#【 ☓ 】 ❙ BITTER BARTENDER. ❙《 husk. 》࿏ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redvexillum · 2 months ago

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@nyx91 Here's my take on your prompt, baby! 😘 Also, please check out these awesome writers - @whatswrongwithblue who wrote her prompt HERE and @redfoxwritesstuff version HERE! @inuhalfdemon I'm pretty sure Nyxy sent you this one too. Now, we are all waiting on yoOoooOooOu 👻

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, p in v, gentle s♡x, love making, established relationship, relationship on the rocks, alastor is bad with feelings, hurt/comfort

Your fingers clenched the glass with a force that belied the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The cool rim pressed against your lips, the burn of the hard liquor a welcome distraction from the storm brewing in your chest.

As the amber whisky slid down your throat, a shudder rolled through you, the heat searing into your veins, but it couldn’t touch the icy rage you felt. Slamming the empty glass onto the bar, the sharp sound echoed in your pounding head. You ground your teeth together, more in irritation than from the sting of the alcohol.

Alastor’s voice, smooth and syrupy, drifted through the air like poison. He was laughing, entertaining the hotel crew with his usual cruel charm – those passive-aggressive jabs cloaked in that ever-present smile. You could barely stand to hear him, let alone look at him, so you kept your eyes fixed on the empty glass before, staring at the last remnants of whisky as your mind spun. Dizzying feelings of anger and the growing buzz of the alcohol swirled around in your head.

Shaking your head, you shoved the glass toward Husk, who regarded you with his typical unimpressed expression. His long red eyebrow arched, but he continued to lazily wipe down the glass in his hand, barely giving you more than a glance.

“You know,” Husk muttered, his voice low and smooth, “you should just talk to him.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, though he delivered them with a shrug, as if they held no consequences.

A harsh snort escaped your lips. “’nother one,” you slurred, your voice thick with the effects of the liquor. You could feel the heat of it, spreading through you like wildfire, numbing the ache in your chest just enough to make you feel bold – foolish, but bold.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Husk asked, though his hands were already moving to grab the bottle of whisky from beneath the counter. He poured two fingers’ worth of the amber liquid, the sound of it hitting the glass like a promise of paradise.

Your lips twisted into a bitter smile. “Nope, still mad as ‘ell,” you muttered, the words ‘nope’ punctuated with a sharp pop of the ‘p.’ Your gaze cut back to his eyes, “So, no, Husk, not nearly enough.”

As your fingers reached for the glass, Husk slid it unreachable with an ease that only irritated you more. “He’s been staring at you all night, you know,” he grumbled, eyes narrowing. “He practically wants you to talk to him.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes so hard it made your head spine even more. “I’m not giving him the satisfaction.” The defiance in your voice felt hollow, and yet, you clung to it, desperate to keep the walls up between you and Alastor across the room. He didn’t deserve to meet your eyes tonight, or any other night for that matter.

You slumped forward, elbow resting on the bar, your head propped in your head as you levelled a bleary stare at Husk. “What are you supposed to be tonight, anyway? A bartender?” You leaned closer, your body swaying slightly as the alcohol pooled in your system, your blouse straining against your chest as you moved.

Husk sighed, eyes rolling as he muttered, “And you’re drunk.” His tone was flat, but before he could push the drink further away, you snatched it with a triumphant grin, tipping it back with a wink.

The burn of the whisky barely registered anymore; it was nothing compared to the fury simmering under your skin. You could feel it, crackling just under the surface, mixed with the alcohol that made your limbs feel light and your head buzz.

Standing up from the barstool, you leaned in close to Husk, a wicked grin spreading across your lips. “Guess what I’m dressed as?” you whispered, the words dripping with mischief. Without waiting for him to respond, you giggled, “That’s correct! A bar wench!”

Your blouse hung low, teasingly revealing more of your cleavage, but you barely noticed. The tight girdle you wore cinched you in all the right places, but it wasn’t enough to keep the flush of heat spreading over your skin. It felt almost suffocating, the mix of alcohol, anger, and something indescribable all coiling tight inside you.

Husk muttered something unintelligible, but you pressed on, your mind a swirl of emotions too tangled to untangle now. “You’re right, y’know,” you slurred, the words tumbling from your lips without restraint. “I shouldn’t be down. I should help you tonight – I'm already dressed the part.” You patted his shoulder with a grin, your hand lingering as you tried to ground yourself at the moment.

He stared at you, eyes narrowing again, but there was something softer there too. “You’ve known him for over a decade,” Husk said, his voice gentler now, more serious. “You knew exactly what you were getting into when you decided to be with him.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, unfortunately sobering you right up. He didn’t have to say Alastor’s name – just the thought of him was enough to make your stomach churn, the bile rising in your throat. You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol, the fury still eating away at you, or the hollow ache of knowing that Husk was right.

It was probably all of it.

Your smile faltered, fading slowly as the memory of last week came back to the forefront of your mind without mercy. Ten years. You had been with Alastor just over a decade, but those years were fractured, seven of them consumed by silence and shadows. He had disappeared without a word, leaving you to wonder, to hurt, to grieve the love you thought you had.

When he returned, it wasn’t the reunion you had once dreamed of. No, instead, you found out that he had traded away his soul for something – something he refused to tell you about. The secret gnawed at you, hollowing out the trust you had clung to for so long.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of your black skirt, the material bunching between your knuckles as your grip tightened. You thought ...God, you thought you meant something to him. Enough for him to confide in you. Enough for him to trust you.

But he didn’t.

He kept you at arm’s length, always. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring into the abyss, never quite knowing if he’d catch you if you fell.

Your breath hitched as your eyes blinked rapidly, fighting back the stinging salt of unshed tears. You had cried for him – cried for him night after night when you couldn’t bear to stay in the same room, couldn’t bear to let him see how deeply he had hurt you. Alastor didn’t deserve any more of your tears. Not after everything.

Taking a shaky breath, you swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, even though your heart felt like it was breaking all over again. “Anyway,” you said, your voice wavering for a split second before you forced it into a false cheer. “Looks like the Halloween party’s going great! But...there are empty cups in people’s hands!” You threw on a laugh, trying to mask the pain that threatened to claw its way to the surface. “As your best bar wench,” you continued with a grin that didn’t quite reach your eyes, “I believe it’s my duty to serve the customers!”

Husk’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, his gaze piercing through your forced cheer like he could see every crack in the facade. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he could read you like a book. Husk always had that way of understanding, even when you tried so desperately to hide behind a smile. Still, he stayed silent, though his look spoke volumes – volumes you weren’t ready to face.

“Well,” he finally said, his tone lightening with a smirk, “I ran out of whisky because someone,” he raised a brow at you, “polished it all off.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play along, even though your heart wasn’t in it. “There’s more in storage, Husk,” you replied, puffing out your chest in an exaggerated display. “I’ll just go get more! Look at that, I’m not only a gorgeousbar wench, but also a problem solver!” You tried for a grin, but it felt empty, the effort it took to keep up the pretense was exhausting.

Husk chuckled, shaking his head. “Just hope you don’t remember this tomorrow,” he said with a snort, though you could see the concern still lingering in his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, you let out a toneless laugh. “I’m not drunk, just a liltipsy.” The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but you turned on your heels before he could call you on it. You needed to get away for a moment – away from Husk, away from the party, away from him.

As you made your way to the storage room, you caught sight of Charlie and Vaggie dressed as an angel and a devil, the irony of their roles not lost on you. They looked happy, content in their costumes, and for a brief moment, you felt a pang of envy. They didn’t have to worry about the walls that separated them. They didn’t have to question their place in each other’s lives.

But you didn’t look at Alastor. Not once. You could feel his presence in the room, could almost sense his eyes on you, but you refused to give him the satisfaction. Not tonight.

When you entered the storage room, the dim light from the hallway cast long shadows over the crates stacked along the walls. “Let’s see...” you mumbled to yourself, running your hands along the wooden boxes, searching for the whisky Husk needed. The quiet soothed you, a welcome relief from the noise of the party.

Suddenly, the door creaked shut with a heavy thud, plunging the room into darkness. You whipped around, heart almost leaping out your throat. “What the-?”

Before you could finish, you heard the unmistakable click of the lock sliding into place, sealing you in. Your breath caught, the air thick with tension.

“My, my. Good evening, darling,” came the voice you simultaneously missed and dreaded. Alastor’s voice, rich and smooth, like velvet soaked in poison. It slithered through the darkness, wrapping around you, making your skin prickle with both longing and anger.

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest, not bothering to turn toward him. “Alastor, I don’t want to play games,” you muttered, the exhaustion in your voice apparent.

He chuckled, the sound low and dark, echoing off the walls. “Alastor? Oh no, my dear,” he purred, amusement lacing his tone. “It’s Captain Alastor tonight.”

With a snap of his fingers, green flames flickered to life, casting an eerie glow around the room. The shadows danced wildly on the walls, but it wasn’t the flames that held your attention. No, it was him. Alastor, dressed in a pirate’s costume, complete with a crimson bandana tied around his head. His jacket was adorned with gold buttons and buckles, his black leather booth shining in the sickly light. He looked every bit the part, but the smile that curled his lips was still the same – a smile that could hide an infinite number of secrets.

He stepped forward, and instinctively, you retreated – one step, then another – until your back met the cold, unforgiving wall. Your heart raced, ever nerve in your body on high alert as Alastor closed the distance between you, his presence overwhelming. His looming figure cast a shadow over you, but you refused to look at him, your gaze darting anywhere but his face.

“What do you want?” you mumbled, the question trembling on your lips. You couldn’t muster the strength to sound defiant, not when his proximity made your breath hitch.

Alastor’s smile widened, that ever-present unsettling grin that never seemed to face. “What I’ve been wanting since you rudely left my bed eight nights ago,” he answered with a playful lilt, his tone too bright, too casual for the tension building between you.

Another step. And another. Until his chest hovered mere inches from you, the heat of his body radiating through his pirate’s costume. You found yourself staring at the third gold button on his jacket, unable to meet his eyes. It felt safer that way – safer than confronting the emotions threatening to spill over.

“Rudely, huh?” you shot back, the alcohol in your bloodstreams emboldened your words, your anger simmering, bubbling up from your chest. “Well, I guess I’m just a rude girl now. So, if you’ll excuse me-”

You tried to slip past him, but instantly, his arms shot up, trapping you between the wall and his body. The sharp intake of your breath was loud in the enclosed space, and your heart hammered against your ribs.

“Look at me, darling,” Alastor’s voice was soft now, coaxing, almost tender, a stark contrast to the playful lilt he’d used moments ago. He leaned in, his breath a warm whisper against your lips, his words sending shivers down your spine. “It’s rude not to look at the person you’re speaking to.”

The tip of his clawed fingers grazed your cheek, feather-light, as though testing the boundaries of your resistance. “Look at me,” he murmured again, his voice a gentle command, his finger caressing your skin like you were something delicate, fragile.

Your body betrayed you. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the exhaustion of holding your emotions in for so long, or maybe it was the undeniable pull he had over you – whatever it was, you tilted your head up, finally meeting his gaze.

