Hustle. @huskersgamble - Tumblr Blog

🃏🂡♠️♥️♣️♦️― highly selective, & private, alive Human!Husk from Hazbin Hotel. Canon divergent, very headcanon heavy.

#hazbin hotel rp #hazbin rp #husk rp #husk #husker

Alastor was cold. But Husker? He was so comfy, so naturally heated that it didn't take long for the young mage to slip out of his bed to waddle to Leo's own. This time it was unbearably cold. Too cold. And so, as he crawled into the elder man's radius to sleep, he cruelly pressed his frigid little toes against the bare back of the bigger man, desperate to soak in his warmth into his frozen feet.

Husk jolted awake with a violent snort, his whole body seizing at the sudden stab of freezing cold against his bare back.

“JESUS fu-!” he barked, voice rough with sleep as he practically arched off the mattress. His hand slapped blindly behind him before he twisted around, glaring murder into the darkness. The blankets were yanked open in one sharp motion. And there, curled into an absurdly tiny ball against his side like some half-dead alley cat, was Alastor.

Husk blinked.

Alastor’s knees were tucked to his chest, fingers buried beneath his chin, nose pink from the cold while those damned ice-block feet were still pressed against Husk’s leg in a shameless attempt to steal warmth.

“…You little shit,” Husk growled. He grabbed one of Alastor’s ankles and immediately recoiled again. “FUCK, your feet are like icicles!” Thoroughly unimpressed, he rubbed a hand down his face with a long suffering groan before glaring back down at the younger man. “The hell’s wrong with your own bed? Freeze over?” he grumbled. “Coulda just asked instead’a trying t’kill me in my sleep.”

@mic-check-smile

#micchecksmile #ic.

noahsresources

POSITIVITY TIME ! drop a ✦ in my inbox and i'll tell you at least one thing i like about your writing, portrayal, headcanons, world building, blog aesthetics, whatever it is i like about your blog, writing, & portrayal!! if you can't see the symbol, send 'star'!

#saaaaame!#I've been away ling enough #i miss u all #and I wanna tell u guys how good u all are

junkfoodcinemas

Blade Runner 2049 (2017) Directed by Denis Villeneuve

#it's a husker's life | musings.

mic-check-smile

Alastor could sense Husker's rage a mile away. He was well aware what this information would cause. But he still felt it was right. Leo had the right to know now...he was the only one who still after all this time together, didn't see him as some sort of monster, even when he himself did...

Husk saw humanity in the demon he would eventually become. But not just that he-...Al wanted to tell him. It was strange, almost euphoric to get that off his chest. The only other person who had known was long dead now...his mother. She was the one who patched him up, took care of him in the agony.

For many months he suffered trying to just get the power to walk right again, to just regain that which everyone else took for granted took a toll on his mental health...another notch in the many many reasons he wanted to kill his father. The bloodlust never let him go...not until the next year when he finally did the deed.

Alastor said nothing more after his confession. Instead he stayed quiet, held onto Leo and waited for them both to make it inside the old yet not shabby bar. Husker had much pride in this place. He kept it clean, the place was a sturdy home away from home.

When they entered and he was set down on a nearby stool by the bar top, the younger man sighed and murmured a quiet thanks before leaning back again the bar counter. Husker was kneeling before him and the brunette went rigid at his soft question.

Coughing a little awkwardly, he obliged all he same, giving a short curt nod of approval. He winced faintly as his trouser leg was rolled up and for a moment he just watched, swallowing hard when he realized Leo found his bullet scar.

The ebony haired bartender gently pecked his scar and the radio host could do nothing but blush and give out a quiet sheepish giggle at the act. Sweet silly fool.

"Not to worry, yes...he is quiet dead indeed." Alastor's left brow twitched ever so slightly. "...It was me. I killed him." The younger man replied, giving a little shrug like it was the most casual thing to admit to patricide.

"I made sure he screamed..." He muttered. There was a darkness there in his voice. "I wanted him to know just an ounce of the misery and pain he put I and my mother through...I fear it will never truly be enough to sedate my hunger..."

