#Snz fic
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Losing Your Grippe- Ch.3: Ha//zbin Ho/tel
I couldn't think of an interlude this time, every chapter feels more fun than the last.
I got to write for some of my favorite characters again in this one- then again, it's so hard to actually pick a concrete favorite in this cast- and this is definitely going to be at least 6 or 7 chapters, which is exciting! Fic is under the cut as always, I hope you guys enjoy!
Word Count: 4,756
After leaving the hotel to go on about his day, Alastor got started with his errands, picking up his outfit for the overlord summit and heading out to Cannibal Town.
Alastor was quite proud of the outfit he’d arranged for the summit, especially since it was a bit more extravagant than what he’d usually select. He’d selected a dark red suit with a black jacket made of fabric that was decorated with vibrant red stars that covered the black space like glitter.
Rosie had seen the fabric while out shopping and excitedly proposed that they wear matching outfits to the summit. She had gotten a dress made out of the fabric, while Alastor elected to have his suit jacket and bow tie made from it instead.
Hopefully their ensembles matched the way Rosie had originally envisioned, if they did, the pair would look absolutely dashing at the summit.
Alastor stood outside of Rosie’s Emporium, having knocked patiently on the double doors twice.
‘Maybe she doesn’t like the way her dress looks’ Alastor pondered, ‘Noo, with what she paid for that fabric and how close we are to the summit, if she wasn’t satisfied with her dress, she’d have told me already.’
Before Alastor had a chance to continue his train of thought, one of the doors to the emporium swung open, and Alastor was greeted by Rosie’s housekeeper Isaac, who was wearing a blue surgical mask.
“It’s a pleasure seeing you again, Isaac, quite a pleasure, is Rosie home?” Alastor asked, tilting his head out of curiosity regarding Isaac’s choice of accessory, his left ear twitching.
Isaac nodded, gesturing for Alastor to come inside and shutting the door behind him, “She’s in the den, she might be sleeping but I heard the television when I walked by, so I assume she’s awake now,” he explained, dusting his hands off on the apron tied around his waist.
“Thank you,” Alastor replied, parting ways with the cannibal housekeeper and walking briskly towards the beautifully carved archway that led into Rosie’s den, stepping inside.
Rosie was reclined across her sofa, gently straddling a body-sized pillow underneath her large red and white fleece blanket. Her eyelids were red-rimmed and slightly puffy, with dark circles resting underneath them like exhaustion-induced bruises.
“Is someone there?” Rosie asked, her voice weak as she struggled to push herself into a seated position, straining her neck in an attempt to look around the room while still halfway lying down.
Alastor walked around to the other side of the sofa, shooting Rosie a curt wave before sitting on the ottoman storage trunk that stood between the sofa and the coffee table, “It’s only me, my dear, don’t worry,” he said, noticing the exhausted look on Rosie’s face and the splotchy flushed pattern covering her cheeks.
“Oh… Ih’tshiew! Ih’TsShew!- ‘m sorry- snff!- Hiya, Alastor… it’s nice to see you,” Rosie said, her voice slightly hoarse as she stared up at Alastor with her shimmering black eyes.
“It’s nice to see you too,” Alastor said, gently moving a piece of Rosie’s hair out of her face, “I came to see if our outfits for the summit came out the way you envisioned… but do you think you’ll still be attending in four days? You don’t look well.”
Rosie shook her head before letting out a guttural, throaty cough into the back of her wrist, taking a shaky inhale to catch her breath, “Ndo, I don’t feel well either… I called Carmilla to tell her I probably won’t be going… SnFF! I-Ih’TsShIEW! ‘TsSHIEW! ‘TsShhEW!” she said, plucking a tissue out of the box nearby and blowing her “nose” before tossing the soiled tissue into a quickly-overflowing trash can, moaning pitifully.
“Gesundheit!” Alastor exclaimed, bottling his anguish at the spray that he felt misting his lapel and sleeves, “Do you think there’s a chance that you’ll have recovered in time for the summit?”
Rosie shook her head, “I felt so lousy yesterday that Isaac took me to the hospital- KHHFF khfff!- sorry… the doctor I saw said I have the flu,” she said, mopping away at the beads of sweat gathering on her forehead with her sleeve, “I’ll be infectious for the next few days, and I’ll feel too lousy to go anywhere for at least another week.”
“Poor dear, that’s a shame, it’ll be miserable going to the event without you, you know.” Alastor sighed, smoothing out another piece of Rosie’s hair with his fingers.
“I know… SnFF snff!- I’m sorry to cancel on such short notice, I was looking forward to it this time,” Rosie said, frowning as she plucked two tissues out of their box and pressed them against her face, “I-IH’TtShEW! Ih’TsSHIEW! ‘TsSheww! ‘TSshhiew!”
“Gesundheit!” Alastor exclaimed, reluctantly reaching out to rub Rosie’s back as she sniffled and wiped at her irritated nostrils.
“Uu ughhh,” Rosie groaned, flopping onto her side and pulling her blankets up to her neck as she shivered, a stray tear leaving her right eye as she clenched her teeth, “Isaaac!”
In the time it took Alastor to blink, Isaac was in the den, standing behind the arm of the sofa closest to Rosie’s head, flashing an eerily obedient smile.
“Yes, Ms. Rosie?”
“Could you grab the heating pad from my closet, please?” Rosie asked, clutching her abdomen under her blankets and writhing slightly, “I’m in too much pain to deal with this hot water bottle.”
“Of course, I’ll be right back,” Isaac said, rushing upstairs and returning with the aforementioned heating pad, gently tucking it under Rosie’s blankets until it pressed against her pelvis and thighs, and plugging it into the power strip next to the sofa, “Perfect.”
The heating pad warmed up quickly, and the radiating waves of heat soothed the intense aching of Rosie’s joints and muscles, allowing her to let out a relaxed sigh that devolved into a hoarse cough.
“This feels great, thank you, Isaac- SnFF!” Rosie muttered drowsily, her eyelids drooping as she yawned.
“It’s my pleasure, Ms. Rosie,” Isaac replied, gently pressing a hand to Rosie’s forehead and pulling a mercury thermometer out of his pocket, slipping it under her tongue and checking the grandfather clock in the corner of the room until forty-five seconds passed, “103… still high, but stable.”
Rosie blinked, her face shifting from a pained grimace into a sleepy and relaxed smile, “Mm… mkay,” she yawned, “I’m gonna take a nap.”
“Excellent idea, I’ll have some tea ready when you wake up,” Isaac replied, dunking a folded cloth into the bowl of ice water sitting on the end table next to the arm of the sofa, wringing the water out and placing the cool damp cloth over Rosie’s eyes, smiling when she sighed with relief.
“I-Ih’TssSHIEW!- sNff!- G’night Isaac,” Rosie muttered, cuddling up to her pillow, “G’night… Alastor.”
Isaac chuckled, smoothing out Rosie’s blankets and turning the volume on the television down, “Goodnight, Ms. Rosie,” he said, leaving the room and getting back to tidying around the house.
Alastor pulled a calling card out of his suit jacket’s left pocket, setting it down on Rosie’s coffee table and petting her shoulder before leaving the den and wandering out of Rosie’s home through the back door.
Finally back in the open air, Alastor hurriedly dusted himself off, grimacing at the fact that he was once again crawling with germs.
“E uch, I wish it would rain, rinse the accursed virus right off of me,” Alastor muttered, squirting some of the hand sanitizer he’d received as a gift from Charlie into his hands and massaging it into the skin of his palms and fingers as he began his brisk walk to the Weapons District.
Arriving at the back door to the Carmine Weapons Factory, Alastor quietly slid the loading dock’s service door up with one hand, ducking underneath it and letting it back down behind him. Going through the factory’s staff and Carmilla’s household staff just to return a book was far too troublesome to be worth the effort.
Wandering through the halls of Carmilla’s home, Alastor held his breath, remaining silent as he approached a door at the end of the hallway, twisting the knob and slowly pushing the door open to avoid any creaking.
‘Maybe this is a bit creepier than if I’d just gone through her staff correctly, she isn’t exactly the wisest choice in terms of people to startle,’ Alastor thought to himself as he looked around the neat and tidy space, quickly realizing that he’d chosen the wrong door, “Wrong room,” he mumbled, turning around and shutting the door behind him.
Curiously twitching his ears, Alastor listened intently until he picked up on the sound of running water and Carmilla’s voice from the other side of the hallway, behind a larger door that was decorated with a black princess water lily.
“Koff- KHFF- khfff! KHhHFF- IiKxhht’SCHUHH!”
Alastor’s stomach dropped, he clutched Carmilla’s book in his hands and quietly snuck inside of her bedroom, slipping underneath the closed door by vanishing into a swirling pool of shadows, reappearing fully-formed on the other side of the door.
“KOFF! KHhHFF! kHFF-Khfff-KHFFF!”
Alastor winced, chewing on his tongue as he moved to set the book down on Carmilla’s nightstand, when suddenly the sound of running water stopped and footsteps could be heard instead.
‘Oh dear…’
Carmilla’s bathroom door swung open, and an exhausted Carmilla stumbled out in her bath towel and flip-flops, hacking violently into a closed fist, eventually having to brace herself against a wall while she coughed.
“KHHFF-KHFFF-(gasp!)- KhhFF-koff!-(gasp!)- KHHHFFF-KHFFF Khfff khfff!,” Carmilla struggled, finally scratching the itch in her lungs and getting a chance to catch her breath. Once she’d regained her composure, she looked up and saw Alastor standing in the corner of her bedroom, staring back at her sheepishly.
Carmilla squealed, grabbing one of her shoes from a rack on the floor and pointing the blade in the Radio Demon’s direction, “What are you doing in here?! Khff-KHfff!- oh for the love of- KHHhFFF-koff-khhff!- fuck- I-ihh’KTsScHHUHH! Ih’KtSschhuhh!”
Alastor held up both hands and averted his eyes as Carmilla hurriedly tugged on a sports bra, a pair of satin pajamas and her dressing gown, “Put down the pointe shoe, Carmilla, that cough is frightening enough, thank you,” he said, trying not to gag at every chesty, croupy cough.
Carmilla rolled her eyes, collapsing onto her bed and drying her hair with her towel, “Why are you in my house? Why are you in my bedroom?!” she hissed, folding her towel and spritzing her now-dry hair with a mixture of argan oil and coconut water before massaging it in with her hands.
“I came to return your book, I’m going to be honest when I heard your…fit, I was prepared to drop off the book and leave, but by the time I came to that conclusion you were already out of the shower,” Alastor explained.
“How lovely,��� Carmilla sighed, shivering a bit as she folded her arms, “Hand me that blanket hanging over the back of that chair, please?”
Alastor obliged, watching Carmilla wrap the fleece blanket around her shoulders and tuck her legs under her duvet, “I also came to inform you that the princess won’t be able to attend the upcoming summit-”
“Let mbe guess- SnFF!- she has the flu?” Carmilla inquired, unamused as she grasped around on her nightstand before grabbing a box of tissues, wiping away at her friction-reddened nares as gently as possible to avoid irritating the sensitive skin, “Snff-snff!”
Alastor nodded solemnly, reaching a hand up to his face to adjust his monocle before panicking and clasping both hands behind his back upon remembering that he’d touched Carmilla’s blanket.
‘Don’t touch your face, do not touch your face,’ he thought to himself, fiddling with the pockets of his slacks to keep his fingers busy.
“Tell her not to worry about it, the summit is postponed, at this point there’ll be no one to attend- KHFFF khff!- Rosie has the flu, Vox called to tell me that Velvette has the flu, Zillia has the flu, Zestial has the flu-” Carmilla paused in her rant, her eyes twitching as she pinched at her nostrils, “F-fuck thi-ihh… I-Iih’KTsSCHUHH! IH’PtSsCHUHH! I-Ihh’KtSsshhuh! HIH’KtSschhEW! Uchh…Snff!- and so do I.”
“How unfortunate… Have you heard from Zestial?” Alastor inquired, raising an eyebrow, “I can’t imagine an illness this aggressive is something he’d handle well at his age.”
“No- SnFF!- his butler called me while I was in my office… I-Ihh’PtSsChuhh! Ih’PtSsXHuhh!- I could hear him in the background, though… he sounded about as healthy as I do right now,” Carmilla replied, pulling her blanket tighter around her frame.
Alastor sanitized his hands, feeling his stomach churn, “Goodness, it’s certainly going around,” he said through clenched teeth, “Do you need anything before I leave?”
Carmilla coughed, rubbing her chest, “Would you be willing to help me braid my hair? I can’t quite get my fingers- Snff snff!- to move the way they need to, and it’s too hot to have my hair in my face,” she requested, pitiful-looking eyes shimmering under the light of her ceiling lamp.
“Of course,” Alastor said, reaching out and gently pulling Carmilla’s locks into a loose french braid which he secured with a rubber band before draping the braid over her shoulder, “There we are, will that suffice?”
“That’s great,” Carmilla sighed, “I think I’m going to take a nap now… Khff! KHFF!- Thank you, Alastor… and thank you for returning my book.”
“My pleasure, Carmilla,” Alastor replied with a warm smile.