You wanted to glare at him, to summon all the fury and hurt you felt into one look. But the moment your eyes locked with his, something inside you fractured. Alastor’s grin softened ever so slightly as he gazed down at you, and the intensity of his red eyes stripped you bare.

Thus, the dam that you were so desperate to hold back, broke.

Tears welled in your eyes, stinging as they gathered, and your lips trembled despite your best efforts to hold steady. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t cry for him anymore – he didn’t deserve it, not after everything.

But here you were, standing on the precipice of breaking all over again. The anger you had been clinging to melted away, replaced by an overwhelming, aching sadness. Why did he have to do this to you? Why, after all the betrayal and heartbreak, did your heart still soften the moment you saw him?

“I need to go now, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, weak and fragile. “Please unlock the door-”

But before you could finish, his lips were on yours, sudden and firm, silencing the rest of your plea. The kiss stole the air from your lungs, igniting the familiar flames of passion within you. His body pressed against yours, enveloping you in a heat that was all too familiar, a warmth you had craved even when you hated yourself for wanting it. One hand cradled your face, the other settled on your hip, grounding you in a way that made your head spin.

You should push him away. You should resist. Every part of your rational mind screamed at you to fight back, to remember the betrayal that had shattered your trust, to remember the anger that fuelled you for days.

But you didn’t.

Tears spilled down your cheeks, hot and unrelenting, as you allowed yourself to sink into the kiss, your body – your heart – betraying your mind. His lips moved against yours, tender and desperate all at once, and you stayed – tethered to him by something stronger than rage.

When he finally pulled back, his breath came in shallow bursts, his forehead resting gently against yours. His thumb brushed away the stray tears on your cheek, a wistful sigh escaping his lips as his eyes searched yours. There was something in his gaze – something vulnerable, something he rarely let you see.

He grinned, but it was softer this time, almost bittersweet. “Now, miss,” he said, his voice filled with mock grandeur, the teasing note returning. “What will you do now that you’re stuck here with a dastardly pirate such as myself?”

The lightness in his tone didn’t match the intensity in his eyes. They bore into yours, searching for something – an answer, perhaps, or maybe forgiveness.

You knew exactly what he was doing. Alastor, for all his bravado and showmanship, didn’t know how to bare himself – didn't��know how to peel back those layers of invulnerability. Instead, he hid behind his endless masks, each one more carefully constructed than the last. And tonight, he wore the perfect one for you – the one designed to charm, to coax a smile from your lips even when your heart felt heavy.

Your fingers trembled as they reached up, brushing against his cheek. The smoothness of his skin beneath your fingertips stirred something delicate within you, something raw and aching. Without a word, you threaded your hand into his hair, pulling him down until your lips met his in a kiss so soft it could’ve shattered.

You wondered, in that fleeting moment, if Alastor even realized that he didn’t need to be perfect for you. That his strength wasn’t what made you love him – it was the rare glimpses of vulnerability, the moments when the masks slipped, that captured your heart.

His body softened in your embrace, tension melting away as he pulled you closer, his need for you palpable in the way his hands clutched at your waist. His kiss deepened, urgent now, as though he were trying to communicate all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. And perhaps you were complicit in this – playing along in his games of pretense, the dance of make-believe you both performed so well. Even now, wrapped in costumes, the charade continued, masking the truth neither of you had the courage to face.

The words that should have been spoken – of hurt, of longing, of the chasm growing between you – were swallowed up in the heat of the moment. Alastor pressed his hips against you, the hardness of him dragging along your core as his hands roamed your body, setting your skin alight. His breath hitched, and soon the room was filled with the rustle of fabric, hurried movements, and the unmistakable clink of his belt being undone. Your skirt was pushed up, your underwear forgotten as it slid down to your ankles.

But then, just as the urgency peaked, he paused. His eyes met yours, the glow of the green flames flickering around you casting half his face in shadow. His expression was unreadable, half hidden by the darkness, yet you could see the question in his gaze – the hesitation that belied the playful swagger he always wore.

You lifted one leg, wrapping it around his waist, pulling him closer as the warmth of his length pressed against your core. Slowly, you moved, the friction between you drawing a soft moan from his lips. His eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure evident on his face as his hands gripped you tighter, his forehead resting against yours.

Darling,” he breathed, his voice no longer playful, no longer teasing. It was soft, almost vulnerable, and the way he held you now – so tightly, as if afraid you might disappear – felt like the truest moment between you in a long time.

Your mind, fogged with alcohol and the haze of lust, seemed to slow the world down around you. Every sensation was amplified – the heat of his body against yours, the way he trembled with each stroke, the way your own heart ached even as your body burned with desire. The initial anger that had driven you to this moment began to melt away, replaced by something deeper – an aching sadness, a profound loneliness that slowly eroded the edges of your soul.

In the silence that followed, neither of you spoke. This act, this intimacy, had become the only place where the two of you could find any semblance of honesty. Here, with his lips pressed to yours, his hands clinging to you like you were his only lifeline, there was no room for masks. It was the one moment where the roles you played for each other dissolved, leaving nothing but raw, unfiltered emotion etched across his face.

And in his face, you saw it.

His red eyes, glowing and intense, were softened by the flickering green flames around you. He kissed you again, slower this time, murmuring soft praises against your lips – telling you how good you felt, how much he needed you, how right this moment was.

But just below the tender words, you could feel the weight of everything left unsaid. The weight of the love you shared, the pain, the misunderstandings – the endless cycle of pushing and pulling, hiding and revealing. And as his body pressed closer to yours, as his lips lingered on your skin, you realized that this, for all its imperfections, was the only truth you and Alastor had left. A truth buried in the way he held you, in the way you couldn’t let him go, even when you knew you probably should.

Slow languid kisses mingled with the heat radiating from his body, his hard length pressing insistently against you, grinding you in a steady rhythm. Each motion sent an addicting pulse of need through you, until the blunt tip of him nudged against your slick folds.

“Darling,” he murmured, the words drenched in need as his lips found yours once more, dragging the kiss out as he slowly sank into your warmth, his voice trembling as he repeated, “my darling.”

The sharp gasp that escaped your lips seemed to be all he needed, a soft moan slipping from you as he fully sheathed himself inside you, stretching you, filling you, pressing against every tender nerve. You clenched around him, your body naturally responding to the feel of him, and he shuddered, his breath quickening as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. There, hidden from your gaze, he could allow himself to be bare, raw, vulnerable – away from the performance, the masks.

His hips rolled in slow, deliberate motions, the wet, intimate sounds of your bodies coming together filling the small, dimly lit space. The hardness of the wooden wall at your back contrasted with the softness of his touch, his hands gripping your hips, your fingers tangling in his hair as you held him close. Each slow thrust was a burst of sensation, your nerves alight with every deep, lingering stroke, every inch of his dragging along your sensitive walls.

“Alastor,” you moaned softly, his name slipping from your lips as if in prayer, and you felt his body tense, his hips pausing mid-thrust. His breath ragged as his red eyes flickered up to meet yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him – truly saw him.

The trickery, the menace, the lies – all gone. In its place was something fragile, something real.

Are we still okay?

His eyes, wide and searching, asked the silent question, his gaze never leaving yours.

Do you still love me?

The soft brush of his fingers as they tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the tender way he touched you, begged for an answer he couldn’t bring himself to voice.

Will you stay with me?

The kiss he pressed to your lips was slow, pleading, as if asking for more than just the physical – asking you to give him reassurance.

Tears welled in your eyes, not from sadness, but from the weight of it all. Tightening your hold around him, you slowly moved along his length, a moan catching in his throat as you took control, your body guiding his. The motion elicited a sharp hiss from him, the intensity of your choice, your desire, giving him all the permission he needed to abandon his restraint.

His pace quickened, the cold metal buckle of his belt grazing your inner thigh as he began to thrust with more urgency, his hips pistoning into you, driving as deep as his can. The pressure against your swollen clit with his hips sent shocks of pleasure through you.

His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he lost rhythm, the intensity overtaking him, his body seeking yours with increasing desperation. Each thrust drove him deeper, harder, the friction, the closeness pushing you both toward the edge. Your own breath stuttered, your muscles tightening, your abdomen clenching as your release built, the pleasure mounting with every stroke, every brush of his hips against your throbbing core.

Your orgasm hit first, tearing through you with a force that left you breathless, a small cry slipping from your lips as your body trembled in his arms. Your fingers gripped the back of his jacket, holding on as your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper into your pleasure.

Alastor’s moan followed, guttural and raw, his hips stuttering to a halt before resuming their slow, deliberate thrusts, each one sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you as he spilled into you, the warmth of his release filing you in hot, pulsing bursts.

He slowed, each thrust dragging out the last moments of bliss, his cock throbbing inside you as he emptied himself completely, your name slipping from his lips in a breathless moan. His arms tightened around you, pulling you close, his forehead pressing against yours as he held you there. His chest rose and fell with the effort of his breathing.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your shared breaths, mingling in the quiet. No words were spoken, no conversations ventured into the unresolved matters that still hung heavy between you. In this small, stolen moment, it was only the two of you, lost in the aftermath of passion.

You two were held together by something far deeper than the words you could never quite say.

As he slowly withdrew from you, the heat of him still lingering inside, you felt the absence keenly—the slow, sticky glide of his cock slipping free, slick with the evidence of your union. His release, warm and thick, trailed down your thighs in lazy rivulets, a tangible reminder of the intimacy you had just shared. But even as your body still hummed with the aftershocks, there was a heaviness in your chest that clashed with the physical satisfaction.

He gently tilted your chin, his fingers warm yet commanding, urging you to meet his gaze. And when you did, you saw it again—the familiar mask sliding effortlessly back into place.

The trickster’s grin.

“Well, I suppose I must whisk you away to my ship tonight, darling,” he teased, voice playful, yet it didn’t quite reach the depths of his eyes. Leaning down, he kissed you lightly, a fleeting brush of lips, more teasing than tender. “You will warm my bed tonight, right, darling?”

Your head swam, still fogged from the orgasm that left your knees weak, the faint haze of alcohol mixing with the ache of something unsaid. His words were playful, light, but they didn’t settle right in your heart. They rang hollow, echoing against the unspoken truth between you. You opened your mouth, ready to ask the question that ate away at your heart.

How much longer must we play this act, Alastor?

The words formed, heavy and desperate, but they never made it past your lips. Instead, something else took over. The familiar script. The comfort of pretending. You rose onto your toes, closing the space between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that tasted too sweet for the bitterness welling inside. It was soft, tender, and yet... it was a kiss laced with unshed tears, a quiet plea neither of you would ever voice.

And as his arms wrapped around you, as his lips moved against yours with practised ease, you felt it—how easy it was for both of you to slip back into your roles. To hide behind the costumes, the masks. His touch was warm, grounding, but the distance between your hearts felt greater than ever.

It seemed you and he still weren’t ready to shed the costumes after all.