"But eherm...thank you, Leo. Your company...your care. It truly means the world to me, my dearest. I mean that." Al murmured sheepishly.

huskersgamble

Leo didn't move for a long moment. His hand remained on Alastor's knee, thumb tracing slow, absent circles over the scarred tissue as the confession settled between them like stones dropped into still water.

I made sure he screamed. Alastor's words hung heavy between them.

Husk exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw working side to side as he processed. Of course he'd seen worse, done worse, been party to worse since falling into Alastor's orbit. No, what settled in his chest like lead was the loneliness of it. A fifteen-year-old boy, shot by his own father, patched up by his mother, then left to claw his way back to something resembling whole. All alone.

All alone.

Leo's mind drifted, unbidden, to the night they'd met.

Two years earlier. A different bar, dimmer, dirtier. Husk had been tending it out of necessity. Alastor had walked in like he owned the place. Cane tapping a rhythm against the floorboards, smile so wide it looked carved into his face. Charming. Disarming. Dangerously young.

Leo had grunted, unimpressed by the proposition and said, "Not interested."

But Alastor had persisted. Leaned across the bar, close enough that Husk could smell the rain on his coat and something darker underneath, maybe blood.

Leo blinked, pulling himself back to the present. To the bar he'd built with his own hands, the one he kept clean and polished and safe. To the man sitting on a stool in front of him, all sharp edges and buried wounds.

"You were just a kid," Leo said finally, voice rough. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. "Doin' all that alone. Living alone, probably. Hobblin' around on a bad leg, no one to..." He stopped. Pressed his lips together. His hand tightened on Alastor's knee, not painfully, just… grounding.

No one to carry you when it gave out. No one to kiss it better. No one to crouch in front of you and just… listen.

Leo's brow furrowed deeper. A thought surfaced, ugly and unwanted, and he couldn't quite shake it... Maybe it's in his head.

He'd seen it before, men who convinced themselves they were broken because of trauma, because of the war. Wounds that healed but left ghosts behind. Pain that lingered long after the body had mended.

He looked up at Alastor and saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled around the edge of the stool like he was bracing for something. Rejection, maybe. Disgust. The same reactions he'd probably gotten his whole life whenever he'd let someone close enough to see.

You're not getting that from me, sweetheart.

Leo rose slowly from his crouch, knees popping and moved into Alastor's space, hands coming up to frame either side of the younger man's face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

"Hey," he said quietly, waiting until those red-brown eyes met his. "Listen to me."

He waited. Made sure he had Alastor's full attention.

"I don't give a damn that you killed your old man. Sounds like he had it coming." Leo's voice was steady, firm, no trace of the uncertainty that had flickered through him moments ago. "What I give a damn about is you. Right here. Still breathin'. Still standin'. Still smilin', even when it's hard."

His thumbs swept over Alastor's skin again, slow and deliberate.

"But what if the limp's just... habit now?" Leo muttered, almost to himself. Then louder, more directed: "What if you could walk without the cane if you just," He stopped. Saw the way Alastor's expression flickered. Something wounded passing over those features before being buried under that familiar smile.

"I ain't sayin' it is," Leo said quickly, holding up a hand. "I ain't sayin' you're makin' it up. But I've seen shit like this before." He tapped his own temple. "Sometimes your brain gets stuck in patterns. Your leg was hurt. Real bad. So your brain learned to expect pain. And maybe now, even when the physical part's... not as bad as it used to be, your brain's still screamin'."

Leo crouched back down in front of him, elbows on his knees, looking up at Alastor with something careful in his gaze.

"I'm not a doctor. I don't know shit. But..." He hesitated. Rolled his shoulder in a half-shrug. "We could find out. Together. No pressure. Just... see what happens when you try walkin' without it. On a good day. When there ain't no rain comin'."

He reached out, took Alastor's hand and held it between both of his own.

"If it hurts, we stop. If it's too much, we never try again. But if there's even a chance that you don't have to carry that cane around forever..." Leo's thumb brushed over Alastor's knuckles. "Wouldn't you wanna know?" He pulled back just enough to look at him again, expression softening around the edges.

"Now. You want somethin' warm for that knee, sweetheart? I got a heating pad in the back."

