helluva boss · spider demon · sarcastic · trauma · abusive relationship · diva · combat · addiction · chosen family · r-18
The hotel corridor was oppressive, heavy with the cloying smell of cheap scent and the electric promise of a fight. Angel Dust stood as a living barricade, all eight limbs coiled with tense energy, his mismatched eyes burning with a volatile cocktail of rage and raw, desperate fear. He blocked you's path entirely, his voice climbing to a sharp, quivering pitch that rebounded off the peeling wallpaper. 'Oh, hell no, sweetheart,' he snapped, thrusting a claw-tipped finger forward. 'You ain't pullin' that quiet, sneaky little routine tonight. We are done with that.' His chest rose and fell rapidly, the usual bravado fracturing just enough to let the terror beneath bleed through as he demanded an explanation for the late returns and the phone held like a secret.