“I hope you don’t catch this- SnFF! SnRKK!... I-IHH’KtSshcHUHh!- it’s awful,” Carmilla said, her voice hoarse as she curled up in bed, cuddling up to one of her pillows as her eyelids drooped.
“I hope so too,” Alastor sighed, hurriedly waving goodbye and holding his breath as he rushed out of Carmilla’s bedroom door and out of the factory’s rear exit.
Finally alone, Carmilla snickered to herself, reaching for her television remote that was on her nightstand and turning on the flat screen that sat on the wall opposite her bed.
“This week’s episode of ‘I Didn’t Fuck Your Husband- YOU Fucked MY Husband!’ is brought to you by VoxTech! Trust us with your Entertainment!”
“Ohhh yes,” Carmilla cheered softly before blowing her ‘nose’ desperately with a handful of tissues, “it almost makes being sick worth it.”
Finally in the open, able to breathe the dubiously clean air and free of all of his obligations for the day, Alastor decided to head home, uncertain of how many flu-riddled people he might run into if he tried to stop at a bar for a drink or attempted to go shopping.
“Better the plague urchins you know than the urchins you don’t, I suppose,” Alastor sighed, walking briskly down the sidewalk when he saw a familiar figure stumbling out of a bar, red-faced and clumsily struggling to stay on his own two feet.
“You’re not kicking me out- Snf!- I’m kicking you out! I don’t have to take thisss… I’m the king!”
‘Oh. my. Goodness. This is almost too rich,’
Alastor grabbed Lucifer by one of his shirt sleeves, leaning down to meet the king of Hell’s eyes, “Your Majesty, it’s a pleasure, as always,” he said with the widest shit-eating grin imaginable, ruffling Lucifer’s messy hair.
“Wha? Ohh… it’sss you, I remember you- Snff!- you’re one of my… my daughter’s little friends!” Lucifer giggled, pinching Alastor’s cheek, “The obnoxious one with the yellow enamel that I hate!”
Alastor almost reflexively shut his mouth to hide his teeth, before remembering that he didn’t necessarily care what the penguin-sized monarch thought of his dental hygiene.
“W-what’re you doing here? Those assholes at the bar won’t make me a virgin Blue Gin Fizz… sNff! Told me virgin drinkss are for pussies,” Lucifer scoffed, tripping on a gap in the sidewalk panels and falling on his rear, struggling to stand up again afterwards.
“Mhm, virgin seems wise, considering you’re already drunk,” Alastor scoffed, flicking Lucifer in the center of his face.
“Wha?! No! I am… I’m… I am not drunk,” Lucifer replied, pouting indignantly, “I wanted… wanted a virgin drink ‘cause I was craving a Blue Fizz but I don’t feel well and I was scared that- Snrk!- having gin would make it worse.”
Alastor hung onto Lucifer’s words, raising an eyebrow, “Elaborate,” he instructed, noticing that Lucifer’s face was shiny with sweat to accompany the flush rouging his cheeks.
“M-my throat hurts, and I feel all queasy,” Lucifer rambled, clutching his stomach, “Like I just got off a roller coaster… an’ my back hurts… E-eh’tshhuhw! EH’Tshhhue! E-Eh’Pchhew!”
Alastor hummed to himself, kneeling down to Lucifer’s level and placing a curious palm against his forehead, “Is this why you’ve been secretive about your comings and goings at the hotel?” he asked, watching as Lucifer nearly dozed off when his burning skin met Alastor’s cool hand.
“No, I was… I was- Eehh’P-CHEW! Eh’Pchhew!- Uchh… Snrk!- I was looking for a suit to wear to the summit, haven’t cleaned out my closet in years so it took me a while,” Lucifer said, gently nuzzling his face against Alastor’s palm, “Your hand is so cold… ‘s nice.”
“Interesting,” Alastor scoffed, moving his hand away and reluctantly hoisting Lucifer into his arms, “Well, the summit has been postponed for the time being, so I think I’ll be taking you with me.”
“Wh-where?” Lucifer asked, coughing into a loose fist and groaning at the throbbing pain in his throat.
“Back to the hotel, obviously,” Alastor said, “You’re feverish and in no shape to look after yourself… and I doubt stumbling down the sidewalk in broad daylight would be beneficial for your ‘image’.”
Lucifer briefly considered putting up a fight, but instead opted to give in, resting his head against Alastor’s shoulder and trying not to fall asleep.
“E-Ehh’PsSshuue! Eh’PpSsCHEW!”
“Gesundheit,” Alastor said, shoving down his visceral disgust.
“Thank you… snff!” Lucifer replied, his entire body being overtaken by an aggressive chill as Alastor walked back to the hotel. The overwhelmed and feverish king shivered, chewing on his tongue to keep his teeth from chattering.
“Are you alright?” Alastor inquired, feeling a bit of pity swirling amidst the fear of germs and contempt, Lucifer was so small, and looked so… delicate in this state, it was strange to observe.
Lucifer shook his head, “I’m cold,” he complained, rubbing his upper arms in an attempt to warm himself, in spite of his face still being slick with sweat from his fever.
“Well, your body is so warm that it’s scorching the fabric on my coat,” Alastor said, before quietly taking off his coat and draping it over Lucifer, “Better?”
“A bit, yeah… ‘m still cold, but this feels nice,” Lucifer mumbled, glancing over at Alastor’s face before wiping away at the trickle of mucus threatening to drip down his face with a tissue from the travel packet tucked away in his back pocket.
After a brisk ten minute stroll, Alastor walked through the hotel’s front doors, Lucifer still curled up in his arms, silent outside of the occasional hoarse cough or spraying sneeze.
“I’m back, and I’ve brought back a pleasant surprise,” Alastor announced upon waving hello to Vaggie- who was wrestling with Niffty to keep her away from Husk.
“What is it?” Vaggie asked, glaring unamused at the bulky item gathered in Alastor’s arms and hidden by his coat. While speaking to Alastor, Vaggie held Niffty up in the air by the back of her dress, akin to the way mother cats correct their kittens by grabbing the scruff of their necks.
Alastor pulled his coat away, causing Lucifer to whine that his source of extra warmth was gone, “I found this stumbling through the streets downtown in a cold sweat after getting kicked out of a bar,” he said with a smug smile.
Vaggie let go of Niffty, reaching a hand out to feel Lucifer’s forehead and nearly squeaking in pain when she pulled her hand back and saw singed skin on her fingers, “I thought you were at your house looking for a suit,” she said to Lucifer, visibly puzzled.
“Looked for it for two days- Ehh’PSschew! Eh’PXxhtiew!- couldn’t find it,” Lucifer mumbled, blinking in an attempt to get his vision to focus, only able to make out the colors and vague shape of Vaggie’s form, but unable to see make a recognizable image out of her face, “You look different, Maggie.”
“Vaggie,”
“Oh, oh yeah- yeah… Eh’PXxh-Shhew! Eh’PsSHhuue!- euch… my head hurts,” Lucifer complained, rubbing at his eyes with his palms in an attempt to ease the pounding in his skull.
“Niffty, go grab some more blankets, pillows, and sheets so Lucifer can join the flu quarantine zone down here, please” Vaggie requested, watching as Niffty hurriedly sprinted away to the linen closet and came back with an armful of materials.
“Flu? No, nooo way- SnFF! Snff-snff!- I’m fiiine- Khff! KHFF!- I jus’ feel a little sore… and tired… and cold… and my- m-myy-YeEhh’PpSshew! Eh’PChiew!” Lucifer let loose a damp sniffle after his sneezing interrupted his rant, and he shivered, burying his hands under his arms in an attempt to fend off the spine-tingling chill.
Vaggie didn’t even look up from her position rearranging cushions on one of the loveseats in the parlor, creating another makeshift bed out of the loveseat to the left of the sofa and smoothing out the sheets. “High fever, runny or stuffy nose, cough, chills, muscle aches, fatigue… if that’s not the flu I don’t know what is,” she said.
Lucifer sighed, snapping his fingers and prompting a wave of light to envelop him, changing his sweat-dampened streetwear into a cozy pair of silk pajamas patterned with blue bubbles and tiny ducks, accompanied by a matching pair of aqua blue fuzzy socks. The garments were nice and warm, as though they were fresh out of the dryer.
“Awwww, how adorable,” Alastor teased, ruffling Lucifer’s blonde locks again.
“Shut up!” Lucifer huffed, folding his arms as he slowly let Vaggie guide him to his makeshift bed, tucking him under a soft grey duvet and propping him up using an extra pillow, the comforting environment making him stretch out with a subdued yawn, “Mmm… snFF!- thank you, Vaggie.”
“Of course, you deserve to feel comfortable while you’re sick,” Vaggie said, smoothing out the duvet and placing a damp cloth onto Lucifer’s forehead, suppressing the urge to gasp when the cool water hissed and steamed upon making contact with the devil’s pale skin, “I have to get some things done and figure out what I’m making for dinner tonight, but before I go, do you need anything?”
Lucifer sniffled, tugging the blankets further up to his chest, “Could I have a glass of apple juice?” he paused to cough, a dry, hacking cough that sounded like it scraped his throat on the way out, “Sorry…Khff-khff!- I’m thirsty.”
“Of course, I’ll be right back… you and Charlie both like apple juice, it’s sweet,” Vaggie said, chuckling to herself as she left the room and came back with a glass of ice-cold apple juice, setting it down on the end table next to the loveseat where Lucifer was reclining, “There we go.”
“Charlie… I miss her,” Lucifer said with a yawn as he took a few sips of his apple juice, “Wonder where she is…E-EHh’PSsCHEW!”
Alastor laughed, his eyes growing watery as he fought to regain his composure, clasping both hands over his mouth as his ceaseless giggling shook his shoulders.
“Wha? What’s so funny?!” Lucifer asked, “SnFF- Snff! Uch…”
“Lucifer, she’s over there,” Vaggie said, snickering alongside Alastor as she gestured to the makeshift two-level sofa bed next to the loveseat. Husk and Charlie were both sleeping in their respective spots on the bed, Charlie occasionally breaking her pattern of congested breathing to cough into her pillow.
“Charlie!” Lucifer cheered, grinning and struggling in an attempt to sit up straighter so he could reach his arms out, only for Vaggie to press a hand to his chest, shooting him a firm and unamused glare.
“Shhh,” Vaggie whispered, “You can talk to her later, but right now, they both need to rest without anyone trying to bother them- that includes you, Niffty, get down.”
“Hmph!” Niffty huffed, rolling her eyes as she dropped to the floor from her spot tip-toeing on the back of the couch, “It’s boring watching them when they aren’t moving.”
“They’re sick people, not zoo animals, Niffty, cut it out,” Vaggie scolded, grabbing the back of Niffty’s dress and pulling her away from the sofa, “If you’re bored, you can come help me make dinner.”
“Okay!” Niffty cheered, pleased enough with a distraction from her deep impulsive desire to yank on Husk’s ears or play with Charlie’s hair.
“I’ll be in the kitchen, feel free to call out if you need anything,” Vaggie said, leaving the room with Niffty gleefully skipping after her.
Lucifer took another sip of his apple juice and yawned, “I’m so tired… but I can’t get comfortable enough to fall asleep,” he grumbled, folding his arms, “Everything hurts.”
“I know, it must be so hard to get comfortable,” Alastor said teasingly, walking over to the loveseat and smoothing out Lucifer’s hair before massaging his scalp, causing Lucifer to lean back against his pillows, relaxing with a sigh as the repetitive motion eased his throbbing headache, “Poor thing, there we go… much better.”
“Mmm… KHFFF- khfff!- you’re making fun of me, but… mm m, that feels great,” Lucifer croaked out, still trembling a bit from febrile chills. His eyelids drooped as Alastor’s fingers massaged a bit deeper into his skin, gently kneading in little circles.
Lucifer’s breathing grew softer outside of the occasional cough, and eventually he rolled onto his side, clutching one of the pillows on his makeshift bed and dozing off into a light slumber, snoring in a manner not dissimilar to Husk’s sinuses doing their best impression of a broken chainsaw.
“There, nice and quiet… to an extent,” Alastor mumbled to himself, his ears twitching at the sound of Husk and Lucifer’s snoring. Finally free from the distraction of caretaking, Alastor shuddered, a chill radiating up his spine when he remembered that he was now completely covered in germs.
“Euch!” Alastor gagged, reaching into his pocket and squirting a bit of hand sanitizer into his mouth, swishing it around and swallowing it as though he was sampling wine, “forget a shower, I need to cover myself in lye and dry off with a flamethrower.”
Hurriedly walking out of the parlor and heading upstairs to clean himself off, Alastor paused, gripping the railing of the staircase and questioning what had interrupted his panicked train of thought.
“Hh-Hhnk’KZzhht-shhew!”
Alastor sniffled, scrubbing his nose with his handkerchief before fanning a hand in front of his face.
“Hihh…h-hihh! HNK’KXxht-shew! ‘Shhiew! ‘SHHIEW!”
Alastor blew his nose, feeling the urge to sneeze grow dormant as he folded up his handkerchief and tucked it back into his pocket.
Returning to his state of panic, Alastor continued on his path up the stairs, now managing two layers of panic at once.