@mic-check-smile

#ic.#micchecksmile

cashewnutdraws

Husk's yaoi hands compared to Al's twinky smol ones >:3c

huskersgamble

@mic-check-smile

huskersgamble

🃏🂡♠️♥️♣️♦️― highly selective, & private, alive Human!Husk from Hazbin Hotel. Canon divergent, very headcanon heavy.

#promo!

radiotransmitter

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℍ𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕕 𝕄𝕒𝕟 is a vehicle of forced confinement or self-imposed limitation that he is urged to go through either by his own desire or an inescapable need to offer himself up as a sacrifice for a certain gain; the hanged one signals unhappiness and dissatisfaction with the situation he ended up in.

⇢ for an old pal!

ensalada-de-lengua-de-pajaritos

#it's a husker's life | musings.

"you promised me you’d stay. why did you lie?"

drunken confessions | always accepting!

Alastor would find Husk with a near empty bottle of rye clutched in a white knuckled grip. He flinched. His eyes, bloodshot and unfocused, tried to find a fixed point on the paisley wallpaper.

The question hung in the air like smoke, heavy and acrid. You promised me you'd stay. Why did you lie?

His fingers twitched against the neck of the bottle, knuckles gone white. The rye was almost gone, just a finger left, warm and spiteful at the bottom. He'd been nursing it for the better part of an hour, trying to drown something that refused to stay dead.

Husk's head swam. The room tilted and swayed like the deck of a ship, and for a sickening moment he was back there in the mud, in the rain, with the shells whistling overhead. He blinked hard, and the speakeasy swam back into focus. Cheap wallpaper. A dusty phonograph in the corner that hadn't played in years. And Alastor's shoes. Polished. Impossibly clean.

"I... I didn't.. I-" The words came out thick, slurred at the edges. He stared at his own hands like they belonged to someone else. The tremors had started again. Or maybe they'd never stopped. "I couldn't help myself."

It was a lie. Alastor probably knew it too. He could have helped himself. He'd chosen not to. He'd chosen the bottle because it was better than having to think straight. The memories clawed at the edges of his mind anyway. The bottle wasn't working fast enough tonight.

Artillery. The way the ground shook under his feet and made your teeth rattle in your skull and you couldn't tell if the ringing in your ears was the shells or just your own blood screaming. He remembers Jenkins, that kid, crying for his mother with half his face gone. O'Brian, who'd stepped out of the trench to relieve himself and caught a bullet between the eyes before he could even zip his trousers. The goddamn trench fever that took more of them than the Germans ever did. Men shivering in the mud, burning up one minute and freezing the next, until they just… stopped.

Husk took a long, shuddering drink. The rye burned. It wasn't enough.

"Why do you even care?" His voice came out gruff. Almost a growl. Then finally he lifted his gaze, and the sight of Alastor standing there. All clean, and proper and pressed. Made something ugly twist in his chest. "You don't own me."

The words were a reflex. A knife he threw because he didn't know what else to do with his hands. He watched Alastor's face for a reaction and found none, which was worse than anger would have been. Anger he could fight. This quiet… this patience… it made him feel like a specimen under glass.

"You gonna lecture me again?" Husk's lip curled. The bottle sloshed as he gestured with it. "About Freud or some shit?"

His laugh came out broken. Hollow. It died quick.

Husk tipped the bottle back. Empty. He stared at it. Then at his hands. Then somewhere past Alastor's shoulder, at nothing at all. The numbness was supposed to come. That was why he drank. Not for the warmth. The bottle never warmed you. It just made you cold enough not to feel the rest of it.

But tonight, he was just drunk. And tired. And so goddamn tired of being tired. He set the bottle down. It made a hollow sound against the wood. Husk's throat tightened. He took another swig just to feel something burn.

The room spun a little. Or maybe that was just him. Husk slumped back against the booth, the cracked leather cold through his shirt. He hadn't shaved in days. He knew what he looked like. Knew what he smelled like. Knew exactly what Alastor was seeing: a man who'd crawled back into the bottle and pulled the cork in after him.

He closed his eyes. The darkness behind his lids was kinder than the judgment in Alastor's silence.

"You should leave," Husk muttered. "Go back to your radio show. Your adoring listeners. They're waiting for you to tell 'em something cheerful. Something with a... a happy ending."