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hazbinshusk · 6 months ago

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husk x afab!fox!reader. an anon asked for a turning of the tables, so here's husk dealing with a reader going through heat. how's the bartender supposed to ignore the siren song of your scent, after all? 3k.featuring: overstimulation, masturbation, oral (f!receiving), rut-induced breeding kink, and husk trying to be a gentleman even while you're begging for it. reader is fem presenting, and the heat reflects that. husk refers to them as 'vix', as in 'vixen'. (reader is envisioned as an anthro in the same style of alastor - that is, animal traits like a fox's tail and ears, but mostly human in appearance).

Screw Heaven.

Screw Hell.

And screw whatever the fuck it is that you did on Earth to earn you this goddamned body you have now that you’re spending the rest of eternity in the pit.

Sometimes it wasn’t so bad; there were even perks to being part fox. But right now… right now you hate it. Hate the ears that picked up every little sound around you while you tried to ignore everything. Hate the busy goddamned tail with the orange-red fur that sticks to your overheated, sweat-sheened skin and makes it more and more difficult to settle against the sheets.

Your claw-like nails dig into the pillows by your head in frustration, squeezing the plush fabric as though it could possibly relieve some of the tension inside you. Your jaw clenches tightly as your hips rise up off the mattress. You’re stark naked and the air conditioning is switched to maximum, but still, there’s a heat radiating through your entire aching body. The flesh of your inner thighs is slick with a mix of sweat and your own arousal; both of your vibrators have been cast aside on the sheets beside you, the batteries long dead.

You press your fingers up against your cunt, an irritated whine escaping through your grinding teeth. You’ve been trying this for hours now, desperate to take any of the edge off, just long enough so that you can get some sleep. And yet, your alarm clock reads two twenty-six, and you’re no more relaxed than when you felt the first pangs of heat overcome you down in the lobby.

It’s the first time the heat has hit you since you’ve moved into the hotel, and the all-too-familiar feeling of it had hit you like a truck halfway through a conversation with the usual suspects at the bar. An uncomfortable warmth had flushed through you with such force that you’d stopped with your glass halfway to your lips, the ache between your thighs almost immediate. You’d barely managed to stumble through an excuse to leave to Angel and Pen, interrupting the former halfway through a story. Husk had frozen too, strangely, and he’d met your gaze wide-eyed for about three seconds before you’d escaped upstairs.

Tears sting the corners of your eyes. “Fucking damn it!”

“Doll?”

A soft knock sounds against the wood of your door, and your ears flick upward from where they’d been pinned back against your hair in surprise. “…Husk?”

“You alright?” his voice sounds concerned, but even through the heat-induced haze of your mind, you swear you can hear a thread of embarrassment underneath it. You choke on your attempt at a response, a whimper slipping out instead. “…Vix?”

You feel yourself shudder at the nickname. Your fingers haven’t stopped moving against your clit, and the sound of his voice seems to grant you the first hint towards relief. It’s not enough, and your hand quickens desperately. Even as it does some sober, sensible part of your mind reminds you that you shouldn’t be doing this – Husk is your friend. You’ve been witness to enough interactions between him and Angel to know that he’d be disgusted if he knew what you were doing, heat or not.

“You… you shouldn’t be here, Husk.”

“…You with someone?”

You bark a bitter, humorless laugh, head falling back against the pillow. Your hips roll up against your hand, still desperately chasing release.

“Husk…” his name comes out as something akin to a moan, and you slam your free hand over your mouth. The next word is muffled against your palm as you slide two fingers into yourself. “Fuck…”

“Vix…” he repeats, and his voice sounds lower, more strained. “Baby?”

You whine, high-pitched and keening into your hand, your teeth buried hard enough into your palm to draw blood.

“I, uh…” Husk clears his throat, his voice dropping to an even lower tenor. The sound of it makes a shiver settle in the small of your back. You can feel sweat beading on your brow. “I got a feelin’ I know what’s goin’ on in there, and…”

He falls silent, apparently at a loss for words. You hear a soft, tiny thump, and your mind conjures the image of him standing with his forehead pressed against the door. Your face flushes at the insinuation he’s made, and you hurry to lie even as you reach down to brush your fingers with your clit, your other hand still pumping two fingers into you. “Nothing’s going… I’m f-fine, Husk.”

“Baby,” he says again, and you bite your lip to suppress another moan. You taste blood. He sounds… uncomfortable, but not accusatory. “I’ve been around long enough to know… I’m not judgin’. But your scent…”

Husk lets out a soft, breathy noise, something like a groan, and your thighs clench around your hand as an orgasm breaks within you. You manage to muffle most of your moan by turning your head and burying your face in the pillows. Just like before, it does nothing to relieve the painful ache twisting through your stomach.

“I’m sorry… I could smell it downstairs.” he continues. “It’s drivin’ me crazy, I’m… I’m jus’ here to help.”

You push yourself up to sit, eyes fixed on the door and your ears quivering. “‘Help’? You… you want to help me?”

“I didn’t mean…” Husk fumbles over the words hurriedly. “’m not tryin’ to presume… I jus’ mean, if you want me to stay out here to make sure you can keep your privacy, or if you want me to fuck off and—”

“Husk?” you interrupt him, voice shaking. “If I… if I ask you to come in here, will you?”

There’s a moment of silence that makes your heart clench. “I… I don’t know if you’re in the right mind to be askin’ me that, doll.”

“Please, Husk,” you whimper, brow furrowed and your eyes closing. Your voice breaks as your frustration reaches a head. “I can’t… please.”

The silence returns before you hear a soft click of the lock of your door turning. It opens slowly, and your chest heaves with unsteady breaths as Husk stands frozen in your doorway, the claw he used to pick the lock still raised. His pupils are blown wide, his wings and tail quivering as he takes you in.

“Fuck…” he breathes it like a prayer, his eyes burning into you in the low light of your bedside lamp. You’re disheveled and soaked in sweat, stinking of your own arousal and you still have your fingers buried deep in your swollen pussy, but Husk looks at you like you’re something… holy. “Vix…”

“Husk...” you whine, fingers still moving inside you. “I can’t keep…. I need…”

He swallows, steadying himself and closing the door behind him. You’re quivering with need, with the heat of his gaze as he moves towards you. He pauses long enough to turn the air conditioner down to a more reasonable level before he takes a seat on the bed in front of you. Every heated nerve in you is screaming for you to pull him into you, to mount his lap and finally ease this need burning in you, but you just whimper as he takes hold of your wrist and eases your hand away from your cunt.

“’s okay, baby.” he murmurs reassuringly, and you see his eyes fall to the vibrators beside you. He exhales a sigh, leading your hand down to the sheets beside you. “Poor baby… you’ve been trying this whole time to break it?”

You nod, tears stinging at your eyes. “Please…”

Husk touches his hand to your cheek, leaning forward and bringing his face closer to your own. “Lemme take care of you.”

Husk brings his mouth to yours, your breath catching against his lips. His kiss is slow but firm, and when you reach up to clutch at his suspenders, to tug him on top of you, he knocks your hands away gently, tongue sliding into your mouth. Undaunted, you reach between his thighs, palming his crotch and squeezing, a real, heated thrill running through you as you realize how hard he already is. Husk hums, breaking away from your mouth as he takes hold of your wrist again. He exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Hey, hey… I’ve got you, alright?” he tells you, frustratingly gentle. You need him to fuck you, to fill you, you need to feel his cum inside you… But Husk kisses you again, and you whine into it as you feel his claws graze over your thigh. “I’ve got you… lay back for me, baby.”

You follow his instructions shakily and Husk trails his mouth down over your torso, nipping and sucking soft marks into your throat and lingering at your chest. His claws smooth over the curve of your hips. Your thighs are already parted eagerly, and your hips buck up into him as he lets the rough edge of his tongue flick over your hard nipple.

“Husk…”

“Oh, baby…” he murmurs sympathetically, brushing his thumb over your swollen labia. You jerk under his touch, eyes squeezed shut. “Looks so sore…”

Your tail tucks around your thigh, and he presses a kiss to that, too.

“Fuck, you taste good…” he mutters against the crease where your thigh ends, his warm breath tickling against your cunt. He presses a kiss to your pubic mound and touches his nose there and inhales before dipping down to slide his tongue between your folds. It lingers at your clit and you moan aloud, hips rising off the mattress. He takes hold of them, pressing them back down. “Thought I was gonna pass out jus’ from the scent of you… stuck down there with the others, knowing you’re up here… wishing I could do jus’ this…”

His tongue is sweet torture against your clit and your eyes roll back as he purrs into your cunt. It takes only seconds before you cum, tears streaking your cheeks as it once again does nothing to relieve your tension. Husk’s claws remain on your hips, holding you firmly down against the sheets even as you try to grind against his face. You need him inside you.

So, you push him back, straddling his lap and unfastening his pants. Your cum soaks his muzzle but you don’t hesitate to kiss him, grinding yourself down against his lap. Husk groans into your mouth, retaking hold of your hips.

“Shit, Vix…” he says breathlessly, eyes rolling back for a moment.

“I can’t wait, Husk,” you tell him, your voice broken and reedy. You straighten up, rolling your hips against his erection again. “I need to fuck… please, I need to feel… I need you to fuck me, Husk, please…”

He nods, pushing himself up to sit so he can kiss you again. You hiss as his claws brush against your clit as he reaches between you to take hold of his cock, but then he’s pressing into you and you both moan, your forehead pressed to his.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby,” he groans, wrapping an arm around your waist. While moments ago, the idea of feeling his fur against your bare skin would have almost made you sick, now it was intoxicating, and you bunched it under your fingers as you clutched at his shoulders. Husk pressed his hips up into yours as you rode him roughly, your chest flush against his. “Shit.”

You run your fingers through the fur behind his ears, at the back of his neck, and he growls when your hands find the base of his wings. His cock is thick enough for you to feel it stretch you with each thrust into you, and some cum-drunk part of you wonders how you’ve managed to exist so long without it.

“Need you to cum, Husk,” you tell him breathlessly, gasping as he angles his hips so that each time he fills you your clit meets his pelvic bone. The fur at the base of his cock is soaked already, and you shudder your way through another orgasm, nails digging into his shoulders. “God, fuck… Need you to… need you to fill… unh…”

“I’m gonna fill you up, Vixie,” he assures you and you moan. “Gonna fuck you ‘til it’s drippin’ out of you… you’re gonna be so pretty once you’re full of my kits.”

You moan again, louder than before, pulling him into another hungry kiss. Husk pushes you back onto the mattress into a mating press, your legs wrapped tight around his waist. He fucks himself into you hard, burying his face in your neck. You can feel his breath burning against your skin, feel his claws clutch at your waist. He’s murmuring sweet nothings into your flesh, but your mind can barely function past the idea of him wanting to breed with you.

He wanted to have kits with you.

Husk’s mouth was on yours again and you took his face in your hands, fingers playing with the base of his ears. He fucked you roughly, and still, you beg for, “Harder.”

You can feel his tail wrapped around yours, feel his claws breaking the skin of your waist, feel him palm your breast and squeeze. It hurts so wonderfully every time he pushes into you, bottoming out with every thrust.