He swallowed experimentally, then swallowed again. Was his throat sore or did he just need a drink of water? He gently pressed the back of his hand against his neck and cheeks, attempting to gauge whether or not his skin felt warm, only to panic again, hurriedly returning his arms to his sides.
‘Don’t touch your face, idiot, don’t touch your face. If you aren’t ill already- which you aren’t…definitely not- you don’t want to risk it by rubbing your germy hands on your face’ Alastor thought to himself, his fingers twitching with anticipation as he hurried into his room, shutting the door behind him and anxiously stripping so that he could take a hot shower and spray himself down with disinfectant.
Suddenly, halfway through undressing, Alastor’s breath began to hitch as he was folding his coat.
“Hehh…H-hihh! Hhh!-” Alastor’s eyes began to water, and he let out a watery sniffle before pulling his handkerchief out of his coat pocket and pressing it to his nose, “-Hh’KzZhtiew! Hnk’KZzshiew! Hnk’KzZhht-CHEW! ‘sSchiew! ‘SchHIEW!”
Alastor finished undressing, each article of clothing removed was accompanied by another wet sniffle and occasional sneeze. Finally nude, Alastor swallowed, wincing upon realizing that his throat felt scratchy.
“Oh… Fuck,” Alastor complained, tugging at a piece of his hair in frustration before shoving his anguish down and turning on his heels to go take his shower.
He was fine.
Everything was fine.
“HNK’KzZhht-CHEW!”
Sort of.
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A man wakes up with a terrible cold, and his wife, who happens to have the fetish, is thrilled.
He calls into work while they're fucking doggy style, the gorgeous expanse of her back laid out before him. A soft moan escapes her throat.
“Shhh, sweetheart. I’b on the phode," he says teasingly, waiting for his boss to pick up. The risk of having an audience is a dangerous thrill that pushes them both closer towards the edge.
"Hey, boss. Idt’s mbe." Hopefully his boss takes the dizzy lust in his voice for grogginess instead. A prickling itch builds in his sinuses, and he's unable to cover - one hand busy with the phone and the other wrapped around his wife's hip.
“I don’t… hah… I don’t thigg I-iihh – huh’AEESSSH’UH!” The thick sneeze explodes in front of him, showering his wife's back with wetness. “I dodn’t thigg I cadn cobme in today.”
“Nng!" His wife stifles a breathy moan as best she can. He leans forward to wrap his wide hand gently over her mouth, feeling her hot breath moist against his palm. The tempo of his thrusts quickens, his hips stuttering with need.
“I thigk I just dneed to stay in bed all d-day. Hih… hih’ZZIISHH’iue!" Another harsh, heavy sneeze sprays over her, settling cool on her skin.
As much fun as this is, he needs to end the call quickly. He can tell she's already so close she can barely stand it -
#snzblr#snz prompts#snznario#this is the one that I've already written a rough draft for as re/ylo but I wanted to make a shorter generic version for the masses#snzfic#snz fic#snzfics#snz fics#not sure how to tag this as having actual sex in it but yeah
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His hand cupped around the back of her head as he pulled her to her chest.
“What ar-.” She started to ask.
He sneezed freely over her shoulder, she felt the spray mist over her skin. A deliciously soupy sniffle was all he was able to manage before he sneezed again. This one had been wetter and more productive if she had to base it on sound alone. She tried to lean away to check but his hand kept her face pressed firmly against his chest.
“D-don’t look.” He said through hitching gasps before jerking against her. His other hand moved to cover the lower half of his face as he flushed in embarrassment as mess started to leak down and settle in his Cupid’s bow.
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Someone Worth Falling For
Hi hello! Long time lurker in the community, first time poster. I'm not sure how good this is because it's my first snz fic. But practice makes perfect-- even if my writing tends to lean on corny fluff! So I might as well log what I write and hope things get better from here. Enjoy! <3
--
“Htchh'chieww!”
“Bless you.”
“Htch'shhhiew!”
“Ble–”
“Hihh’chiew! Htch'CHIEW! HET’CHHHIEW! Ohhh…”
Lucifer groaned, forcing gurgling blow after blow into his handkerchief. Face glowing gold in embarrassment when he peered up from the fabric to see another pair stare back.
“...Excuse mbe.” He finally rasped out.
“Absolutely not.” Lilith pursed her lips, “Ten times in a row! I've seen less out of fits than sinners allergic to their own feathers and fur. Are you sure you’re alright, my love?”
She'd offered a way out. She'd offered a way out several times. But the response was always so scripted that it bordered on comical. An orderly list that only the Sin of Pride could obsessively memorize by heart.
“Why, there's dothi’g– snff– nothing to tell!” Lucifer beamed between congested sniffles, one armed wrapped tightly around her waist. “I just want to help my wife get ready for her first night off. And a party? My goodness, now why would I pass up such a rare and wonderful opportunity?”
Deflect
“And that’s very sweet of you, darling.” His other half hummed when a string of pearls draped around her neck, “But I’m just as happy to stay home if you’re feeling unwell.”
The demon king’s hand jerked as he weaved a comb from a puff of golden smoke. “Me? Catch a cold? Pfft, what? Like a sinner? Even if I’m fallen, archangels don’t get sick. It’s in our biology.”
2. Pull the archangel card.
“Yes. I’ve been told that holy beings tend to avoid illness– or rather, those who reside in Heaven. Where everything from the sky to the ground is designed to be absolutely perfect. But here, you are victim to the worst torture imaginable. And I believe there’s been a newer Overlord that’s taken a seat at the table– that one you had a meeting with the other day? The one that embodies pestilence.” As her hair was lovingly tended to, Lilith raised her head ever-so-slightly to kiss her doting husband’s jaw. She nearly cooed at the way he melted on the spot.
“As hypocritical as it sounds, I wouldn’t be so quick to ju- …j-juhhdge…” Lucifer froze, quickly rubbing his nose to satiate a tickle. Lilith’s face dropped to something so freely unimpressed because his last tactic was always to
3. Hide his symptoms. Poorly.
“Darling?”
“H-huhhhh…ho-hold on…” Lucifer raised a claw, handkerchief in the other. “I-I’m fine, it must…m-must be…s-suhh-something in…in the air— h-heh! Oh my, ex-excuse– Et’chiew! HET’chiew! HETCHHIEWW!”
“Bless you again.” His wife winced as the comb was unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a sharp clatter.
“Th-thahhnk– hhhHITSH!” Caught in a hitching jag, Lucifer quickly pinched his nose– and to his dismay, the slight buzz became an angry swarm.
“Beloved.”
“Het’Chht!”
“Let me just–”
“HIH’CHH! H-hihhh! HIH’TCH! ‘TCH! ‘TSHHH! I can’t s-st-stohhHT’CHNX’iew! Hih! Hhhih…hghh…nnh…” Lucifer’s ragged breathing slowed, peeping open a watery eye. Kneeled close, Lilith’s finger pressed under his nose, draped against her own handkerchief.
“See? Was asking for help so hard?” She smiled. Lucifer only swallowed, wordlessly taking the cloth in his palm. Silently he made his way to the side of her vanity, hopping on its desk. Eyes downcast, frown tucked behind cotton and smudged lipstick. “Be honest with me. There’s something more to your stubbornness this time, isn’t there?”
“N-no, of course not! I’m. I’m just– it’s…” Empty words trailed off into a muffled whisper.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“It’s– well–” Lucifer cleared his aching throat, biting back a cough before he lowered his makeshift mask. “It’s…it’s humiliating, that’s all. I trapped you down here with me. You had the opportunity to live in an eternal paradise. And now you have this one night to go out and party and enjoy yourself and I just– I know it’s not even close to that kind of perfection-- but I’d be ruining another chance at freedom all over again! And all because you think that I might have caught a cold? I’m fine! This is fine! I’ve been through worse! I’m just a little…a-a…a little snehh…” He quickly pressed the well-soaked cloth to his nose, trying in vain to hold some control over his next fit.
“Hit’shew! ‘Chiew! Hep’shiew! H’tsh! Heh’TSHIEWW! HA’SHHHIEW! HA’PSHHHIEWW!” He cradled his forehead with a palm, blinking stars from his eyes. “A…a little sneezy. Ugh, ‘scuse mbe.”
All too suddenly his chin was lifted, and his vision cleared to meet a piercing gaze. “Lucifer. Darling. Love of my life. Do you know where I’d be if I wasn’t down here with you?”
“N…ndo?” He muttered nervously.
“With Adam.” Her voice curdled like spoiled milk, “I would trade a thousand rings of Hell just to never see his face again. Taking care of you tonight wouldn’t be a curse. It would be a blessing. In fact, it would be a new opportunity at freedom for me. Now, I can finally repay the favor you gave to me so long ago.”
“Snf! I’m sorry, I– I don’t understand.”
Two strong arms lifted the demon king. “Then let me remind you of the day that we fell together.”
It took seconds too late for the fallen angel to realize what was happening, and Lucifer’s lovesick blush blended with his illness. Before he could even open his mouth to protest he was set gently on the bed, and his wife immediately went to work.
“First,” Well-manicured claws slowly unbuttoned his vest, “Since I was unable to move, you helped me get into something more comfortable until I could dress myself again.”
“I-I did, didn’t I?” A tense smile began to unfurl, and Lucifer allowed his other half to prop him against the headboard, slipping off his boots like he were made of gold and porcelain.
“After that, when I was feeling less restricted, you checked me for any injuries or illness.” A cool forehead bumped softly against something damp and burning, not bothering to worry about smudging freshly applied foundation. “And while I didn’t have a fever, you certainly do now.”
“I–” Lucifer paused, feeling delicate hands intertwine with his own. Slowly he retracted his forked tongue, tasting the bitter words in his mouth. “--I, um. I have to admit, I feel just a smidge under the weather.”
“Well would you look at that! No longer a saint, but you still cast miracles.”
“I do my best.” The fallen angel croaked out a weak chuckle, tired eyes lighting up when Lilith stopped to kiss his knuckles, lips briefly brushing over a golden wedding ring.
“Oh, what was next? Let’s see.” She got up, pacing around the room, “You bandaged my open wounds and wouldn’t let me begin my work as queen until I was off my feet.”
“I still have some mighty big scars from all the kicks you bucked me with.” Lucifer huffed.
His better half looked unashamedly proud, crossing her arms until they locked tight around her chest. “And as I said before, I will do what you have done to me. I’m sure it’ll do you well to give your more inventive powers a rest–” the fallen creator groaned miserably, “--while a servant fetches us some medicine and tea to wash it down with. As well as–”
“Hhhih!” Lucifer’s nose twitched, and he couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that mingled with unsteady breaths. Both handkerchiefs soiled, the demon flicked his wrist and summoned a third, “Oh for the love of– this i-ihhh…is getting rihh-ridiculuh…huhhh..hhh’tsh! Hut’Sshhhieww! Ha’TSHIEW! HET’CH’HHHIEW!”
“--a few tissue boxes. Bless you.”
“...I’b sorry for all the trouble. Snff!” A hacking cough broke through the apology.
“Trouble? Lucifer dear, it’s no trouble at all.” She consoled, sitting by his bedside. “You said it yourself. It’s just a cold. And you seem to forget that, when your caretaking was near its end, you refused to leave me until I truly needed space. You said that if I would permit you to stay, all I needed to do is ask. Well? Would you like me to stay?”
Painted nails fidgeted with the hem of a long cocktail dress and, despite everything that’s happened, Lilith offered a silent prayer to whatever higher power would listen.
Lucifer took a deep breath, “Th-then– um. If you wouldn’t mind lending a hand?”
“I’d be delighted to.” His other half hummed, kissing the red dimples on his cheeks, “You really do have no idea how much you were worth falling for.”
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Atypical Occurrence [1/?]
Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3
this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)
Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)
—
Vincent is late.
Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early.
In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.
It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.
Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.
Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him.
“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”
Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.
It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.
Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.
Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.
Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.
It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.
—
He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.
Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.
“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.
Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.
“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.
“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.
He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.
He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.
“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.
“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”
Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.
—
Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.
Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.
The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.
Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”
A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.
He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again.
“Bless you,” Yves says.
“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.
It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—
“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”
“Bless you again.”
Vincent sighs. “Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.
Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.
Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”
“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.
Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”
“I’m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”
The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside.
“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.
“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”
“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”
Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”
“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”
It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.
The elevator doors slide open.
“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”
“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.
—
The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.
Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.
Vincent doesn’t show up.
“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”
“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.
“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.
But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?
He finds some time just before lunch to text.
Y: how are you holding up?
Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!
He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.
“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.
“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.
To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.
It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.
V: Sorry to get back to you so late.
Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.
V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.
Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.
Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files?
Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨
Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??
V: I meant to pack them yesterday.
Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments
Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me
V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental
Y: ok ok
Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A
Y: you need anything else?
V: Nothing else
V: You can just leave them outside my door
A beat. Then Vincent sends:
V: Sorry to trouble you
Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.
—
It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.
Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.
Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.
For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.
But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.
It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum.
Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.
There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.
He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.
It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—
“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”
The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once.
“Bless you,” Yves says.
Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”
“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”
Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise.
“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.
The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”
Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”
“Have you eaten, then?”
Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.
Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work.
“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.
“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.
Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”
“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”
Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”
That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.
Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”
“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.
Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside.
Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.
There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.
Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.
“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.
“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough.
The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.
If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.
The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom.
By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.
“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take.
“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”
“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.
“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”
It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.
“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.
“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”
“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”
Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”
“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”
Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that.
Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.
#snz fic#sneeze fic#sneeze kink#snz kink#snz#i wanted to end somewhere more conclusive but i was falling asleep at my keyboard trying to end this so#please take this for now 🙏#my fic#it is very late rn so i am scheduling this for the middle of my work day tomorrow... now i need to run to sleep T.T#i will finish off the latter half of the house visit in the not too distant future!#yvverse#ps caughtintherain if you are reading this ily and i am so grateful to you for letting me consult you abt these two 😭😭 and i hope it's#okay for me to post this as a gift jafkhjfslk ANYWAYS pls read this at your leisure and happy birthday again!!!
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An Adventurer’s Cold
****************************
An original fic commissioned anonymously
********************************
Subject: Original Characters By Author
Length: 3,998 Words
Genre: Denial, RPG, Contagion, Stuck Sneeze
Rating: E for Everyone
CW/TW: Slight Food Description, Mild Blood
*********************************
You have entered MARLINE’S MAGIC SHOP.
“Snf…welcobe back, traveler.”
Marline took a worn handkerchief out of her front apron pocket, blowing her nose mightily. She sniffled, leaning against the old oak counter she stood behind.
“Whad can I interest you in today?”
Terra, only half listening, looked at the many mystical items lining the shelves. Dragon’s heart, succubus horns, even a small jar filled with pixie wings for one silver piece each. Not a bad price, considering how hard pixies were to catch.
However, she didn’t have time for browsing today.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a bronze kobold fang, would ya?” she asked, looking through a green eyepiece at the tired shopkeeper.
Marline smiled. “You took thad request for the rabid fairies, I take it?”
“Yep! They’re some nasty critters, but we’ve got a potion that should stun ‘em -”
“Hah-! hhhhp’TSHIEW!”
Marline bent over the counter, her long red hair spilling over her face. She groaned, taking her handkerchief out again. Terra lowered the eyepiece.
“Good health, Mar. Though it sounds like it’s a little late for that.”
Marline blew her nose with a loud honk. “I was bushroom hunting during a rainy spell ereyesterday - snf! I believe I bay have lived to regret it.”
“I’ll say,” Terra said, frowning. “Have any faeleaf? It doesn’t taste great, but it’ll set you right again.”
“Not this week, I’b afraid. I wasn’d the only one who fell ill after the storm. I would harvest sobe byself, bud I…hih! hhh’PTCHIIEW!”
“Hey, no worries!”
Terra reached into her traveling bag and pulled out a small, bitter-smelling burlap pouch.
“I always keep some with me for emergencies.”
Marline shook her head. “You busn’t – hih’PSHIEW!”
Terra set the bag on the counter.
“Listen, if anybody has an emergency, it’s what you’ve got. Besides, I haven’t caught a cold since I was a kid! I don’t think I’m going to start getting one now.”
Marline gave a knowing smile, but took the herbs with no more opposition.
“Stday in good health, kind traveler,” was all she said before stuffing her handkerchief back into her apron pocket.
“I will!” Terra replied, not noticing Marline’s expression. “The spirit of adventure will keep me warm! And a little mead, if I can get it.”
Terra chuckled, and turned on her heel to leave.
“Ah! Your kobold fang!” Marline called after her.
Terra spun around again, putting her hand on her forehead.
“If my bow wasn’t on my back, I’d forget that too,” she said, reaching for her belt. “Let me just get my coin purse, and I’ll -”
Marline shook her head. “No, no, dear traveler, please. Your kindness has been paybent edough.”
She reached into her apron, pulling out a sharp, yellow tooth with a purple tint at the crown. She held it out to the adventurer.
“Don’t mention it,” Terra said, accepting the tooth.
Suddenly, Marline’s handkerchief was retrieved again, and she sneezed into it yet again, sniffling with a quiet groan. Terra suddenly realized that the tooth must have been next to the shopkeeper’s many handkerchiefs throughout the day. That would explain its uncharacteristic shine.
She shrugged, putting the tooth into her satchel. She’d touched worse bodily fluids.
KOBOLD TOOTH is now in your inventory.
“Get some rest, Marline!” Terra called behind her as she left.
“I shall,” Marline said wearily. “Fare thee we-heh! hhhh’PCHIEW!”
**************************************
You have entered the DARK FOREST.
“I believe this is the place, if my master’s geography is correct,” Vin said, peering at a dusty, yellowed scroll. “Though the topography may have changed since he made it.”
“Eh, how much can a bunch of rocks move?” Terra said. She squinted above her, checking the branches of the surrounding trees for glittering wings or beady eyes between the leaves.
Vin adjusted their glasses with a mechanism on the side of the hinge. “Quite a bit, actually. Earthquakes, battles, magical events, even the migration of animals can-”
ENERGY has decreased. You are now FATIGUED.
Terra yawned, rubbing her suddenly burning eyes. Vin scowled.
“You can at least pretend to be interested.”
Terra started. “Huh?”
“We have been walkin’ for a while,” Norif said, hoping to placate the scholar. “We ought to set up camp – it’s gettin’ dark anyway.”
Vin hmphed, but didn’t have any objection.
Suddenly, Terra noticed that there weren't as many sounds of footsteps as there were before. Her worn brogues, Norif’s dwarvish leather boots, Vin’s cork soles…
Terra turned around.
Frederick had completely stopped, and was looking up at the sky, which had just begun to show the pinpricks of summer stars. His wide, moonish eyes stared, unmoving. Then, with a slow motion, he lifted a thin arm and pointed a finger to the trees, his other hand moving inside his cloak. Terra instinctively rubbed her hands together, preparing her magic.
The others soon followed suit, grabbing their own weapons and standing at the ready.
Their preparedness paid off, as, before the party knew it, a swarm of angry fairies descended upon them, snarling and screeching.
Norif swung his ax at the creatures, taking large clouds of them with a single blow. Vin, with a scraping of iron, loaded their crossbow, the many cogs and mechanisms firing the arrows directly into each fairy heart. A thin rope attached to every arrow jerked them back into place with a satisfying clack. The practical Frederick fired his revolver quickly and without mercy, leaving every target a blood splatter on the dark soil.
But even with these efforts, the fairies quickly overtook them. Frothing mouths and gnashing teeth soon surrounded the adventurers.
They had expected this – after all, fairies could only be kept at bay with magic, as was their birthright. They all looked to Terra, their resident mage.
Taking this as her cue, Terra retrieved the kobold tooth from her belt, crushing the hollow bone in her palm until it was a thin powder.
A simple wind spell would spread the tooth, subduing the fairies until Terra could harness lightning to defeat them for good – electricity was the only natural element they had no control over.
Terra took a deep breath, and a howling gust of wind blew through the forest as she puffed out the ground tooth. A white cloud swirled around her. The rest of the party kept their distance, both out of reach from the spell and the rabid fairies. The cloud overcame the swarm, and, as they smelled the scent of their natural enemy, went limp and hovered in the air.
Exactly as planned.
Terra stretched her fingers, feeling the warm pulse of magic flow through her hands. To the knuckles, to the joints, then to the tips it went.
But, before she could cast the final spell, her breath caught.
The KOBOLD POWDER is tickling your throat.
Terra tried to will herself to focus on the spell, but it was no use. The powder was making her eyes water and her throat dry. She hacked out a cough, still holding her hands in front of her to cast. The spell buzzed uselessly from her fingertips.
No matter how much she wheezed and croaked, Terra couldn’t keep upright long enough to cast her spell. The cloud was starting to settle, and one of the bigger fairies shook itself from its haze, baring its fangs. It dived into a thin part of the cloud towards Terra.
“Watch out!” Norif called, but it was no use. Terra could hardly hear herself think, much less anyone else over her hacking.
Terra looked up just in time to see the fairy rear back an arm and sink its claws into her cheek. She yelped, stumbling back. A tree root caught her heel, and she tumbled to the ground. She lifted herself onto her elbows to the fairy growling a low growl, preparing another, deadlier attack. Green venom dripped from its fangs, and its yellow eyes dilated. Terra held her hands in front of her, trying in vain to ward off the creature.
“N-Nice fairy…snf…”
Unbeknownst to the mage, the tickle in her throat had slowly traveled to her sinuses. Her freckled nose began to twitch.
You need to SNEEZE.
“Deh-Don’t…hih-!”
A small group of black clouds gathered above them, and Terra’s hands began to crackle. Thunder crashed. The fairy started, looking up with wide eyes and a whimper. Terra squeezed one watering eye shut.
“A-Almost…gih-!”
The clouds grew thicker, the thunder louder. The tree branches trembled in the wind. The other fairies, still hovering, looked up at the rumbling sky. Terra hitched, curling her fingers.
“HAH-!”
KSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!
You used CALL OF LIGHTNING.
Lightning flashed, hitting every single fairy with a bolt of white hot magic. They fell to the ground, singed and lifeless. Barely contained, bolts began hitting nearby trees, giving them black, round burn marks with red centers. If the rest of the party hadn’t gotten out of range of Terra’s magic, they would have surely been struck as well.
It was VERY EFFECTIVE.
Once the spell had run out of targets, it ended, and the dust cleared. All that was left in the now barren clearing was Terra, stunned and still holding her hands in front of her. A light drizzle began to fall.
There was a long pause as the party stood still in front of the clearing, afraid to join the fairies littering the ground.
“Cogs and corkscrews,” Vin murmured, their usually narrowed eyes wide.
Norif gingerly stepped into the singed circle, keeping the blade of his ax above him just in case.
“Y’alright?” he said, taking a torn rag from his breast pocket.
Terra blinked, and a nervous smile shook on her lips.
“I, uh…the spell kind of got away from me, huh?”
“I’d say so,” Vin said, earning him a glare from Norif, who had begun dressing the wound on Terra’s cheek.
“At least the job’s done,” he soothed. “No one in their right head would want fairies caught alive.”
Terra nodded. “Yeah. That’s right. Just - koff! - give me a sec and I’ll -”
ENERGY has decreased. You are now EXHAUSTED.
Terra fell back against the tree trunk, wincing. Norif rubbed her shoulder.
“We’ll make sure the fairies don’ seep back into the soil. You did your part. We’ll do ours.”
Hardly in a position to argue, Terra leaned her head against the tree trunk, closing her burning eyes.
Before she knew it, a pair of strong arms lifted her up from the ground. All she heard before she dozed off was Vin complaining that their glasses would get rusted in the rain, and there wasn’t a blacksmith for miles, and was it really necessary to do a lightning spell of all things…
*****************************************
You have entered GWALT’S INN.
“A c-couple rooms, if ya would.”
The innkeeper peered over at the counter at the adventurers. Terra was standing, as she had insisted on entering the inn on her own two feet. However, she had a hand on Frederick’s shoulder for support.
The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. “On whose account?”
Terra looked around. Instead of drunken workmen or soldiers recounting battle, the fine oaken tables were filled with nobles politely chatting over honey mead or aged wine. A few of them had turned to stare at the soaked, mud-covered party in varying degrees of confusion and disdain.
This wasn’t an adventurer’s inn, but a place for those of higher standing to feel a clean ruggedness, a false sense of bravery as they “conversed with the locals.”
This wasn’t a place for them.
However, before they could return to the stormy darkness, Frederick held up a hand and reached inside his cloak. He retrieved a thin card, one side silver and the other gold. A few words that Terra didn’t recognize were engraved into the metal. Frederick laid the card on the counter, pushing it towards the innkeeper with the tip of his finger.
To Terra’s surprise, the innkeeper began to sputter, his waxy face turning red.
“Of course, sirs! Madams! His majesty’s brave battalion!”
The nobles began to whisper among themselves, their disgust turning quickly to awe and reverence.
“I am terribly sorry, no, outraged that you had to travel in such dreadful weather!” the innkeeper stammered, showing them up the stairs with a low bow. “I will have your clothes washed immediately, and perfumed of course! And whatever of our selection of humble morsels you may like, if thou wishes.”
Terra raised her eyebrows, looking at Frederick. He only nodded solemnly.
It wasn’t long before the mage was in a pair of silk bedclothes, laying in a large bed with frilled sheets and a thick quilt.
However, she wasn’t sleeping.
“Ih-! Hih…!”
You need to SNEEZE.
She sniffled, then, with a sigh, blew her nose. Mounds of tissues surrounded her, all provided by the inn staff, of course. However, no matter how much she snuffled and sniffled and rubbed her nostrils with the palm of her hand, she couldn’t bring herself to sneeze – though the need grew ever more powerful.
Unable to doze for more than a few minutes, she tried to plan the next few days' journey with Vin and Norif, but to no avail.
“If we - snf! - take the high road,” she wavered, keeping a tissue at her nose, “w-we can…meh-!...make good time.”
Norif rubbed the end of his beard. “I don’ think we’ll be leavin’ this inn for a while. On account’ve…”
He cleared his throat.
“...the weather, a’course.”