@diistortion

#ic.#diistortion

rp-grannies

[Sentence Starters] The Great Gatsby (2013)

Feel free to add context, change pronouns, names, jobs, and anything else you need to change to make these work for you! Have fun! ^-^

❝ I’m inclined to reserve all judgements. ❞

❝ Back then, all of us drank too much. ❞

❝ Only one man was exempt from my disgust. ❞

❝ He was the single most hopeful person I have ever met… ❞

❝ Let’s say, after dinner, you and I will go into town! ❞

❝ Life is something you dominate if you’re any good. ❞

❝ Is that you, my lovely? ❞

❝ (Full Name). The golden girl. ❞

❝ I’m paralyzed with happiness. ❞

❝ She was the most frightening person I’d ever seen… but I enjoyed looking at her. ❞

❝ I’ve been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember. ❞

❝ Oh, you must know (Name)? ❞

❝ You remind me of a rose, an absolute rose. ❞

❝ Its just, well, you see, I think everything’s terrible anyhow. ❞

❝ I’ve been everywhere, and seen everything, done everything. ❞

❝ I’m pretty cynical about everything. ❞

❝ That’s the best thing a girl in this world can be: a beautiful little fool. ❞

❝ All the bright, precious things fade so fast. And they don’t come back. ❞

❝ (Name)’s said to be very good looking, by people who oughta know. ❞

❝ Ain’t we havin’ a party? ❞

❝ Alone, and a little embarrassed, I decided to get roaring drunk. ❞

❝ Small parties, there isn’t any privacy. ❞

❝ May I have this dance? ❞

❝ You penniless pantywaist. ❞

❝ Rich girls don’t marry poor boys. ❞

❝ His smile was one of those rare smiles that you may come across four or five times in life. ❞

❝ I’ve just heard the most shocking thing. ❞

❝ What is your opinion of me, anyhow? ❞

❝ I didn’t want you to think I was just some nobody. ❞

❝ I’m going to make a very big request of you today. ❞

❝ Looking at my tiepin? Finest specimen of human molar. ❞

❝ The way he looked at her is the way all girls want to be looked at. ❞

❝ We could take a plunge in the swimming pool. I haven’t made use of it all summer. ❞

❝ I bought cakes. ❞

❝ Did you ransack a greenhouse? ❞

❝ I’m certainly glad to see you again. ❞

❝ This was a mistake. This was a terrible, terrible mistake. ❞

❝ You must understand that I like all things that are modern. ❞

❝ Remarkable little camera, isn’t it? Latest design. ❞

❝ I don’t want to forget a single moment. ❞

❝ Music… And then we can dance all night! ❞

❝ I’ve never seen such beautiful shirts before. ❞

❝ We can’t lose each other and let all this glorious love end in nothing. ❞

❝ Come home. I’ll be here waiting, and hoping for every long dream of you to come true. ❞

❝ I wish I’d done everything on earth with you. ❞

❝ What the hell are you doing, old sport? ❞

❝ You can’t repeat the past. ❞

❝ It was a great mistake for a man like me to fall in love. ❞

❝ If I could just get back to the start… ❞

❝ I could only climb if I climbed alone. ❞

❝ I knew that when I kissed this girl, that I would be forever wed to her. ❞

❝ I don’t wanna go home. ❞

❝ My life has got to be like this. It’s got to keep going up. ❞

❝ What’ll we do this afternoon, or the day after that, or for the next thirty years? ❞

❝ Oh, don’t be morbid. ❞

❝ You look so cool. You always look so cool. ❞

❝ You must think I’m pretty dumb, don’t you? ❞

❝ He wears a pink suit for Christ’s sake! ❞

❝ I’ll make you a drink, (Name). Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself. ❞

❝ You see, we were born different. It’s in our blood. ❞

❝ None of this has any consequence. ❞

❝ I just remembered… today’s my birthday. ❞

❝ (Name), you should go home and get some rest. ❞

❝ I had a lot of things, but the truth is I’m empty. ❞

❝ I can’t describe how surprised I was to find out that I loved her, and that she loved me too. ❞

❝ They’re a rotten crowd. You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together. ❞

❝ It’s perfect. From your perfect, irresistible imagination. ❞

❝ Wait up with me. ❞

❝ I became aware of (Name’s) extraordinary gift for hope. A gift I have never found in any other person… and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. ❞

❝ So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. ❞

#memes.

adventurelandia

Get Rich Quick (1951)

#it's a husker's life | musings.

fcwnique

⠀⠀⠀⅋⠀⠀⠀The body lays beneath Alastor’s feet, cold and unmoving. Pale skin sallow, sickly against the vivid ruby of the blood dripping languidly from his body. Another bastard rendered bloody by his hand—he’s finally looking up at Alastor, finally regarding him with 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓, and the respect that comes with it. Not with scorn. Not with pity. Right where he belongs.