“You gonna do that for me, aren’t you, baby?” he asks gruffly, groaning as you tighten around him. “Fuck, you’re gonna… you’re gonna have my kits… tell me you wanna have my kits…”

“Yes!” you cry out, head falling back against the pillows again. His fangs graze the base of your throat. “Fuck, yes, Husk, please, I wanna have your kits for you… Let me, please… fuck, please…”

“I will, baby…” he promises, his voice barely more than a growl. “I will, jus’… God, keep squeezin’ me like that…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When you wake your whole body aches in a different, more pleasant way than it had the night before. You were curled up under a blanket, your tail tucked up over your hip for you to curl your fingers in it, your face buried in the pillows. The bed shifts and you open your eyes, blinking against the red light of an early morning.

“Husk?” you voice comes rough from overuse.

He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, his pants tugged back up into place but his suspenders still missing. He turns his head to give you a soft, kind smile. “Hey, Vixen.”

You feel color flush your face at the nickname and the events of the night before pour to the forefront of your mind. He’d stayed inside you until he’d softened entirely, his cum warm inside your cunt. You remembered the way he’d lay against you, the way he’d brushed his lips over your overworked muscles and lapped the sweat from the side of your neck. He’d whispered words you couldn’t quite recall, but you remembered the tone was soothing, sweet, even. Husk pulling the blanket up over you was the last thing you remembered happening before you passed out.

You clear your throat, pushing hair out of your face. “You… Are you leaving?”

Husk’s gaze falls to his lap as he runs a paw through the fun between his ears. “I thought maybe you’d want your privacy now that you’re… you’re feeling better, aren’t you?”

“Much.” you reply, holding the blanket to your chest as you sit up. “Thank you. I don’t… I’d still be going crazy right now if it wasn’t for you.”

He chuckles softly, but there’s a bitter edge to it. He pulls his suspenders up onto his shoulders and stands. “I… I should go.”

You frown, swallowing. “Oh?”

He nods, avoiding your eye. He seems to try for humor, but something in his tone falls flat. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

He gives you another fleeting smile before making his way to the door. You speak just as he touches a hand to the door handle.

“I wouldn’t have invited anyone else in.”

Husk stops, his ears flicking upward.

You press your lips together for a moment as you gather yourself. “If it had been anyone else at my door last night… I wouldn’t have invited them in. I invited you in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching his back for any sign he’d really heard you. “I mean… I’m not actually looking to have your babies…”

Husk laughs, finally turning around. “Well, thank God for that.”

You smile up at him, daring to let the blanket fall just a little lower against the curve of your breasts. Husk’s eyes follow it, his tail waving behind him. “But I’m, uh, gonna be dealing with his ‘heat’ thing for at least a couple of days…”

He raises a brow, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. “Sounds rough.”

“Yeah,” you nod, smile widening as Husk begins to move ever so slowly back towards the bed. “So, I think it would be really… charitable of you to stick around. Y’know, if you’re not too busy.”

Husk reaches the edge of the bed, his tail twitching. “And after that?”

“Hmmm…” you hum as though considering his words. “Pretty sure I could still make time for your weird baby-making kinks, bartender.”

He laughs, leaning down to press his lips to yours. He kisses you gently, a paw cupping your cheek. You can feel him smile against your lips. “Cheeky little thing you are, Vix.”

“Just for you,” you murmur against his lips, letting the blanket fall into your lap as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Mm,” he kisses you again, hand ghosting down over your chest. “I like the sound of that.”

#husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk x reader #husk smut #husk x reader #husk fic #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel x reader #my fic

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sciencebecameouraddiction · 10 months ago

Note

Would you be open to doing a Dad!Husk with daughter reader but nobody knows (except Alastor ofc) until she gets drunk with Angel after seeing a similar scene from episode 5 with Husk and Alastor and starts crying because she’s afraid of losing her dad, and everyone puts the pieces together when Husk starts comforting her? Sorry that it’s super specific 😅

First off, oh my gosh, thank you for your request!!!

It’s all good! I love this prompt! I know that you said reader ends up getting drunk but the story took a bit of a different turn and you just end up going to the bar sober.

I hope that I still did this fic justice though! 🖤

rating: PG

genre: angst and fluff

characters: Dad!Husk x Reader

warnings: abuse, soul owning, panic attack from reader

You knew that being in Hell came with a price. Your dad had tried to shield you from the more… fucked up parts of Hell. But he couldn’t save you from everything, which is why when you were younger he made you promise to never tell anyone you were his daughter. So, you were a kid he found and was taking care of, his assistant, apprentice, a bar back when he was bartending. Which was how you ended up at the hotel.

You knew that your father’s soul was owned by Alastor, who had been nothing but pleasant to you, but there was still a bitterness in your mouth when you looked at him or talked to him. It was at the point where you could forget the fact that Alastor owned Husk’s soul. There were times you were reminded though and reality crashed upon you rudely. Like when both you and Husk were summoned to the hotel to help, and you became a trusty bar back and bartender in training, keeping the secret of Husk’s relationship to you.

This night though, your dad had gone off to find Alastor and Angel had been at the bar asking about different drinks. You couldn’t remember what actually went into Angel’s drink and neither did he saying, “It’s something Husk makes… special. Ya know?”

You sighed and just explained you’d go find Husk and get the ingredients, muttering about getting a recipe book for the bar. You were walking the halls when the lights started flickering. You ran to the hall where it was the worse, seeing Alastor conjure the chain that wrapped around your dad’s neck. Watching as the Radio Demon transformed into his demonic figure and your dad crouched on the ground.

“If this happens again, I’ll make sure you and every other disrespectful wretch knows exactly who they are messing with. Understood?” Alastor says, his voice low.

“Understood.” Husk said as Alastor went back to his normal self.

“Good man.” Alastor whistled as he walked away and you stood there around the corner clutching your chest. Your breathing too quick and tears in your eyes.

‘He wouldn’t actually kill dad, would he?’ you thought to yourself, the reality of Alastor owning Husk’s soul crashing down upon you. You quickly leave the hallway, not wanting your dad to see that you had been there, as you got back to the bar. Still trying to calm your breathing, Angel’s words asking if you got the recipe sounded like they were underwater. You nodded your head to whatever he said, and tried to start making his drink with whatever you thought went into it. Thinking you were doing a pretty good job at not showing how close you were to breaking. Until Angel came behind the bar, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you around to face him. His eyes widened.

“What’s wrong toots?” He asked, his hands gliding over your arms comfortingly and giving you a once over to make sure you weren’t hurt.

“I-I-He-And I-“ And sobs just crashed against your lips as you fell against Angel. Angel freezes in shock, and holds you, trying to calm you down. Charlie and Vaggie hear and come over seeing you a wreck. Your sobs not quieting and now all three are consoling you and attempting to get you to calm down enough to actually understand what’s wrong.

Husk finally comes down stairs, sighing and sees a crowd around the bar, normally crowds and bars are synonymous but not at this hotel. He walks over, his ears picking up your cries, automatically going into protection mode. He brushes through everyone and sees Angel consoling you.

“What’s going on?” He asks and before Angel can answer, you launch yourself at Husk. Still crying, but settling down as you feel him in your arms. Your hand going to his wrist where you could feel his heartbeat and feeling that calms you down further.

“What happened?” He murmurs to you, his arms and wings wrapped around you.

“Angel’s drink-And I didn’t know th’ ingredien’s-Went to find you. And saw you and-and-Al…” You trailed off and buried yourself in Husk’s chest.

“Oh sweetheart.” He murmured. His head dropping to rest on top of yours. “I’m so sorry.”

Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie all look at each other.

“So, that’s not just some bar back, bartender in training you got off the street?” Vaggie asks.

“Yeah, you’s both seem a little familiar with each other.” Angel adds. Husk sighs.

“‘m sorry.” You say lifting yourself off Husk.

“You don’t have anything ta be sorry for. I should be the one apologizin’.” Husk says, his hand on your cheek.

“Not at all.” You shake your head at him.

“Oh shit.” Angel says now looking at you both. “Is that your daughter Husk?” You look wide eyed at Angel and then your dad.

“Yes, Charlie, Vaggie, Angel, meet my daughter, Y/N.” Husk says, gesturing to you.

“Hi!” You say waving, looking a bit sheepish. “I’m so sorry we didn’t say anything before. It was just safer this way because-“ Husk interrupts you.

“I’m sure they understand, sweetheart.” Husk looks at all of them and all nod. “And I’m sure this isn’t information that will be getting out either.” Husk looks at all of them again. Again everyone nods.

“On my word, this will stay between us.” Charlie promises.

“Not a word.” Vaggie says. Angel just makes the motion of his lips being zipped and throwing away the key.

“Now, who was wanting a drink?” Husk says, stepping behind the bar.

“Oh, that was me!” Angel pipes up and sits down.

“O’ course it was.” Husk mutters as he starts making the drink and Charlie steps forward more.

“Can we ask questions? I have so many.” She says, looking at Husk then you. You look back at your dad and he motions you forward. You smile and sit next to Angel as Charlie and Vaggie sit down too.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

The rest of the night was spent around the bar as Charlie, Vaggie and Angel got to know you outside of what you had just been telling them and you had fun poking fun at your dad at times, recounting times like how he taught you to count with poker chips. The laughter bled into the night and marked one of the happier nights that you could remember and for the first time, you were happy to be at the Hazbin Hotel.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #dad!husk #husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #dad!husk x reader #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel fluff

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nerdthatsiriuslylovesteaxx · 9 months ago

Text

Anthony

"Angel!" Nothing, "Angel Dust!" Still no fucking response, "ANTHONY!"

"Don't call me that fucker."

"Great so you can hear me."

"What the fuck do you want?"

"You aren't going back to him."

"Leave me the fuck alone on that one Husker." He didn't even react to the Husker part,

"He's a fucked up bitch, he's fucking hurting you, you aren't going anywhere near him Anthony."

"Stop calling me that, and are you forgetting the fact that he fucking owns me?!"

"That doesn't make it any better."

"It's not like I have a choice, leave me the fuck alone Husk." Angel Dust walked straight out, ignoring any and all of the bartenders protest. Husk took a long sip of whiskey, another one who'd sold a soul without knowing what would come with it.

He'd locked himself in his room, there was nothing he could fucking do, he deserved this. He was in Hell for fucks sake he shouldn't be fucking surprised, he cried but it would never do anything, he was fucking helpless. At this point he was a living sex toy.

"One more time." He wanted to run,

"Of course." He said licking his lips. The chains, the lead, the lights. Nothing was new. He didn't feel it anymore, he couldn't fucking care anymore. Angel woke in a cold sweat, it was only a nightmare he told himself, but he knew it would happen tomorrow and every day to come after that. Another taste of those bitter lips, another day of getting used like a sex toy, what the fuck had his death come to?

He took a breath of nicotine in before throwing the cigarette out, he didn't need any more yelling today, he didn't know if he could handle it. He walked inside the hotel, sitting down at the bar.

"What's the strongest thing you got Husk?" Choosing to ignore the last conversation they had, sadly however, Husk didn't.

"We're not finished." He said in a matter of fact voice.

