hour was too long. “You know what, never mind. I’m… going to bed.”

The shadows shifted. The eyes flickered, catching him in their sights.

“I said I was sorry… alright?” Husk walked backwards, trying to head for the stairs, a hand reaching out to feel for the banister. “Just… Let’s forget it. I’ll wake up early to work tomorrow to make up for it.”

He didn’t want to think about how he had reached out for Alastor’s touch. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to.

He wouldn’t have done that if he was sober. That was all there was to it.

Alastor said nothing still, continued to say nothing even as Husk got further away. And he didn’t move. He stayed perched on the couch, eyes fixated on a prey that slowly headed for escape without notice.

Husk hated the feeling, like he had somehow stumbled into forbidden territory. No, he had always been careful before. He just wanted to get out of here, and when the back of his foot finally hit the bottom step of the stairs–

The thing about the shadows though is sometimes Husk can’t fucking see shit through them. Not through Alastor’s. He thought those shadows were far away, lurking in the distance like trees with overhanging branches, with a pair of eyes peeking through, too impossibly far. But the colors melded, and Husk’s head was still spinning from his hangover–and then it was like those shadows transplanted right next to his feet. The hollow antlers stretched up to grasp the ceiling, the arms, crooked as they were, bent just so to grasp at him.

And the eyes were now only inches away, disembodied things, bright and piercing and latching onto him. They had always been there. To Alastor, the distance did nothing but give his next prey a false sense of safety. He had told Husk plenty of times before, how the terror was always a little added seasoning to his meal.

So Husk remained still, blinked–and then he was right next to his bar, back pressed against those green walls, matching with the swamps Alastor had once called home.

And with the shadows still lurking around him, a hand, seemingly so regular compared to everything else, slammed into that venomous wall right by his ear.

Husk was frozen. Don't move. Don't make a sound.

The creature before him continued to stare. The shadows of his boss’ face, framed by ever-growing antlers that seemed to grin within the green backlight.

Then that same face blinked. Then it leaned forward. The face of a monster dissipated, leaving him with Alastor as he knew him. Not much difference.

“You were clingy.”

Husk swallowed. His claws embedded deeply in the walls behind him.

“Now. Why is that?” There was a furnace inside Alastor's chest, the way it breathed out such heat and made Husk sweat beneath his fur. “Are you asking me for something?”

It was a question that demanded an answer. Husk overcame the fear, just enough, finding the old rage inside.

“You know I don't ask you for anything,” Husk finally said. “I was drunk. That's it.”

“Oh, I see.” The static grew louder. It garbled with small high-pitched notes before Alastor’s words pushed through. “Then you must be so needy .”

Alastor stretched out the word like torture. The sound of it dragged nails inside Husk’s ribcage. It was a knife that carved into his back, searching for nerves.

He didn't need…He didn't want… him .

If Husk thought about it any further, he knew he’d spiral. It took all he had to calm himself down, still hanging tight to the wall, keeping his eyes on Alastor for anything sudden, terrifying, unspeakable.

“I said I was drunk. You hard of hearing now?” Husk snapped, trying to regain ground. His wings stretched out, almost daring to take flight then. “Everyone acts a little stupid when they had too much. Even you fucking do.”

And this was one of the stupidest things he’d ever done. His list of mistakes and regrets was already miles long, and it was agony to have this be part of it, especially when he wasn’t sure if he’d even live to get past it.

Alastor wouldn’t give him any fucking room to leave. The static kept doing a number on his head, making Husk want to drown it out with more whiskey. Never mind that was why he was in this mess in the first place.

“What more do you want from me?” he had to ask. Alastor was now his only reality. The awful antlers and shifting shadows were no longer as pronounced, but that smile hadn’t wavered, and the radio feedback just kept rising and falling in its awful airwaves. Husk shuddered, gritting his teeth. “If…you’re going to kill me for falling asleep on you, then just hurry it up!”

He had said it out of frustration, despite remembering awful screams through the radio, despite wondering, dismally, miserably, if those voices just kept living to be tormented again. Sometimes he heard repeat performances, though he was never sure.

And then, Alastor’s eyes lost their brightness. The static abruptly stopped. He laughed, leaning up slightly to let Husk finally take in a deeper breath.

“Oh Husker, you misunderstand me! I’m not mad at you!” A quick shake of his head, his shoulders still shaking from a chuckle. “I am simply fascinated.”

This failed to make Husk feel any better. “What…?”

He noted how the hand next to his head hadn’t moved an inch.