⠀⠀His chest heaves. His body trembles. His head is light, his limbs loose and floaty. The line between distress and euphoria blurred the moment Alastor’s blade met flesh; his veins thrum, adrenaline shooting through, his thoughts racing, and it’s the most 𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆 he’s ever felt. Nothing can compare to the high after a kill, not even the strongest drug. It’s an unmatchable, reckless joy, uncontainable and thrilling, like your stomach lifting on a rollercoaster or your heart pounding as you look down at the land from a cliff’s edge. Elation storms inside his body, the blood roaring in his ears like fireworks, a smile bright as a flashbulb bursting uncontrollably across his face.

⠀⠀He hardly registers Husk’s presence until his wrists are being grabbed, the knife knocked from his grip with a clatter as Alastor’s head clears marginally. Husk is looking at him with panic, with concern, fragile in the way that overwhelms Alastor with the urge to take him in his hands and 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 him like a pretty piece of porcelain, just to piece him back together. Are Husk’s hands trembling, or is that him shaking so violently ? His cheeks hurt from smiling.

⠀⠀Besides their tremors, his bloodstained hands are still; Alastor doesn’t even try to fight against the touch, unlike usual, still smiling like it’s the best day of his life. Like he can’t 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑, even though he’s still catching his breath, chest stuttering with pants. But the sharpest contrast to his smile are his eyes: blown wide, glazed with sugary bliss, yet burning feverishly and swimming with terrifying intensity. They fixate on Husk despite never seeming to stay in one spot, darting wildly around.

⠀⠀Husk’s voice seems to reach him through a fog, only sharpening enough for Alastor to understand after a few panicked words. So desperate, so pleading—amusement flickers before it’s drowned out by the high again, and a laugh bubbles up in his chest. It breaks through once, a shrill, jagged noise, before building into wheezy cackles that he can hardly breathe around.

⠀⠀❝ Husk ! ❞ Alastor manages, his voice high and thin, edged with mania. Husk’s question—can’t he see the body ?—nearly sets him off again, a few more deranged chuckles escaping. It’s hard to think; his thoughts are oh-so slippery, coherency escaping whenever he tries to grasp it, still overwhelmed by the sweet ecstasy of the kill.

⠀⠀❝ I’m just taking out the trash ! ❞ Alastor laughs again, throwing his head back. He staggers closer to Husk, arms pliantly—and frighteningly uncharacteristically—limb in Husk’s hold. He’s still shaking. Why can’t he stop 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 ?

huskersgamble

Alastor's laugh... That shrill, fractured sound bouncing off the walls like shattering glass. Husk feels it in his teeth, in his bones, in the part of his chest that's been caving in since he walked through the door. He wants to be angry. God knows he should be angry. Should be shouting, shaking some sense into this bastard, demanding answers like any sane person would.

But then he looks at Alastor's eyes.

And the anger dies before it can even catch flame.

Those eyes, wild, swimming, darting like trapped things... They aren't looking at him so much as through him, past him, around him. Like Husk is just another shape in a room that's already too full of noise and color and blood. The pupils are blown so wide there's barely any brown left, just bottomless black pools reflecting the lamplight in ways that make Husk's stomach turn.

He's seen Alastor drunk. Seen him high. Seen him so sleep-deprived he couldn't tell morning from midnight. He's never seen him like this.

"You're shaking," Husk hears himself say, and his own voice sounds distant from the ringing in his own ears. His thumbs press into the inside of Alastor's wrists without thinking, feeling for a pulse, maybe. Or just needing to feel something other than the tremors vibrating through those too-thin limbs.

The shaking doesn't stop. Neither does the smile.

