Chapter Text
“Where the Hell Is My Husband?”
(A Very Normal, Totally Platonic Situation)
Angel Dust was not waiting for Husker.
He was loitering with intent.
Big difference. Angel Dust did not need Husker.
That was the important thing.
That was the thing Angel repeated to himself while pacing the Hazbin Hotel lobby in heels that clicked a little too sharp against the marble floor.
He absolutely did not need Husker.
But—
“Okay,” Angel snapped, throwing his arms up, six of them flaring wide. “This is bullshit.”
Charlie blinked from behind the front desk. “What is?”
“Where. The hell. Is my husband.”
Vaggie didn’t even look up from sharpening a spear. “You’re not married.”
Angel scoffed. “Emotionally? Debatable.”
Husk had been gone for exactly forty-seven minutes.
Which, objectively, was nothing.
Subjectively, it was a personal attack.
Angel leaned over the bar—Husker’s bar, abandoned, empty except for the faint smell of smoke and whiskey—and groaned dramatically.
“He knows I hate when he disappears,” Angel muttered. “He knows it gets under my skin.”
Vaggie hummed. “Maybe that’s why he’s doing it.”
Angel froze.
“…Oh my god,” he whispered. “That sneaky bastard.”
Vaggie didn’t miss a beat. “Still not married.” She smirked at Angel.
Angel scoffed. “Legally? No. Spiritually? He’s three missed check-ins away from divorce court.”
Charlie blinked. “You check in with Husk?”
Angel froze.
“…That is not the point.”
🥃🕷️🖤
Husk, meanwhile, was having a fantastic time.
Not because he enjoyed stressing Angel out—he didn’t, actually—but because Angel’s patience was something rare and precious and fun to poke at gently, like tapping on glass just to hear the sound it made.
It wasn’t cruel.
It wasn’t mean.
It was… familiar.
Husk had stepped out to run an errand for the hotel—booze delivery, boring paperwork, the usual overlord-adjacent bullshit—but he’d taken his time. Let himself be seen, but not reachable.
Angel spotted him once on the street outside the hotel, leaning against a lamppost, wings tucked, talking to a low-level demon who looked one wrong word away from getting decked.
Angel burst through the doors.
“HUS—!”
The demon turned. Husk did not.
Angel blinked.
By the time he reached the curb, Husk was gone.
“Oh you motherf—”
🌆🥀🎲
Husk was missing.
Not gone gone. Just… selectively unavailable. Which was worse.
Angel spotted him twice—once through a window across the street, once reflected in a cracked mirror at the end of the hallway—but every time Angel moved, Husk vanished like a goddamn magic trick.
“Oh I know what you’re doin’,” Angel muttered, stomping down the hall. “You think this is funny.”
It was.
Husk leaned against a stairwell, arms crossed, watching Angel pace past for the third time in ten minutes.
He wasn’t hiding.
He was observing.
Angel’s patience was… fascinating. Stretchy. Loud. Dramatic. He complained constantly, but he never actually stopped looking.
Husk smirked to himself.
‘Still checks for me.’
🎇♥️🎰
Angel finally cornered him by accident in the hotel kitchen.
Or so he thought.
He turned a corner, ranting under his breath mid-sentence—“and then he’s got the nerve to—”
—and walked directly into a solid chest.
“Oh for f—”
Husk caught him by reflex, one arm around Angel’s waist, keeping him from face-planting into the counter.
They froze.
Too close.
Way too close.
Angel looked up, eyes wide. “There you are.”
Husker raised an eyebrow. “You were lookin’?”
Angel shoved at his chest, flustered. “I was complainin’. There’s a difference.”
“Uh-huh.”
Angel narrowed his eyes. “You doin’ this on purpose?”
Husker shrugged. “You noticed.”
Angel spluttered. “That is not an answer!”
Husk released him and stepped back, wings flicking casually. “Relax, Legs. I just had stuff to do.”
Angel crossed all four arms. “You vanish for an hour, you let me think you died, and you call that ‘stuff’?”
“Did you think I died?”
“…No.”
Husk smirked. “Liar.”
Angel flipped him off and stormed out.
Husk watched him go, fond and irritated in equal measure.
🎩🎲♥️
The next time was subtler.
Angel was at a club downtown, playing up charm and teeth and glitter, when a pair of demons started circling a little too close. One reached for his wrist.
Angel’s smile sharpened. “Hands off, sweetheart.”
The demon laughed.
Then the lights flickered.
The music stuttered.
A low pressure rolled through the room like thunder waiting to happen.
Husker’s voice cut through the noise—calm, bored, dangerous.
“Problem?”
The demon went pale.
Angel turned—and there Husk was, wings half-unfurled, eyes glowing faintly gold, standing just close enough that Angel could feel the heat of him at his back.
