#onetrickponi

[hachiibun]

❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

I'm honoured to have collaborated with the incredible @onetrickponi to celebrate a certain gravity-manipulating shorty's birthday! This has been in the works for a while now, and we're both really excited to finally share this with everyone!

Without further ado, we'd like to present Vigil.

— ♠ —

“I’ve always wanted to die in a church.”

Beside him, Chuuya snorts. “I thought you wanted to die in the Ooka.”

Dazai wrinkles his nose. “Not since it became a tourist trap,” he replies. “That wouldn’t be a peaceful death at all.”

“The amount of thought you’ve put into this disturbs me,” says Chuuya, his own nose creasing. His, however, is due to a low seated, buzzing itch along the bridge of his sinuses that has been lingering since breakfast.

Chuuya won’t give it the satisfaction of culminating into a sneeze, however; instead choosing to quash the soft tingle into oblivion with the sheer force of his willpower alone. Anything else would be unacceptable.

(—as well as fucking candy to the idiot next to him, if Dazai ever gets wind of…whatever this is.)

Chuuya swallows against a spark of itch that ignites in his nose and grits his teeth. When he thinks he can speak steadily he points to the pews with a gloved hand. “Find the flash drive,” he orders. “We’ve got a window of thirty minutes at—the fuck are you looking at, shithead?”

Dazai cocks his head to the side, blinks, and answers with, “Just admiring your striking resemblance to a cherub in this light.” It’s smooth and practiced, like most of Dazai’s bullshittery.

“Why, you–” Chuuya cuts himself off and exhales slowly through his nose. He tries not to wince at the slight whistling sound it makes. With a sharp sniff he stalks off to the sanctuary and begins sifting through the drawers there. Dazai scurries off to the apse with an excited noise, muttering something about how angelic his corpse would look strung up along the mosaics.

Chuuya’s nose gives a foreboding quiver.

It isn’t like Dazai hasn’t ever heard him sneeze, or vice versa. They’ve been working together too long for that. They’ve seen each other express every bodily function possible to man (in addition to the ones that aren’t).

And Chuuya might have even been okay with his current predicament, had it not been for a quip Dazai made last week about Chuuya being a “weakling.” It had stung because Dazai, whose lack of self care is, frankly, appalling, can operate seemingly unbothered by even the most serious neglects of basic needs. Chuuya’s seen him run at peak wit on days of sleeping ninety minutes a night, seen his hair and skin glow on a diet of crab cakes and sake…while on the other hand Chuuya’s the one with the—

Don’t say it. As if ignoring the problem will make it go away. It hasn’t worked with Dazai, so Chuuya is a fool to think it will work with his increasingly sensitive airways.

Chuuya rifles through some bibles, sparing a glance or two at Dazai before deeming it okay to swallow a couple of sneezes and throat clears into his sleeve. He’s perfected the silent stifle over time, which is a feat in and of itself since Chuuya tends to sneeze harshly, loudly, and in multiples. Perhaps the intensity is Corruption at work, but regardless, Chuuya enjoys scaring the living daylights out of people. Usually.

The flash drive is proving to be elusive. The Port needs it, badly, if they have any chance of winning over the west side gangs of the Pier. Chuuya jams a gloved knuckle against the side of his nose as he hitches, squints, and glares at the church pews like they personally offend him.

“Oi, Chuuya,” Dazai whisper-calls from somewhere behind a cupboard. “I think someone’s coming. You find it?”

“No,” Chuuya snaps. The dust of old, flaky books is making his already irritated nose twitch. He shakes his head and the tickle abates. Cocking his head he realizes that Dazai is right; the sound of slow footfalls is getting closer to the vestibule. “Shit.”

Dazai scurries lightly over to where Chuuya is glowering at nothing in particular, and takes him by the arm. “There’s a little den area over there,” he nods to a veiled corner, “where we can stay hidden until whoever it is leaves,” he says.

“Or we can just come back in the morning,” replies Chuuya, snatching his arm away.

“Mori-sama will be disappoinnnteddd,” Dazai sing-songs. Dammit. He knows how to hit Chuuya where it hurts and they both know it.

Chuuya sighs. “Fine.” He stalks over to the den and crouches in the darkness with Dazai just as the cathedral doors swing open. The gibbous moon twinkles through the stained glass windows enough for the two of them to make out one of the western gang’s right hands.

Dazai crouches low and squints through the shadows. “Maybe he’ll show us where the drive is,” he whispers.

“Shut up, slug.”

Dazai holds up his bandaged hands in a familiar, placating gesture. They watch the guy glide down the stone nave, rummage around some boxes along the altar’s steps, sift through a stack of papers, and make himself comfortable on a nearby cushion.

Well, there goes Chuuya’s hopes of a night in. And now with Dazai sitting so close, he’s bound to find out Chuuya isn’t in as good of shape as he claims. Chuuya’s not going to waste all of his energy hiding it, but he’s also not ready to be discovered because he couldn’t keep his damn nose under control.

He’d never hear the end of it from Dazai.

So when he feels a trickle of damp at the edges of his nostrils he takes a slow breath in and times a much-needed sniffle with their visitor’s dropping of a folder. Dazai shoots him a curious, but unsurprised glance, which Chuuya pointedly ignores.

The sneeze teasing the swollen membranes of his sinuses, however, is much harder to ignore. Chuuya knows he can stifle it, but he also knows that doing so won’t exactly solve the problem. The irritation needs somewhere to go, or it’ll just build fruitlessly until he lets them out proper.

He breathes carefully, making sure to hitch silently as he bunches up a handful of fabric from his jacket. Chuuya ducks his head in preparation for the sneeze (or sneezes, if this is indeed a…cold).

Dazai raises an eyebrow as he watches Chuuya curl into himself and shiver with two inaudible stifles. When Chuuya uncurls Dazai can see the bleary, hazy look of someone who still has desperately to sneeze but is trying very hard not to.

“Can you stop, Chibi?” whispers Dazai. Chuuya shoots him a look that is equal parts furious and embarrassed. It’s adorable. But…

“Frankly, I’d rather not get caught because you couldn’t tame your little nose there,” Dazai continues. “Are you suuure you’re good?”

Chuuya gives a curt nod. Which should be reassuring, but Dazai’s smile falters because this is actually very bad. He recognizes the lack of quip, even while hiding like this, means that Chuuya does not trust himself enough to speak. He’s seen it before.

Dazai flicks an errant strand of hair out of his eyes and sighs. “Maybe we really will die in a church, if you keep this up.”

Chuuya’s returning grin is feral. “Y-you wish.” No way in hell will he allow Dazai the satisfaction. The carpets blanketing the enclosed den mean that they can whisper without much of an echo. It’s a small relief, since Chuuya can feel the congestion crawling and pattering away in a far back place of his nose, dormant but threatening.

He focuses on how intently Dazai is eyeing him, knowing well what Dazai isn’t saying. Engaging would be easy, but it would be messy and they’re supposed to be currying favor with the west side gangs, not killing them (or in Dazai’s case, very emphatically bonking them on the head).

Chuuya’s right eye waters with the sharpness of the tickle, as the itchiness swells and becomes decidedly less dormant. He bites his lip. If this keeps up his nose is going to turn into fucking Krakatoa.

Dazai watches Chuuya massage his flaring nostrils through the fabric of his gloves and grins with as many teeth as he can muster. Chuuya’s losing battle with his nose is even more hilarious than the fact that he’s currently sitting on a pile of Communion pamphlets.

It won’t be long now, what with the way Chuuya has gone stiff and rigid. Dazai counts backwards from five in his head. He gets to two before Chuuya’s lip trembles as the itch erupts and overwhelms him.

“Gnt!” Chuuya’s able to pinch that one into submission, though it makes his head throb and the pulsating trickle along his nose intensify with unsatisfied need. “Gnt! Nt! H’Gnt!”

He starts to lower his hand, before—“Gnt!” Jesus fuck, can’t he be done?

The answer is no, apparently, because Chuuya feels his eyes begin to flutter shut and his chest start to jump with silent, building hitches.

Before he can sneeze again, however, he feels a tap on his shoulder. It successfully distracts him from the budding sneeze as Chuuya whips his head around to stare at Dazai’s familiar, shit-eating grin.

Dazai uses the finger he’d tapped Chuuya with to beckon. “C’mere.”

Chuuya sniffs carefully and squints. “Why?”

Rolling his eyes, Dazai grabs him (gently, Chuuya notices, which okay, is a little odd) and smashes his face into his long overcoat (a little less gently).

“Mnflgl?” Chuuya questions.

“Sneeze, Chuuya,” Dazai orders. Chuuya tries to shake his head because one, Dazai’s forgetting how harsh his sneezes are—sure to give them away, and two, Chuuya might hate the guy but he’s not going to sneeze on him.

Dazai seems to read his mind. “The fabric will muffle the sound,” he replies. “And you’ll pay for my dry cleaning.” Chuuya can hear his smirk. Asshole.

But he also wants very badly to sneeze. No; at this point he’s desperate to sneeze. His nose feels like one of his gravity bombs, pulsing, thrumming, and the itch is all consuming. It would feel so good to just let a few out. He really shouldn’t.

“I know you need to,” whispers Dazai.

So, against all logic, Chuuya does.

“Hep-MPPH! MPPHT! H’MPPH!” Somehow, the fabric dampens the sound better than Chuuya thought it would. So he decides he can sneeze a little more.

“Hh…hh…MPPHT! PHT! MPPHT! Hp!…H-Hep-MPPHH!”

He’s beginning to feel dizzy. It’s worth it, though, as the stuffy, spider-crawling prickle along his nose subsides for the time being. God, he’s never had to sneeze so badly in his life. Makes sense it’s now, when he needs to be quiet.

And Dazai—the utter prick—is patting his head, like Chuuya’s some sort of mutt. “You’re a mess, you know that?” he’s saying, fondly, as Chuuya shakes with sneeze after sneeze. It’s a wonder the gang’s right hand hasn’t discovered them yet.

Slowly, Chuuya comes up for air. He thanks some leviathan god that it’s dark, so he doesn’t have to look at what he’s done to Dazai’s coat. He’s not even going to look at Dazai, because this is probably one of the most humiliating things to happen to him in…well, not as long as Chuuya’d like to admit. This is Dazai, after all.

“Bless you,” Dazai says quietly. Chuuya’s head snaps to him because Dazai sounds wrong. Odd. Genuine. Ah, that’s why it took so long to place. Dazai rarely does sincere, and the few times he expresses genuine emotions tend to signify nothing good at all.

“Thank you,” Chuuya mutters between a clenched jaw because he may have made a mess of himself but he still has manners, goddammit. He blinks the remaining wetness from his eyes as he peers at Dazai for a suspended moment.

“Oh, and if you’re curious, the guy left five minutes ago.”

And the moment is over.

Chuuya jumps up. “You utter assho-ho–” He’s cut off by the familiar needling sensation at the back of his nose. Oh no you don’t. Jamming a fist under his septum hard enough to bruise, he points a finger at Dazai.

“I despise you,” he hisses. “All thihh…th…hih…”

Dazai holds a hand to his ear. “What was that?”

Chuuya shakes his head with a tickly sniff in hopes that his nose will make up its mind and move from where it’s currently settled—in the burning, stinging place between sneeze and not sneeze that’s driving him even more up the wall than Dazai is.

Dazai cocks his head at just the right angle that a piece of hair falls into his eyes. “That sneeze looks troublesome,” he observes. “Is it stuck? Like Chuuya’s growth spurt?”

Chuuya growls and kicks a nearby chair leg for good measure, now that they don’t have to concern themselves with being quiet. The sound is hollow and echoes across the large cathedral chamber.

There’s a wrinkled, damp spot on one side of Dazai’s overcoat that Chuuya pointedly avoids looking at. The crazy bastard had let him do that, all for, what? Funsies? To torture him? Chuuya will unpack that for later. It never bodes well to try to make sense of Dazai’s brain. Besides, the much-needed sneeze is still eluding him. If he could just–just…

“Hih…Hept! Hh…Fuck! Shit!”

Dazai sighs. “Okay, I can’t watch this,” he says, striding over to Chuuya. “Stay still, Chibi.”

Chuuya glares at him, irritation evident in his eyes and in his raw, wide-blown nostrils. “If you’re doi’g anythi’g other thad helpi’g, Dazai, I will obliterate you,” he says darkly, throat crackling and sore.

Dazai grins wide. “Relax,” he says. He wiggles a finger. “I know Chuuya’s sneeze spot.”

“What the fuck even is a—” Dazai presses a finger to the bridge of Chuuya’s nose, in the center, and gives it a circular rub back and forth. Chuuya stumbles back and manages a wavering, shaky curse in French before he snaps forward with a fusillade of unrestrained sneezes.

“Hih-ASHHHu! Hep’ASHHU! AHSSHU! AHSSH! AHSSHH! AHSSHU! Merde!…Heh-heh…hih’ASHHU!”

Chuuya sneezes and sneezes, for once uncaring about decorum. It’s a miracle his hat doesn’t fly off. He’s so overcome with finally scratching the itch in his nose that he almost doesn’t feel the tap at his shoulder. Dazai’s extending a packet of tissues that look like they were newly purchased.

“Goodness! I don’t know whether to bless Chuuya or call an exorcist,” he remarks.

“Shut up,” Chuuya mutters around a tissue. With that annoyance out of the way, it’s seeping in just how awful he feels. He sighs, heavy, and rubs at a temple. “Nom de dieu…”

“I really don’t know how someone so little can sneeze with such ferocity,” continues Dazai, ignoring Chuuya. It’s easy to say the man was put on this earth for the sole purpose of making Chuuya’s life miserable. “Hih…ASHHU!” Chuuya’s head gives a throb and things slide out of focus for a minute. He coughs, rough, and pushes some sweaty hair away from his face. How unsightly.