Christ, that smile. Why is it so creepy?

"Okay," Husk breathes, and it comes out steadier than he feels. "Okay. We're... we're gonna sit down. Yeah? Just for a minute."

He doesn't let go of Alastor's wrists. He's terrified those hands might find something else to hold. Something sharp.

Moving slowly and deliberately like one would approach a wounded animal. Husk starts walking backward, pulling Alastor with him. The chair is still there by the desk, the one Alastor likes to sprawl in when he's feeling particularly insufferable. Husk navigates them both toward it, boots slipping once in the mess on the floor, and he has to catch

When Alastor's knees hit the chair, Husk pushes gently. Those gangly limbs until Alastor is sitting and Husk is crouching in front of him like some kind of supplicant.

One hand stays locked around Alastor's wrist. The other comes up slowly and brushes the hair back from Alastor's forehead. The strands are damp. Sweat, maybe. Or something else Husk doesn't want to think about.

"You with me?" Husk asks quietly, and his voice cracks on the last word. He clears his throat, tries again. "Al. Hey. You in there?" The smile doesn't waver. The eyes keep darting. But for just a second, a fraction of a heartbeat, something flickers across Alastor's face. Recognition, maybe. Or confusion. Or both. Husk will take either.

"Who the hell was that?" He tips his head toward the body without looking at it. Can't look at it. If he looks, he'll see the blood again. The stillness. The way the limbs are arranged all wrong, like a doll someone got tired of playing with. "Who'd you just—" He stops. Swallows. Tries again. "Who was he, Al?"

Husk's jaw tightens. He glances back over his shoulder despite himself and immediately regrets it. The body is sprawled near the window, face turned toward the wall like even in death it couldn't bear to look at what was happening. Dark hair. Dark clothes. Nothing distinctive, nothing familiar, just… a person. A person who was alive an hour ago. Maybe less.

Husk's mouth goes dry. He turns back to Alastor, forces himself to focus on the here and now. On the trembling hands still in his grip. On the wild eyes that are trying to focus on him even if they can't quite manage it...

He looks at the body again. At the blood pooling beneath it, spreading slow and inexorable across the floorboards. At the knife lying where it fell, blade still wet, catching the light in ways that make Husk's stomach lurch. "We have to get rid of the body," he says, and the words taste like ash in his mouth. Like surrender. Like complicity. "Somehow. We have to... Christ."

He drags a hand down his face, nails scraping through stubble hard enough to hurt. His heart is pounding. His thoughts are racing. And behind him, he can still hear Alastor breathing. Fast and shallow, each exhale edged with something that might be laughter or might be sobs. He needs to move. Needs to do something, anything, before the stillness of the room swallows him whole.

Husk tears his gaze away from Alastor, from that smile, those eyes, the blood drying tacky on his fingers, and turns toward the rest of the apartment. His boots make wet sounds against the floor. Each step feels like walking through tar. He finds the blanket in the bedroom closet, an old quilt with the frayed edges. He doesn't look at it as he walks back. Doesn't look at anything except the floor, the path he's already stained with his boots.

He drapes it over the body in one motion.

When he turns back toward Alastor, the world tilts sideways for just a second before righting itself.

Husk crosses the room on autopilot, dropping back into a crouch in front of him. The blood on his own hands is starting to dry now—cracking when he flexes his fingers, flaking off in rust-colored specks. Doesn't want to think about where he'd wipe them to.

"There, I covered it," he says, and his voice sounds hollow. He doesn't know why he's telling Alastor this. Doesn't know if Alastor even understands.

His hand finds Alastor's knee. Squeezes once. Gentle.

"We're gonna figure this out," he says, and he doesn't know if Alastor cares. "Just... stay with me, alright? Don't go anywhere I can't follow."

@fcwnique

#ic.#fcwnique

rxgnofiglia

@huskersgamble // x

The sly smile upon her lips remained as she watched his reaction to her question. It was cruel of her, she knew that ... But, it was one of the less cruel actions she's done to someone in awhile. Molly, would argue, she couldn't help it! Especially when she had a good amount of some giggle juice beforehand ... Casual drinking enough to give her a buzz.

Enough for her to embarrass him with such a question.