“It’s simple, really. I’ve seen you be such a pathetic drunk so many times, I’ve lost count! Amusing, but it’s usually the same. You’re always just such a grumpy kitty, but… this time it was different.”

Husk’s throat was dry. Claws very slightly gouged deeper in the wood. “Different,” he echoed.

“Yes, there's so much truth revealed when inhibitions are lowered. I suppose it takes certain spirits, or maybe even certain situations, to really unravel a person.” Alastor slowly, methodically, placed the head of the mic under Husk’s chin, pushing it up just slightly. “The kind that makes your body betray you at every moment.”

The way Alastor spoke, softly and with such intense focus, and for a moment, letting fall the radio filter so that Husk could only hear him and only him …

Husk felt himself slip against the wall, a right wing flapping to try and keep himself up. His head angled further, held by that mic.

Fuck.

He was still drunk.

Alastor’s eyes widened. The red was piercing again. There was a sound behind him, like boughs creaking from the night’s breeze.

In Alastor’s words, there were always sharp teeth and flowing poison. Husk felt it sift through his head, keeping him on high alert all while the whiskey still ran through his blood. It made him nauseous, made him want to find an escape. But the hand kept him in place, and the warmth there was hard to deny.

Husk nearly slipped again. The hand clutched the back of his head–then raised him up. The back of his heels no longer touched the floor.

The soft feeling of panic was small, distant. It drifted away so slowly with the heat. Still, he kept his claws in the walls, felt them carve through the wood.

Alastor didn’t seem to mind, only watching his every motion. Husk couldn’t take it.

“How is it fair?” He then asked quietly, keeping himself rooted. He hated it, how Alastor could pull out his weakness like drawing back a string. “You can do whatever to me, yet I'm…”

No. Husk was not allowed to want.

To be free. To be away. To stop repeating this cycle, again and again. To feel like he wasn’t just something to be kept around as a toy and nothing else.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, then chuckled once more. His voice fizzled, gaining back its filter like a veil. “Oh, I apologize, Husker. How silly of me to forget.” The shadows rippled beneath them both, and then Husk heard the familiar clink of glass, saw how the green light shone through amber. “You still need a little help.”

It was a small bottle, the neck of it long but its body bulbous and filled with whiskey. Husk could already imagine the taste on his tongue, the rush of it in his throat. He eyed it, but dug his claws even deeper into the walls.

“No, I don’t…want that.” Husk tried to shake his head, and couldn’t. The hand held him tighter.

Alastor’s head tilted to the right, slightly. “You’ve never refused before.”

The statement struck something so deeply inside Husk that he wished he could just vanish and never exist in the first place. He shook. His wings raised but they felt heavy, lethargic, barely a part of him.

“I’m fucking done. I don’t want it now.” A swallow, and his voice cracked. “You can’t just keep forcing me to be like this!”

God, his mouth felt so, so dry.

Alastor’s smile didn’t waver, as it rarely did. But he saw it tighten, and how the demon’s eyes narrowed in turn. The mic underneath his chin quickly vanished, leaving Alastor with a free hand, while the other still held Husk.

It unnerved him again when Alastor said nothing. No static. No bursts of sound. Only the shifting tendrils that formed around him like arms, one of them dangling the whiskey bottle by the neck, popping open the cap which fell to the floor.

Husk’s ears flicked at the sound. What was this game now? Nothing Alastor did made much sense to him anymore, and even less when he was hardly sober.

Then, the tendril upended the bottle by a fraction, and the whiskey was poured straight to the floor.

It was instinct.

“Wait. Wait, what are you–Stop that!” Husk lunged forward, unearthed his claws from the wood to reach for the bottle. The tendrils pulled it back just out of reach. “Fuck, don’t just waste it! Hey!”

Another lunge. The tendril swayed again. The alcohol poured slowly, seeping into the carpet. Husk tried to move more, but the hand on his head was like iron, locking him in its grip.

“You didn’t want it,” Alastor said. “So, I was simply getting rid of it.”

“You piece of shit, you can’t just…” He could barely finish, watching in despair as the whiskey was being drained right before his eyes.

“So, there’s this side of you I know all too well. Desperate. Whiny. Anything to get more of your booze. If I let you go, will you just grab what’s left of it on the floor?”

Alastor’s voice was so low that it sent shivers down Husk’s spine. Still, he couldn’t even find it in himself to deny anything. Even knowing there would never be any lack of cheap beer or vodka or whiskey or anything at all, he couldn’t stifle the fear away.