“Oh, and Chuuya?” Dazai makes a burlesque of leaning in and peering at him. “The next time you’re sick, call in, okay?” And then he reaches one lanky arm over and pats Chuuya’s head.

“I never said I was sick,” Chuuya snaps, jerking out of reach. Dazai makes to poke his nose again, but Chuuya evades him with a hoarse snarl. “Stop.”

In response, Dazai gives him a condescending look that Chuuya knows well. It’s the one where he purses his lips and crinkles up his large, dark eyes. The one he knows infuriates Chuuya the most. “Please,” he says, waving a hand. “I knew before we even got here. Just wanted to see how long you could keep it up.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to utter some expletive, he doesn’t know which one yet, but the sneezy feeling decides to return—bristling like a thousand tiny whiskers along the rims of his inner nose. Stifling it to refute Dazai’s point will only make his head pound harder, so Chuuya wrenches to the side with a sneeze. Which, naturally, makes him cough.

“Hmmm, you really don’t sound good, Chuuya.”

“Fuck you.”

Dazai makes a face. “Ew, no thanks. But since you’re already paying for my dry cleaning, why don’t I treat you to a nice bowl of leek soup and tea?”

Dazai is so confusing at times Chuuya could strangle him. Or at least blame him for the acute emotional whiplash.

“Hh’ASSHu! AHSSH! J'en peux plus…” Chuuya twitches his nose to the side and straightens his hat. “Whatever—let’s just find that drive and get the hell out of here so I can go to bed,” he grumbles. It’s not exactly a refusal (because tea does in fact sound nice), but Chuuya is more than done with this place.

“You mean this?” Dazai wiggles a little USB between two bandaged fingers. Chuuya sputters. “Yup. Found it ages ago and switched it with a fake.”

“AAH?!”

— Fin —

#snz #snz kink #hachiisnzart #ch/uuy/a n/akahar/a #b/ungo st/ray d/ogs #o/sam/u d/az/ai #hachiibunart #ppls fics #onetrickponi #my GOODNESS poni your writing #give all the thanks to poni for the wonderful fic and patience waiting for me to finish #seeing all the ppl into b/s/d nowadays is so lovely #i'm still v much into the series and especially this angry shorty #hopefully it shows in my part >;)

[empresskaze]

I, too, need A/rthur L/ester with a raging cold.

RIGHT????

I need this poor man WRETCHED

#mal/evo/lent #onetrickponi #kaze answers

[straightupsickfics]

*Inhuman shrieking* I'm not home so I can't leave the comment that fic deserves yet, but fgggg you are the best

Ahhh I honestly had so much fun writing that so I’m glad you enjoyed it too!! 🫶🏻

#onetrickponi

[feverishfatale]

Your tags ❤️❤️💗 thank youu

Literally ALWAYS happy to support talented creators! Especially ones who also love B/SD!

For anyone looking for an amazing fic please check out their blog + their latest fic here! (Snz filled flowershop AU with a soft enemies to lovers arc?? Genius on so many levels!)

#onetrickponi #<3<3<3

[nabil2911]

#electric #scooter #cuidaoconmigo #motorcycle #art #dprk #tontás #advertising #niro #sponserme #madafaka #skate #life #scoot #kia #onetrickpony #instangood #edits #followforfollowback #aosqaud #car #skyline #sustitutionvehicle #propaganda #night #motorbike #look #cityscape #korea #win https://www.instagram.com/p/CehmybCPDAo/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#electric #scooter #cuidaoconmigo #motorcycle #art #dprk #tontás #advertising #niro #sponserme #madafaka #skate #life #scoot #kia #onetrickpony #instangood #edits #followforfollowback #aosqaud #car #skyline #sustitutionvehicle #propaganda #night #motorbike #look #cityscape #korea #win

[glasshousecats]

Shamus page 3

Based on the phenomenal fic by @onetrickponi

#ghcdraws #snz art #snzblr #sneeze art #s/oukoku #SnzKK #So obsessed with this fic. Still thinking about the most recent chapter. #Also thanks to floweranon for imagining this universe

[mr-dark-1amao]

Vaggie doesn't like sneezing because she always has multiple sneezes, even swear after a sneeze fit.

Hope you like it @onetrickponi, also I like the other ideas, maybe I will draw them >:)

PD: Ta mare es una jerga de mi país para abreviar la expresión put@ m@dre.

#vaggie #sneeze #sneezing #snz art #snz #snzart #snz kink #sneeze art #sneeze kink #hazbin hotel #hazbin vaggie

[chestcongestion]

Demon-to-Demon Ch.1/5 : Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion, some mess

Word count: 3,763

I have no self control and wanted to smack a bunch of my favorite characters with the sick stick at once, so here's chapter 1 of my self-indulgent large-scale contagion fic, enjoy!

@onetrickponi Since I promised I'd tag when it was finished ^^

Alastor knew good and well that the day’s meeting would be trouble when he heard the audible strain in Ms. Carmine’s voice when she pointedly cleared her throat to get the other overlords’ attention. 

There was a grating, almost painful-sounding quality to it that made Alastor’s ears twitch, it reminded him of the hoarse undertones one would normally hear from a seasoned smoker.

The group of chattering overlords fell silent, turning their gaze toward Carmilla and awaiting the start of the meeting. 

“I just-” Carmilla paused, shutting her eyes and clearing her throat a second time, “-just wanted to apologize in advance for my voice. I’ve been fighting a sore throat since yesterday.”  

“You’re losing,” Velvette laughed from the opposite end of the table, rotating in her office chair and scrolling through her phone, her smug smile showing off her pearly white fangs, fangs made brighter when contrasted against her shimmering black lipstick. 

“I am aware, but thank you for that keen, mature observation, Velvette,” Carmilla spat back, swallowing and trying not to wince before blowing a tendril of her hair out of her face. 

“You’re very welcome,” Velvette replied, twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger. 

Alastor flashed Rosie a knowing look with lowered eyelids,  before redirecting his attention to Carmilla. 

“We are meeting today to discuss the recent ‘smog’ problem, there appears to be a red mist lingering in the air in the Doomsday district, and it is approaching the district borders,” Carmilla announced, “Zillia?” 

“Uhm… nobody seems bothered by it, to be honest, but I can’t figure out where the hell it came from, it just appeared, and it isn’t goin’ away either,” Zillia explained, “Nobody’s complained about having trouble breathin’... or seein’ really, it’s just kinda weird.”  

“So there’s just a blanket of red mist hangin’ in the air, but it isn’t causing any trouble?” Rosie inquired, raising an eyebrow, “Nothin’ at all?” 

“Nope! It even smells nice,” Zillia replied, resting her head in her palm. 

“It does, I was visiting the district the other day and its fragrance is oddly pleasant…like freshly-picked flowers,” Carmilla said with a wistful sigh, wincing through another dry swallow only to smile when Odette handed her a glass of water, which she eagerly finished in three gulps. 

“So we’re here to talk about a non-problem?” Velvette asked, not even bothering to look up from her phone. 

“ ‘Twould be a wise decision for thou to refrain from such idle chatter whilst the adults are speaking,” Zestial hissed from his seat, staring at Velvette with unblinking eyes.  

Velvette complied, returning Zestial’s jab with a raised middle finger and a well-researched bite to the thumb. 

Zestial held back a gasp, “Insolent girl,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Dusty fuckhead,” 

“Senseless wretch…” 

“Spindly geezer,” 

“Overgrown infant!” 

“Senile shitstain!” 

Zestial and Velvette’s escalating squabble quickly died down, both turning to glance at Carmilla, who had two of her large fingers pinching the theoretical bridge of her nose, an area that had quickly flushed an irritated pink. She sniffled twice, before holding both hands over her mouth in a futile attempt to silence a hoarse, rough-sounding cough. 

A minute passed, and Carmilla fought every bone in her body to keep from flushing with embarrassment.  

“Carmilla?” Zestial inquired, only to receive an anxious glance in return.  

Velvette snickered, sliding a travel-sized package of tissues across the table and leaning back in her chair, “Have at it, old bird, sounds like you need one.” 

“Th-thank you,” Carmilla replied, her consonants sounding noticeably muffled as she picked a tissue from the package and held it up to her face, noisily blowing her “nose” until she had to pause to take a deep breath, “Excuse me…” 

Alastor’s ear twitched, and he nervously drummed his fingertips against the table, shooting Rosie another knowing look, practically blinking at her in morse code. 

“What’s eatin’ you?” Rosie whispered, “Quit battin’ your eyelashes at me and spill.” 

“We should leave,” Alastor whispered back through clenched teeth. 

“Why?” Rosie inquired, only to be interrupted by Carmilla loudly blowing her nose a second time, soaking another tissue and closing with a loud honk, which made Rosie giggle. 

“Unless you want that to be you, I suggest we make our exit,” Alastor whispered, his eyes looking desperate and frightful in spite of his wide grin. 

“Oh hush, don’t be so dramatic,” Rosie argued, playfully tugging at one of Alastor’s ears. 

“Uch… Clara, what else were we supposed to discuss? I’ve lost my train of thought,” Carmilla asked, the center of her face and the underside of her eyes looking pinkish-red and puffy from the irritation. 

“There’s nothing else on the agenda, Mom,” Clara said in a hushed voice, showing her mother the empty clipboard. 

“Oh for the love of-” Carmilla groaned, massaging her temples with her large fingers, “This is…ih… i-ih…” 

Alastor’s stomach dropped, he knew that sound, that sound may as well be the click of a pin being yanked from a grenade, the beeping of a volatile time bomb, the- 

“Ih’ktshhhiew! Ih’tshhew! Ih’ktschiew! IH’KSHHHUH!” 

A dense cloud of infectious droplets sprayed into the open air through a wide gap in Carmilla’s fingers, stretching across the entire table, if not the room. 

Alastor’s mind flashed with images of ailing neighbors and frazzled doctors, of boarded-up storefronts and oxygen-starved soldiers lying on tarps in the grass. It was a rough two years… a rough three, frankly. 

“Alastor, snap out of it,” Rosie whispered, gently tapping on the back of Alastor’s head. 

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, trying and failing to tune out Carmilla’s sniffling in the background as he thought about scrubbing himself down with lye and dunking himself in a tub of boiling water.

“Ih’tschhhiew! Hnk’tchew!... My apologies, I just- Ih’ktschhiew!- I didn’t think this would happen,” Carmilla said, her voice hoarse and exhausted as she wiped the watery underside of her eyes with her thumb. 

“Gesundheit! Don’t sweat it, sweetie, but I think you should get some rest,” Rosie said, managing a knowing smile at Carmilla, who weakly smiled back. 

“I think so too… meeting adjourned- Hi-iih…HIH’TSCHHIEW!- ‘Scuse me…” Carmilla announced, loudly blowing her nose as she turned to exit the room with her daughters. 

Alastor hurriedly gestured at the door, begging Rosie to follow him, not wanting to breathe in the poisoned air of the meeting room for a second longer. 

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming, calm down,” Rosie chuckled, grabbing hold of her umbrella and following Alastor outside, “Goodness, a few sneezes and you turn into a maniac!” 

“Apologies, when you spend a year working as a volunteer ambulance driver in 1919, you learn not to be quite so relaxed when there’s germ-riddled moisture all over your face,” Alastor rambled, feeling a chill run up his spine at the damp fur on his ears, “E u ch!” 

Rosie rolled her eyes, “Go home and wash your ears, silly, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said with a nonchalant grin, twirling her umbrella in her hand as she headed back to Cannibal Town. 

Alastor sighed, vanishing into his shadow and resigning himself to heading back home. He needed to take a bath in some turpentine and light his clothes on fire, knock back a few bottles of rubbing alcohol, anything to keep whatever Carmilla sprayed across the meeting room out of his body. 

Hours later, Husk jumped out of his skin when his “keeper” appeared out of his own shadowy mist in front of the bar, grumbling to himself with an iron grip on his microphone. 

“You’re just too fuckin’ good to walk anywhere, huh? Poofin’ out of the shadows is just too easy… whadda you want?” Husk asked, cleaning a beer mug while he awaited Alastor’s response. 

“I need a shot of whatever you use to clean off the counter,” 

Husk blinked. 

“I’m sorry… what? Not that you can’t handle your liquor… but I don’t think I’d trust you with anything’ harder than a couple whiskey neats,” 

“Hand me the bottle,” Alastor muttered through clenched teeth, twisting the safety nozzle of the spray bottle of disinfectant that Husk kept behind the bar. He spritzed both of his eyes before liberally spraying the back of his throat, knocking back the residue with a harsh swallow before sliding the spray bottle back in Husk’s direction. 

“... The hell is wrong with you?” Husk asked. 

“Absolutely nothing, nothing I’d concern myself with telling you, anyways,” Alastor replied with narrowed eyelids. 

“Well then… suppose I’ll have to keep lemon disinfectant around for the next time you’re feelin’ adventurous,” 

Husk’s little comment and the laughter that followed irritated Alastor, and the radio demon considered beaning the cat in the back of the head with his microphone, only to be wrenched out of his thoughts by a sudden itch in his sinuses, forcing him to raise the back of his hand under his nose. 

‘Come on Alastor, you’re better than this, fight it, fight it, fight it-’ 

“Hnk! Hnk’tshh! Hhk’tshh!” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and his face stretched into a knowing smile as he zeroed his focus on Alastor’s nose, “You know-” 

“Shush,” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever-” 

“Quiet.” 

“Ever-” 

“Husk,” Alastor hissed, preparing his arm to reach for Husk’s throat, only to be stopped in his tracks by his itchy nose, “H-hihh…Huhh…h-huh..” 

“Heard you sneeze,” Husk whispered, knowing that he’d caught Alastor off guard, “Until now, anyways.” 