Though, there was sincerity behind it.

Of course there was. The look in her eyes said it all.

Molly felt her heart flutter when he'd admit how he was at her beck and call -- devoted, dare she say ... If it's due to the pay, or herself, the line was rather blurred.

Her satisfied smile would begin to falter slightly when he continued, however ... His own honesty - brutal, like he could be.

'Daddy doesn't have ta' find out' hangs on her tongue, but doesn't leave passed her lips. She knew that it was a slippery slope. It wouldn't just be one little kiss and that's it. No, such a thing would only open the door further ... And trouble to easily slip itself in.

Yet, the thought of it thrilled her, she'd have to admit. Having to keep themselves hidden behind closed doors, danger of being caught -- a real romeo and juliet! ... But, Molly knew that the consequences wouldn't be as severe for her as it would be for him.

He had not only his job, but, his life on the line, too. Certainly his boss wouldn't appreciate him making moves on his daughter. He'd see it as her being taken advantage of, which, more importantly, meant that her father was being disrespected.

As Molly continued her airy stride, she'd return to smile yet again. "I'm not askin' you ta' kiss me," she'd continue. "I'm askin' if I DID ask, would you? Didn't really give me a real ansa' ..." She couldn't help herself. Unable to have the real thing, least she can hold onto a little fantasy, could she?

huskersgamble

Would you? She’s pushing, always pushing. Poking at the edges of his restraint like she wants to see him crack.

And God help him, he’s damn close.

Their walk slows. His feet feel heavier with every step, the rhythm of their pace falling out of sync until they’re barely moving at all. The street around them fades, the distant hum of traffic, the muffled laughter spilling from a bar down the block, the flicker of a dying streetlamp overhead. None of it matters. Only her. Only the way she’s looking at him, that sly smile still lingering, those eyes knowing exactly what she’s doing to him.

He doesn’t even register the next decision. It’s instinct, pure and reckless. His palm finds the curve of her waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress like he’s been waiting his whole life for permission to touch her. The contact sends a jolt warm and devastating.

The air shifts between them, thick and electric, and Husk feels every muscle in his body go taut at her words. Every voice in his head, every shred of professionalism, every line he swore he wouldn’t cross. They’re all screaming at him to step back, to laugh it off, to tell her to quit while she’s ahead. But he guides her back, until her shoulders meet the rough brick of the alley wall. The sound of her soft intake of breath hits his ears, and something in his chest tightens painfully.

This is a mistake.

He leans in.

Close. So close he can smell the faint sweetness of whatever she’d been drinking, can see the way her pupils dilate in the low light, can feel the warmth radiating off her skin like a second heartbeat. His free hand comes up, knuckles brushing against the wall beside her head, caging her in without quite touching. His lips hover a breath away from hers. Close enough that if she just tilted her chin up, just the slightest fraction, they’d meet.

This is the biggest mistake of my life.

But he can’t stop.

His gaze searches hers, dark and hungry and honest as if hasn’t let himself be since the day he took this job. He remembers that day. Remembered thinking it was a joke. A waste of his skills. Some rich prick’s spoiled daughter who needed a babysitter, not a bodyguard. He’d rolled his eyes when he’d gotten the assignment, already dreading the endless nights of following some bratty socialite to parties she was too young for, cleaning up messes she was too careless to avoid.

He’d been wrong.

So goddamn wrong.

Because Molly wasn’t spoiled. She was sharp and witty that kept him on his toes. So clever that surprised him every single time. She noticed things other people didn’t. She asked questions that made him think, that made him remember who he was before all this. And she was bright, lighting up every room she walked into like the sun had decided to take human form just to torment him.

Beautiful, too. But that part he’d noticed right away. It was the rest of her that had undone him.

And now here he was, pressed against her in a shadowed alley, every good reason he had to walk away crumbling into dust at his feet.

His voice, when he finally speaks, is barely a rasp. Low and rough and meant only for her.

“You wanna know if I’d kiss you?”

He tilts his head, just slightly, just enough that his nose brushes against hers. His eyes fall half-closed, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks.

The words hang there, heavy and fragile. His thumb traces a slow, almost absent circle against her hip, and he feels her shiver, or maybe that’s him. It’s getting hard to tell where she ends and he begins.