"Just give me something strong Husk, I don't have the energy for this."

"Later." Tears fell from his eyes,

"I- I just don't want to fucking feel right now."

"When you're in deep shit trust me being numb won't make any of your shit work out later."

"It's too much."

"Hey, listen to me Angel. We're going to get your soul back and that bitch away from you okay?"

"How?"

"You're forgetting we know the most powerful demons in Hell." They just sat in silence for a few minutes before they eventually moved on with the day, both hoping that this would be one of the last times Angel had to worry about Valentino. The one thing they had hope in.

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irkimatsu · 10 months ago

Note

I love your Husk works! Could you please write one where fem!reader gets along with everyone and Husk doesn't even realize that he's catching feelings, but maybe on a night out with everyone, someone comes up and starts heavily flirting with her. Ends with confessions and sugary sweet tooth rotting fluff please. 😍

God damn, anon, do you have any idea how hard it is to wring a confession out of this man? I was going along at a steady pace and then I got stuck for hours! I genuinely hope you like slowburn, because Husk doesn't go from zero-to-love easily. I think he's gotten a nice start here, though. It's definitely fluffy!

Husk/Fem!Reader starting a relationship. Mentions of drinking and attempted sexual assault that Husk interrupts before things get too heavy. SFW, 2.8k words. Enjoy! I hope this is what you had in mind, anon! Thank you so much for reading my works!

Your first few months staying at the Hazbin Hotel have gone quite smoothly; as smoothly as anything there can ever go, anyway. Charlie took an instant liking to you - she takes an instant liking to everyone, so it’s nothing special, but still. She can be a bit overbearing, but you know she means well, and she’s grateful to have someone who doesn’t immediately write off her trust exercises from the start.

Still, after all the sharing circles and art therapy, you occasionally find yourself craving more “adult” fun, and that’s where Angel and Cherri come in. It’s not that you don’t want to be redeemed, but what could be so sinful about enjoying yourself a little? You’re not doing anything dangerous or drastic, no drugs and no getting involved with the wrong people; you’re just having fun drinking, dancing, maybe smashing up some abandoned property if the opportunity strikes. Charlie can’t get mad at destruction if no one cares about the thing you just blew up, right?

The bartender, Husk, isn’t nearly as keen on those nights on the town, but you’ve still managed to bond with him on nights where you prefer to stay in. He’s a surprisingly good listener underneath his gruff exterior. (Perhaps too good of a listener; you hope he keeps ignoring whatever bullshit you might have spouted off after one too many of his cocktails.) He also has plenty of stories of his own, mostly from the time he spent alive. When you could get him talking, he’d weave incredible tales of nightlife, both from his home city in Las Vegas and all the other places he’d visited in his life. He seemed especially wistful when talking about a woman he knew back then. He could talk for hours about all the famous sites he was able to take her to, all the songs he would sing for her, and all the starry skies he’d dance with her under.

“It’s not like I blame her for leaving. I’m the one who screwed it up. But being in love… it was nice while it lasted.”

You try to encourage him with the hope that he could fall in love again, but he shakes his head with a bitter smile.

“I lost the ability to love years ago.”

—-

Your friendship with Angel and Cherri is so different compared to your friendship with Husk, so it took a few months before you could have a night out with all three of them. Charlie is once again less enthused about the idea of you four going out to party, but you promise to be relatively well behaved.

You promise, anyway. You can’t make promises for Angel’s sake, and as much as you love her, you know better than to have any faith in Cherri.

You’re surprised Husk agreed to come to a sex club at all. He never seemed like the type to be into that sort of thing. You’re less surprised to see that he has no intention of flirting with anyone and is instead perfectly happy to sit by the wall and knock back shots as quickly as the bartender can pour them.

Couldn’t he drink himself stupid back at the hotel, though? Why did he even come?

Is it just you, or has he been watching you the whole night?

The hours tick by, and you, Angel, and Cherri become progressively more wasted. Angel is currently hanging off of a muscular bull demon - damn, good for him - while Cherri tells you about another resident who used to stay at the hotel before he tragically lost his life during the last extermination.

“He was such a fucking idiot that it was charming, ya know? God damn I should have gotten to know him better when he was still around! I heard this rumor about him and never even got to find out if it was true!”

As she speaks, Cherri catches sight of a cobra demon who is currently chatting up a cluster of punk girls.

“Well, damn… maybe I’ll get to find out tonight. Don’t wait around for me, I’ll find my way back!”

With that announcement, Cherri is gone, leaving only you and Husk with about a dozen bar stools between you. He’s definitely keeping an eye on you; there’s still liquid in his glass, and he’s watching you instead of guzzling it.

What’s his deal? If he wants to spend the night with you, why doesn’t he just come over here? You decide not to go over there yourself; no sense in rewarding him if he’s playing mind games.

You instead turn your attention to a handsome wolf demon who has taken Cherri’s seat. “Drinking all alone, love?” he says, his deep voice smooth as butter. Right away this man gives you the air of a natural-born charmer who can win anyone’s trust within seconds, only to break their hearts within hours.

He’s hot, and you’re drunk. You’ll let him break your heart a little.

Your conversation starts normally enough, with low stakes topics like the music and the drink selection in the bar. You’re in no hurry to tell this man anything personal or leave this spot with him, but you’re enjoying looking at him and hearing him enough that you don’t mind being a bit of entertainment.

He bumps your knee with his at one point, but you pull your own knee away. At first he seems to take the hint, and time passes without any more advances.

Soon, however, he grows more bold.

“Why don’t we go somewhere else, baby?” he asks as he lightly squeezes your thigh. “Somewhere more private?”

“No thanks,” you say as you jerk your leg away, though the motion doesn’t make him let go. “I’m fine talking here.”

“You know this is a sex club, don’t you?” he says. His smile and voice haven’t changed, but somehow he seems much slimier than he did five minutes ago, and the strong paw gripping your leg that seemed so enticing in your head feels suffocating in reality.

“I’m not here for that, I’m just hanging out with friends-” You try to leave the stool, but the man throws his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in.

“Come on, babe! What did you think I was after by chatting you up like this? You’re not gonna leave me hanging, are you?” He’s holding you closely enough that his hot breath is hitting your face, and the stench of his cologne is making you gag. “C’mon, baby, I’ll show you a good time. You won’t regret this-”

“She said no.” Husk had somehow snuck his way to your side without you noticing, and was now glaring daggers at your pursuer. “Back off.”

“Who are you, her grandpa?” the wolf laughs, refusing to unhand you. “Or just a nasty old man who likes ‘em young?”

Your captor’s laughter is quickly interrupted by a high-pitched howl. His face is now adorned with four jagged, bleeding lines.

“What the fuck, old man?” he yells as he unhands you. Just as quickly as you’re unhanded, you’re grabbed again, this time by Husk grabbing your waist and pulling you away.

“I knew I fucking hated this place,” he growls. “Where are Cherri and Angel?”

You have no idea, but your first guess has you looking toward the sex rooms in the back of the club.

“Jesus Christ… they’ll find their own way home. Come on, we’re going back to the hotel.”

You don’t appreciate being dragged out of the club like a misbehaving child, but as the alcohol clouds your thinking, you can’t quite formulate a protest.

Considering how pissed off your admirer must be right now, maybe it’s for the best that you don’t stay.

—

The walk back to the hotel is blurry; if Husk had anything to say to you besides pissed off obscenities muttered beneath his breath, you don’t remember it. Your next memory finds you laying on the couch in the lobby, your head aching from a combination of a hangover and the time spent laying on the couch’s arm with your neck at a weird angle.

“What time is it…?” you murmur as your eyes try to adjust.

“About noon,” answers Husk from the bar.

As you continue to look around the lobby, he appears to be the only one here. “Where is everyone?” you ask through a yawn.

“Angel and Cherri still aren’t back, but I’m sure they’re fine. Charlie and Vaggie left to give you some quiet. Alastor and Niffty…” Husk shrugs after their names, then falls silent.

You groan as you push yourself into a sitting position, one that has you facing Husk. He doesn’t appear to have anything to do, and is instead standing with his chin resting on his crossed arms atop the bar. An awkward silence falls between the two of you, giving you plenty of time to observe Husk’s body language, particularly the way his tail is lashing behind him while his ear gives the occasional twitch.

He is not in a good mood.

“Are you okay?” you ask. Your well-meaning question only seems to piss him off further; he answers not with a word, but with a growl. “Is this about last night?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists.

“I’m sorry I caused you trouble…”

“Wasn’t your fault.” His tail lashes even harder. “Just don’t worry about it, all right?”

You’re going to keep worrying about it until he stops looking so on edge.

“Thanks for getting me away from that guy last night,” you say, just in case you didn’t thank him in your drunken haze.

“Hey, it’s what a good bartender does. When you see someone starting shit with another patron, even if it’s not your bar, you take care of the problem. That fucker had no right to put his hands on you after you told him to cut it out.”

He may be gruff, but at least he has standards.

“Can’t believe Cherri and Angel left you alone in there… those two better not take you to anymore fucking sex clubs, you don’t need to be around shit like that…”

“I’m a grown adult,” you protest. “I didn’t want to sleep with that guy, but if I did want to get with someone at that club, that’s my business.”

Husk’s eyes widen for a moment, before he returns to his original dour expression. “Yeah… guess you’re right.”

“And what about you? You didn’t look interested in picking up anyone last night. Why’d you even come?”

“How do you know I wasn’t interested?” he shoots back. “Maybe I was interested in someone! Maybe I just… didn’t have the balls to go for it.” He stands up straight and shakes his head. “Look, can we drop this? Hang out in sex clubs if you want, I don’t fuckin’ care.”

He’s speaking with the tone of voice of someone who very much cares.

“I’m done with ‘em, though. You’re right, you’re an adult, you don’t need me hanging around like some fuckin’ guardian angel.” He pours a glass of clear liquid, and you expect him to down it himself, but he instead steps out from behind the bar still holding the full glass. “I overreacted last night. Shouldn’t have made it your fuckin’ problem.” He approaches the couch, takes a seat, and offers you the glass. “Here, one last favor. Drink this and I’ll get off your ass.”

You take the cup, wondering if for some ungodly reason he’s trying to get you to down straight vodka.

“Why are you looking at me like that? It’s water. That headache’s only gonna get worse if you’re dehydrated.”

You take a sip of the water, and after only a few swallows you’re already regaining a bit of your desire to live. “Thanks,” you say before taking another large gulp.

“No problem,” he responds. You expect him to return to the bar, but he remains next to you on the couch. His body language has gotten no less agitated. What is going on with him?

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you doting on Angel or Cherri like this,” you observe before finishing the glass.

“They’re used to it, and they’ve got each other,” he says as he takes the glass from you. “You want some more?”

You shake your head, and he remains seated with the glass.

“You, though… I don’t know, something about that guy just pissed me off,” he says. “Even before he started touching you I didn’t like him. Bartender’s intuition, maybe? I’m still not over the awful feeling he gave me.” He sighs heavily. “I just… hate the idea of seeing you get hurt in a place like that. I know Angel and Cherri can take care of themselves, but you’ve never seemed as wild as they do, so I wasn’t sure…”

“Is that why you were watching me the whole night?” you asked.