The demon stammered an apology and vanished into the crowd.
Angel exhaled, shoulders dropping despite himself.
“…You followin’ me now?” Angel asked lightly.
Husk shrugged. “You looked like you had it handled.”
Angel turned, grinning. “Then why step in?”
Husker met his eyes. Held them. Something unreadable flickered there.
“Didn’t feel like watching you get touched.”
Then—just like that—he walked off.
Angel stood there, heart doing something stupid and inconvenient in his chest.
“Son of a bitch,” Angel whispered fondly.
♠️🥃🌆💋
The ring happened on a Tuesday.
Angel came back to his room after a long day—heels kicked off, makeup half-wiped, exhaustion clinging to him like smoke—and found a small box sitting on his vanity.
Black. Plain. Unassuming.
Inside was a ring.
Silver, warm to the touch. Smooth band, faintly etched with symbols Angel didn’t recognize but could feel. Magic hummed under his skin the second he slid it onto his finger.
It fit perfectly.
“What the—”
Husk’s voice drifted from the doorway. “Don’t freak out.”
Angel spun. “Too late.”
Husk leaned against the frame, arms crossed, wings relaxed. He looked… nervous. Which was new.
“It’s just a ring,” Husk said. “Totally normal. Friendship ring.”
Angel stared at him.
“Relax. It’s fine.”
Angel stared. “You gave me a cursed object.”
“It’s not cursed.”
“It’s glowing.”
“Barely.”
Angel waved his hand. The glow flared faintly. “THIS is ‘barely’?”
Husk sighed. “It’s a buffer. Has a magic protection charm. If someone tries somethin’ stupid, it’ll give ’em a warning.”
Angel blinked. “…You made me armor?”
“It’s a ring.”
“You made me jewelry armor.”
Husk rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just—practical.”
Angel stared at him.
“…You made me a magic ring.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
Angel laughed, breathless. “Husk, this is already weird.”
Husk sighed, pushing off the doorframe. “It’s not a leash. It doesn’t track you. It’s just—” He hesitated. “Protective. Little bit of a buffer. If someone tries something they shouldn’t.”
Angel swallowed.
“…You do this for all your friends?” he asked softly.
Husk met his gaze. Didn’t look away.
“No.”
Angel slipped the ring back on, fingers curling around it like it might disappear if he didn’t hold tight.
“…Guess I’ll allow it,” he said, voice lighter than he felt. “But you keep pullin’ that disappearing act, I’m gonna start makin’ posters.”
Husk smirked. “You did miss me.”
Angel grinned. “Like hell.”
Angel squinted. “Do you give all your friends enchanted rings?”
Husk hesitated for half a second too long.
“…No.”
Angel’s stomach did a very annoying flip.
“…Okay,” he said, pretending not to care. “But if this is a proposal, I want somethin’ flashier.”
Husk snorted. “In your dreams.”
Angel smirked. “Careful, kitty. You’re already actin’ like a spouse.”
Husk paused in the doorway.
“…You still callin’ me your husband?”
Angel shrugged, suddenly shy. “Someone’s gotta.”
Husk huffed, shaking his head as he left.
But he didn’t ask Angel to take the ring off.
💍♥️♠️🎇🥀
Later that night, Angel found Husk asleep on the couch, wings loose, one arm draped protectively over the space beside him.
Angel hesitated.
Then, very carefully, he curled up next to him.
“This ain’t a date,” Angel whispered to the quiet room.
Husk, half-asleep, grumbled, “Didn’t say it was.”
Angel smiled into the crook of his wing, fingers brushing the ring.
💍♥️♠️🎇🥀
Where the Hell Is My Husband? (Everyone Else Knows)
The first person to say it out loud was Niffty.
She popped up between them at breakfast, eyes sparkling, hands clasped under her chin.
“So when’s the wedding?”
Angel choked on his drink. “—WHAT.”
Husk didn’t even look up from his coffee. “We’re not married.”
Niffty gasped. “Yet!”
Angel coughed violently. “See?! THIS is what I’m talkin’ about! People are gettin’ ideas!”
Charlie tilted her head, thoughtful. “Well… you do act like a married couple.”
Angel pointed at her. “Don’t you start.”
Vaggie smirked. “You fight, you hover, you defend each other, and you share furniture.”
Angel sputtered. “We do NOT share furniture!”
“Then why were you both asleep on the couch last night?” Charlie asked gently.
Angel froze.
Husk sipped his coffee. “Couch is public property.”
🕷️🥀💋♠️🎲
It got worse.
Alastor noticed.
Which meant it was over.
“My, my,” Alastor crooned one afternoon, leaning far too close to Angel. “You seem… guarded lately.”