“But I can be kind. Because it’s not just this–” He waved the bottle again, now half-empty, the downpour of whiskey thinning down to a trickle. “That you ache for, isn’t it?”

He didn’t want to answer. He was just so thirsty. It was hard to even speak.

Alastor’s free hand reached out. Husk thought he would touch him, grab hold of his chin as he so often did. Instead, the tendril moved near, and poured the whiskey over Alastor’s open palm.

Husk watched the liquid trail down in rivulets, droplets falling in between fingers, winking in the green light. He watched it all, his throat getting drier with each lost drop.

“No,” Husk whispered, trying to turn away, failing utterly.

He didn’t know what pathetic sound he made when he spoke, but it was enough to make Alastor lean closer, enough to bring his hand, coated in alcohol, near Husk’s mouth.

The palm was just against his lips, giving him what little drops remained, like water in a desert. He should have bitten down on that hand, ripped those fingers off. The indignity should have left him with nothing but rage, but he suddenly felt so desperate and aching and aching.

Husk's tongue glided across the black gloved palm, searching, searching, wanting.

He wanted so badly.

Alastor watched him, all throughout, but Husk could only focus on the taste that was on his tongue. Still not enough. More drops from those fingers, even with their wickedly sharp points. He wanted and needed. The taste of it, and the warmth that held it.

Husk wrapped his mouth around one of those fingers, sucking the burn of it. It slid down his throat. Down, down.

He felt the heat of Alastor’s eyes on him, felt the curve of a finger just against the roof of his mouth. Dangerous, but it didn’t stop Husk from running his tongue along the skin and catch any whiskey that was left.

“My, you’re easy , aren’t you?”

If Husk was sober, maybe he’d react. And maybe, there was some part of him that burned at the accusation. But the other part was stronger, just wanting the drink to drown him. Just wanting to drown.

Eventually, the bottle was emptied. The last of the liquor slid across Alastor’s hand like branching rivers, some of it to flow into Husk’s waiting mouth, the rest to fall away to the floor. Husk took all he could, his body shaking all the while.

In his need, his hands reached out to grasp Alastor’s own. He couldn’t speak, but with everything else, he was begging.

He was getting more drunk. He wanted to get drunk. And he wanted–

Alastor.

If there was fear and revulsion at that, it drowned away in the seas of all that he ingested. Even as little whispers ran through his skull (No, I can’t do this again.) his mouth lingered on Alastor’s hand.

Tendrils moved again, small undulations that he could barely make sense of. And Alastor’s other hand no longer clutched his head as tightly, patting down his fur and caressing at the skin beneath.

Then, in a low tone. “Keep begging.”

A small shock, a brief intake of air to make him realize the horror–only to drown once again, Husk still clinging onto Alastor’s touch. His throat was dry again. “Please…”

“Oh, you can do better, Husker.” Another bottle floated within the shadows, its green glass melding with the dim light. “Or I’ll just have to keep you wanting.”

Husk shook his head. (Enough. That’s enough). But he watched Alastor open the cap of the gin, imagining all of it draining away. “Please, Al… I need…this…”

A small blip of static. Alastor tuning in to further find the root of Husk’s debasement. “What do you need?”

Agony. All Alastor ever gave him was agony.

And still, he kept clinging to his hand.

Husk couldn’t even remember saying more, but Alastor showed some mercy. He upended the bottle at Husk’s face, purposely missing his mouth. The alcohol stung his eyes, went up his nostrils, burning. But all Husk did was move towards the downpour, letting it scald his throat.

Drunker. The holes in his memory were growing bigger, no longer able to connect between moments. Because at some point, he had been moved to stand behind the bar. He felt the ache of his waist hitting the counter, of Alastor pushing him into it. Hard.

The gin bottle was only slightly empty. He needed more. Alastor’s hand moved down to grasp at his neck, hooking fingers beneath the strap of the bow tie and pulling at the hidden manacle that Husk always felt, always wore.

“Is it fair that you get to have all this?” Alastor said, or Husk thought he said. Words were muffled the further he sank into the depths. “But you’ve always been a greedy little kitty.”

Husk struggled, but his back kept being pushed into the wood grain of the bar. He watched in dismay as Alastor took a sip of the gin, wanting it. Wanting it. His hands reached out, grasping the front of Alastor’s coat to pull him near.

What happened next was hazy, dark, confusing. Moments of sanity interspersed with poison.

Husk had watched the alcohol pour down between them both, how it half-pooled on Alastor’s tongue. And Husk had leaned forward, taking Alastor's mouth, taking the demon's tongue for every taste. There it was. The familiar burn, the sting on his gums. Anything to fall. To keep falling.