“Hu’hktschoo! Huh’ptshhhoo! Hnk’TSCHOO!... Huh….HUH’PTSchhiEWWW!” 

Husk grinned as he watched Alastor blearily pat around on his person for a pristine red handkerchief that was tucked into his front pocket, pulling it out and pinching it around his nostrils before letting out a dense, gurgling blow. 

“I take it that is what the disinfectant was supposed to prevent,” Husk laughed, “Whatever it is you managed to catch, it sounds nasty…shit.” 

“I could kill you with my bare hands,” Alastor hissed, pantomiming the act of strangling Husk, only to be caught unawares by another itch, “HNK’TSsschHIEWW! Hnk’Tschhiiew!” 

“I’m aware, but maybe put it off a few days, I’d rather not have snot on my corpse’s face,” Husk teased. 

“You are a mbiserable drunkard, and I hate you- Snff!- I really do,” Alastor replied, blowing his nose a second time and struggling not to scowl at how damp his handkerchief was beginning to feel underneath his fingers. “Right back atcha,” Husk said, poking Alastor’s nose with a sly grin, watching his boss’s nose twitch helplessly. “Nghh…Gh-hhuh…H-Huhh- HNK’TSCHOO! H-uh’tzZZShhOO! Huh’ktSCHEW! H-huh’TSCHOO! Hnk’TschhhiEW!” Alastor sneezed, only able to hold his hands loosely in front of his face, paralyzed by the fit. 

Husk winced, wiping off his face and wiping down the bar counter, “Fuckin’ hell, remind me to drink the rest of that disinfectant when I’m done cleanin’ this up, might be too late for you but I like breathin’ through my nose,” he grumbled. 

“Snff-snff! Uch… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… slimy or disorganized in mby entire life- Snfff!” Alastor said, blowing his nose again and trying not to think about how loose and wet it sounded, “I have no idea where all of it is even coming from.”  

“Well, make yourself scarce, I’m not trying to find out,” Husk replied, pausing and turning to the front door of the hotel upon hearing it swing open, “Welcome back, Princess.” 

“Hii, I’m so excited for some quality bonding time now that Cherri is staying with us! I haven’t been able to just relax and watch a movie in years,” Charlie said with a smile as Vaggie snuck behind her to head upstairs, “Is Angel back yet?” 

“Nah, he’s still at work, but he said he’d try and make it here in time,” Husk stated, checking his phone to see if Angel had texted him anything new, “How’d the recruitment effort go?” 

“Uhm, better! Some people seemed interested and actually kept the pamphlets I gave them, but a lot of people said they didn’t wanna touch my hand or get too close because they weren’t feeling well… which was surprisingly considerate for a huge group of sinners,” Charlie explained, rambling as she leaned against the back of the sofa in the parlor, “Half the people I spoke to either mentioned they thought they were sick or they looked sick… I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many sick people in one day.” 

“Really?” Husk asked with a knowing smirk, “Somethin’ must be going around…” 

“I guess so, yeah,” Charlie replied, “Alastor! How was the overlord meeting?”  

“Oh it was alright- snff- a bit shorter than expected. Don’t think I came away with anything of note,” Alastor responded, holding his damp handkerchief behind his back and wrestling with the urge to rub his nose. It was so itchy. 

“I can think of something… ” Husk muttered playfully, seemingly unbothered when Alastor whipped his head around to stare daggers at him. 

“Has everyone thought about what movie they’re gonna suggest for movie night tonight?” Charlie asked, grinning and bouncing on her heels, “Because I have, and I’m so excited!” 

“Ooo! I did! I did! I’m so excited, I haven’t been able to see it since I was alive!” Nifty exclaimed, dropping from the ceiling onto Alastor’s shoulders, clutching a feather duster. She was so preoccupied with thinking about which movie she’d picked, she didn’t notice her feather duster brushing against Alastor’s nose. 

“HUH’PTSHOO! Huh’ptschiew! Hhn’ktshew! HHN’KTSHIIEW! Huh’PTSHHIEW!.... Oh mby goodness…snf-snf!...Ndiffty…” Alastor groaned, wetly blowing his nose and trying to avoid Charlie’s concerned gaze, “Don’t look at mbe like that.”  

“Sorry- not looking, not looking,” Charlie replied sheepishly, averting her gaze from Alastor by staring at the carpet, “That just sounded… uhm… a teeny tiny bit-” 

“Gross!” Vaggie called from upstairs, “The word she’s looking for is ‘gross’!” 

Husk flopped onto his back behind the bar, struggling to contain his laughter. 

“I was going to say ‘wet’... but I guess that works too,” Charlie said, shooting Alastor a nervous glance, “You feeling okay?” 

Alastor narrows his eyelids, his grin still stretched across his face in spite of his angry eyebrows and puffy, miserable-looking eyelids to match his irritated and streaming nose, “Would you believe mbe if I said yes?” he asked knowingly. 

“Not really, no, you sound awful,” Charlie admitted, quietly gesturing for Alastor to lean down, reaching out a hand and pressing her palm to the Radio Demon’s forehead when he reluctantly complied, “You feel warm, too. You probably just caught whatever’s going around, don’t worry!” 

“I’ll try mby best not to,” Alastor replied, blowing his nose again and wincing at how wet the fabric was getting, “Snff-snff! Pardon me…” 

Charlie looked at the sniffling overlord with concern, before getting back her typical kind smile, “You should take a hot shower and change into something more comfortable if you’re sick! By the time all of us get ready, Angel and Cherri will probably be back, and we can pick the movie for tonight!” 

Alastor considered arguing, considered vanishing into a puff of shadowy smoke and reappearing in Cannibal Town to crash with Rosie, considered sprinting out the door and going into hiding… but he’d been found out, and all of the sneezing he’d been doing was definitely catching up to him, he was exhausted.  

“Alright, I’ll be back down,” Alastor said with a nod, vanishing upstairs, but not before catching a sharp “Hnk-Tchoo!” with his handkerchief.  

“I’m gonna go get ready, too,” Charlie said, turning to Husk, “You coming?” 

“Nah, Angel just texted me on his break, I’m gonna ask him how the shoot’s going for a little while, I’ll catch up,” Husk replied, leaning against the bar counter and tapping slowly at his phone, shooting Angel a message and waiting patiently for a reply. 

[Don’t forget about tonight… almost done filming?] 

On the opposite side of Pentagram City, Angel stared at his phone, attempting to think of a response, only to peek over at his boss from the other side of the cameras. 

Valentino was working through a plot hole that Travis left in the script- while lecturing Travis about it- and it was taking longer than expected. While they spoke, Valentino was also busy moisturizing and straightening Velvette’s hair to get her ready for an auction she was heading to that night. 

Velvette typically had her assistants help with her hair, but she wandered downstairs to the porn studio because she had a headache and the vibrant lighting in her studio was making things worse. 

Angel stared at the pair of overlords in silence while he tugged his underwear back on and tidied up his fluff with a hairbrush. 

“Y’know what? Fuck it, nobody’s gonna notice the inconsistency anyways, if they’re watching porn for the plot, they’re doing it wrong,” Valentino conceded, rolling his eyes at Travis and taking a deep drag from his cigarette, smiling at the hit of nicotine before blowing out a large heart-shaped plume of smoke, his smile fading when he heard Velvette start to cough from her position in front of his legs, “Oh shit, sorry pequeñita, I forgot you hate the smell of these.” 

Valentino took a second puff, blowing his next plume of smoke at the ceiling, only to stop upon hearing Velvette’s cough again: a persistent, hacking cough that forced Velvette to draw deep breaths in between bursts. Ashing his cigarette, Valentino used one of his hands to pat Velvette on the back. 

“Fuck, Vel, you good?” Valentino asked, his attempts to help dislodge what he assumed was just something stuck in his colleague’s windpipe getting more intense. 

“S-stop it,” Velvette wheezed, tucking her head into her knees and letting out a heavy barking cough that made her entire body vibrate, but seemed to alleviate the ticklish feeling in her throat, “Fuck…” 

“That was a rough ass cough,” Valentino said, running his fingers through Velvette’s freshly-straightened locks and wincing at the searing heat he felt upon touching the side of her head, “-Shit, Vel, why didn’t you tell me I burned you?” 

“You-” Velvette clenched her teeth to smother another coughing fit, “- you didn’t burn me…” she replied. 

“You sure? It feels so hot right here, I just thought…wait a second…” Valentino paused, pulling off one of his gloves and pressing his bare palm against Velvette’s forehead, “Yeah… tienes fiebre, I think the auction is gonna have to wait for another time… how do you feel?” 

“My head hurts, my throat hurts, I’m tired, and every time I breathe I feel like I need to cough,” Velvette complained, leaning back against Valentino’s legs, “This is horseshit…Hh’tshh! Hhn’tshh! Hnk’tshh!” 

Valentino frowned, running his fingers through Velvette’s hair, “Okay people, that’s a wrap for tonight, see you tomorrow!” he announced, clapping to dismiss the film staff and the actors before gathering Velvette in his arms and turning on his heel to leave the studio, “Let’s get you something hot to drink and some comfy clothes, hm?” 

“Put mbe down… Hnk’tshh!... I’b a grown woman,” Velvette hissed, pushing away from Valentino’s chest, only to lean against his shoulder after only a few seconds of protest, “Actually, nevermind…snff!... I’b too tired to walk. Fuck it.”  

“Mmmhm, that’s why I picked you up,” Valentino teased as he walked, eventually vanishing down the hall and leaving Angel in the studio alone. 

“Hell yes,” Angel cheered, hurrying to put on the rest of  his clothes and texting Husk that he’d be home earlier than expected. 

A couple of hours later, the group was gathered together on the sofa in the parlor, all cozied up in their pajamas. 

Charlie and Vaggie reclined against one another, Angel stretched out across Husk’s lap, Niffty was seated in front of the sofa on the carpet, Cherri was sat in the armchair on the right side of the sofa, and Alastor was reclined in the armchair on the left. 

“So, who gets to pick tonight’s movie?” Angel asked, petting Husk between his ears, listening to his partner’s satisfied purring. 

“We drew straws, and Niffty won, so we’re watching…” Charlie began, turning to Niffty to wait for her selection. 

“Singin’ in the Rain!” Niffty cheered, clapping her hands quietly, “It’s one of the last films I saw before I died!”

Charlie nodded, pressing play on the chunky CRT television in the parlor, and leaning against Vaggie as the film began to play. 

Alastor blew his nose into his handkerchief, glaring at the wet fabric and conjuring himself a dry one out of thin air, moving to put it away before feeling a familiar building itch. 

“Hnk’TSHH-iew! HNK’TShhiew! HNK’Tshh-iew! HNK’Zzzt!” 

Charlie peeked over from her spot on the sofa, mouthing ‘Bless you’ at Alastor before returning her attention to the movie. 

Alastor returned the gesture with a quiet nod, straining to avoid rolling his eyes at the idea of letting himself be so… vulnerable around these people. The Radio Demon silently thanked his lucky stars that Lucifer was on a brief whirlwind tour through the rest of Hell to get back in touch with the other sins, meaning that he wouldn’t be around to bear witness to Alastor’s embarrassing misery. 

“HNK’Tshh! Hh’kzzhht! Hh’Kshoo!” 

Alastor shivered, leaning back in his armchair and attempting to focus on the movie to take his mind off of the throbbing sensation in the back of his throat, or the incessant tickle in his sinuses. He couldn’t wrap his mind around why he suddenly felt so cold. 

Lost in his thoughts, Alastor barely noticed it when something warm and soft was draped over his shoulders, and a bundle of warmth gathered in his lap. Upon regaining focus, Alastor noticed that someone had draped a blanket over him, leaving his arms free, and that KeeKee was curled up in his lap, purring softly. 

Resigned to his fate, Alastor simply began stroking KeeKee’s back, the soft static in the background of the film and the cat’s blissful purring beginning to make him drowsy. 

“Ooo! This is my favorite part! Alastor, look, this is the actor I said you looked like when we met!” Niffty whispered, eagerly tugging on Alastor’s pant leg to get his attention, only to be met with silence, “Alastor?”  

Niffty looked up only to see Alastor relaxed and fast asleep, his back pressed against the armchair and his usual grin reduced to a soft, toothless smile. Congestion rumbled in his sinuses as he snored, his nose twitching every so often to fight the constant tickle threatening to disturb his slumber by making him sneeze. 

“I’ll show him later,” Niffty whispered, hugging Alastor’s ankles and going back to watching the movie, “Maybe he’ll feel better tomorrow…” 

#snz #snz fic #snz kink #illness kink #ha/zb/in ho/tel #gingey.rtf

[goodlucksnez]

GUYS I GOT ON THE H/A//ZBIN BUS (with the help of @onetrickponi) time for my deput of al//a//stor

I am still working on finding the voice this was just a test but *drops and runs and hides*

plot is basically-a//l is trying to get rid of screens in his territory and vo//x checking out why a section of his land is "off the grid" and having regular heated rival talks but the area they are in is very tech forward (screens, lights, lots of wattage) it begins to affect a//l and not wanting to seem weak in his territory tries to hold back but fails and vo//x either manages to record some of it (which at the end a//l destroys) or vo//x is just extremely happy to know a//l is not invincible

Yes i had fun with all the sound effects! which i think makes up for the lack of snez and good writing

❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

#sneeze #snez #audio #sneezy #snezaudio #sneezeaudio #wav #ha//zbin hotel #ha/zbin hotel wav #also is glitching a kink because i fuckin love it haha #snz wav #next wav #sneeze wav

[instarsandcrime]

Pride Is A Fickle Thing

Well...at least it's not just Lu/ci/fer this time?