Husk’s body jolts. “Shit, you noticed?”

“I kept looking over there wondering if you’d ever move from that spot, and if you weren’t actively drinking you were staring at me,” you said. “You weren’t subtle.”

Husk groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. I know you’re capable. I was just…”

“You weren’t there because you were interested in someone at all, were you?”

“I never said I wasn’t. I mean it when I said I just didn’t have the balls to say anything to ‘em. Instead, I just wondered… what I’d do if someone else asked ‘em. Knowing it’d be my own damn fault for not speaking up sooner. Trying to tell myself it wasn’t that big a deal if they went with someone else… until someone started flirting with ‘em, and touchin’ ‘em, and-” His body tenses as he growls, but relaxes after a moment. “Damn it, I haven’t had to do this in years...”

“Done what?”

“You know what I said about losing my ability to love years ago?” He turns his head and looks directly at you for the first time since he sat down. “...I think I’m remembering how to do it again.”

Things are starting to fall into place. “And the person who helped you remember is…?”

The slightest of smiles crosses his face. “Who do you think?”

You wouldn’t have guessed it before today, but it all seems so obvious in retrospect. He’d spent so many nights with you when he could have been in bed, just chatting with you or comforting you after a bad day. You’d really grown so fond of his smile, and Angel had told you before that he used to never smile.

But surely, you thought, he couldn’t have been smiling because of you…

“What am I even saying?” he asks as he turns away from you. “You died in the prime of your life, and down here you can have that prime forever. You could do so much better than a washed up old drunk.”

“You’re not washed up,” you assure him as you place your hand over his. “I think it’s great that you got to live such a full life! You have so many stories to tell, and so many talents… I bet there’s so much you haven’t told me yet.” You try to reassure him with a smile and a light squeeze to his hand. “So much you haven’t shown me, either. You talk a lot about when you were in a band, but I’ve never gotten to hear you play…”

“I haven’t touched an instrument in years,” he says. “I bet I don’t even remember how to play anymore.”

“Well, you don’t know if you don’t try, right?”

You don’t think you’re just saying that about instruments.

“It’s been such a long time… what if I screw up?”

You don’t think he’s just talking about instruments either.

“It can’t hurt to try. Maybe… maybe you’ll enjoy it even more than you remember.”

“Hmm…” He doesn’t seem fully at ease, but he hasn’t taken his hand back yet. “If I can get my hands on a saxophone, and I really haven’t forgotten how… sure. I’ll play for you.

…you just have to give me some time, okay? I’m not used to it anymore… especially with another person…”

“Take all the time you need,” you assure him.

He turns his hand around so he can hold yours back, and his smile seems to grow slightly. “Just gotta start slow… get used to things again…”

“You’ll be fine, I know you will,” you assure him. He seems content to leave the conversation there, but there’s one more thing you need to say. “Husk?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I’ll be going back to that club. No point when I’m not interested in picking up dates anymore.”

He squeezes your hand. “Glad to hear it.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin husk x reader #irk blubbers about nothing #irk got asked a thing #irk talks to strangers #irk huskposts

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statiicstag · 8 months ago

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Alastor leans forward onto the desk, elbows placed primly on the surface and his chin finding itself within the palms of his own hands. His gaze is nothing but amused and impassive as he watches Husk rise and begin to pace worriedly.

❝ If you dare to show up that underdressed, I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to dangle you like a slab of meat in front of Rosie's cannibalistic townspeople! I'm unsure if they have a taste for cat, though I am certain they'd be eager to find out. ❞ He somehow manages to sound both deadly serious and lighthearted at the same time, his head tilting to smush his cheek into the palm of his own hand.

A no-go? Well that won't do, will it?

He materializes behind Husk, now leaning against the arm chair he finds himself sat in. His grin sharpens so violently it may as well make the sound of a switchblade, eyes falling to half mast as his arms wind their way around Husk's shoulders.

❝ I am attending. And wouldn't you know it? Without a plus-one! ❞ He shifts so he's facing him, quite the unsettling sight. ❝ Why not go with me? I believe you'd look dashing in red, wouldn't you agree? ❞ He tugs his bow tie, pulling and pulling before releasing, it landing back onto Husk's chest with a sharp snap.

With his back still to Alastor, Husk winced as the Radio Demon hovered and mocked. Sometimes, the bartender was convinced Alastor could smell desperation - he was a maker of deals, after all. It was his nature to prey upon those lacking and in need.

“Whadda you think?” Husk sighed and pulled away to begin pacing. “It’s just a party. I’ve got dress shirts and slacks, that’ll cut it, right?”

Of course it wouldn’t be enough. This wasn’t just a gathering, it was Rosie’s famed Blood Ball. He used to attend them annually back in his Overlord days, but had only recently taken interest in returning. If he didn’t make his grand comeback with a bang, why even bother going at all? With a groan, the feline sank into one of the common area arm chairs and tossed the invitation onto the coffee table.

“Guess it’s a no-go this year,” he mumbled and slumped in his seat.

#【 ☓ 】 ❙ STAY TUNED. ❙《 in character. 》࿏#【 ☓ 】 ❙ BITTER BARTENDER. ❙《 husk. 》࿏#top-shelf-tender #[his deery godmother]

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darcydarlingdabbles · 5 months ago

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One Last Round

♠ Hazbin Hotel ♠ RadioHusk ♠ Explicit ♠ 2.8

Husk always says that's the last time, every time the fucking Radio Demon comes to find him long after the bar closes. //I've never written a hate fuck...until now XD //

♠┈┈♦┈┈❤┈┈♦┈┈♠

Husker gathered up glasses from the now empty bar in the Hazbin Hotel lobby. His nails clinked against the cups in the echoing silence after everyone had gone to bed for the night, and he was just glad there wasn’t more clean up to do.

For a bunch of damned souls and the Princess of Hell, the little get together had been surprisingly calm.

No brawls, no property damage, barely any debauchery—though he could have done with a bit more drinking.

“Should be fuckin’ happy they didn’t trash this place.” Husk muttered, wiping down the sticky remnants of mixed drinks and cocktails from the polished wooden surface. “Or the radio fucker’d have me up all night scrubbin’.”

He longed for the comfort of his bed and its nest of pillows, his mind already on sleep…so he didn’t notice the shadows gathering across the bar.

The soft clink of ice in a glass made his ear twitch. Husk’s hackles rose—praying it wasn’t exactly who he thought it was.

Alastor perched primly on the last bar stool like he’d been there all damn evening. With the dimmed light glinting off those shark’s teeth of his.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Husk yelped, stumbling back into the shelf and sending glasses rattling like bowling pins. “Don’t do that to an old man, you creepy bastard!”

Alastor just chuckled softly behind that never-slipping smile.

The cat demon’s hair was still standing on end, but he quickly brushed down his arms. Hiding the evidence. As if Alastor needed anymore cause to dig right under his skin.

Damn smug Radio Demon.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Husk growled. “Party’s over. Go haunt someone else’s nightmares.”

“Oh, my dear Husker,” his voice purred with amusement, propping his elbow up on the bar and his clawed fingers under his chin. “Is that a confession—you do dream of me?”

Those red eyes glinted with mischief even in the dimmed light. Husk’s fur bristled and his slashing tail betrayed his agitation.

“Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself.” He grunted, turning back to drying the glasses, before remembering he hadn’t washed them yet. “Ain’t in the mood for your games, Alastor.”

The Radio Demon cocked both eyebrows above his smirk.

“Now, now.” He leaned forward on his stool, his voice taking a sing-song lilt.“You are a bartender, are you not? Fix me a drink, my good fellow.”

Husk’s ears flatted to his head. Gritting his teeth against the urge to tell Alastor exactly where he could shove his drink.

“What’ll it be?” He growled out instead.

The other man’s grin widened impossibly further, leaning over the bar as if he could close the distance that Husk was keeping between them.

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I like, Husker.” Alastor’s voice dropped to a low, intimate rumble that shivered down the cat demon’s spine like a prickle of electricity.

His tail stilled before he could stop it, and he silently cursed himself and his boss.

“Ain’t happening,” Husk said gruffly, refusing to meet Alastor’s knowing gaze as he reached for rye whiskey and a clean glass.

He poured a generous measure, neat, just the way Alastor liked it. His eyes followed the glass sliding across the bar, picked up with an elegant twist of his wrist, and bringing it to his lips. Inadvertently locking with Alastor’s predatory gaze.

Husk’s ears flattened to his head.

“What’s the matter, old friend? Not fond of your own taste in drinks?” He raised an eyebrow before taking a delicate sip of the rich amber liquid.

Husk swallowed as Alastor did.

The Radio Demon let out a low, appreciative hum, his eyes never leaving the cat’s face as he set down his glass.

“Intensely bitter.” He licked his lips, too damn deliberate to be innocent. “Just the way I like it.”

Husk shook his head to clear it. He hadn’t had enough to be this damn cloudy. With a huff, he turned his back on Alastor and found anything he could grab to occupy his hands.

“Stop fuckin’ around,” he muttered to the imaginary stain in the glass he was cleaning. His wings twitched as he felt Alastor’s eyes burning a hole through his back. “Ain’t you got better people to torment?”

The air behind him crackled with static.

Husk froze, feeling his hair stand in waves—he knew what was coming, but he was powerless to stop it.

The Radio Demon’s presence leaned down over his shoulder. His hot breath ghosted over Husk’s flicking ears as he spoke in a deep, dangerous tone.

“Oh, my dear Husker. I assure you, ” Alastor purred and Husk’s spine curled with shivers. “When I begin to…fuck around, as you so eloquently put it…” Husk felt his heart stutter, waiting on the demon’s next word. “You will most certainly know it.”

The feathers of his wings puffed involuntarily as Husk stumbled forward, ignoring the surge of want that rushed through his blood as he turned around.

“I said it ain’t happenin’.” His gruff voice was weak even in his ears.

Husk searched frantically along the bar, fumbling with bottles and glasses, anything to keep his hands busy and avoid that burning red gaze.

But Alastor never was one to give up easy.

“Yes, of course,” he drawled, his presence looming right over the cat’s shoulder and his warmth tantalizingly close. “Just like every time it wasn’t happening, hmm?” He chuckled softly.

Husk felt his tail sway with interest—and hit into the other demon’s legs.

“Just like every time it didn’t happen. Right, darling?”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” Husk snapped back, fighting off the memory of every time Alastor pulled out the honeyed words and sweet names.

His resolve was crumbling, like it happened, every time.

Husk opened his mouth to bite out some nasty insults, but the words died in his throat as he felt something terribly, wonderfully familiar. Alastor’s long, slender fingers threading through his fur.

The demon’s touch was gentle but deliberate, claws drawn perfectly down Husk’s back with practiced ease.

“What was that, my dear Husker?” Alastor grinned at his ear.

Husk bit into his lip, desperately trying to stiffle the purr building in his chest, but his back was arching into Alastor’s hands.