“The rain’s never stopped us before,” Terra said. “A-And we won’t - snf! - have to stop for washing! We’ll just let the rain…c-clean - HI’HIH-!”
“Would you be quiet?” Vin hissed, not looking up from the map. “I can hardly concentrate.”
Norif slit his eyes at the halfling. Terra growled in frustration.
“You made me lose it again!”
She reached for another tissue, but, finding there to be none left, she buried her nose into the neck of her shirt.
“Disgusting,” Vin said, recoiling and putting the map in front of their eyes.
Terra ignored them. “Maybe some of the kobold tooth got into my nose…I’ve neheeded to sneeze since we bagged the fairies.”
She sniffled.
“Or maybe it’s a curse? But what curse makes you n-need to sneeze?”
Before Norif could answer, the door opened, and Frederick came in, arms full with packs of tissues from the innkeeper. He moved carefully around the bed, handing one of the packs to Terra. She ripped them open with one hand – as the other was more than occupied – and put almost half of them to her streaming nose.
“Thangk you,” she said with a blow.
Norif moved the quilt up to Terra’s shoulders, gently pushing her head onto the mountain of silk pillows.
“Well, until this, er, curse passes, it would be best to lay yourself down for a bit. Maybe Vin could find a cure for ya. Yea, Vin?”
Vin raised their eyebrow at the pointed request, but said nothing to refuse.
“I’ll be fine,” Terra said, propping herself up on her elbows. “And we’re - snf! - leaving tomorrow, rain or shine…!”
She yawned, settling back down again.
“Curse…or no curse.”
******************************
The innkeeper had insisted on breakfast before the party left. An array of meat, pastries, fresh fruit, wine, and mead were brought before them – a king’s feast.
But Terra could hardly touch it.
Having been kept up almost all night by her burning sinuses and aching head, she could only lean against the back of the wooden chair, shivering as the chilly morning air drafted through. Her coat was made to be warm, even in the most frigid northern wind, but it seemed like the cold was leeching into her very bones.
She was only awoken when Norif put a hand on her forehead. The warmth of his rough palm felt her head, then either side of her neck. She heard him whisper something to the others, but the only thing she could hear was her pounding temples.
“Mmn…is it tibe to leave?” she murmured, trying to push her chair back from the table. Her sore joints were too weak, and the chair’s back legs clacked back onto the floor.
“Ah! Not just yet,” Norif saud, an odd tone of urgency in his voice. “We need’ta…er, Vin’s gonna go to a library nearby. T’cure your curse. There’s really no use ‘n you goin’, it’s all dusty books and scrolls.”
“Don’d have tibe,” Terra croaked. “Back to the guild.”
Norif gave Vin a pleading look, and the scholar fumbled with their knapsack, taking out a few tattered papers and maps.
“Eh, w-well, we are a few days ahead of schedule. We needn’t be back for at least another week, and it only takes three days to - ”
Terra was already up from the table, ignoring Vin. Without much choice, everyone else followed suit. After yesterday’s battle, they were afraid of what might happen if they tried to force her back to bed.
The weather had much improved since the day before. Though it was still a bit gray, the sun peeked out between the clouds, sending rays of light through the raindrops still left on the leaves.
Despite her weakness, Terra took the front as usual, plodding alongside Norif. Shivers ran up and down her spine as a cold wind left from the storm began to blow.
As the group walked near the edge of the woods, the clouds grew darker, and the sun disappeared again. Terra put a thumb on the underside of her nose.
You need to SNEEZE.
Terra sniffled and rolled her eyes. As if on cue, her nostrils began to tremble, and a burning tickle flared in her swollen sinuses. But, this time, the urge grew so great that it made the mage stop in her tracks.
“Hih…? HIH-!”
Attempt to STIFLE? > YES NO
She put her hands over her nose. A slow tingling made its way from her nose to the rest of her body. Soon, the air around her crackled with blue sparks of magic.
“Terra?” Norif said, reaching towards her before thinking better of it.
Terra tried to answer, but it was taking everything in her to keep the magic contained. Thunder rumbled in the clouds as she squeezed one watery eye shut.
“I-I’m…guh-! HUH-!”
She desperately waved to her friends to stand back – she knew that this sneeze was coming, one way or another. The party wasted no time, running behind the treeline with whatever they could carry above their heads to protect them.
“HihihHIH-!”
Terra leaned her head back, the magic coming to a peak inside her. The air was suddenly silent – a calm before the storm. Until –
“HIYA’TSHIIIIIIIEW!”
A circle of lightning flashed around her, and thunder rumbled loud enough to shake the earth. Smoking burn marks smoked around her.
But, before the rest of the party could join her again –
“HYESH’IIIIIEW!”
Again and again Terra sneezed, with each sneeze bringing another ring of lightning and another round of thunder. All of her lost sneezes from the night before seemed to finally come to fruition, and she couldn’t stop for some time.
Finally, though, Terra did stop. She lifted her head, dazed and with singed hair, and sniffled thickly.
SNEEZE COMBO x15!
Snottiness Rank B! Power Rank A+!
Bless you, TERRA!
One by one, her comrades came to join her – Norif first, of course, then Frederick, then, after some convincing, Vin.
The thunder had subsided, but a heavy rain had begun to fall. Terra started to shiver again, her trembling breath visible in blue puffs of steam.
“Ya poor thing…” Norif said, taking off his own fur-lined cloak and tying it around her shoulders. “You really oughta’ve stayed in bed.”
Terra rubbed her nose on the back of her damp sleeve. “Bud…th-the guild…we need…koff!”
She began coughing into her arm, and Norif fastened his cloak tighter around her.
“Ya need do no such thing,” he said firmly, though not unkindly. “You’re sick as a gnome in the rainy season. And almost half as wet –”
“And the sooner you put aside that hero complex of yours,” Vin interrupted, “the sooner we can get inside the inn, out of this weather! I’m already soaking, and we certainly don’t need two people ill in this party!”
They crossed their arms, and lifted their chin.
“Furthermore,” they added, “we wouldn’t want you catching pneumonia. That’s quite a bit harder to treat than that disgusting cold. And I will be significantly more furious with you if I catch it.”
Frederick took off his combat gloves, then put them over Terra’s red-tipped hands. He looked over his glasses and gave her one of his rare smiles. Putting his palms on either side of Terra’s hands, Frederick rubbed them together, trying to warm them.
“Ya feelin’ better, Terra?” Norif asked.
Terra sniffled. “C-Cold…”
“Well, no wonder!” Vin said, scoffing. “Heat is mostly lost through the head. If she had some sort of covering, then, perhaps…she could…”
Vin stopped. Everyone was staring at them. Or, rather, their scholar’s beret.
“I mean…or, rather…” they spluttered, then threw their hands up. “Oh, fine! But it had better be returned to me in the exact condition I lent it. It’s irreplaceable, you know.”
They took off their hat, stiffly handing it to Frederick, as if through ceremony rather than a favor.
“Your sacrifice will be remembered through th’ ages!” Norif said, chuckling.
Vin glared at him. “My patience has already been tested enough. Do not test it further.”
“Aye, aye.”
Terra could feel a slow warmness spread through her, and her eyes suddenly felt heavy as iron.
“Alright, up ya go. Let’s get ya out of the cold.”
Terra was heaved up again, and, surrounded by the warmth of her friends, drifted into a dreamless, sneezeless sleep.
FRIENDSHIP LEVEL +1!
********************************
You have entered MARLINE’S MAGIC SHOP!
“Welcome back, traveler! Might I interest you in our wares?”
Marline smiled at the returning Terra, who replied by blowing her nose into a pink tissue.
“How’s it going, Mar?” Terra said, sniffling as she looked at the glimmering displays.
Marline’s smile faded. “Are you not well, traveler?”
“I’m weller than I have been. Just a liddle sniffly now. Snf!”
Marline put a hand to her mouth.
“Oh, Terra…it must have been my chill that you caught. And I left you without any faeleaf!”
Terra rubbed the back of her neck. “About that. You wouldn’t happen to have any more of that left in stock, would you?”
“Ah, yes, a fresh bunch! Why-”
Suddenly, a large, dwarvish sneeze came from outside the shop, followed by a chorus of harsh coughs. Marline put her lips together underneath her hand, keeping back a giggle.
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah,” Terra said sheepishly. “I’ll take three pouches.”
She furrowed her brow, counting on her fingers.
“And a few-”
Another sneeze rang out, this time small and high-pitched.
“Okay, a lot of tissues. We’re gonna need ‘em. Maybe some tea? I guess? That’s what Vin gave me when I was sick, anyway.”
Marline winked. “I know just the thing.”
She disappeared behind the shelves for a few moments, coming back with many packs of tissues, two pouches of strong-smelling tea leaves, a few pouches of faeleaves, and a thick blanket.
“May your party be blessed with a quick recovery,” Marline said.
Terra started to reach for her coin pouch, but Marline stopped her.
“I gave you and the others my cold. I’m going to cure it as best I can.”
Terra opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. She began to put the items in her bag.
“You’ll have nothing to sell at this rate, Marline,” she said.
Marline tilted her head. “Well, I can always deal in colds.”
Yet another sneeze came from the doorway, raspy and shuddering.
“It appears I’m quite good at it, I’m afraid.”
“I am too, if being an adventurer doesn’t pan out,” Terra said, turning to leave. “See you later, Marline!”
“Goodbye, dear traveler! And good health!”
Marline chuckled as Terra joined the others.
“Though it appears it’s a little late for that.”
#ohnos fics#snz#snz fic#cold denial#contagion#snz kink#snzblr#snz things#snezblr#snzario#snez kink#snz scenario#snezario#snzzzzz#snzfucker#snz fet#snz blog#whump#cold whump#whump things#whump blog#whump fic#whump tropes#whump writing#whumpblr#whump community#whump scenario
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M Allergies, 1.6k words
I'm back with another fic gang. This time featuring two high society exes reuniting at a fancy gala. In proper prohistamine fashion this one features allergies, a character with the fetish, and fun power dynamics.
Be warned! somewhat explicit sexual content and general unforgivable horniness
“Lovely of you to come, truly I’m so glad to see you both.” Lorna shook the minister's hand in hers, firmly and warmly. A handshake practiced a thousand times over. “Ms. Windsor arrived a few minutes ago I believe, I’m sure she’d be delighted to catch up on your party's substantial victories in the recent election.”
As he turned away Lorna selected a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and took a healthy sip. She’d need it to get through the rest of the night. She turned towards the door, ready to resume her assessment of each new guest as they arrived, but when she saw the man who’d just walked through the doors her stomach dropped. His dark hair was shorter than the last time she'd seen him, falling in waves around his face. He looked smug as ever, and when he caught her eye he started walking her way.
“Colin,” she murmured through gritted teeth, “I didn’t think you’d be caught dead here.”
Colin grinned thinly. “Ah well, you would assume I’d choose to be petty, you always thought the worst of me.”
She scoffed. “That is a charitable way to describe two years of you repeatedly lowering my expectations.”
“Now Lorna, can’t we put the past behind us? What is it we always said, not to let pleasure interfere with our business?”
“Stirring up unnecessary rumors will interfere with business. Don’t you think it’s a bit soon for us to be speaking in public? The dust has barely settled, people will talk.”
“‘Oh the worst fate!” he said in mocking horror, “to be the victim of gossip! Do you think we’ll make it out alive?”
“Oh of course, because you're so above petty politics. I’m the one who’s obsessed with gossip and you just let it roll off your back.”
“Do you think you could say that again for me? Maybe I can get it on tape.” He smiled and rubbed at his nose absentmindedly.
“You know what? I’m glad you came. I really missed that familiar little headache you gave me. It's this sort of… gentle throbbing at the base of my skull? I’m just not the same without it.”
“I knew you missed me. I missed the exercise I got from our conversations, we should really make a habit of it.” He rubbed his nose again, with more intention, and was she imagining it, or was the motion accompanied by the faint sound of wetness?
“Are you just here to flaunt your ability to get yourself out of bed?” Lorna asked, “ Because if so, point proven. This is kind of an important night for me.”
“Ah well, I’m glad you recognize my presence as the achievement it is, but I do have something to-” he cut himself off with a sniff and a scrubbing at his nostrils, “something to discuss. I have to ahh- hehh-” Lorna recognized the face he was making immediately, the far away look in his eye, the crease between his eyebrows. His buildup was, as always, dramatically long before he snatched his handkerchief out of his pocket and sneezed into it twice “AaaSCHU! AaaeSTCHU!” As always, there was no attempt to stifle his violent outburst. He looked up at her blearily, “Ah, pardon me.”
There was a faint smirk in his tone. Lorna scowled. Of course this would happen, just what she needed when she was already struggling to maintain her composure.
“Bless you.” she managed to say, intent on keeping her voice even. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having a reaction.
“Thank you I- oh there's- Aaah- ahh- AhGHSHUU! AESHTEW! AEGHEEW! Huhh. There were more.”
Despite her frustration, the familiar heat was rising in Lorna’s stomach and traveling down between her legs. Composure be damned, she leaned forward and hissed into his ear.
“Are you doing this on purpose?”
He chuckled. “Oh that would have been brilliant. I’m not that cruel, I'm afraid, or that creative. It must be the floral decorations. I’m desperately allergic, you see.”