@onetrickponi had some great prompts to offer and, since she said she might be writing them, I decided to change up a certain one a little so it turned out the same but also different! Can be read as Ra//dio//App//le or just platonic fluff! Enjoy! ❤️

Prompt: Lu/ci/fer heals A/la/stor, though it takes a great deal of expended effort on his part and it turns out both of them hate looking weak in front of other people.

---

"Hp'shhzzzt!" A sharp, staticky sneeze slipped through a crack in the shadows.

Alastor wheezed as he grabbed yet another handkerchief from his collection, attempting in vain to blow away the clinging itch that stuck to him for the entire meeting. But he couldn't help it. Every single twitch of the finger, every flick of the ear, every time he even bothered to move his holy wound its poison would snake through his ribs and up to his aching head. And when it did the reaction got worse. And when the reaction got worse he couldn't help but...c-couldn't...help but…but snehhh--

"Et'chhht! TSH'ZZZZHHEW! Nnghh..." The overlord muttered out a string of curses as another wave of pain shot through him, grasping a pillar before he could double over and collapse.

“Oof, ouch! That one sounded rough." An irritatingly cheery voice chirped from nowhere in particular.

"Oh do be qui-quieehhh...Heh! Heh’eshhh't! Het'chhhzzz't!" Pressing a well-used cloth up to reddened nostrils, Alastor hurriedly straightened himself, discreetly rubbing the swarm of feathers he felt as far back as it could go.

"Bless y-- er, no, wait. That's not appropriate for someone like you, is it?" And with a golden puff of smoke he finally appeared. The six winged thorn in his side. “Fuck off? Damn you? Curse you, maybe? Mmmn no, I think you’ve already got that handled.”

"Lucifer." Alastor's ear flicked in annoyance, "What can I do for you m-my unh-huhh-holy fellow? Off t-to find some...s-some...snff! Suhh-someone to pestehhhHET'ZSCHHHH! Ghhh..."

The fallen angel winced as shrill feedback pierced the air. "Lookin' a bit sneezy there, bud. I guess even the most powerful overlords catch colds. Just goes to show that somewhere deep, deep, deeeeep down, you still have a mortal soul."

The Radio Demon chuckled, smile splitting despite the feverish beads of sweat that rolled down his neck. "On the contrary! Why, I'm the guardian angel of the Hazbin Hotel! I'm sure Charlie would agree."

Lucifer twisted the cane in his palms. “Ohoh! That definitely sounds like my little girl!”

"Agreed! She is truly a marvel. Exiling all doubts with a cheerful smile!"

"And when the hotel gets big enough, who knows? Maybe she won’t even need you anymore! She can take your place all on her own-- without the tacky bellhop suit, of course."

"Hah! Radio never truly goes out of style. Unlike...u-unlike the...the..."

"Speechless already?"

"A trifuhhh…huh! T-trifling matter, My Liege. I'm simply allergihhh...allergic to...to your bullshhHHT’SHHHhhoo...Huh'zschhh!"

"Impressive comeback. You should really--"

"'Hup’KZSSHHHT! HT'SHHH'OOooo...guhh…snff!" Worry bloomed on Lucifer’s face when his rival flashed a sliver of a wince. And as quick as it grew, Alastor rushed to crush the blossom with the wave of a hand. “Such compassion! I was wonderihh…wondering when the sin of pride would lower himself to such a weak emotion–”

“Let me see it.” 

“Pardon?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His patient opened his mouth, “Nope, wait, don’t answer that. Just let me see the wound.”

“Hah! How absurd! Me? Get hurt?” The Radio Demon’s voice crackled with laughter, an unseen audience following suit. “Has our poor king gone senile in his old age?”

“I–! You–!” Lucifer took a deep breath, wisps of smoke billowing from his nose. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

“Okay.”

Despite his eternal grin, Alastor’s feverish eyes blinked back confusion. “...O. Okay?”

“Okay.” The king deadpanned, hopping back a few steps. “You like making deals, right?”

“I do have other hobbies, you know.”

“Nice. I don’t care. Walk to me without sneezing once. I know you can hide the pain, but if you think holy poison will just go away, then you must either be the most stubborn man in the nine rings, or the biggest dumbass.” He paused. “Or both. If you lose, I heal you and you never have to think about Adam and his gaudy lute axe again. If you win, let’s just say that in a few more days, no one in Hell will hear another broadcast from The Radio Demon again.”

A suffocating silence fell over the two, with only the small ambience of old timey cigarette advertisements and Ella Fitzgerald to keep them company. Until finally obsidian claws drummed against the tip of a microphone.

 “...Fine.” Alastor said simply.

“Fine.” Lucifer spat back.

“A simple task, really.”

“Then stop stalling and do it, coward.” Satan flashed his pearly fangs.

A scarlet eye twitched. His opponent took a tentative step forward and the itch followed suit, fighting the urge to rub a knuckle against it.

“Having trouble there?”

“I can assure you I'm per…p-perfectly fihh-fide.” Another step. The growing tickle burned from the bridge to the tip.

“Fihhh-fidt as a fidd-fiddle.”

Almost halfway. Hold it in, hold it in.

“I'b dot as weak as y-yuhhh…you thidk…”

Through irritated tears, slit pupils studied him closely. “Uh-huh. Still don’t believe you.”

Temper beginning to flare as badly as his wound, the overlord opened his mouth to retort. But his voice was completely stolen as the itch teased the rim of his nostrils. It built and built until–

Oh, fuck it.

“Heh'SHHHHZT! Ihh-hih-Hp'SCHHH! ‘TSCHHHH'hhooo…nhhh…” The ground beneath him whirled and tilted like a merry-go-round and he was falling, falling, falling– only to be caught and dragged off the ride with unnervingly gentle hands.

“I've got you.” Lucifer muttered.

“What’s goi’g od? Why are you doi’g this?” The Radio Demon demanded as he was lifted, a body barely up to his chest not acknowledging his weight.

“Because lucky for you, I used to be a saint.” Wait…when did they get to his bathroom? When was he suddenly draped against the wall?

“You hate me." For some reason Alastor couldn’t control his shaking voice, losing the strength to fight. He sounded so disgustingly fragile. He hated it. He hated this. He hated. He. Hated.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, shut up and let me save you already!” Lucifer swore, clicking the locks in place with the snap of his fingers. Alastor flinched when freezing hands pressed against a soaked through dress shirt and– oh.

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, no shit!” A pure light became a ripple. Then a swirl. Then a bubble. It filled every space imaginable, bathing the pair in its warm blanket. Faintly, Alastor tasted a hint of jambalaya on his tongue. And like a needle and thread to a spilled over poppet, The wound began to close.

Unfortunately, despite the subsiding agony, the holy light that caught his patient's eye did not agree with him. Wait. If angelic power hurt a demon, why was he being healed with–

“H-hhh!” Alastor’s breath hitched.

“Seriously? Now? I’m trying to work here.” Lucifer growled, almost fumbling the surgery when his concentration nearly broke. Through the haze, the overlord could glimpse familiar beads of sweat that trickled down the side of the fallen angel’s neck. 

“H-hhh…c-cad’t…h-hhhhelp it…” Between hiccuping breaths and stuttering speech, somewhere along the way a finger was pressed underneath his fluttering nostrils.

“I swear to my fucking Father.” Lucifer huffed out, blinking blearily as he continued his surgery one-handed. And before the wound closed, Alastor couldn’t help but dread at the way Lucifer’s eyelids drooped further and further, teetering between exhaustion and pain.

With two hands the healing process would have taken two minutes.

With one it took two hours. Or at least, the amount of hands was Lucifer’s excuse.

Alastor would have been more impressed if not for the fact that he was not impressed, because it was a ridiculous emotion to have for Lucifer of all beings. So instead, the next day, he chose to focus on what couldn’t heal right away.

“Het’schhzz!” Alastor pitched into his handkerchief, and Charlie quickly caught his breakfast plate before she could drop it.

“Bless you!” She breathed, clutching her chest with one hand.

Well. At least it wasn’t every five seconds.

“Thank you, my dear. Ironic as it may be.” Alastor chuckled, moving to pick up his utensils. He scanned the dining table to take in the morning rush. Angel Dust was gabbing away next to Husker, silently snatching food off his plate with his lower pair of arms. Vaggie was taking a sharpening stone to her spear between bites of food, softening when her princess veered the corner to give a quick peck on the lips. Sir Pentious was waving his spindly hands about, excitedly explaining the inner workings of his ‘flying machine’ to Niffty, who was absolutely more interested in the bug crawling on his top hat.

Overall a peaceful morning. Too peaceful. It unsettled him that there was one piece missing–

Ah. Out of the corner of his eye a small, white rat slowly crawled across the carpet. One with chubby, cherub cheeks. Fur mussed. Bags under its button eyes. A golden flush dotting his face, glowing like a firefly. And then suddenly everything clicked.

The lack of a wound or poison, but still feeling a fading tickle. The shared symptoms between them. Lucifer hadn’t just been exhausted that night. He hadn’t just healed him. Oh no, the bastard just had to take the holy poison for himself knowing that a half-holy body would survive. Though it was obvious he was equally– oh, what was that saying Rosie was kind enough to teach him– ‘going through it’. The fact that he would even risk inhaling a drop for someone he hated so much…

Hm.

Well, Alastor decided to himself, It would be remiss of him to not repay the favor. So with all the mercy of a heartless overlord, he kicked the stupid rat as far as it could go. With a startled squeak and a puff of smoke, the King of Hell tumbled across the floor. The dining room went silent for a moment, all eyes on the sudden appearance of Lucifer Morningstar lying on his back– disheveled, dazed, and stone still.

“Oh my gosh, dad!” Charlie yelped as her father pushed himself upright– moving stiffly, Alastor noted. “I didn’t see you come in…to…” As she helped him stand, her voice trailed off. “Are you okay?”

“I second that, fer the record.” Angel Dust waved a fork nonchalantly in the air, “Kingy’s always an early riser. What gives?”

“Worrywarts, aren’t they?” Lucifer jolted as Alastor popped up beside him with a screeching static, suddenly inches apart. His smirk widened as he tilted his head with a little, high pitched ‘hm!’ “I must say, I can’t help but feel the same. Your regal features look a bit. Oh, what’s the word?” He motions to his own face with a dramatic flourish. “Off-color.”

Lucifer’s glare broke when he put a hand up to his cheek. Then another, eyes growing wide as teacup saucers. It didn’t help when embarrassment overtook his feverish blush, brightening with the panic. “H-hah!” He chuckled nervously, summoning his top hat to tug the brim over his face. “W-wouldja look at that? Guess I fell asleep at the ol’ workshop again and I ran my power a little too– …t-too hot…” He sniffed sharply, rubbing at his nose.

“How uncouth.” Alastor circled the man like a ravenous beast. “Quite unlike yourself to be in such a state. Maybe you should be a little more honest. I can even give you a push.”

“Wh-whhhat are you–”

With a single poke of his cane Lucifer stumbled, grimacing in pain. And it only took one poke for that short-lived charade to fall apart.

“H-hehhh! No, ndo dabbit keeb idt togehh…together…”

“Your Majesty? Are you…?” Vaggie sat straighter, brow furrowed.

“Oof! That don’t look right.” Angel winced.

“Mhm.” Husk hummed into his mug of whisky.

“Oh my. The ultimate bad boy needs to be cleaned!” Niffty gasped.

“Poor thing.” Sir Pentious’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Dad?” Charlie set a hand on his shoulder. Then jumped back with a squeak as the single touch sparked the powder keg.

“Hit’schh!” Lucifer bent at the waist, merciless fit wracking an already exhausted body. “It’schh! It’shieww! Hit’SCHIEW! Hnt’SHIEW! HET’SCHH! ‘TSHH! TCHH! Hit’SCHH’HIEW! H-hihhh…hih! Hih– HITSCHHHH’HIEW!”

The room went silent. Angel Dust whistled lowly.

“My goodness, bless you!” Alastor gaped, every movement an exaggerated performance.

“Y-you did thahhh– thadt od purpose you sohd of ahhh– hah-HATSCHHHHIEW!” The fallen king pitched forward again. When he finally surfaced he was staggering, holding his aching head. “S’rry…’bout thadt.”

Before Charlie could run to catch him Alastor tutted, summoning his shadow to steady his rival, bending its lanky limb over his forehead. “My my, you sound awful! Simply dreadful! Overworked, perhaps? Or…oh, it couldn’t be! Is the King of Hell ill?”

“Oh shudt up Alasdtor– snff! I’b dot sigk! Idt’s jus’dt–”

“Allergies?” Husk deadpanned, expression completely unimpressed.

“Allergies!” Lucifer blurted, “Nodthin’ do worry your head over. So ihhh–...hih! hit’TSCHIU! HET’CHHHIEWW! Nghh, jus’dt ledt be–”

Charlie’s grip tightened, other hand reaching for a napkin. “Don’t run! Please?”

The King of Hell froze. He couldn’t help it. He was completely powerless when it came to his little girl. His flush started to hem the edges of silverware and dusted the windows, and he decided to look anywhere but at Charlie, distracting himself with a mucky nose blow into the makeshift tissue.

“I…I guess I’ll stick around a while longer. I feel a bit dizzy, anyway.” He chuckled, trying to pretend like every word didn’t painfully scrape at his chest. But Charlie smiled brightly, and she guided him to a chair Vaggie had already pulled out for him. Stepping back to wave her hands. Go on!

Lucifer blinked back shock when the room watched, silent with bated breath. “Oh– snff! Oh, well. Um. It’s not an emergency but. But I may be thirsty–”

Zipping back and forth, Niffty slid a cup of water by his side.

“Oh! Th-thank you.” Lucifer smiled bashfully. 

The silenced thickened, group looking on expectantly. 

“...More?!”

“More.” Charlie nodded, crossing her arms. Awestruck, the hermit crumbled as his closest residents and friends fussed and fretted. All the while Alastor sat comfortably in his chair and sipped his tea, humming to the tune of a new morning.