Angel stiffened automatically.
Husk’s chair scraped back so hard it screeched across the floor.
Alastor smiled wider.
“Oh, relax, my dear,” Alastor said pleasantly. “I was merely commenting on how attentive your companion has become.”
Husk crossed his arms. “Problem?”
Alastor’s eyes flicked to the ring on Angel’s finger. Then back to Husk.
“None at all,” he said sweetly. “Just admiring the commitment.”
Angel looked between them. “…Why do I feel like prey.”
Charlie clapped her hands. “Group activity time!”
Husk sat back down immediately.
Angel stared at him. “…You almost threatened Alastor.” He whispered.
“Did not.” Husker grunted stubbornly.
“You growled.” Angel insisted, still whispering.
“I cleared my throat.” Husker redirected.
“You growled like a damn guard dog!” Angel whined as quietly as he could.
Husk grunted. “He was in your space.” He defended finitely.
Angel blinked.
“…Okay, see, when you say it like that—” He was then interrupted by a clap’ and Charlie’s overly enthusiastic voice regarding the group activity she had been planning for the last two weeks. ‘Here we go… This is so not over!’ Angel thought, practically pouting at Husker whom didn’t even dignify Angel another word in edgewise on the topic later on.
🎇🌆🥃🎲🖤
(Poking the Cat)
Alastor noticed two things at once.
First: Husk had started positioning himself closer to Angel without meaning to.
Second: Angel had realized this.
Which meant, naturally, that Alastor had to interfere.
“Angel Dust, my dear!” Alastor called one afternoon, appearing far too close for comfort. “Might I borrow you for a moment?”
Angel blinked, then smiled sweetly. “Sure! Lemme just check with my husband.”
Silence.
Husk froze mid-pour.
Alastor’s grin sharpened like a knife.
Angel turned his head just enough to watch Husk out of the corner of his eye.
“…Your what?” Alastor asked politely.
Angel leaned an elbow on the bar. “My husband. You know. The grumpy one.”
Husk slammed the bottle down. “I am not—”
Angel waved a hand. “Relax, it’s a nickname.”
Alastor hummed. “How endearing.”
Husk growled.
“Cleared my throat,” Husk snapped when Vaggie looked over.
🥀🩸🩹♠️🥃🩶
Alastor escalated.
He always did.
The next day, he was everywhere Angel was—too close, too charming, voice lilting in that way that made everyone else uncomfortable.
“You look radiant today,” Alastor purred.
Angel preened automatically. “I know, right?”
Husk’s wings twitched.
“And that ring!” Alastor continued. “A gift from someone special, I presume?”
Angel beamed. “From my husband.”
Husk choked on his drink.
Alastor placed a hand over his chest. “How romantic. And here I was thinking it was merely a protection charm.”
Husk glared. “It is.”
Angel tilted his head innocently. “You sound jealous, babe.”
“I am not jealous.”
“You’re glarin’ a hole through him.”
“I don’t like him.”
Alastor laughed. “Oh, this is wonderful.”
The breaking point came in the lobby.
Alastor had Angel backed against a column, posture theatrical, voice low and teasing.
“Tell me,” Alastor murmured, “does your ‘husband’ know you flirt this freely?”
Angel grinned. Loudly. Deliberately.
“Baby,” Angel called across the lobby, “you mind if I flirt with the creepy radio guy?”
Every eye turned.
Husk snapped his head up.
“…What.”
Angel batted his lashes. “My husband. The bartender with the wings.”
Husk’s magic flared before his brain caught up.
The lights dimmed.
The air went heavy.
Alastor’s eyes gleamed with delight.
“My, my,” Alastor said softly. “You seem… territorial.”
Husk stepped forward, voice low and dangerous. “Back. Away.”
Angel’s grin faltered—just a touch.
Alastor raised his hands in mock surrender. “Very well. I wouldn’t want to upset your spouse.”
Husk stiffened. “He’s not—”
Angel slid an arm around Husk’s waist.
Just for a second.
“Relax, honey,” Angel said brightly. “He’s kiddin’.”
Husk went very still.
Angel felt it. The heat. The tension. The way Husk’s arm lifted—not touching, not pulling away, just there, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
Alastor chuckled and drifted off, satisfied.
Angel didn’t move right away.
“…You okay?” Angel asked, quieter now.
Husk exhaled slowly. “…You do that on purpose?”
Angel smiled sheepishly. “Maybe.”
Husk scowled. “People are gonna get ideas.”
Angel looked up at him. “You don’t like it?”
Husk hesitated.
“…I don’t like him.”
Angel laughed softly. “Yeah. Me neither.”
They stood there, too close, not touching but not not-touching.
🥀🩸🩹♠️🥃🩶