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Husk growled without an ounce of venom. “Y’know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“Of course I do,” Alastor replied, his grin clear in his voice. “I know you better than anyone, old friend.”

Alastor’s fingers continued their ministrations, finding all the spots that made Husk’s resolve crumble. The cat demon’s wings twitched, feathers rustling as pleasure as a soft, rumbling purr escaped his throat.

This dangerous little habit he’d gotten into. But the high of giving into Alastor was as addictive as booze—a bet he thrilled in losing.

He should push the bastard off and tell him to fuck off.

“Dammit,” Husk gritted out.

Alastor’s ears stood straight up at the sound of the demon’s resolve breaking. His fingers drew up along the cat’s back, pushing the suspenders off his shoulders and letting them fall loose without a scrap of resistance.

Letting Alastor know he’d won.

The Radio Demon leaned down, his hand stroking down Husk’s chest and belly as he leaned to his ear, cooing heatedly. “There’s a good kitty.”

“Fuck—” Husk gasped out as Alastor cut him off with a bite to his sensitive ear. The cat’s body responded in an instant, a wave of arching arousal that nearly burned the rest of the fight out of him.“—you.”

Alastor simply chuckled, his breath hot against Husk’s neck.

His long-fingered hand curled around the tent straining at the other demon’s pants, dragging a strangled groan from the old cat.

“How about one last round for the evening?” Alastor hummed, gripping the nape of Husk’s neck as he palmed his arousal. “You know I will make it worth your while.”

Husk growled, but nothing in him wanted to resist the wicked treatment Alastor gave.

“Stop tryna be slick,” he growled as his hips bucked forward. “And get on with it.”

“Certainly!” Alastor’s grin was impossibly wider as he snapped his fingers.

Husk grunted as he was shoved forward by the shadow tentacles that had started to pool around his ankles. Suddenly, his bare ass was on the bar top, his pants gone, and his legs spread like a damn invitation.

The curses died on his tongue as Alastor leaned over him with a predatory grace, dragging his tongue in a hot, wet line down the pink skin of his cock.

“Slick, did you say?”

“Don’t fuckin’ tease—” Husk’s words dissovled into a choked moan as Alastor took his cock into his mouth.

The cat’s claws gripped the edge of the bar, leaving grooves in the wood as the other demon worked over his length. He never felt the edge of those teeth—but he certainly felt the slide of that silver tongue.

“Cocky bastard.” Husk huffed, wriggling against the tendrils that kept him still. Alastor’s laugh vibrated through him, making the cat shudder.

A slick tentacle materialized between them, sliding up between Husk’s thighs until it found his furled hole. The old man squirmed against the slithering, gasping as he felt the tip press inside and start to stretch him as Alastor continued his ministrations.

Husk slipped his nails into the demon’s hair, knowing full well he was taking his life into his hands when he pulled at the deer ears. Alastor snarled against him, but never drew his mouth back.

Even as his claws sank into the shelf behind the bar.

The tentacle writhed inside Husk—until it hit that spot that put every hair on end as pleasure rocketed through him. His wings flared wide, knocking Alastor’s forgotten whiskey glass across the room.

A shadow caught it.

“Careful darling,” Alastor chuckled, taking the glass the tendril brought to his hand. “We wouldn’t want to make a bigger mess for you to clean up, would we?”

The Radio Demon smirked, licking his lips as he took a casual sip of his whiskey.

“You’re a real smug son of a—”

Alastor cut his retort off by dropping his mouth back onto Husk’s cock. Until it and the tentacle were leaving him a gasping, trembling mess on the bar top. Desperate for more than the agonizingly slow stretch.

“You plannin’ on taking all damn night?” Husk growled, his tail thrashing wildly.

Alastor’s eyes gleamed with wicked amusement as he raised the whiskey glass to his lips. “My, my. Impatient, aren’t we?” He took another leisurely sip, savoring Husk’s growing agitation. “Good things come to those who wait, dear Husker.”

“For fuck’s sake, Al,” Husk muttered, his wings twitching with each movement of the tentacle.

With a flick of the Radio Demon’s wrist, the neon green chain materialized around Husk’s throat, making his yellow eyes go wide.

Alastor wrapped the links around his fingers, and then yanked Husk forward.

Their lips crashed together.

The taste of whiskey flooded Husk’s senses, familiar and intoxicating, making him lean in desperately for more.

♠┈┈♦┈┈❤┈┈♦┈┈♠

As their lips parted, Husk panted heavily, his breath mingling with Alastor’s. The Radio Demon’s eyes sparked deviously, and the tentacle within Husk writhed in response.

“Ya gettin’ on off on bein’ a fuckin’ tease?,” Husk accused, his voice hoarse.

“I like it when you’re…feisty” Alastor smirked, his fingers tracing the edges of the chain around Husk’s neck. “And I’d be happy to let you go without, if you’d rather not play my game.” He said, with an air of faux sweetness.

Husk let out a sound of pure irritation, the tentacle still squirming inside him as others held his legs and wings in place.

He hated the way Alastor could turn him on and then toy with him like this.

Husk knew he was powerless against Alastor, and his wicked charms. A habit he couldn’t kick.

The cat let out a frustrated groan, his body tensing as the tentacle brushed his sweet spot once again. He knew Alastor wouldn’t let him come, not yet at least, even as he grabbed desperately for the man’s lapels.

“I can wait you out, Husker.” Alastor sang to him.

“Fuck you.” Husk gritted back.

“You wish.” Alastor intoned as he took another long, luxuriating sip of whiskey.

Husk hissed, trying to hold back the moans that threatened to escape. He didn’t want to give Alastor the satisfaction—didn’t want to give in to his game.

But every nerve ending was on fire, and the tentacle inside him was edging into him. As Alastor just sat back, and smiled, and smiled…

And Husk couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed the glowing chain with both hands, and pulled the other demon flush against him. “Fuck me already.” He demanded in a desperate whisper.

“What was that, old friend?” Alastor taunted, inches from Husk’s nose.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Husk was about to rip his own fur out. He struggled against the shadows holding him, trying to tug the immovable Alastor forward. “Fine! I want ya to fuck me ‘til I can’t see straight. Fuck—please!”

Alastor’s smile stretched across his face. “With pleasure.”

The chain vanished, and the Radio Demon’s hand wrapped around Husk’s throat.

His yellow eyes went wide as his back was pinned against the bar, but he only struggled when he felt the teasing tentacle withdraw—only to let out a low hum as he felt Alastor’s cock slide inside him at last.

“Fuck…” Husk grabbed at the demon’s wrist, trying to steady himself as the other finally began to move.

It was slow, deliberate, dragging the bliss from him with every thrust.

But Husk wanted more.

“Fuck you and the things you do to me.” He tried to snarl through his husky voice and the hand just holding on to his neck.

“Always a pleasure,” Alastor chimed, his voice dripping with saccharine charm to Husk’s roiling frustration. “To hear such delightful vulgarity.”

Husk could feel his orgasm building, but he knew Alastor wouldn’t let him come yet. Not until he was good and ready.

“Faster,” Husk demanded, his voice strained.

And he hated the fucking laugh that answered him.

“Relax Husker,” Alastor purred, “We’re not done yet.”

With a snap of his fingers, Husk found himself face down behind the bar. Alastor’s cock was back inside him before he could protest the loss. Fucking him hard and fast.

Husk mewled. And he’d be mortified—if he could give a fuck beyond the feeling of Alastor’s cock hit his sweet spot again and again.

The Radio Demon’s claws and arms were elongate and caging him in, his wings and his legs still bound in shadows, and…ragged, panting breaths were at his ear.

Husk was surrounded. Consumed by Alastor. The sick fuck that owned every inch of him.

The cat demon cursed the last thought he had before he tumbled over the edge. He let out a low growl, his body shaking as he squeezed around Alastor’s cock.

Husk collapsed onto the bar, his body spent.

There were fingers running through his fur, soothing him as he caught his breath.

Husk lay there, panting heavily, still trembling from the bliss that had just ripped through him. He could feel Alastor’s own release, hot and wet inside him.

The other’s weight was still on top of him, the radio demon’s chest heaving against his back as he struggled to catch his breath.

Alastor’s fingers were running through Husk’s fur, gently tracing patterns along his spine. It was almost soothing, and Husk found himself relaxing into the touch.

“Don’t get sweet on me now.”

Husk let out a low growl, too damn tired to flatten his ears to his head—even as his tail curled around the man’s waist from behind. He could feel Alastor’s breath hot against his neck, the Radio Demon’s lips grazing his skin as he spoke.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, old friend.” Alastor chuckled.

Husk let out a huff of laughter. “Get the fuck off me,” he muttered, but there was no real heat behind the words.

Alastor chuckled, his fingers stilling for a moment before resuming their gentle stroking. “Always so charming, aren’t you?”

Husk rolled his eyes, but he didn’t protest as Alastor continued to touch him. He could feel the Radio Demon’s length was still inside him, growing hard again—damn demonic powers.

And he knew that Alastor wasn’t done with him yet.

For now, he was content to lie there and let Alastor pet him like a cat. It was almost...nice.

And when Alastor was ready for round two, Husk would be ready to fight him every step of the way.

#Honestly #I get it now #that was hot af #Radiohusk #alastor #husker #Alastor x husk #husk x alastor #smut #hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor hazbin #husk #rare ship #top alastor #bottom husk

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statiicstag · 7 months ago

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@top-shelf-tender // @angie-long-legs

Whilst Angel had never been one to exactly hold his tongue around Alastor, impeding on his personal space by shoving a finger into his face ( one that he was tempted to bite straight off ) and raising his voice was certainly new. About as new as his cozier relationship with a certain bartender under his thumb was.

Romantic inclinations puzzle him so, the way they can shift your very brain chemistry and make you behave in ways you'd never had the gusto to before. Risking your very life for the sake of another person . . . it was part of why Alastor didn't bother. Whilst he wasn't emotionless, he knew the risk of both hurt and harm that came with putting that much trust into anyone other than yourself.

At least, he'd like to think he knew. The twist in his gut when he saw them together was certainly just irritation at their brazen displays of public affection right in their foyer. And his knack for appearing and needing Husk at, supposedly, 'inopportune' times for the two of them was most certainly not on purpose.

Calmly, Alastor raises his staff and lowers that accusatory arm, leveling his gaze. ❝ Oh, dear. I've caught you in a rather ornery mood, haven't I? ❞ he asks, nonplussed by Angel's anger. If anything, it only spurs him to continue. ❝ Do try to calm yourself. I've only asked him to assist me with a few tasks around the hotel. He does have a certain responsibility to it, you know—I hadn't summoned him here for fun and games ! ❞ His hand waves the spider away, a condescending way of telling him to 'shoo!' ❝ Run along now, will you? ❞

#【 ☓ 】 ❙ RADIOS NOT DEAD. ❙《 queue. 》࿏#【 ☓ 】 ❙ STAY TUNED. ❙《 in character. 》࿏#【 ☓ 】 ❙ BITTER BARTENDER. ❙《 husk. 》࿏#【 ☓ 】 ❙ NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN! ❙《 angel dust. 》࿏#top shelf tender #angie long legs #[HI I SAID ID DO THIS AGES AGO i hope this is a good prelude to the horror to come]

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tothemeadow · 1 year ago

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Commissioned by anonymous

Rengoku Shinjuro x (Male) Reader

With a life full of hardships and never truly knowing "peace", maybe it's about time for Shinjuro to truly let go.

warnings: NSFW, Shinjuro's alcoholism and depression, hair pulling, some humiliation, lol he's a bottom, age gap

notes: just some angst and Shinjuro getting it up the butt, modern AU where demons are still a thing, written from a past tense and then in present

words: 2.1k

Rengoku Shinjuro, by all means, is not the soft, compliant type.