The perfectly chaotic puzzle was complete. Just the way he liked it.

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel// #a/la/stor #lu/ci/fer #char/lie #va/ggi/ie #an/gel/du/st #hu/sk #ni/ff/ty #sir/pen/tious

[hachiibun]

Happy Birthday to @onetrickponi! It’s always a delight to see you sharing your art—drawings, writing, wavs, you always pour so much into them! Hope you enjoy this short sequence featuring this short... shortie! Wishing you a great year to come!

If you like my drawings, please consider buying me a coffee ☕ ! Every little bit helps and I really appreciate it!

❗ PLEASE NO REBLOGGING TO NON-KINK BLOGS ❗

#snz #snz kink #ch/uuy/a n/akahar/a #b/ungo st/ray d/ogs #hachiisnzart #hachiibunart #onetrickponi #i have a few other (late) bday presents to get to #back to my blog roots with this one huh #been a while but i still adore this guy

[empresskaze]

Sooo...do we think anything will happen with the m/agnus protocol tomorrow?

I just listened and the amount of screaming I did!!! I cannot wait for this show!!

#onetrickponi #im just gonna agshhsjajdjsjdjd until January #t/m/a/g/p

[straightupsickfics]

What w/wdits ep are you on?

I left off at season three/episode three, Gail! I watched so much so quickly and now I’m trying to slow down because I don’t want to be done 😅

#onetrickponi

[zensations35]

Don't Call Me A Cabbage (Haz/bin)

Aahhhii okay here's my humorous/sweet/semi-angsty Caretaker Alastor with sick Charlie fic for @onetrickponi who has been just a doll for us all with constant Haz/bin content 🤤 (Al does get sick in this bc I have no self control 🤣) And here's the sugar on the cream: Poni drew some art for this fic! You'll find it below~ Eeeee Enjoy!

There is a concerned buzz to Alastor’s static today as he peers down at the pink flush veining from Charlie’s cheek circles. “You feel ill?” 

Snf “Yeah, I think so…” she uses her whole arm to rub her small black nose, scrunching the bridge and letting out a whine.

Alastor sighs and leans next to her headboard. “What are your symptoms?”

“Umb,” she holds out her hand and begins ticking things off, “Stuffy ndose, sndeezing, sore throat, headache…”

“Do you have a fever?” he asks.

“I…I dunno…”

Alastor pops toward the box of medical supplies she keeps in her room--it was a silent consensus that no one could be trusted with this stuff in a public room. 

He digs around for a thermometer and waits next to her. She looks up at him and he gestures to her mouth, open up, come now. 

She does and he tucks it under her tongue, not comfortably either. She swallows a wince of pain as she waits for it to beep. Once it does, Alastor looks at the number and hums. “I see.” 

Charlie stretches to peek at it but he’s already moving away, sanitizing the edge and groping around in the box for other things. 

“What’d it say?” she asks.

“You are certainly ill,” he says. 

She twists her mouth in a frown. Wow. Okay. She scrubs at her nose again, fingers curled into a tight fist, “Ihh hnn-KS’IEhwww!” a fork of flame wends its way around her wrist and both her and Alastor’s eyes widen at it. 

“Oh shit.”

“Oh dear,” Alastor spins on his heel and rummages in a closet, whisking out a fireproof blanket, silvery fabric glinting in the light as he hauls it over to Charlie and wraps her in it from waist to head. 

“There we are,” he smirks at her, “Comfortable?”

Charlie gives him a wan smile. No… 

“Yep!” she lies cheerily. 

He nods and sets a can of emergency fire extinguisher spray on her bedside table with a plink before manifesting his cane and tapping it on the plush pink carpet. “Now, you get some rest while I fetch you--”

“Wait!” Charlie worms around in the surprisingly well burrito’d blanket. “What about the hotel? Everyone will--hieea--IEK’SHH!!” this time the blanket smothers the flames before they can cause any serious harm to anything around them. 

Alastor beams. “Not to worry, my dear, I will take care of it.” He gives her a goodbye pat on the head, the blanket crackling beneath his palm, and he strolls out of the room. 

Well, at least this gives him a chance to catch up on things he’s missed since his ‘absence’. He waves a hand and a chair grows from a cloud of green smoke. Alastor perches upon it, crossing a leg and pulls out a newspaper from the void to read.

Four newspapers later, footsteps press along the hall. Alastor’s ears flick and his eyes flit up to see Angel Dust approaching Charlie’s door. He closes his paper and folds it up into a perfect square, shifting to close in on the spider demon.

Before Angel can reach the handle of Charlie’s door, Alastor’s cane THUNKs the carpet, almost chopping his toe off. 

“Excuse me,” Alastor’s neck cricks as he stands fluidly. “What are you doing here?”

Angel’s gold tooth glints, annoyance flashing across his face. “I’m gonna see Charlie. Whatcha got a monopoly on her room now?”

“Yes.” 

Angel blinks at him. Then shakes his head, hair flopping. “Whateva, out of my way.”

Alastor glides in front of the door, smile standing firm. “Charlie is occupied at the moment. You may bring your inquiries to me.”

Angel folds his lower arms, “What, you’re in charge?”

Alastor’s dials amp slightly. Well, Charlie didn’t not put him in charge. And with her angry girlfriend gone on a frivolous mission, who else could feasibly hold this place together, really? 

“Yes, I am.” He says, voice silky static. “What can I help you with, pastel one?”

Angel props an upper arm on his hip, considering. “Alright...fine. We need a referee o’ sorts.” 

Alastor opens his arm, “Lead the way.”

At the bar, Husk and Sir Pentious are glaring at each other looking equally pissed off, and in the middle of a heated argument. 

“What seems to be the problem?” Alastor asks, in a semi-bored tone. 

Sir Pentious fans his hood angrily, pointing a bent claw at the overgrown kitten. “He called me slimy! I am not slimy--amphibians are slimy! My scales,” he wiggles his hands down the length of his slithery form, “are cool and dry. I do not need to be kept moist--”

“Eiyeg!” Husk makes a disgusted face. “Don’t call yourself moist.” 

“I said I do not need to be moist--”

“BEH!!” Husk makes a vulgar gesture, and Pentious rattles back angrily.

Alastor groans, the sound strumming tinnitus into the group’s ears, causing them all to cease the argument. 

“Well,” the Radio Demon rotates his wrist indifferently, “it sounds like the snake man knows more about snakes than the non snake demons. If they say something incorrect about your anatomy, just threaten them with disembowelment and move on.”

“But!” Pentious stiffens anxiously, “we’re supposed to stop being mean!” He spreads his arms, “How else are we to be redeemed?”

Alastor growls, tapping the point of his claw to his chin. “Very well then,” he shrugs, eyes fluttering with disinterest, “ignore the fools for the ignorant cabbages they are.”

Husk’s fur stands as high as its ends will allow, tail whisking left to right. “Did you just call me a fuckin’ cabbage??!” 

“Now, off you are.” Alastor shoos them. “Enjoy my good advice and quit your grousing.” He doesn’t bother waiting to see if they actually do stop grousing. His job is complete.

Alastor, having returned to the hallway outside Charlie’s room, basks in the afterglow of being on the button, as always. 

His ear twitches when a piercing sound breaks the door’s seal. “Hiat’ESSiew!!” 

Hm. Obviously her room needs soundproofing. Proper soundproofing. Otherwise the entire hotel will find out about her ailment. She shouldn’t let her underlings see her weak. No, no, Alastor will help with that. 

He slips inside and begins fussing around, tossing green and black magic around the room until it settles into the bones of the wall, absorbing into the plaster. 

“What'd you just do?” she asks.

“I have soundproofed your bedroom for you!” Alastor thrusts his chin proudly, fist pressed to his chest. 

“But…” Charlie nibbles her lip with a fang, “how will you hear mbe? If I ndeed you?” her words are syrupy and lethargic. Poor dear.

Alastor waves his upturned finger, smoke cloying the air as he manifests twin speakers above the bed. 

“There we go.” He snaps his fingers and a smaller radio appears in his hand. “Now I can hear you and you can hear me.” 

And no one will know you are sick and weak…

“Uhh…cool…” her teeth fan in a forced smile. “Thangks Alast-ih!” her fingers web her lips, small pitchy gasps breaking through her throat, “ehh-ieeh! AEX'SHiieewwWW!!” Embers flutter the blanket around her and she shivers, teeth chittering into a nose scrunching sniffle. 

His smile drops a tick and he reaches for her. Something comforting…what should he--

BANG BANG BANG!

Charlie jumps and both of their heads swivel to the door. Alastor’s eyes darken. What the fuckbucket is going on now? 

“What was that?” she whimpers.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he murmurs and dissolves into shadow, reappearing in front of a stunned Angel and Pentious quibbling in one of the rooms. 

“What is it now?” Alastor growls.

Angel snarls, gold tooth winking in the dim light. “He,” the spider points at the snake, “stole my sandwich!” 

Pentious gasps, more of a squeak really, and clutches his overripe chest, “Your sandwich?! That was my sandwich! I--”

“Liar!” Angel is yelling now. “I fuckin made this sandwich! With my own three hands!” 

“Oh, now you are flaunting your many limbs at--”

“S̸̖̯̖͊ile̷̠͗ń̴͕̹̇̅͝c̵̐͝e̴͕͙̅!”

The word reverbrates into the empty air. Both sinners look at Alastor, lips thin and firm. 

“Since neither of you can go a single hour without bickering,” Alastor snaps his fingers and the sandwich vanishes from the table. Both men whine with indignation as Alastor unfurls his hand with a plate, the sandwich fully formed atop. 

“Now, neither of you gets to eat it.”

“Hey! What rule says that?!”

“The ‘fuck around, find out’ rule.” The Radio Demon ignores the rest of their protests and brings the sandwich back to Charlie.

When he presents it to her, she is quite pleased. 

“Mmm~! Wow, this is good! Did Pentious make this? It tastes like the ones he makes.”

Alastor doesn’t answer but he files the information for later. 

“I am glad you app--”

He pauses as her cheek curls with a tiny snarl, “Hiek’ETSHFFWW!” She dips into her elbow, mangling the sandwich with her twisting fist. 

“Hm,” Alastor almost frowns. She doesn’t seem to be improving much. “I deem you in need of rest and perhaps medication.”

She snuffles, rubbing her nose with her sleeve. “We dodt habv bedicide…”

“Yes, well, you leave that to me.” He spins on a dime and uses a flick of his wrist to dim the lights. “Rest, my dear. I will return shortly.”

In classic hell fashion, as soon as he decided to leave, rain started pouring. It slices down around him, shushing through his ears as he drags himself across the barren streets. The downpour is oddly unpleasant--it doesn’t normally bother Alastor. But tonight it’s cold. 

By the time his errands are done, the chill has settled straight into the marrow of his bones. 

Wracked with shivers, he uses the back entrance, dodging the glow of the television in the main room. 

A sibilating flick of his fingers evaporates most of the water and he enters Charlie’s room barely before daybreak to administer the medicine. 

She’s already awake when he enters--an early riser, like himself. And from the sound of her breath, he’s arrived perhaps too late--she needed this remedy long ago.

“EKFSH’DK!” Her sneezing is growing more raw and ragged, scraping her throat and causing her to devolve into coughing fits. Rgh. If only he weren’t being pulled into helping the wretched sinners with their trivial matters.

He jerks the door shut before her sneezes can wake the rest of the hotel.

“Aaaalastor?” her voice crumbles his name, “did you go outside?”

“Just popped out to fetch a remedy for you.” He cracks open the seal and pours the vile liquid into a tiny cup. Charlie does a poor job of hiding her revulsion. 

She still smiles when she takes the medication, which makes him proud at least. As he’s tucking the medicine back into the box, a wingbeat of irritation flutters his features. “Ih٨ـfff…” He presses the heel of his palm against his nose. Oh fuck no. Goddamn rain, goddamn cold, fuck. Not here, not now not--

“Alastor?” he hears her cracked call. Fuck. She needs something and his nose still itches. He scrubs it with the back of his wrist, fangs sawing each other to the quick of his gums. 

“One m٨ـmoment…”

One. Just one. Get it out of his system. 

“Hvv-YZZ٨ـZ!” his ears flatten and puff out, finishing the sneeze with a shiver before he sniffles and brushes a wrinkle from his jacket. 

There. He’s fine. He hurries back to Charlie’s side, hoping she didn’t hear--

“What was that noise?” she asks, fingers lightly crimping the blanket up to her chest. 

His heart trips on his tongue and he clears his throat to settle it. “Nothing my dear. A hiccup in the speakers.” He turns his smile to her and clasps his hands behind his back. “What can I do for you?”

She blinks her bruised eyes up at him, voice high and sandpapery, “I’m hungry…”

“Then I shall make you food. I make a mean salt and cabbage soup for flu season!”

“Ehhh…sounds…great…” Charlie gives him a thumbs up.

In the kitchen, he finds most of the ingredients he needs. He has to use butter instead of lard (fucking heathens…) He opens the cabinets, glowing eyes casting the ceramic bowls and cheap plastic spice containers in a pink hue. His claws encircle several choices and he adds them to his concoction. 

He doesn’t measure--no, he does what his family taught him: scent, taste, sight. “Eyeball it”. Cooking is an art! 

So, into the soup the ingredients go, of varying magnitudes. Alastor tastes and sniffs until he’s satisfied. However…something that doesn’t normally happen when he’s cooking starts…his nose begins to run.

He lifts a knuckle to quell the itch, but even a few rubs doesn’t abate it. 

He steps out of the steam, but the sensation surprised him so much, (he was cooking for heaven’s sake!) hitches barely began to flutter in his throat before he jerked to the side.