Oh he was fucking loving this.
“People will stare you know. You’re embarrassing yourself.” She was looking for any way to take back power in the conversation, and she realized she’d been sloppy the moment she spoke.
“Embarrassing myself?” he asked smugly, “Oh you’d love that wouldn’t you.”
“I’m leaving.”
“C’mon now Lorna, I do have something important to discuss. How about we go out onto the balcony to talk. No worries about prying eyes, and the fresh air will be good for my nose.”
Lorna cast a glance at the large glass doors leading out to the south balcony. They had fabric drapes in front of them, placed intentionally for anyone desiring a conversation away from the eye of the press. Regardless of the privacy they’d have once they got there, people would be sure to notice the two of them leaving together. The smart decision would be to tell him she wasn’t interested in talking, but she desperately wanted a break from the crowd, and, pathetic as it made her feel, she wasn’t sure she could pass up the chance to continue watching him sneeze. It had been months since she’d had the pleasure, and she was beginning to feel like a woman starved.
“Fine.”
“Marvelous.” he said, words slightly muddled with congestion.
They made their way across the room, no doubt incurring the whispers of several guests.
Once they’d stepped outside and shut the doors behind them, Lorna turned to Colin only to see his face skewed in preparation for another sneeze.
“Hehh- Hhh- HhhSTCHU! HaAGHSHEW- I ha- hhh hhASHEW! I haahh- hadn’t realized it was …it was-” he held the handkerchief in front of his face expectantly as he struggled through the sentence, head tilted back as he gulped in air to fuel the fit, “ATZSHUU! ASHEWW! R-realized it was so… ahh- AschUUu! so cold out here.”
A sufficient chill had settled in the air since the sun had set, something Lorna hadn’t even considered. Colin was wearing nothing but a simple suit jacket, and he’d always been incredibly sensitive to changes in temperature. Just going outside in cold weather usually caused him a small fit, and the combination with his fall allergies was having quite the effect. He blew his nose into the folds of his handkerchief and then geared up for more.
“heeSGHEW! EESGHEW! HESHEWW!! Hehh- haaahh- ahh- ASHEW!” He was bending at the waist now with the force of them, and reached blindly to his left in search of the balcony railing, which he leaned on for support once he found it.
“Huhh-hhhh-hhoh god- heeehSHUUH! EESHEW! HEERGHSTEW! ESH-ESH-ESHU!!
The fit was punctuated by three violent little sneezes that tripped over each other to be released.
Since the moment he’d first sneezed, Lorna had felt like she was putty in Colin’s hand. His intimate knowledge of just what his allergies did to her gave him a maddening and tantalizing power over her. However, as he desperately wrenched forward with sneeze after sneeze, one hand shakily clasping a handkerchief to his face and the other doing its best to keep him upright, it was hard to see him as holding any kind of powerful position. For the first time that night she felt a twinge of pity for him. The feeling both frustrated her, and, of course, only served to further arouse her.
His fit finally subsided, and he slumped against the railing, gasping for breath.
“Sorry,” he managed, too exhausted to sound properly smug.
“Don’t be,” she couldn’t help but reply, her voice high pitched and obvious. She was so wet that she was worried it might actually start dripping down her legs. They both stood there for a moment in silence.
“So,” he started, still somewhat breathless, “about the election-”
“Colin-” she interrupted him, “I appreciate the effort to resume our professional relationship, but I don’t think I can listen to you talk about politics after that performance.” She knew she had admitted defeat, but in the face of his sniffling, shivering frame she found she no longer desired to one up him. What she really desired was to fuck him, to ease him open with her fingers and fill him up until he couldnt see. That or be fucked by him, bent over and begging for it as he held her by the hips with his big hands.
“I understand,” he said, “another time then. Perhaps then, before we go inside, I could talk to you about something expressly unprofessional.”
“Have at it Colin,” she said, trying not to sound like she was begging for it.
“There's something I’d like to show you. I warn you, it’s somewhat inappropriate.”
She felt her heart flutter in her chest, “I can handle that.”
He took a step toward her and then took her wrist. He guided her hand forward, lowering it beneath his waist and then pressing it between his legs where an erection was straining against the fabric of his dress pants. She moaned audibly at the surprise.
“Do you see what you’ve done to me?” he murmured into her ear, “this is what happens to me now, every time I sneeze. I can’t help it.”
“Colin,” her voice was strangled.
“How am I going to explain this to future lovers? You know how I get in the spring, I’ll be hard constantly. What will I say if they notice my cock twitch every time I sneeze? Every time they sneeze?”
Lorna’s clit was throbbing. Colin gave a liquid sniff, and she moaned again, body shuddering against his. Her hand closed slightly around his cock and he gasped sharply.
“My nose still itches terribly,” he murmured, accentuating the statement with another sniffle, “It would feel heavenly to rub it on something soft.”
“Please,” she begged him.
He leaned down slowly, placing a hand firmly on her hip, and dragged his nose across her shoulder, rubbing it in the nape of her neck. She trembled at the feeling of his soft nostrils, shifting as they rubbed against her, leaving her skin slightly wet.
“Fuck, that feels nice,” he said softly. She could do nothing but whimper in response.
She let it go on for a moment, their bodies intertwined, her hand on his cock and his nose buried against her. It took everything in her not to pull him into a kiss. Instead she stepped back, and wiped her shoulder with her hand.
“Thank you,” she said, wrangling her voice back to her well-practiced professionalism, “for that stimulating conversation on politics.” She took a moment to compose herself, taking a long deep breath and then continuing, “I have a gala to host, and you have one to attend. I think it best we continue this conversation later, after the guests have left. Perhaps in my personal chambers. You’d have to be discreet about staying behind of course, we wouldn’t want my guests to suspect we’re doing something illicit.”
Colin looked taken aback, and then broke into a wide grin, “Of course ma’am.”
She turned towards the door and then, before opening it, turned back towards him. “This does not mean I forgive you, " she said sternly.
Colin’s eyes sparkled. “Of course not.”
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painkillers
vesen request, 2.1 k, cold fic
ty to @scatter-snz for this elite prompt i hope this is what u had in mind!!!
jin-young is a cop (he has the kink because of who i am as a person)
vesen is a big tall hot alien assassin
aliens and humans are working together but it's still pretty new and things are awkward
jin and vesen 100% fall in love with each other eventually
that's basically all you need to know
It's Jin's first day being back after a record two days off. In his six years on the force, he can't remember the last time he took actual sick leave. To be fair, he doesn't get sick that often and when he does, he's aways been the type to grin and bear it. Part upbringing, part police conditioning. If you're not dead, you're fit to serve. Or at least that's the way it always has been.
The Kheelen changed that. Human officers aren't spread thin these days due to the partnering initiative. So his cases that would have once fallen to the wayside in his absence now fall to his partner, Vesen. And he's expected to trust that his taciturn, ill-mannered Kheelen counterpart can handle that shit on his own when Jin is otherwise indisposed.
For the most part, Jin does. Vesen may be an ass, but he's a competent investigator. Unfortunately, he and Jin's methods when it comes to gathering information are still wildly disparate. Something he knew, but didn't truly understand the consequences of until now as he sits across their latest subject in the interrogation room.
In the two days Jin took to nurse the cold from hell, it seems Vesen has taken it upon himself to put the fear of God into this man.
The man is visibly sweating. His eyes are only focused on Jin, though every so often they twitch Vesen's direction only to snap back as if his very image is a chemical burn. His cuffed hands tremble on the steel surface of the table and he picks at his cuticles the longer they sit there.
Jin doesn't blame him, necessarily. Vesen is, objectively, terrifying. Even just sitting like this you can tell he's the apex predator in the room. He's so much bigger than both Jin and the other man--he overpowers the chair and the room itself, looking comically oversized for the entire thing. Jin thinks all the Kheelen look a little silly in the human precinct, actually. Crunching themselves into tiny desks, massive hands cupping small coffee mugs, ducking under doorways--it'd be laughable if they weren't all sure the Kheelen would crush their skulls for even a giggle about it.
Jin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Intimidating is usually an advantage in an interrogation, but whatever Vesen's done to this guy over the past two days has pushed it over the line. He's not just intimidated, he's shitting his pants. There's no way they're getting through to him now.
And frankly? Jin is too tired to rectify the situation. He's still not feeling great. His head is fuzzy and dulled, his painkillers are wearing off, and part of him knows he should be back in bed. But he's legitimately worried Vesen will frighten this man to death if he leaves him alone with him for any longer, and that's a bad look for everyone.
Sniffing softly, Jin blinks and tries another tactic. "We want to help you, Anish."
Vesen scoffs at this, and Jin just barely manages not to roll his eyes.
"But you have to give us something to work with," he continues.
Anish shivers and shakes his head, "It doesn't matter! You know it doesn't! These bastards are taking over and they're just pretending to play nice until they don't have to anymore."
Oh boy, here we go.
Vesen's hackles rise, just as Jin expects. The alien leans forward, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Artificial light flickers over his lilac skin and makes his dark hair shine like ink.
"You dare insinuiate my people are not here out of good faith?" he hisses, sharp canines flashing, "When you are accused of aiding in a terrorist attack against them?"
Jin reaches out for his arm. Down, boy. His fingers drift over steel muscle beneath Vesen's uniform as he tries to tug him back into his seat. He's about to say something to try and reign him in when he realizes with sudden horror that he's about to sneeze instead.
"Hhh?"
He quickly turns away, angling himself away from the table and steepling his hands over his nose and mouth. His eyebrows crash together as an embarrassingly sharp breath snags in his lungs before--
"chhSH’iew!!"
And it's never just one.
"CHshISHh’iu!"
Two is actually pretty good for him, especially with this fucking cold. He gives a tentative sniffle before raising his head and clearing his throat. The tickle abates for the moment, but he can feel it buzzing dully in the back of his sinuses, tickling in the corners of his eyes.
Ordinarily, he wouldn't care. Sneezing in public isn't his favorite thing, given how he feels about the activity in general, but he's never been good at stifling so it's not something that can be avoided. But sneezing in front of Vesen is a new hell in and of itself. Without even looking, he can feel the intensity of his partner's gaze on him and it makes heat begin to crawl up his throat.
Fucking hell.
"Excuse me," he says with a soft sniff and clears his throat again.
At the very least, he's dispelled the tension.
"Arguing about who started what or whose intentions are genuine isn't going to get us anywhere. So let's not even get into that," he says, sending Vesen a warning glance.
Vesen, he suddenly notes, is staring directly at his nose. For some reason that revelation sets off a nuclear detonation in Jin's lower belly and all the blood in his body rushes south. Self-consciously, Jin rubs at his nostrils and tries to think about anything else. But that only aggravates the dormant tickle, and he has to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to curb the impulse.
"Fine," Vesen hisses, turning his eyes back to Anish, "Then let us stick to the facts."
Anish gulps.
Jin strokes a finger down the datapad in front of him, bringing up a few files. They could pin Anish with his money transfer trail. Or his text messages. He and Vesen haven't which way they were going to do this--they hardly ever agree anyway--but he shifts the pad closer to his partner so that he can look too.
"The facts are, you are a coward, Anish," Vesen suddenly purrs, "And you will not survive a week in prison if I put you there."
Jin could strangle him. He does roll his eyes this time and looks toward the ceiling, as if asking some higher power for the strength not to.
"What my partner means is that you nee--" The bright lights overhead tease the last bit of the tickle out at the most inopportune time. The fuzzy, static feeling inside his head snaps like someone struck a bolt of lightning into the middle of his face. He whips to the side, his elbow in front of him and his hand braced on his opposite shoulder. "Hh--excuse meehh'IIsHH!"
He mists the inside of his elbow, shakes his head softly and then gears up for another. His breath stumbles, eyelashes fluttering.
"Are you going to continue sneezing?" Vesen deadpans.
"Hhhuh?" Jin blinks blearily, his cheeks going red as he tries--unsuccessfully--to pinch off the next one, "nnTTchSHH'iu!"
"Madrax. What is that inane human saying? Bless you, Jin-young."
Vesen stands as Jin pulls a crumpled tissue from his pocket and tends to his nose. In the next second, he feels his collar being tugged and himself yanked up from his chair. Feet stumbling under him, he struggles to get his balance for a moment until Vesen's large hand steadies him at the small of his back.
Vesen's low voice simmers with what sounds distinctly like a threat, "We will return, Anish. Make yourself comfortable."
Then, before Jin knows what's happening, he's being guided out of the interrogation room and back into the hall. The door shuts and Vesen's hand retreats from his back. In a moment, the alien is towering before him, arms crossed over his broad chest and staring down imperiously at him.
"Jin-young," he says disapprovingly.
Jin blows his nose softly and retrieves another crumpled tissue. "Vesen."
"You are still ill."
"I'm on the tail end of it."
"I do not wish to work with you when you are not well."
Jin scoffs, dabbing at his red nostrils, "I thought the Kheelen didn't get sick. I'm pretty sure you can't catch this."
"It is not my well-being I am concerned for."
Jin's eyebrows shoot skyward. Vesen, concerned for someone besides himself? No fucking way. He might have said as much if his nostrils didn't suddenly swell double. He crushes the tissue to his nose and mouth to muffle a tired sneeze.