Hands slammed into the bar next to him. Tendrils snaked out to writhe and hold onto limbs. Something pushed at his right knee, another pinned his wrists above his head until he felt they would snap. But Alastor didn’t stop the kiss. He pushed further, sliding his tongue around Husk’s, the alcohol pouring in-between them, still. The strong scent of it, the way it nearly cut off Husk’s breath, but still he seeked out the mouth coated in alcohol and blood and heat.

“So this is you…” Alastor spoke, making Husk whine when he moved his mouth away. But not far, still so close for Husk to feel his laughter rumbling against his skin. “How good to see you again, dear friend.”

His lungs were too filled to cry out. His skull was too filled to process anything of what was being said. There was only his mouth that wanted to find another. His head was the only part of him allowed to move, so he kissed Alastor harder, leaning in until sharp teeth clashed against his own, getting drunk off the taste of gin and whiskey, off the taste of Alastor’s tongue that made him choke.

It was warm, and wet, and hot, and scalding, and overwhelming and he wasn’t going to survive but he had always fallen so hard until there would be nothing but pieces of him left. Pieces that Alastor would leave on the ground to cut him open afterwards, but it was worth it all just to get ecstasy now. Just to feel something other than complete hollowness, even with a blade held to his throat.

If there were more touches that fell across him, more sounds that were pulled out of his throat, more names spilled out of him, again and again, he didn’t know. He just fell into warmth that was pitch-black, robbing him of all senses all at once. It was like being buried alive.

When Husk woke up the next morning in his bed, tucked inside blankets with his head on a soft pillow, the first thing he did was vomit all over the floor.

It had taken him ages to wobble to the bathroom, to expel whatever was left inside his stomach so that the fire inside him would stop. He knelt on the floor, hands shaking against the tiles, watching fur and feathers scatter from his shivering. Then he moved towards the sink, running the faucet over his head, hoping the cold water would douse the fever overtaking him.

He remembered too much. The fear that froze him in place, the monster shapeshifting in front of him, the alcohol pouring, the touch on his cheek, and the kiss that left him panting for more.

Then completely nothing after that.

Somehow, that just made it worse.

Husk raised his head to the mirror, dreading what he’d see, whatever would be left of him. But all he saw was unkempt fur, matted down from water, bags underneath his eyes, and a dry tongue.

Ordinary, because he would always drink before bed. Bottles of whiskey, vodka, gin and more were scattered all over his bedside table, or hidden in drawers. There was nothing different, and it fucking terrified him.

He ran his hand over his chest, swallowing hard. But even as his claws sifted through the fur, he couldn’t feel anything different. Everything in place. No marks of any kind. The only pain was the hangover doing a number on his stomach and his head all at once.

Nothing. But Alastor had always been good at covering his tracks.

And that very thought sent Husk’s mind reeling. He could’ve done anything with me. He could’ve made me do anything. He gagged, but there was nothing more to retch up except drips of saliva. His wings covered his shoulders on instinct, feeling cold in his bareness. But he always went to bed without clothes, so that wasn’t anything new either.

Hangovers were normal. Feeling like complete shit was normal.

He was going to shatter if he kept thinking about it.

Despite it all, Husk got to his feet, pushing everything away to just move. Went by routine. Gotta get ready. Gotta get to work. After all, he was the fucking front desk slash bartender for some goddamn reason.

Washed his face again. Half drunk the mouthwash. Did his business. Took a shower. Sat in the bathtub for ten minutes too long. He laid his wings flat on their sides. His claws kept kneading into his own legs. Finding nothing. Just nothing.

He left the bathroom. Went to the clothes closet that was half-open. Nice collared shirts, half-made ties, and jackets that hung around to gather dust, nearly falling off their hangers. He never bothered fixing them. He looked down, and saw the usual suspenders folded neatly on the bottom of the closet, his hat perched on top, right in the center.

Perfectly made. All set out for him. Husk stumbled into the closet, hung onto the side to keep upright. He breathed hard, harder, before he could finally calm himself down.

The bastard.

And still, he took the clothes, put them on. Clean and pressed, as if it had just been retrieved from the laundry.

Cover all the tracks.

It almost felt unreal to see Alastor just out in the hallways, like it was nothing.

The demon wasn’t even looking at him. Husk had turned a corner and found Alastor walking forward, occasionally drifting a gaze or two to a hotel room door. Inspection? Just a stroll? If he was going to the lobby to meet up with Charlie, he would have just teleported like always.