“Hp٨ـZZF!” He catches one in his wrist, neck crooked to the right, but only half a breath is allowed before his shoulders shake into a second, “Yzﮩـﮩ٨ـzZZV̵͕̳̬̽̉̃̽F̵́̑͝F̷̖͎̋̀͛̎!” 

“Oh great,” a deep tenor behind him makes the Radio Demon startle, but not enough to make him jump. He has enough sense to snake his handkerchief out of his pocket and dab his face before Husker can see anything untoward.

“Hm?” Alastor buzzes back.

Husker roots around in the fridge for the carton of milk, “Now whoever eats that is gonna get sick.”

Alastor chuffs, “You needn’t worry about that.”

Husker straightens, flicking the door shut with his tail. He cocks his head when he sees Alastor’s profile, his left ear twitching. “Have you even slept lately?”

“I said not to worry, Husker.”

The bartender’s lips press firmly together, considering. Then he snorts, taking his milk and exiting the kitchen with a, “Fuck it.”

Soup steaming, yet cooled to appropriate consumption temperature, Alastor serves it to Charlie in bed. As soon as her mouth closes around the aromatic liquid, her face scrunches, eyes watering with saline. “Mgk!” Her throat bobs with a thick swallow, and her palm thrusts the base of her triangled nose. “Ah-iyee! Ouff!” 

She frees her other hand to fan her tear-streaking face, “Th-thpithy!! Hih--” her teeth notch over her spice-baked tongue, “Aik’tzPF!” her hands fly up to tent the spray as she jackknifes into her knees. “EiighSHP!” 

Alastor’s ears flatten and he rescues the bowl before it can tump over from her wracking movements. 

“I…I didn’t intend for…” he hesitates, a chisel grating at his chest. 

“No, no, ndo!!” she snuffles, waving a hand about blindly fumbling for the tissues as her sealed eyes continue to leak. “Don’t be-hih- ESKieww! S-sorry!”

Alastor struggles to keep his smile in place as he grabs the box and hands it to her.

“Thangk you aughk…” she quickly blows and wipes her face, dabbing her eyes so she can see again. They’re rather red and veined now and the guilt gnaws further into Alastor’s stomach.

He stands swiftly, soup slopping over the rim of the bowl. “I will get you something else--”

“No!” Charlie grabs his arm and his eyes dart to her, ears erect as if he were being attacked. “It was good!” she continues, oblivious to his discomfort. “Really! I’ll eat it--”

Alastor feels the chains on his heart weaken, just a smidge. Ill and weak, and she still just wants to make the entire fucking world happy. He takes his free hand and pats hers, using it to shift her grip on his arm gently. 

“No, my dear. There is no need for that. Relax. I will find you something to suit your needs.”

When he arrives back in the kitchen, Angel Dust is sitting at the bar counter, spooning a pink bowl of…Alastor’s soup…into his mouth.

Alastor’s horns instantly thicken and grow. “What are you do٨ـing?!” 

Angel’s eyes widen at the rage in his tone. “Whoa, chill out man, I’m just eatin’.” 

Alastor slams his bowl down, tiny fractures spiderwebbing the ceramic, as his features darken. “That food was not meant for you.” He moves to reach for Angel’s bowl but Angel pulls it closer to himself.

“Hey, dude! There was plenty! Who made you King of the Kitchen?”

Alator’s claws begin to slick with shadows, “You don’t understand, you fucking imbecile. I made that soup.”

“And that makes you the boss of it, yea?” Angel dips his spoon into the bowl and exaggeratedly sticks it into his mouth, “Mmmmm~♡!”

Alastor snarls, “Rrrhh! You f̵̛̜̯̲̼͍̀͆ú̵̦̹c̴̗̭̲̑͗̎͗̐͛̕k̷̡̔̌̿̋̃͘ͅị̸̤̱̯͆͌̉̀͑̃̆n̵̻̟͕͍͑g̵̨̗̭̩̣̮̱͐̈́̂͛!!”

“Oh yeah~” Angel continues licking the spoon and moaning until he’s practically deep throating it.

“Stop it right fucking now before I rip your throat apart to--”

“Hey!” Husker’s voice freezes the spoon halfway down Angel’s throat, both men’s eyes flicking to the hackled bartender. “What the royal fuck are you two doing?” His gaze locks onto Angel who un-swallows the spoon. Alastor also simmers down, features retracting back to normal and he straightens his bowtie.

“Angel, why are you sexually antagonizing the asexual?”

“I ain’t. He got pissy cuz I ate some fuckin soup!” 

Alastor lets out a keening laugh, “I did not cook this for you.” 

Husk pinches the bridge of his nose, “Jesus fucking crackers.” He sucks in a breath, “alright,” he snaps his fingers at the spider, “Angel, quit eating the fucking soup.”

“But--”

“What? Is it so damn good you can’t live without it?”

Angel’s mouth opens, but his eyes slide to Alastor whose smugness keeps dialing up the longer Angel’s silence lasts. Oh he is not paying that asshole any compliments. 

“Fine! Whateva!” he shoves the bowl away and throws himself off the stool, storming away with his arms folded over his chest fluff.

Alastor victoriously starts cleaning the dishes but Husk speaks over his shoulder, voice a low half grumble.

“You should’ve just told him why you didn’t want him eating it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Husk snorts, “Fine. Pretend you don’t actually give a shit about people. But it’s gonna bite you in the ass one day.”

Alastor’s teeth click shut, ignoring Husk until the feathered cat leaves the room.

He knows nothing. 

Nothing…

He gets the new soup prepared and with no interruptions, brings it to Charlie. He barely has time to place it at her bedside table before some fucking asshole knocks at the door! How does she deal with their constant bemoaning??

All but vibrating with annoyance, Alastor opens the door to find Niffty. Well, at least it’s someone he likes. 

“Niffty, my dear, how may I help you?”

“I just killed the beetle queen!” she beams.

“Ah, you did very well!” 

“Do I get a gold star?” she asks, hands clasped in front of her apron, mouth in a slit of a smile.

“Ahmm…?”

“Charlie gives us gold stars for good behavior. I want one.”

“Mmm, very well.” Alastor closes the door behind him. This shouldn’t take long and it’s only Niffty. He won’t have to interact with anyone else. “Where does Charlie keep the gold stars?”

Niffty taps a letter opener against her razor teeth. “I dunno.”

He shrugs and manifests one--very large and very shiny--handing it to her in her tiny arms. Her eye bulges and she grins all the way into her hairline. 

“Ooooh, I’m the best!!” 

“Of course you are.”

“Hey!” 

Alastor cringes when he hears another voice. It doesn’t fucking matter who it belongs to--he doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now. 

“Why does she get a bigger star than us?” Angel asks.

“Yesss!” Pentious adds, somehow they’ve all been summoned by pettiness. “I worked hard for mine! Why does Niffty get a big one and we do not!?”

Alastor’s fingers squeeze the hilt of his cane, his brow creasing as his nose fuzzes with rage and…hhhfffﮩﮩ٨ـ

“Be-c-ahh-ause! I actually like the sound of Niffty’s voice. I hh-fvvﮩ٨ـ-uck!” he folds his claw over his nose, shadows dripping from his skin. 

“Boss?” Husk steps closer, tail flicking anxiously behind him, “are you--”

Alastor’s limb extends, inky shadows lashing out, “Don’t f̴͈̌ȕ̸̟̭̬̒̿c̶̝͙͐́̔̈͘͜k̵̢̗̪̤̘̞̺͗̚ḭ̴̊͋͆ņ̴͔͕͎̄̾̆͌̋͘̕g̴̊̏̒̌͛͊ touch me!” His joints crack and clip as he backs away, retreating with the heel of his palm shoved against the tip of his nose. “Hfz’ ju-hhﮩ٨ـZST!” shadows fold over him, fog clinging to his flesh as his voice burns with static, “Stay away from me, from Charlie, and my fucking sou٨ـﮩ٨p!” he yells, before vanishing into the cloud of skyless fog. 

The group exchanges looks and frowns. 

“That guy has fuckin’ issues.”

Husk exhales through his teeth. “You got no fuckin idea…”

“Alastor!” Charlie squeaks when he manifests in her room, horns wide, eyes dark pools. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Alastor drinks deep breaths, calming himself mentally and physically with each exhale. “I--hhh-I…” his hand hoods his face and he drops his chin as his breaths saw violently in his throat, “XHZZT!” 

Charlie’s fingers press at her cheeks and she whimpers with sympathy. “I got you sick!” 

Alastor pants, bracing himself on the footboard. “I am perfectly--”

“Don’t you say fine!” she thrusts a finger at him, cheeks puffed righteously. Alastor stares at her narrowing gaze. “Don’t. You. Dare.” Her pointer finger waggles and she bends it toward the heart pillow on the other side of the bed. “Sit.”

His eyes slide toward the pillow, horror dripping from his expression.

Charlie’s lip turns up. “I said sit, Mister!” 

“I don’t need--”

“I need.” She snuggles into her fireproof blanket and unfurls a pink fuzzy one just for him alone. She pats the open space. “Sing to me?”

His eyes fade immediately back to magenta. “What?”

Her irises glisten and grow, her face taking on that famous ‘puppy dog cute’ that infuriates him normally but…

“My mom used to sing to me when I was sick.”

He can’t help it. A song? When was the last time he sang a song? He snorts a tiny laugh. “Well, I suppose you’re asking the right person.” He slips tentatively onto the bed, tucking only his toes under the blanket as he scrolls through his mental list of songs to soothe her.

“Let’s see…”

Non, rien de rien

Non, je ne regrette rien

Why this song?

Ni le bien qu'on m'a fait

Ni le mal

Tout ça m'est bien égal

Heaven, his lids are heavy…

Non, rien de rien

Non, je ne regrette rien

C'est payé, balayé, oublié

Is she asleep?

Je me fous du passé

Avec mes souvenirs

J'ai allumé le feu

Is he…?

Mes chagrins, mes plaisirs

Je n'ai plus besoin d'eux

Balayé les amours

.ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Avec leurs trémolos

Balayé pour toujours

Je repars à zéro

Charlie wakes to find Alastor still asleep, head leaning back against the puffy heart pillow, his monocle dangling next to his cheek. His tiny snores are little more than static fuzz.

She wants to tuck him in so bad, but she wants him to sleep more, so she glides from under her blanket and pads out of the room. 

When she enters the main area, Angel, Husk, and Pentious are all sitting around a card game. Husk perks up when his ears twitch and he sees her enter. 

“Hey,” he rumbles. “Feeling better?”

Angel swings his whole body around the back of the couch, “Oy! Where tha fuck you been? Alastor’s dungeon?”

“We placed betsss!” Pentious sniggers.

Charlie shakes her head, matted braid flopping around her shoulders. “Nah. I was sick. Alastor’s been taking care of me.”

“He did what now?” Angel gawps. 

“He must have brainwasshed you!”

“No, really! He--”

Husk sighs, “He’s asleep, right?”

Charlie nods. 

Angel wheezes. “How’d you know?”

“He’s sick.”

“How’d you know that?” 

Husk rolls his eyes. “Cuz I’m the only one who pays attention to you fuckers.” He thumbs the hallway. “Alastor got sick, made the soup. Angel started eating it. Alastor got mad--”

Angel’s lip pops open, “Aw what the fuck!” his arms flap, “why didn’t he just say! Wait--am I gonna get sick now?”

“Calm down everyone,” Charlie presses the air with her palms. “He went out and bought enough medicine for all of us.”

“But, wait, why? You’re the only one who needed it.”

Charlie smiles to herself, thumbing the medicine cup as warmth spreads through her chest. If there’s hope for him, there’s hope for all of them. 

She can’t wait to tell Vaggie. 

#this humor was so fucking fun to write #i swear i'm having a blast with all of the character banter #finding little 'problems' for al to solve made my live worth living this week lol #I WANT ALASTOR TO CARE BB PLS #snz #snzfic #illness #sickfic #caretaking #illness denial #haz/bin #al/astor #ch/arlie #hazbin snz #zen fanfic #snz art #other people's art #collab #poni you did fabulous with the art here too #i love the way you draw al his horns were made for your style #rrreee

[waterfallofspace]

A Game Of Chess

When D/azai starts a game with C/huuya, he wins it. But will round two turn out differently, or will the King claim his Pawn once more?

So the wonderful @onetrickponi requested something from b/sd with ~this post~ as the inspiration.

I decided to go with S/oukoku, so here's a little two-part game of chess, two different situations where this phrase may occur.