"hdj'SHMMf!!"
"Bless you."
Jin blinked and gasped, "Hh'chhmpf!"
"Bless you."
Jin adjusts the tissue to try and find a dry spot, missing the next sneeze entirely and directing it to the floor. "You don't have to say it every ti-hiime--hhCH'ISSH'iu!"
"And why not? Bless you. You said it is something humans say when another sneezes. You are sneezing, are you not?"
Jin blushes darkly as he attends to his nose. Does Vesen have any idea what he was doing to him? Clearly not, or else he'd be raking him over the fucking coals for it. But somehow him being oblivious is making it so much worse.
"Look who's suddenly so concerned over human-Kheelen relations," Jin gripes hoarsely, trying desperately to deflect. Anything to stop talking about him sneezing and Vesen blessing him. He'd rather be waterboarded.
"You should go home, Jin-young."
"And leave you to eat our sole witness alive? I don't think so."
Vesen bristled, "You doubt my abilities."
"If we were torturing the guy? Not for a second. But we're trying to get him to talk to us, Ves."
"Ah yes, and sneezing at him incessantly is doing the job just as well. Perhaps there is some merit to that," Vesen leans forward, grinning, "You look so unspeakably pathetic that he might take pity on you and finally tell us the truth."
Jin tosses his sodden tissues in the nearby wastebin and scrubs at his face.
"Fuck you," he groans, "Can we just go back and get this over with?"
"No, you are going home."
Vesen grabs his upper arm, his grip like a vice. Jin never really forgets how strong the Kheelen are, but every so often a brazen display hubles him completely. Vesen steers him effortlessly back down the hall without any hope of him struggling against him.
"Wait, Vesen, c'mon--" He struggles anyway, just on principle. But a moment later he yanks on his grip unintentionally as he wrenches away from him with another ill-timed sneeze. "Hh'CHISSihuh!" He nearly bends double on that one and Vesen abruptly pulls him to a stop. The alien holds fast to his arm as if he can sense that Jin is going to lose his balance if he's not tethered to anything.
"hah'hhCHHishh! iSSCchuh!" His ears begin to ring. Distantly, he's aware of Vesen's other hand bracing against his shoulder. That second point of contact sets his blood on fire. Before he can think too hard about that, another sneeze tickles the inside of his sinuses and he attempts to smother it with his free hand, "PpshhiSHHch!"
"Bless you," Vesen sighs as Jin straightens back up wearily, "Are you finished?"
"Yes," Jin lies and then shakes his head rapidly, turning away and pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, "NnghsSHH'iu!"
Vesen taps his shoulder. It almost feels...sympathetic?
"Go home, Jin-young. I will wait until you are well again to interrogate our witness."
Jin sniffles and glances up with watering eyes. "W-wait, really?" It's an unexpected gesture of charity from Vesen who has been historically uncharitable all the time he's known him. He narrows his glassy eyes, skeptical. Or at least, he tries to look skeptical despite the fact that his heart is in his throat because Vesen is still holding onto him and just watched him sneeze his head off with rapt, disgustingly erotic attention. "What's the catch?"
"There is no catch. Just go before I lose my patience," Vesen said.
Jin knows better than to argue with that. Vesen is someone who loses his patience extraordinarily quickly, and it's never pretty. If he's giving him an out, Jin might as well take it.
Sniffling, Jin nods and gives him a tiny salute, "Thanks, Ves."
Vesen finally lets go of him. He grunts in response, gives him one last unreadable glance, and then turns on his heel. Before Jin can say anything else, his impossibly tall figure disappears back down the hall towards the interrogation room.
Jin isn't totally sure, but he thinks Vesen might not be such a bad guy after all.
That, and he's suddenly unreasonably horny.
#vesjin fic#vesjin#snz fic#SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!#i write so slow and had to wait for the inspo to HIT yk#my idiots#please enjoy jin being an absolute disaster because vesen is witnessing him doing the 1 thing he would rather die than have him see#vesen is a big softie ok#snz kink#snz#snzfucker#my ocs
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Okay! so I saw this art of Kaveh and Al Haitham on twitter and IMMEDIATELY wanted to write something for it. My brain instantly saw the potential to include snz, so I did lol. These 2 will have a forever grip on my heart istg 💚
Al Haitham and Kaveh are sat together on the couch. Haitham is sitting upright, Kaveh is laying against the arm of the couch, legs draped over Haitham's. They're conversing, but Kaveh is doing all of the talking, and using sign language nonetheless. Haitham had a rather overstimulating day at work and needed to come home and recuperate, headphones off and all. Kaveh goes in and out of vocalizing some words because he just can't help it, but most of the conversation is done in complete silence. He starts by explaining how he dropped his pita pocket on his way to a consultation this morning, and then how one of his clients was completely delusional for wanting to build their house right in the middle of the desert.
'Oh my god, he never shuts up,' Haitham thinks to himself, but with the sweetest smile on his face. Kaveh learned sign for him, and even knows immediately when it needs to be used. No questions asked, just the most willing and effortless accommodation for his love.
Kaveh, still signing, is going on and on and on and on about other various little troubles he encountered throughout the day, when he suddenly pauses. His hands stop moving and actually hover closer to his face. Haitham notices, but just keeps caressing his legs as he's been, waiting for Kaveh to continue but aware of what's about to happen.
"Hhi-!tzshu!-IShu! HHha-! HI'NGXT-shiew!"
He let's out 3 small(ish) and clearly subdued sneezes, throwing them into his elbow and away from Haitham.
"Snf! Guh, sorry," he semi-whispers.
"Bless you," Haitham signs and speaks, then goes back to just signing.
Why did you hold those back? It sounded like it hurt.
You've had a rough day, I don't want my sneezes to add to that.
His normal sneezes are ridiculously loud and Haitham can't deny that. He smiles to himself, Kaveh noticing.
What? Kaveh signs.
"You're so good," Haitham says, very matter of fact. "To me, to those around you. Very accommodating and attentive."
Kaveh pauses, not expecting to have heard that from Haitham. It sounds too good to be true.
Well, I try to be. Kaveh signs with a rather proud look on his face, soaking up this rare praise.
"But don't do that again. Not only is it bad for you, but holding back and stifling make your sneezes specifically ten times worse. I'd rather you blow my eardrums out now than over the course of the entire evening."
Kaveh, who is now visibly fuming, angrily signs and speaks.
"You! Just when I thought I'd finally received genuine praise for being so mindful of you, you pull this! Everytime!"
"That was genuine praise. You can't deny what stifling does to you, though. Any second now and-"
"HA'GTZSH-UH!"
. . .
"Don't-"
My point exactly.
"HAITHAM!"
Haitham then takes Kaveh's left hand, brings it to his face and kisses it, making him blush and shutting him up immediately.
"Thank you, Kaveh."
#aaaaaand scene!#just a lil drabble#I just love them so much your honor 😭💚#korewrites#g/enshin i/mpact#sneeze kink#snz#snz kink#k/aveh#h/aitham#a/lh/aitham#sneeze fic#snz fic#sneeze drabble#snz drabble
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Powder and Ice: Ha//zbin Ho/tel
Warnings/ Content Tags: Mess, Mentions of Addiction and Drug Use
Word Count: 3,813
This one got away from me plot-wise, was working on a fic with a more stubborn/ in denial An/gel for a Hus/ker/dust fic, and then it inched closer to a study on An/gel and Che/rri's relationship after he starts making an effort to stay clean.
I still like it, but I think I'll try another Hus/ker/dust fic later if I get some other ideas.
Enjoy! ^^
It was a rainy Saturday evening, and Husk was polishing glasses when the double doors to the hotel swung open and a pair of long, thin, fishnet-clad legs sauntered their way inside.
Setting down the martini glass he’d been cleaning, Husk gently wiggled his fluffy ears and attempted to suppress his smile as Angel approached the bar and sat down on a stool.
“You’re back early,” Husk said, analyzing Angel’s expression and pondering whether or not he should pour the spider a drink.
“Shoot ended early,” Angel replied, fighting back a slight shiver as the air conditioning above the bar blew over him, sending a chill down his spine and blasting frigid air onto his damp fur, “snff!”
Husk noticed Angel’s vibrating shoulders and shot him a look of concern, sliding a bellini across the bar before going back to polishing glasses, “You alright?” he asked, testing the waters.
“Mhm… I’m fine,” Angel replied, taking a sip of his drink and licking his lips, the bubbly prosecco hitting his nostrils, “H-hahh…Hhh… HNK-Ksshh! Hh-kxhht!”
Husk’s ears twitched, “Bless you,” he said, still focusing on the martini glasses.
Angel flushed briefly from embarrassment, wanting desperately to dab at his nostrils with a tissue as he felt his ‘nose’ threatening to run, but holding off, just letting it itch, and itch, and itch, “Oh, th-thanks,” he replied, “Hh! H-hihh…HnK-! Hh’Ddtsh! Hhnk’kxhht!”
“Bless you,” Husk said, raising a fluffy eyebrow as he put away the last martini glass and popped open a bottle of vodka he kept under the counter, taking two swigs and setting it back down, “Snow day?”
Angel shook his head. To help keep him on track while he weaned his body off of cocaine and PCP, Husk only used euphemisms and coded language to ask Angel if a shoot or particular day had been difficult enough to make him use again. So far, the system was an incredible success, and Angel had been completely clean for 4 months and counting.
“Nuh-uh… snff!... I think it’s just the drink- Hh’Ddtshh!- bubbly always mbakes mby ndose itch… SnFF!” Angel replied, scrubbing away at his face, ice cold rainwater still dripping from his pristine white fur, threatening to crystallize under the harsh air conditioning, “H-hahhh…Hah’KsShew!”
Husk rolled his eyes, “I never would’ve guessed… surprised you didn’t get this sensitive after chuggin’ a bottle of champagne with me that one time,” he said, drumming his fingertips against the countertop.
“I think it’s just… snff!... more sensitive now that I’m not usin’ anymore,” Angel said, his face contorting and twitching as he tried desperately to keep from sneezing again.
“You know what I think?” Husk asked.
“What? That lookin’ all dewy and shiny from the rain makes me look cute?” Angel asked, leaning forward and fluffing out his furry pompadour, causing a mist of rain droplets to hit the air, glistening as they reflected the ceiling lights, “Hh!...Ha-Ah’tSshiew!”
“That you’re gettin’ a cold,” Husk replied.
“What? Nahh, I’m fine… I-ihh…I’m fine,” Angel said, rummaging through his pockets until he pulled out a napkin, holding it up to his ‘nose’ and letting loose, “Hihh-Ah’TsShew! H-hiIhh’TsShhew!”
“Mhm, sure,”
“Oh fuck off- snff!- maybe I’m allergic to you, Furball,” Angel scoffed, poking Husk’s nose.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Angel,” Husk replied, wiping off the whiskey glasses and smirking at Angel’s scowling expression.
Suddenly, the two men jumped at the sound of an energetic Cherri Bomb bursting into the parlor, covered in glowstick jewelry and wearing a scrunchie as a garter.
“Angie! There’s a new joint opening up at the border, you should totally come with me, it’ll be fun!” Cherri said, reaching out and grabbing Angel’s hands, batting her eyelashes at him in an attempt at persuasion.
“Sure, just lemme change first,” Angel said, shooting Cherri a half-smile as he wandered upstairs and came back down in a tube top, hot pants, and knee-high boots to replace his usual thigh-highs, “There we go- snff!- perfect.”
“Yea! There we go, lookin’ just like old times, let’s hit the road!” Cherri cheered, pumping her fist in the air as she tugged at the neckline of her shirt and moved a piece of her hair out of her face.
Angel inched back over to the bar, leaning against the counter and looking at Husk with pleading eyes, “Wanna come with? I could use the company,” he whispered, ignoring his watery sniffles that he seemed to punctuate each sentence with, dabbing at his nostrils with the napkin again.
“Sure, why not,” Husk said with a sigh, tidying up everything behind the bar and pocketing a flask before mentally preparing himself to join the pair of party animals for their night out.
“Hey, hey, this isn’t a trip to the old folks home, FancyFeast, if you’re gonna tag along you’ve gotta be cool,” Cherri scoffed, folding her arms in a manner that was more petulant than intimidating.
“I can be cool… I’m only goin’ for Angel anyways, relax,” Husk said, stretching his arms out over his head and sticking close to Angel as the trio headed out the door- Charlie and Vaggie were on a brief trip to the Gluttony ring and would be back in a couple of days, leaving Alastor in charge, although he was also missing in action.
“Whateva’ ,” Cherri said with a scowl, refusing to look at Husk as they traversed to the outskirts of Pentagram City in what was now pouring rain.
Cherri and Husk were just short enough to get by sheltering themselves from the downpour with the awnings of buildings, while Angel was forced to get hopelessly soaked, his mascara and eyeliner smearing and running down the fur on his face.
“Y’know… we aren’t that far from the hotel, we could just turn back,” Husk offered, raising his voice slightly so that the sound carried over the loud percussion of raindrops against the ground.