No, throughout his years, it’s always been Rengoku, do this or Rengoku, do that. Hailing from such a prestigious family, he’s never been granted a true taste of freedom, a true taste of himself. Ever since he was young, he’s been subjected to harsh training and grueling lectures of how terrible the real world is. For centuries, the Rengoku name has been a stone in the demon slaying world, and – quite literally – a pillar for others to look up to.

His personality became sour as thus. He was lucky enough to score himself such an incredible wife (at least that’s what the others whispered behind his back). Even more, that very wife bore two heirs. The Rengoku bloodline has never given birth to females; they always relied on outside sources to keep that pure bloodline flowing, to keep the locks of flames and sunburst eyes carrying from generation to generation.

Shinjuro should’ve been happy. He had a beautiful wife, a set of boys, was alive.

But.

And that’s what it is, the but that comes with everything in life.

He would never grow to know true peace. His sons, also born in this cruel, cruel world, wouldn’t be able to dream of it. They are Rengoku’s, after all, and they’d be damned if they didn’t carry on the tradition of their ancestors.

His bitterness only grew when Ruka, his beloved, passed. His sorrows could only be drowned out by limitless booze, the pain in his heart much too suffocating for him to bear. It didn’t take long after that for him to rid himself of the Flame Hashira title and close himself in from the world. He was no longer Rengoku Shinjuro, whoever the hell that even was. He was only the husk of a man, the pathetic wick left behind from a burned-out candle.

Drinking became Shinjuro’s new passion. The bottle became his best friend. His fist rarely became lonely, knuckles long gone white from the ceaseless clasp. Both of his sons became strangers, struggling to withstand the man their father had become. The eldest, Kyojuro, eventually took his brother away, the two of them moving in with Uzui-sama, the smug bastard.

Things had never been easy. Not when he was a child, and certainly not when he grew into adulthood.

The strong pillar of a man became nothing more than a pile of rubble.

It began with a single drink and a prolonged stare.

Shinjuro (unsurprisingly) frequented many bars, usually too stir-crazy to stick with one for too long. It was only when he found a hole-in-the-wall that he finally settled, decided that this was it.

He’d spent too many nights staring into the bottom of empty glasses, wondering if he would pass out in the bathroom and never get up again. Perhaps someone would start a fight and try to swing a stool at his head – no, that wouldn’t work, he’d been beaten up by too many god-forbidden creatures for a stool to do any real damage.

Needless to say, when the bartender silently placed another glass of his go-to before him, Shinjuro was surprised. Normally, he would signal for another round with a grunt or a slew of drunken words. The bartender only gave him half a smile, his head jerking to the other side of the bar. Shinjuro’s eyes merely followed, a strong brow quirking up his forehead.

Hah.

You were just some punk ass kid, most likely the same age as his son. Granted, he kept his hair long, but that was about it when it came to feminine qualities. Thick hair, though blond, covered the entirety of his arms and chest, and his face was in a constant stage of stubble. Shinjuro knew he wasn’t a looker. Why had you looked at him from everyone else in the bar, he couldn’t possibly fathom. He figured it had to deal with the dim lighting.

But no, you took that glance as the greenlight and hopped from your stool, scurrying your way to where Shinjuro sat. You gave a simple May I?, body hesitant and eyes hopeful. Frankly, Shinjuro couldn’t care. A free drink was a free drink and if he was lucky enough, he would forget all about this encounter anyway.

Or so he hoped.

He wasn’t sure how it happened. One moment, you were trying to crack jokes and butter him up with saccharine words; the next, he was flat on his back on his mattress, in his home, with you in between his legs. Your pants were hot and heavy in his ear, lips skimming the stubble adorning his jaw as your cock pounded in and out of him.

Shinjuro would never.

He wasn’t the kind to lay dormant and let others take control of the reins. He was a Rengoku, for fuck’s sake. He used to be a goddamn Hashira. He’s a man, not some broken down little whore who’s prying for attention or money or-

And then he came, all hot and thick, coating his abs in a sticky feeling he’s not used to. His mind cleared, heartbeat shuddered, back ached – he’s not cut out for this shit.

But.

It’s always the fucking buts that come with life.

A good lay is a good lay, and god knew how long it’s been since Shinjuro had one of those.

Getting drunk is all that mattered, no matter the method.

“I need you to relax, love,” you breathe into his ear.

A shiver ripples down Shinjuro’s spine. A shaky sigh graces the air as he snuggles further into the pillow. Splayed out on his stomach, Shinjuro’s completely at your mercy; you straddle his behind, hands slick with oil as they rub and dig into the many knots throughout his back. Unlike you, Shinjuro is bare naked. Your clothed groin grinds into the split of his cheeks, just barely a chub.

Glancing over his shoulder, Shinjuro catches the quick glint of the band encircling your finger. Heart leaping to his throat, his insides squeeze as water gathers in his eyes (it might be because of the particularly deep knot you’re pressing at, but still.)

The universe… finally decided he deserved a break.

After that fateful encounter that night (and the back-breaking sex), you somehow… got into Shinjuro’s good graces. You made breakfast for him the next morning, rubbed his sore muscles, joked about his bedhead and morning breath… It was so domestic. It had been too long since another soul had graced his home, and it was almost too overwhelming…

A date led to another, sex became a regular thing, and Shinjuro found that he enjoyed letting loose and having someone else take hold of the reins. There wasn’t any Rengoku, do this! screaming in his ears, only your gentle tone telling him to take it deeper and praising him for being such a good boy.

It didn’t take long for you to ask for his hand in marriage. For one, Shinjuro never dreamed of remarrying, much less to a person of the same sex. Two, for that someone to be just as kind and gentle as Ruka was, only to totally switch sides behind closed doors, was something else entirely. Shinjuro never pictured himself as the type to be physically or romantically involved with another man, but life had other plans.

“You’re tensing up,” you murmur, your voice stirring him away from his thoughts. You place a kiss to his spine. “What are you thinking about?”

What did I do to deserve this?

It’s not like Shinjuro is a kind man. He did his job, put another generation of Rengoku’s into the world, then sank into a depressed stupor full of alcohol when he couldn’t find the will to live anymore. So what did the universe see in him? What did you see in him?

“Shinjuro, answer me.” Your voice, although soft, carries a harsh undertone.

“I’m a piece of shit,” Shinjuro grunts. It’s all too easy to see your displeased expression in his peripheral.

“We’ve talked about this,” you tell him.

And yeah, you did. He came clean about his trauma, about the demons plaguing the world, his dead wife, his estranged sons. You had some daddy issues of your own (surprise). The two of you were floating in dead space, drifting with the passing days. It was sort of a miracle when you two met.

“I know,” is all Shinjuro says, the words dissipating into a sigh.

Scooching off from his bottom, you easily push the muscular, hairy thighs apart and settle in between. Slicking up your thumb with more oil, you press the digit between his cheeks, slowly caressing the pursed hole.

“Obviously, we have to go over it again,” you tell him. “Tell me why I love you.”

Heat floods to Shinjuro’s face. Mind you, he never blushes. He stares hard at the wall across from him, thankful for the pillow smooshing the other side of his face. He knows he should answer. Last time he disobeyed, you bent him over your knee like a bratty child and spanked him until the skin matched the red in his hair. He almost craves for you to be rough with him, to put him in his place.

“I’m the father you always wanted to fuck.” It’s a poor attempt at a joke. Humor has never been Shinjuro’s strong suit. He does, however, receive a light swat against his behind in warning.

“Horrible answer. Try again.”

He grunts when you grasp onto a meaty asscheek, your hand roughly kneading it. Your thumb barely presses against his hole.

“Brat,” Shinjuro mutters. How ironic. If anyone is the brat in this relationship, it’s him. “Husband loves my physique, the hair on my chest, my ass-“ he wiggles his butt as he says this, “-and how I’m such a good boy.”

You reply with a snort. “Wouldn’t kill you to indulge me a little…”

A groan gets bit short when you abruptly grasp onto the loose strands of blond hair and yank. Shinjuro’s head cranes backwards, his neck screaming from the effort. Hot kisses land on his spine, the thumb encircling his hole dipping in slightly. Easing out and in, you tease him slowly, relishing in his heavy breaths and foggy eyes.

His cock stirs; Shinjuro wastes no time grinding it into the mattress, knees and hips raising to meet your touch. Hardened nipples graze the sheets, his heavy tits heaving with each ragged pant. It takes practically no effort anymore to get him stirred up, to have him hungry for your cock.

“My big, muscular boy,” you say, teeth skimming along the line of his spine, “so desperate to be fucked like a whore. Is this what a fall from grace looks like? To be on your hands and knees, waiting for someone to belittle you and make you theirs?”

Your dominance is unlike anything Shinjuro has ever seen. Usually, you’re all soft words and warm hands, willing to help him with anything. A perfect little househusband, you told him once, a giggle hanging from your lips. Someone to be there when you need them most.

But this…. This is something else.

You grope at the muscles of his back, his ass, his tits – you leave nothing untouched, besides his cock. A hand keeps his hips steady as you slip your cock inside, the hot resistance clasping down in a vice-like grip. Shinjuro moans weakly into the pillow, precum leaking from his neglected cock. You waste no time pulling back and snapping your hips into him, cock plunging in to the hilt. Your balls slap heavily against his ass, fingers moving from spreading his cheeks further apart to pulling at his hair.

“Mine,” you hiss into his ear, but then follow up with a quick kiss. “So soft, compliant… What a spectacle you are. I bet no one would ever have guessed that the former Flame Hashira would like getting cock so much…”

Blood thunders in his ears. With a slight whimper, Shinjuro buries his face in the pillow, shame and arousal making his skin simmer and cock leak like a faucet.

“Ah, ah, ah, honey, don’t hide your face, it’s just us here,” you say, tone switching to something buttery smooth and sweet. Your actions clearly contradict your words; you snatch his head back with a firm grasp, fingernails grazing against his skull. Your cockhead attacks his prostate with a deadly precision. Soon, Shinjuro is nearly sobbing, mouth lax and fingers clenching onto the sheets.

You fuck him to completion, his eyes rolling back in his skull as his balls pull tight and he cums in several long, drawn-out spurts. Your hands easily reach around his chest and clutch onto his pebbled nipples, your lips finding the side of his neck.

He expects you to finish inside him and leave it at that, but…

As he learned long ago, there are always buts.

You never get to let him know what that but is.

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