Characters: C/huuya, D/azai and A/kutagawa (briefly over the phone) Word Count, Total: 4.8k Part One, Check: 2.3k Part Two, Mate: 2.4k

(CW: Swearing, sexual themes, character with the kink. No technical smut action happens, but it's quite heavily implied!)

~~~ Check ~~~

Ask anyone in the Port Mafia, and they’re sure to agree; Chuuya is a force to be reckoned with. One that, most will add, shouldn’t be reckoned with. And yet, he’s neither the king of the Port Mafia chess army, nor the queen. 

“Instead,” Dazai continues, taking pride in the pronounced groan from the couch next to him. Seems his talents have been wasted preparing mere witty retorts. A long drawn out monologue serves to coax an entirely new type of annoyance. “You’re more of a pawn. A mighty pawn! But, a pawn nonetheless.” 

“Watch it, you may be able to stop gravity manipulation, but you aren’t immune to other forms of violence.” Chuuya growls, hat sliding forward as he springs to his feet. He corrects it with a single hand, the other glove waving in frantic, yet meaningless, patterns. 

“Oh Chuuya, you have something planned? I knew you cared! See, I’ve been planning ways to bring you down a peg,” Dazai pauses to meet Chuuya’s rolling eyes with a wink, “for years now.” 

“What a load of-” 

“And yet, here I was thinking you didn’t care enough to do the same!” He pauses again, feigning hurt with a hand draped over his forehead in a gesture that can only be described as dramatic. A word often associated with the heart-of-gold, soul-of-grey, detective. “But it turns out I was wrong, Chuuya always car-” 

“AHK’SHHaa! Christ.”  

Chuuya cracks a grin behind his fist as the outburst nearly knocks Dazai off the counter he’d placed himself on. An onlooker would assume it was the ferocity of the sternutation, perhaps the volume. It wouldn’t be an unfounded guess. Chuuya’s not exactly one for subtlety, although he’d like to believe he can control them when needed. 

They’d be wrong. 

Being used to gunshots, like he is, the volume was practically nothing. Surprise could be another assumption, though it would once again be incorrect. While Dazai didn’t see it coming, he’s never been one to jump at unforeseen circumstances. It’s simply not his nature. 

And besides- 

“AESHH’ah!” 

-despite seeing Chuuya’s nose twitch, his brows furrow, and hearing the gasp catch in his throat, Dazai’s whole body trembles once more in time with the sneeze. 

“Oh dear, Chuuya will wake the neighbours at this rate!” 

It’s a bluff, and they both know it. A well thought out maneuver, disguised as a simple taunt. Meant to control the situation, a strategic move, like a chess piece gliding across the board.  

“AKSHH’iuh!” Chuuya straightens up, glove still pressed to his nose. There’s a beat of silence, Dazai’s annoyance monologue temporarily paused. He seems at a loss for words, breath coming a little quicker than a moment ago.

Unfortunately Chuuya doesn’t get to revel in it for long, the shift in his sinuses presenting an urgent distraction. “Pass the tissues, would ya?” 

Without a word, Dazai drops from the counter. As his footsteps fade off into the kitchen, Chuuya allows himself a single heady sniffle. As expected, it’s deeply irritating, both in noise and reaction. The itch that’s been taking its time spreading through his face suddenly hones in on his nose, increasing with every shaky breath. 

“AESHHiew! AKZSHH’aa! Oh Christ… hiH– AMFSHH!” 

Using his gloves isn’t exactly what Chuuya had intended, but hell. It’s better than aiming at the floor. Much as he may enjoy Dazai’s reaction to that display, the other detectives don’t deserve such indecencies.

“EMSFHHh!” Not to mention, the improperness of the act is more Dazai’s particular brand of infuriating. “Speaking of the asshole, when is… AEMFSH’ah! mon dieu. When is that bastard gonna get ba-” 

“Talking to yourself, one of the first signs of insanity, Chuuya.” Dazai calls, a smirk dancing across his face as Chuuya jumps.

“The first sign of insanity is- hH’AKZSH’aa!” He manages to duck to the side, wheeling back around with a glare. “Is the fact I’m wasting my breath talking to you.” 

“Oh dear, was that supposed to be a comeback? It lacks a bit of the wit a good retort should possess.” Dazai mocks, a smile dripping of bitter humour crossing his cheeks. “Seems Chuuya’s tongue isn’t quite as fierce as his glare.” And with that, Dazai leans against the wall, a tissue box still in his hand. 

In the time it had taken for him to walk to the supply closet and back, his entire demeanor had shifted. As simple as changing clothes, he’d replaced the off balance vulnerability with a controlled posture of dominance.  

Still trapped behind his hand, Chuuya finds his knees starting to weaken. It was clear what direction this interaction would be taking. While it wasn’t something he’d planned, it was certainly welcome nonetheless. 

“Well are you gonna hand them over or what?” Chuuya replies, a snarl creeping along his lip as his nose threatens to retaliate against the delay. Despite being pressed against the fabric lining his hand, it seems desperate for further relief. 

“Perhaps.” 

“Then hurry up, you bastard. I… hh– I hhhave to… hhAHh–” 

Dazai lunges forward, the movement sudden enough to trigger a fight or flight response. It takes every ounce of Chuuya’s willpower not to lash out as Dazai, in one fluid motion, grabs onto his wrist and pulls it away from his face. 

“Not yet,” Dazai hums, eyes alight. It seems the games have begun; with Chuuya at a deeply itchy disadvantage. Already down his queen by the second move. 

Dazai's been careful to avoid Chuuya’s bare skin, despite his ability working quite easily through clothing. It’s a hint to the nature of the game they’re playing. Each move will be calculated, each touch laced with intention. 

“aEHh–” Chuuya manages to starve it off with a sharp exhale, his body rapidly beginning to tremble as the power seeps from his veins into Dazai’s grip.

It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling, some wouldn’t even notice. It’s not like the action of removing the gift has a sensation, it’s more… the lack of sensation as the power drains away. To someone like Chuuya, who almost constantly maintains a slight flow of their gift, it’s hard to miss. 

“Not as vocal,” comes the next command, Dazai’s grip loosening enough for one finger to trail down Chuuya’s arm, reaching the bare skin between his sleeve and his glove. The touch is cold, a gasp nearly escaping Chuuya’s tightened lips. 

“It’s nhehh– not gonna be easy,” Chuuya lets his eyes shut for just a second, savouring the sweet relief that the false depiction of privacy offers. The promise that when they open again, he’ll be free to release every itch. 

Dazai breaks the spell in a single move, the relief quickly replaced with overwhelming irritation. Chuuya’s eyes fall open in time with his mouth as he finds Dazai’s chocolate gaze awaiting his arrival. Nose still pressed against his, the smirk Dazai’s wearing is felt, more than seen. 

“My my, Chuuya. Your nose is so warm!” Dazai coos, leaning back to demonstrate by running a finger against his own nose, then back over to Chuuya’s. Biting his lip is the only way Chuuya keeps from moaning. Even Dazai touching his own nose seems to tickle. 

“hiEHh– D-Dazai…” 

“And,” Dazai continues, Chuuya’s breath catching in his throat. “It’s practically quivering. Chuuya must need to sneeze something awful. I wonder what could be causing this? Hmm, let’s see…” 

Trailing off, Dazai lets his eyes scan the room. It’s for dramatic effect, he already knows. There’s no doubt he’s known since the moment Chuuya walked in. It’s unlikely he planned for it, considering the earlier reaction, but there’s no question he caught on fast. 

The distraction gives Chuuya enough time to scrunch his nose, a desperate attempt to satiate the ever deepening urge. The action has quite the opposite effect however, a moan slipping past Chuuya’s tongue before he can catch it. 

“What was that, Chuuya?” Dazai hums, the action blowing a soft wind against Chuuya’s nose. It nearly tips the scales, only a frantic clench of the jaw allows him to control the burning need. His nostrils flare greedily, aching for another touch, something to give them the ability to overpower his will. 

“I’m… I’m gohhnna sneeze-” Chuuya manages to gasp out, his lips parting in a snarl, breath starting to come faster, chest beginning to tighten with his eyes–

“Did I say you could?” 

And just like that, the reaction stalls. A tear slides down his cheek, Chuuya nearly whining as Dazai’s cold touch wipes it away, a finger brushing the bridge of his nose. It feels as if his entire face is lit up, the flush on the tips of his ears beginning to match his nose. 

“I dohh… don’t think I… I caahhh– hEDT!  I can’t…” More stutters fall out, each word only delaying the inevitable. The sneeze is coming, and despite his best efforts, Chuuya knows there’s no fighting it. Not anymore. 

“No.” 

And still, somehow, despite the overwhelming desire, the unavoidable trembling, the greedy flaring, Chuuya feels his teeth clench. That command was firm, undeniable, and direct. He is not allowed to sneeze. 

Words die on his tongue, even the idea of parting his lips leaves him breathless. Once he allows a touch of air through, there will be more than words spilling out. Determined to maintain composure, he feels the world start to slip into a light fog. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Dazai hums, giving Chuuya’s wrist a light squeeze. With a poorly contained gasp, Chuuya begins to pant. “You didn’t even notice, did you?” 

Chuuya answers in the form of a watery glare, still too itchy to risk words. Dazai’s fingers relax, dropping Chuuya’s wrist. Without a second thought, Chuuya raises it back to his nose, moaning at the relief the harsh touch offers. 

“AESH’NGKT! Merde-” 

His other hand quickly slips to his face, only managing to half-stifle the sudden burst. The allergic tears lining his eyes begin to pour over, his nose greedy for a full release. If anything, the stifle only served to make it worse. 

“I don’t believe I gave you permission for that,” Dazai starts, fingers beginning to trace up Chuuya’s neck, wrapping around his choker. Chuuya’s teeth pierce into his lip, knees weakening once more. “Though, maybe I’ll allow it. Seems it didn’t do anything to relieve that miserable tickle. I’ll even allow one more!” 

Without a second thought, Chuuya lets Dazai pull his head closer, aiming for a bandaged shoulder as the– “ANGKT!” brings him a moment of relief. From his position against Dazai’s chest, Chuuya lets a smirk flash across his features. Elevated pulse, body trembling in time with each gasp Chuuya takes. 

“I’m being awfully generous here, don’t you think Chuuya?” Dazai purrs, eyes beginning to dance once more as he pushes Chuuya back against the wall, releasing his grasp. “I think you should thank me.” 

From behind his wrist, Chuuya freezes. If he attempts to speak, he won’t be able to hold it back. The dam already broke, the stubborn power of sheer will is fending off the waves. Dazai should know that too… which means this is an indirect invitation to… 

“hieHh–!” 

…or a test. One that letting himself go would immediately fail. Studying Dazai’s expression, Chuuya attempts to navigate his response. The choice is quickly made for him, as Dazai leans forward with a wink. Shivers race down Chuuya’s spine as he feels the breath against his ear. 

“You’ve been quite obedient. Feel free to indulge your own desires now.” 

“AESHH! AK’SHHAA!” The double breaks free with a growl that leaves Dazai trembling almost as hard as Chuuya. Another follows on its heels, then a second, third, fourth, the fit continuing as Dazai’s lip begins to match Chuuya’s. 

“ASHH’aa! Cahhn’t stahh… stop– hH’AEMFSH!” 

A hint of concern passes through Dazai’s eyes as the fit doesn’t seem to let up. “Are you–” 

“AESHHiew! A bid idtchASHH! Idtchy. ADSHH’iuh!” 

“I can see that, or shall I say hear that,” Dazai replies, making a show of covering his ears with a teasing wince. “Might be the last thing I ever get to hear!” 

“Is thad a… ahh– ADTCHh! AESHH’aa! Is thad a complimedt?” Chuuya taunts, pausing to grab a handful of the tissues he’d nearly forgotten about. With a harsh blow, a moan slips out after it. The action lets air flow through his nose once more. “AECHH!” Which of course only serves to agitate it further. 

Dazai rolls his eyes with a smirk, hand finding his way to Chuuya’s thigh. “Only Chibi would think saying someone’s loud is a compliment.” 

“Only you would mean it as one. ASHH’iuh! Fucking Christ.” 

“Switching to English?” Dazai nearly growls, voice lowering with each desperate sneeze. “Is it already that intense?” 

In lieu of a response, Chuuya guides Dazai’s hand up from his thigh, letting the cool fingers brush his warm nose. The touch is excruciating, his chest heaving as he attempts to hold back long enough to get out, “Feel fehh… for yo- hAHhh– for yoursehhhlf.” 

Dazai takes the invitation, tracing each flaring nostril with his index finger, eyes beginning to gloss over nearly as much as Chuuya’s. His breath begins to fall in sync, both of them starting to pant. “Seems so,” Dazai manages to choke out, legs beginning to tremble once more. 

“hH’ASHH! AESCSHH! yeASHH’iuh! YESHH’shaa!” 

Unable to fight it any longer, Dazai leans forward and pulls Chuuya into a greedy kiss, his tongue betraying the depth of his hunger. Chuuya lets himself be swallowed into the embrace, hands finding their way up Dazai’s back to grip his jacket. Together they push back against the wall, intertwined in a beautiful tangle of limbs and tongues. 

Chuuya pulls away first, only managing a sharp gasp before he ducks into Dazai’s shoulder for another harsh– “AETCSHH!” which Dazai blesses with a light moan, pulling Chuuya closer. 

“I’m gonna kiss you again.” 

With a laugh, Chuuya pulls back again, mischief lighting up his eyes. “Did I say you could?” 

Dazai returns the gaze, hunger dripping from his narrowed eyes. “Sadistic, Chuuya.” 

“Shut up and kiss me, bastard.”

~~~ Mate ~~~

Ask anyone in the Armed Detective Agency, and they’ll tell you that Dazai is one of their more valuable assets–

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Chuuya calls from his position resting against the doorway. “The only one who’d call you that is yourself, you smug bastard. The rest of ‘em have enough sense to see you for what you really are.” 

Dazai sighs, letting the paperwork he’d been pretending to fill out for an hour lay abandoned on a desk. A desk that’s certainly not his. Along with a carefully forged note asking Atsushi to fill it out, on behalf of one Kunikida. 

Turning back to the interruption, Dazai gestures vaguely at the empty office. “Then why would they leave me all alone to watch the business? They know I can handle such a task!” He trails off with another performative sigh, sprawling out over his desk. “It’s tiresome, being so crucial and trusted.” 

In response, Chuuya merely huffs a growl, rolling his eyes for what feels like the fifth time in the past ten minutes. 

“Chuuya wouldn’t understand,” Dazai continues with a wink, earning the sixth eye roll. “He’s merely a pawn, while I am a king!” 

“Isn’t the king practically useless?” Chuuya asks, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “The queen does all the work after all.” 

“Ah, a pawn such as yourself would think like that, wouldn’t they?” Spinning in his chair, Dazai catches Chuuya’s eyes with that shit-eating grin that practically screams ‘I’m better than you so I’ll try to dumb this down’. It’s infuriating, and Chuuya finds himself fighting the urge to roll his eyes yet again. 