Watching him, Husk felt every old anger, every nauseous thought, every despair inside him.

Instead of half a hallway down, Husk found himself only inches away, enough to see the patterns in Alastor’s coat. He reached out and grabbed a wrist.

Alastor halted immediately, turning sharply with a raised eyebrow. “Starting early today?”

The words sunk into him. Husk shuddered and let go, but still kept his eyes on the demon. “What the fuck happened before? What did you do?”

Alastor turned to face him. “Oh, so typical of you to pin the blame on me. And all just for a little nightcap.”

There was so much he expected to hear and so much he didn't. But what Alastor said made him feel he was losing his grasp on what little sanity he had left. The simple casualness of it, like Husk had only stubbed his toe instead of feeling like absolute garbage, inside and out. “Enough with your bullshit! What. Happened.”

Alastor tapped his fingers against the mic, creating a faint feedback from the motion. His grin widened. “Only a lovely evening shared between old friends.”

Something hot over his neck. His throat burning as he became undone. And bright eyes peeling through his chest, straight through meat and bone and–

Husk shook his head, tried to control his breathing. Alastor stood still, with not a flicker of change over his face.

“I blacked out and that’s all you fucking say to me,” Husk said through gritted teeth. “You don’t care how much you ruin me. Or just…what I have to deal with afterwards.”

“Don’t be so ungrateful now. And after I made sure you would have a good night’s sleep.” He twirled the mic cane in one hand, the hum of it making Husk’s tail twitch in reflex. “Even rolled you on your side! Just in case, well, you know. You really should be more careful. One of these days you might not even wake up!”

Was that a threat? Husk couldn’t parse it, the words said so glibly from Alastor as if he was ordering a small cup of coffee. He breathed faster, his heart feeling like it would jump right out of his throat.

He just wanted to know what happened. He just wanted to know what Alastor did to him when he removed that block of memory from his head, shoving it away and only leaving him with invisible scars inside him. Ones he may never know about, or ones he would only find out when Alastor would reach for his hand out of nowhere.

And he just had to keep living like this.

Alastor leaned forward, towering over Husk, his shadow stretching out to cover him whole. Still, a certain distance was kept. One that could be broken at any moment. “I could see how much you truly missed it, you know,” Alastor said with a chuckle, pointing a finger right at Husk’s chest. “You told me so yourself.”

He didn't remember at all. Not a thing about that. No, he only remembered how Alastor had told him to beg and how he obeyed and how desperate he had been to get any drop left and he could only think how it must have gotten worse after that. It only ever got worse. His tongue felt like ash.

Something made his teeth rattle violently.

Husk blinked. Alastor was closer, but his boss hadn’t moved. The cane was held just before the demon’s face, blocking the claws that had reached out. Husk felt electricity run from his claws and up his arm.

He had aimed for it. For Alastor’s face. For his eyes. The undeniable urge to tear them out for what they must have seen.

There was always something that kept drawing him to Alastor. Teeth, claws, blood, hatred, fists, heat, despair, love, greed, everything, everything that was his. He didn’t know where it ever ended.

The grin widened. A red gleam that coated the hallway. “Husker. You have no idea how kind I am to you.”

He thought the chains would manifest, bring him to his knees and make him sink further and further into Alastor’s very being. Instead he was shoved. He was thrown away like disgusting trash and he couldn’t tell what were his thoughts or Alastor’s many whispers that sometimes trailed inside his head. Husk’s back hit the wall. He heard the cracks made in the plaster.

The only marks made. Easily fixed. But Alastor left the damage there for all to see, walking away as Husk struggled to breathe.

“Please do join us when you’re ready to be civil. The front desk can’t be unmanned for too long now.”

Husk waited and waited and waited. He didn’t know what for. His wings shuddered, and the pain in his chest finally felt so close to bursting open. Even though it wouldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t, ever since he first fell and couldn’t find a way to escape the pit he found himself in.

And if, for a second, he remembered being held within heat, a touch handling him as if he was fragile instead of worthless, precious instead of disposable, it didn’t really matter. Because he was still here, lying on the floor, waiting for something to change, knowing it never would.

#me about to finally go to bed and then i see this masterpiece thank you #i am bouncing all over the walls #i SCREAM i can't get over how good this is #I will try to calm down now but thank you for this amazing radiohusk and of my fic!!!#i already love your other radiohusk arts so this is double amazing aa #radiohusk #husk #alastor #fanart of fic #aaaaaaaaa #*looks at tags* if finger scene art i will be double killed in the best way #but i won't be greedy ajsjd

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