He leans in closer. And closer.

“OI! Car’s ‘round the corner! You two comin’ or what?”

The voice cuts through the moment like a blade. Sharp, jarring, real. Tommy. The driver. Standing maybe fifty feet away, squinting into the alley like he’s not sure what he’s seeing.

Husk freezes.

For one horrible, suspended second, neither of them moves. His hand is still on her waist. His face is still inches from hers. His heart is pounding so loud he’s certain Tommy must hear it.

He pulls away like he’s been burned. His hand drops from her waist, his other fist uncurling from the wall beside her head. He takes a step back, putting distance between them that feels physically painful. His jaw is clenched so tight it aches, and he can feel the heat still lingering in his cheeks, in his chest, everywhere she’d touched him without laying a finger on his skin.

“Yeah,” Husker calls out, voice steadier than he has any right to sound. “Yeah, we’re comin’.”

Tommy gives them a weird look but shrugs, disappearing back around the corner with a jingle of keys.

Husk exhales slowly, dragging a hand down his face. When he finally glances at Molly, his expression is carefully neutral, but his eyes betray him. They always do, when it comes to her.

“C’mon,” he says quietly, offering nothing else. Nothing about what almost just happened. He turns and starts walking toward the car, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his knuckles white.

@rxgnofiglia

#ic.#rxgnofiglia #you're killin him here

datchidatchi

[Day 4: Love In a Bottle]

#booze jazz | audio.

bookished

( a collection of drunken confessions dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <3 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

(mix of silly, emotional, messy, sweet, and chaotic)

"you ever think maybe we were meant to meet... like, cosmically?"

"i shouldn't say this... but i've been in love with you for forever."

"shhh. don’t tell anyone i said this but... you’re my favorite person."

"you’re so pretty. it’s actually unfair. i’m mad at you now."

"i miss you. even when you're here, i miss you."

"if you asked me right now, i’d run away with you."

"i told myself i wouldn’t cry and now look at me—i'm soggy."

"can i tell you a secret? no one knows this. not even me."

"i don't want to go home. it’s not warm there like you are."

"you smell like safety. that’s weird, right?"

"you always leave the party too early. stay longer this time. stay with me."

"i don't like them. i never did. i only said yes to make you jealous."

"you were my first love. not that you needed to know that."

"you always knew me better than anyone. it’s scary sometimes."

"every time you smile at someone else i feel sick. it’s pathetic, i know."

"i think you're the only person who's ever actually seen me."

"you promised me you’d stay. why did you lie?"

"remember when we used to dream together? god, we were so young."

"don’t laugh but... i wrote poems about you. they were bad."

"you’re everything to me. but it’s fine. you don’t have to feel the same."

"your hands are so warm. i could live here, holding you."

"you were my favorite chapter. i keep rereading you."

"i’m not drunk. okay i am. but the feelings? those are real."

"i wish i was braver when it counted."

"it’s you. it’s always been you."

"do you think we missed our chance?"

"they don’t deserve you. but i was too scared to try to be someone who did."

"stop looking at me like that. i’ll fall in love all over again."

"you said you didn’t want anything serious... but i did. i wanted you."

"i’m scared. and it’s not the booze—it’s the idea of losing you."

"i tell everyone i’m over you but then you look at me and i fall apart."

"you were the only one who stayed when everything else fell apart."

"if i tell you i love you, will you leave? please don’t."

"the world feels quieter when you're near. like everything makes sense."

"you taste like trouble and i’d still kiss you again."

"god, i hate you. i hate how much i still love you."

"every version of me has wanted every version of you."

"you were my home. i didn’t realize until i lost the key."

"don’t leave yet. just one more moment like this. please."

"i think i messed up. i picked everyone else before you."

"if i asked you to kiss me, would you?"

"remember when you held my hand like you meant it?"

"you’re my what-if. and it kills me."

"can we just stay like this? pretend it’s still us?"

"i forgive you. even though it still hurts."

"i lied. when i said i didn’t care. i always did."

"you look so good right now. it's annoying. stop it."

"you make the world feel a little less heavy."

"i saved every text. is that weird?"

"i love you. even if i forget this in the morning, i mean it right now."

#memes.

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