“While the king may not be on the front lines, his influence is what guides the entire kingdom. Without him, the battle would rage with no cause or order, each piece fighting for themselves. A mere pawn cannot take out a knight with pure strength, he needs a strategy. That’s where the king comes in.” 

“That’s the player, moron,” Chuuya retorts, a new confidence leaving his eyes shining. For once, the high-and-mighty attitude Dazai’s sporting might be all bluster. He mistook the king for the player, a foolish mistake. 

For a minute, just a minute, there’s silence. No witty retort, no smug explanation, just a pause. One hanging thick with deeper meanings, and… something Chuuya would almost call sadness. The look Dazai gives him holds no sense of authority. There’s no superiority in his expression, just a haunting wash of melancholy behind his whiskey soaked eyes. 

Chuuya opens his mouth, just to close it again. No words seem appropriate, not while that look remains on Dazai’s face. A look that suggests something deeper to his meaning that he desperately wished Chuuya would’ve understood. 

The ringing that sounds out knocks Chuuya from his thoughts. His fist connects with the doorframe before he can catch a breath, blood pumping through his ears. “Fucking-!” 

“Chuuya!” Dazai laughs, a cheshire smile smothering the expression that had just occupied that space. Or maybe it was never there at all… “What a foul tongue! And go easy on the offices, would ya? We don’t exactly have the unlimited budget of the Port Mafia. Kunikida will finally have that aneurysm if he finds a hole in the wall.” 

Clutching his phone as it continues to demand attention, Chuuya aims a glare at no one in particular. Not giving Dazai the satisfaction of a direct reply, he snaps open the phone and turns his back to the room. “This is Chuuya.”

The voice starts rambling on about meetings, conferences, deadlines, and something to do with ‘assignment reports missing key details involving jinko’. Digging his fingers into his temple, Chuuya considers hanging up on the kid. 

While there’s no denying his talent in battle, his mannerisms always seem to hit a nerve. A similar nerve to the one Dazai hits, or maybe closer to the sleepless nights where thoughts refuse to give up control.

A combination of everything he hates about himself and Dazai, wrapped up in one human being. Still, it’s hardly like he’s to blame for that. Not like you can hold it against the kid for learning from the role models he was given. 

“Look, Akutagawa, I’m a bit busy at the momen–” Chuuya nearly growls as a noise sounds off behind him, an all too familiar one. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he considers leaping from the window. The only thing stopping him is the prickling starting to invade his sinuses. Too late now, no point in suffering for nothing. 

Spinning on his heel, Chuuya casts the darkest glare he can muster at the ‘all too innocent’ whistling detective still holding the weapon in his bandaged hands. Hard to believe a bottle so small can cause such huge fallout, and yet Chuuya can’t deny the powerful itch beginning to spread. 

“I’m gonna hahh– have to call you back. No, I understand the meaning of urgent, do you understand the meaning of busy?” Flipping Dazai off as the snickering gets louder, Chuuya pulls the phone away from his face. “hH’ANGZT!” 

“What’s the matter, Chuuya? You seem a bit irritated?” Dazai calls, increasing his volume to ensure his voice carries through the phone. “Is it talking to Akutagawa? That always sets me in a foul mood.” 

The noise from the phone seems almost hurt, coated in a thin veil of disgust. Chuuya brings a glove to his nose, pinching it shut long enough to get out, “You talk to him then.” Thrusting the phone in Dazai’s general direction, he leans into his opposite shoulder to muffle another “AMFSHH’uh!” 

“Speak to Akutagawa? Yeah, I’ll pass.” Dazai taunts, aiming his speech at the phone, clearly putting on a performance. “That would just ruin my day, and it’s been going pretty well up till now. I spend my days actively hoping I won’t run into that guy.” 

“You-” Akutagawa starts, before the lines goes silent as Chuuya’s body jerks with another “AHGNTiew! AKNGDT’hah! Merde.” 

“Are you alright?” Akutagawa offers, the genuine nature of the question getting overpowered by joyous laughter bubbling up from Dazai. Chuuya barely has time to glare before he’s aiming for his shoulder again as another harsh sneeze nearly doubles him over.  

“Oh Chuuya here’s just fine, I think he’s just allergic to your presence! Even through the phone, you seem to leave him in… quite a state.” Dazai wipes a tear from his eye as Akutagawa lets a few faint curses slip through the phone. “Maybe you should consider hanging up, let the man have a bit of time to breathe.” 

Finally able to get a word in, Chuuya brings the phone back to his ear with a cautious fist pressed against his nose, fingers holding it shut. “I’b fide. Just repord to Bori idstead. I’b a bid… ah’GNt!” He breaks off into a cough, the tight stifle leaving his head pounding. “A bid preoccupied.”

After a few muffled objections, a comment Dazai vaguely catches about ‘why are you even there’, and a final request for backup on the next mission he’s being sent on, Akutagawa hangs up. 

Dazai offers an innocent smile as Chuuya turns back to him, a red hue beginning to flitter over his skin, fists balled at his sides. “What the hell was that, you bastard! Are you seriously trying to– AESHH! trying to get a fucking– YEASHH’iuh! fucking pounding?” 

“Why Chuuya,” Dazai coos. “What a generous offer! I’d simply adore it if you pounded me all–” 

“Shut the fuck up, you know that’s not what I meant.” Chuuya growls, pawing at his nose as another sneeze doubles him over. “Mon dieu. Did you really hhhah– have to spray that in here? If I don’t… ihihh– if I don’t leave I’m gonna be itchy for hours. ARSHH’iuh!” 

“Oh my- I really didn’t think that through, did I? How reckless of me,” Dazai hums, sliding up from his chair. Chuuya feels himself step backwards before he can process the change, involuntarily retreating from the source of the tickle. 

Sliding a hand in front of his face, Chuuya glares over the makeshift mask. “You’re still covered in the stuff. Keep your distance mackerel or I swear I’ll breAKSHH’aa!” 

“Sorry,” Dazai replies, taking another step closer. “I didn’t quite catch that. Or you’ll what?” 

“I’m serious, you bastard. I’m… hASHH! EMFFSHH! AHMFSH’aa! Fucking Christ.” Chuuya coughs out, his nose twitching dangerously with each step Dazai advances. As if just the knowledge of a closer proximity to his allergen is making the reaction worse. 

“You’re having sex with the lord?!” Dazai gaps, a playfully smug expression resting across his eyes. “I mean, I know I’m good in bed, but to call me your saviour.” 

Not bothering to dignify that with a response, Chuuya takes another step back, missing his shoulder completely when the next “yeASHH’iuh!” catches him off guard. Dazai seems to tremble a little at this display, crossing the distance between them in a single stride. 

Chuuya takes a step forward, taking note of the way Dazai allows the intrusion, sinking back to allow Chuuya space to stand. His posture is open, inviting, nothing like the commanding stance of last time. This is a new game, and he’s inviting Chuuya to take the lead. 

“Well fuck,” Chuuya growls, lowering his glove just long enough to let the sickly floral scent intrude past his defenses. He nearly whimpers as the itch increases tenfold, each breath bringing a new round of desperate hitching. “IhheHh– I’m gonna sneeze-” 

“Did I say you could?” Dazai purrs, the sound catching in his throat as Chuuya spins him around, knocking him into the wall hard enough to expel his breath. 

“I don’t remehhmber asking.” Chuuya smirks as Dazai’s eyes flash, his tongue poking through his teeth in a hiss of pleasure. Leaning closer to his shoulder, Chuuya allows his breath to catch once, twice–

“AESHH’ou!” 

The action jerks his body closer to Dazai’s, a moan slipping from the detective's lips. Barely a moment to catch his breath, Chuuya lets the second, third, and fourth slip out in rapid succession, each aimed a little closer to Dazai’s neck. 

By the fifth Dazai’s panting, shivers running through him as Chuuya’s nose rests against the bare skin. Gathering his composure long enough, he brings Chuuya’s hips towards his own. Dazai leans his head back, eyes fluttering shut in time with Chuuya’s. 

“I’m not… not done…” Chuuya stutters out, a single tear running its way down his cheek. The slow trickle brushes against the side of his nose, leaving him breathless, only enough time to inhale for the– “hEYESHH! EASHHMF! MMFFSHH’aa!” 

“You know,” Dazai whispers, voice stolen as Chuuya begins to rub his nose across the sensitive skin below his ear. “You don’t have a lot of warning for your…” 

Chuuya smirks, pulling Dazai down to his level, breath caressing Dazai’s ear. “For my what, bastard? Say it.” 

Dazai moans in response, a mixture of pleasure and submission as Chuuya lets his teeth mark Dazai’s skin for his own. Gentle enough not to leave any marks that will last too long, but not so gentle that he’s not reminded who’s winning this game. 

“Your sneezes,” Dazai manages to pant, the aforementioned action drawing his breath once more. 

“AESHH’aa! Fuck. Yeah, I guess they don't,” Chuuya replies, releasing Dazai’s shirt quick enough to slam him into the wall with a grunt. “I guess I don’t pay as much attention as some people.” 

There’s a faint whimper in response, Chuuya taking the cue to let his hand wander down Dazai’s chest, resting right above his thigh. “However, I can definitely still feel it. There’s a near constahh… constant buzz. It’s just that I’m never sure when it’s gonna turn into a full sneeASHHH’iuh! Fucking hell.” 

As his body jerks, Chuuya lets his hand slip lower, Dazai responding in kind with a moan. Pausing, Chuuya waits for the next move. It comes sooner than expected, Dazai barely able to contain himself as his hand grips Chuuya’s back, head tilting down to expose the hunger in his eyes. 

At this, Chuuya pulls back, smirking at the whimper breaking their contact coaxes from the other. “Being this close to you is making the itch so much worse,” He muses, rubbing a finger under his nose. An invitation. “I think I’m gonna sneeze again–” 

Not one to turn down the chance for a script flip, Dazai grabs his wrist, pulling it down to his waist. “I think you’ve had more than enough of those.” 

With a barely concealed smirk, Chuuya lets his head tilt back, meeting Dazai’s eyes. “And if I caASHH’iuh! Can’t stop?” 

“Well then,” Dazai taunts, letting his fingers slide up under Chuuya’s nose. “I guess I’ll just have to help you.” 

“EHNGT!” Chuuya gasps in the aftermath of the forced stifle, his breath catching once more as Dazai’s fingers do nothing but irritate his nose further. 

“I do believe I said that was enough, didn’t I?” Dazai hums, fingers rubbing back and forth over Chuuya’s rapidly twitching nose. The tortured appendage wriggles, Chuuya’s eyes fluttering shut as his whole body trembles. 

“AHDTSHH’aa! Fuck, it won’t stahh… AENGT’shiew! Won’t stop if you keep… keeASPTCHH! Keep doing that.” Chuuya growls, leaning forward to rub his nose against Dazai’s shoulder again. He’s stopped by a single movement, Dazai maneuvering himself out of the way with a flourish. Too distracted to attempt to follow, Chuuya raises a fist back to his nose as the tickle hits its peak once more. 

“A Port Mafia executive can’t even stop his own nose?” The taunt stops him in his tracks, Chuuya’s eyes snapping open to glare at Dazai as he finishes the statement. “The standards have really dropped it seems.” 

“Or maybe,” Chuuya begins in a near purr, reveling in the slight crack that spreads through Dazai’s smirk at the abrupt tone change. ���I never intended to stop it at all.” 

It’s not easy to catch Dazai off guard, especially when he’s spent nearly 8 years studying your every move. Not easy, but not impossible. As Chuuya releases the grasp on his nose, pressing Dazai back against the wall, he takes pride in the light gasp that escapes the bastard. 

“ASHHH’ou! yeASHh’iuh! hehH– ASHH’iuh!” 

Mask fully shattered, Dazai can do nothing but moan as each sneeze jerks their bodies closer together. Chuuya drops all decorum as he rubs his nose against Dazai’s neck again. He lets a few groans slip from his tongue, flaring his nostrils as the skin contact leaves Dazai quivering. 

Dazai’s response is a simple phrase, barely audible as his voice catches in his throat. 

“Chuuya was never a mere pawn; a checkmate well earned.” 

#waterfallwrites #i'm gonna be honest i wrote both of these in one session each and then edited for typos/anything obivous #but this was stream of consciousness style writing so i hope to GOD its enjoyable hahaha #also soukookoo for cocopuffs is just gonna live in my head now #anyways i hope you enjoyyyy~ and that i did justice to the prompt! #i just couldnt get the idea of someone fighting against it out of my head too- #and honestly i feel like both of these are what s/oukoku is #a mixture of teasing from one side then teasing back from the other #d/azai more often in control yes- but c/huuya can hold his own more than people give him credit for #ANYWAYS character study mode turned off ahaha #throwin this out there hoping it's not awful <3 #s/oukoku #d/azai #c/huuya

[glasshousecats]

Based on the fabulous flower shop AU created by @onetrickponi in her fic Shamus. If you haven’t already, go read it immediately! It’s so beautifully written, with laugh-out-loud, character-accurate banter, phenomenal world building, and some of the most lovely prose ever crafted.

This started as a simple sketch because I just wanted to draw them happy (chapter 109 is crushing my soul). Once I started coloring, it evolved into a cover of sorts.

I’m working on comic pages, which I’ll be posting soon-ish (I’m slow at drawing). It feels wrong to condense such gorgeous writing, but I’ll try my best to do it justice. This all started because I began reading Shamus and couldn’t stop thinking about the story, so much so that, the next thing I knew, I had a bunch of sketches on my tablet. Poni was gracious enough to let me draw her words. And here we are.

I used a piece by MegsandToast as a pose reference. (Don’t want to link to non-kink blogs, but also want to give credit).

#snz kink #snzblr #GHCdraws #snz art #snz fet #b/ungou stray dogs #S/oukoku #This fic occupies my brain #It’s nice to think that in some universe they’ll get their happy ending