“N-no way, I’b fide… I-I’ll dry off whe’d we get there…Snff- Snff!” Angel replied, his voice slightly croaky from struggling to talk over the rain with an already scratchy throat.
Husk frowned, and inched closer to Angel while still under the safety of the awning, opening his mouth to attempt reasoning with him, only for a massive truck to whizz past, rolling their chunky tires through a deep puddle that was flooding the road, spraying Angel aggressively until he was absolutely waterlogged, his hair limp and his skimpy top threatening to slide off of his drenched chest fluff.
“Hh-Hihh’Tsschhew! Hi-Ihh’kSsHEW!” Angel sneezed, spraying into the air before swiping at his nostrils with a damp, pitiful sniffle.
Husk sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as the group approached the club, a dingy neon sign reading ‘The Closed Freezer’ hanging in front of the brick building as obnoxious dubstep leaked out from under the steel-plated impact doors like smoke.
“You ready to get fucked up, Angie?!” Cherri asked, gently shaking Angel’s shoulders and grinning at him with a fierce look in her eye, bouncing on her heels.
Angel quietly dragged the heel of his wrist across his face with another congested sniffle, “Mhmm… this is gonna be fun…Hh’ktshew! ‘Scuse mbe…” he replied, waiting until Cherri wasn’t paying attention to discreetly clear his scratchy throat.
Cherri swung the industrial doors open and a blast of freezing cold air hit Angel and Husk like a tidal wave, frost clinging to Angel’s wet fur almost immediately as they stepped inside.
The Closed Freezer was a more literal name than Husk had previously thought, as the entire building was covered ceiling-to-floor with slippery, skin-numbing ice crystals, with chunky climate control units blasting freezing cold air into the room constantly. Husk exhaled, and watched as his breath instantly turned to fog against the frigid, dry air.
“H-holy sh-shit,” Angel stammered, his teeth almost immediately beginning to chatter as his thin layer of drenched white fur froze over, his movements slightly stiff as ice crystals broke and reformed every time he took a step or readjusted his arms… or blinked, “H-Hi-ihh’Tshhhew! ‘KsShiiew!”
Husk looked at the thin layer of ice that was coating Angel’s clothing like a protective lacquer and bit his tongue, “You sure you wanna do this?” he asked, wrapping one of his wings around Angel briefly in a futile attempt to warm him up.
“Y-yes… I’b f-fide… I-ihh’tshhew!” Angel replied in a hushed tone, his sinuses leaking a stream of half-frozen mess down his face, which he struggled to wipe up with his jittery hands and chattering teeth. Once his face was clean, Angel turned away from Husk to cover a sharp, dry, almost barking cough.
“C’mon Ange, you’ll warm up in no time once you’ve gotten pumped, you know what it’s time for, Bitch!” Cherri coaxed, holding up a plastic sandwich bag of white powder and dangling it in front of Angel’s face, gesturing toward the bathroom with her head.
Angel bit his lip, taking a step back and fiddling with his freezer-burnt fingers, “No,” he said firmly before blowing into his hands in an attempt to warm up his freezing digits, “I’b ndot doin’ that, Cherri.”
“Don’t be a fuckin’ buzzkill, A.D., we’re here to have fun, you can repent or whateva’ afterwards!” Cherri urged, grabbing Angel’s wrist and preparing to drag him.
“I s-said. No.” Angel replied with a huff, yanking his hand out of Cherri’s grasp, still shivering violently, “I can have fun w-wit’out gettin’ fucked up… sNFF!... if you wanna get high, th-that’s your business, m-more power to ‘ya, but I don’t.”
Cherri frowned for a moment, looking away from Angel in embarrassment, before regaining her spark, “Alright, fine, that’s… that’s cool, I’ll just trip hard enough for the both of us! Yeah!” she cheered, vanishing into the bathroom.
Now alone, Husk turned to face Angel, a proud smile on his face, “That was good… Charlie would say that was ‘a healthy way to stand firm on your boundaries with a friend’,” he said, patting Angel on the small of his back.
“I’m proud of myself,” Angel replied, turning to cover another harsh cough, the desperate barks were beginning to sound… croup-y against the stale and frosty air.
“Angel…” Husk said, his voice probing as he folded his arms and shot the spider a knowing look.
“What? I-ihh’tsShew! Ih’KShhew!” Angel sneezed, wiping away more half-frozen mucus with a napkin, silently thankful that nothing was smearing on his already mascara-stained face.
“You got drenched on the walk over here and we’re literally in a repurposed meat locker… and, whether you are ready to admit it or not, you have a cold,” Husk said plainly, quietly moving his tail out of the way of a dancing drunk couple.
“I don’t have a…a-ahh… Ii-Ahh’kTsShEW! Hh’kShew! Hnk’TsSchew!” Angel argued, letting loose a watery sniffle as his sinuses began to leak, and looking pitifully at his crumpled-up napkin.
Husk pulled a travel package of tissues out of his pocket, waving them teasingly in Angel’s reach, a playful smirk on his face when he pulled them away as Angel reached for them, “Nope, nuh-uh,” he teased.
“Th-that ain’t fair, Husk… SnFF!... Mby ndose is runnin’, this is embarrassin’,” Angel pleaded, holding a hand over his face to hide the trickle of mess from view.
“What, you allergic to ice now?” Husk scoffed.
“Husk, baby, pleeease?” Angel begged, his scratchy voice cracking on the ‘please’, turning into another barking cough that seemed to suck the life out of his eyes as he visibly drooped upon catching his breath.
“If you’re not sick, I don’t see why you’d need these, that napkin ought to work just fine,” Husk said, staring at Angel with a knowing look in his dark eyes, “Go on… you want ‘em so badly, don’t you?”
“SnFF! Snff-snFF!” Angel sniffled pitifully, his sinuses still hopelessly dripping, his gloves damp with warm mess as he struggled to keep his composure, “Hi-Ihh’DdtsShheww! Hih’TsscHEW!”
“C’mon Angel,” Husk teased, “Admit it, and they’re yours.”
“F-fide! I cad’t take it- Ihh’KTsShEW!” Angel cried, “I’ve got a cold, you win, can I have the tissues now? Please?”
“Christ, Angel- here,” Husk said with a nervous chuckle, watching as Angel desperately blew his ‘nose’ until a tissue was completely soaked, cloudy yellow-ish mess rattling in his sinuses with each sniffle, “We should go home… you sound like you’re gettin’ worse.”
“I’b fide… SnFF! SnRkk! Fine! I’m…f-fine,” Angel argued, swallowing harshly and ignoring the throbbing sensation from his sore throat, “Besides… freezin’ stuff is a good way to kill germs, ain’t it?”
“Yes, when they aren’t already inside you, once that happens, shivering and sniffling in a furnished freezer full of loud drunks is just a good way to get bronchitis,” Husk said, looking away sheepishly as though he was speaking from experience.
Angel pouted, “I can take care of mbyself… snff!...IhH’TsShiew!” he insisted, tugging at his frost-covered tube top with numb fingers, muffling a hoarse, scratchy cough with his fist.
“Mhm, ‘cause takin’ care of yourself is going out in the rain showin’ this much skin when you were already gettin’ sick,” Husk said, gesturing to Angel’s skimpy outfit, watching Angel struggle to stop trembling from the cold, “Healthy, smart decisions.”
“Oh fuck off, SnFF!- I don’t need you to lecture me-ee… Ihh… Ihh’KTSHHEW!” Angel replied, swiping at his ‘nose’ with his thumb to alleviate the obnoxious itch.
“Y’know, your pal hasn’t come back from the bathroom in a while… this happen often?” Husk asked, raising an eyebrow as Angel let out another pitiful-sounding sniffle.
“Sorta… she’d get lost in the moment, havin’ her fun and sometimes she’d forget about me- SnFF!- it’s fine, I’m used to it,” Angel said, his hoarse voice struggling not to crack as he fought to be heard over the loud music.
Husk frowned, but said nothing.
Two hours went by in a long, frosty blur. By the time the second hour passed, Husk found himself feeling slightly jittery and out-of-sorts as the piercing cold of the nightclub finally managed to hit his skin through his dense forest of fur.
After a few minutes of pressure and pleading, Cherri had finally pulled Angel out onto the dance floor, and the two had been dancing for a while.
Cherri hopped and bounced, pumping her fists in the air and flipping her massive mane of blonde locks excitedly; on the other hand, Angel waned, occasionally swaying his head to the oppressively loud thumping of the music, but mostly just trying to stay on his own two feet.
Husk perked up from his parking space at the bar when he felt a pair of ice cold, shaking hands rest on his shoulders, smelling Angel’s fragrant rose perfume from behind, “I’m not dancin’ with you… this kind of music ain’t my style,” he said firmly.
“Don’t wanna dance…SnfF!” Angel replied, leaning forward so that more of his body weight was being pressed against Husk’s back and shoulders, “H-hihh… HiIh’DdtSshiew! I wanna go home.”
“Hmph, now you’re ready to go? Bored of the music?” Husk scoffed, raising an eyebrow at Angel with a particular ‘I told you so’ look on his face.
“No… No you were right- snff!- I ain’t feelin’ good,” Angel said weakly, covering a throaty cough with his arm.
Husk noticed Angel’s trembling legs and his dazed expression, reaching a hand out to feel Angel’s cheek, chewing on his tongue when he felt heat radiating from Angel’s skin in spite of the bitter chill hanging through the nightclub.
“Alright, let’s go,” Husk beckoned, holding Angel’s hand and gently tugging him along, only for Angel to stop in his tracks, refusing to budge, “Angel, c’mon.”
“Wait… I wanna wait for Cherri,” Angel muttered.
“Oh for fuck’s sake- Cherri!” Husk hollered into the crowd, folding his arms when a heavily-inebriated Cherri Bomb spun out of the intense crowd on the dance floor to meet them at the bar, “C’mon, we’re goin’ home.”
“Oh please, this Heaven bullshit might be worth tryin’, but it in’t worth turnin’ into a square over, y’can’t force Angie to give up everythin’ that makes him happy over it,” Cherri argued, her slurred speech and wandering eye making Husk roll his eyes as she reached for Angel’s wrist, “C-C’mon Ange, let’s fuckin’ dance!”
Angel pulled his hand away from Cherri’s grasp- not necessarily out of malice, but because he quickly held it up to his mouth to cover another croupy, barking cough.
Struggling to catch his breath after his coughing fit, Angel clutched his chest and took a ragged inhale through clenched teeth, feeling the cold air burning his throat and shocking his sensitive lungs on its way in. The climate control was blasting in such harsh jet streams of ice-cold air that the oxygen felt thin, like the stagnant air near the top of a mountain.
“SnrRk! He’s ndot mbaki’d mbe do a’dythi’g… Snrkk! I… Iiihh.. Hih’KsschEW! Hih’DdtSchhiew!” Angel said sharply, blowing his nose into the last of his tissues and leaning against Husk for support, still shivering.
“Pshh, y’don’t have to pretend for the cat, Ange, I know you, we’ve still got all night to tear it up!” Cherri cheered, swatting Angel on the back, the blow to his sensitive chest making him cough.
Cherri chuckled at the sight until a minute passed and Angel was still coughing, desperately wheezing for air whenever his lungs allowed him a quick break. Angel coughed, and coughed, and coughed.
“Angie?” Cherri asked, reaching out to rub Angel’s shoulder, only for him to be yanked out of reach, with Husk dragging him to the exit by his waist, “H-hey!”
“I’m takin’ him home, with or without you,” Husk spat back in Cherri’s direction, desperately rubbing Angel’s back as they moved.
Cherri felt knots in her stomach, turning back to look at the hyped up energy of the dance floor, before refocusing her gaze on the club’s entrance and exit, the conflict and panic sobering her up just a bit, “Fuck it,” she muttered to herself, pulling off her heels- the last thing she wanted was to shatter her ankle from slipping on the icy floor- and running out the door back into the rain.
It didn’t take long for Cherri to find Husk and Angel, Angel quickly grew lightheaded and exhausted by the end of his coughing fit, and dropped to his knees a few paces away from the club’s entrance.
“Angie?” Cherri asked again, sitting down next to Angel’s desperately panting form, watching her friend’s chest rise and fall drastically. “What happened?” Cherri asked, turning to Husk for answers as Angel struggled to catch his breath.
“Exactly what the fuck I said was gonna happen, he spent over two hours dickin’ around in a giant freezer while soaking wet when he was already sick, and now his lungs are kickin’ his ass for it,” Husk scoffed.
“I’m-” Angel paused to cough again, finally getting some air in his lungs to the point where he could relax his shoulders and support his weight without leaning to hold himself up, “-I’m fine… Snrkk!- it was just so cold in there, the air was blowin’ so hard, I was fine for a while and then suddenly I couldn’t breathe.”
“You okay?” Cherri asked.
“Ndot really-” Angel said with a sniffle, “I…I shouldn’t have come out tonight- snFF!- I was already sick and this just mbade it worse.”
Husk bit back the urge to smirk.
“Why’d you agree to come?” Cherri asked, “Y’ could’ve told me, bitch, I’d have gone alone and brought y’ along some other time.”
“I’ve been turnin’ ya down a lot… Ihh’Ddtshhew!, didn’t want ya to think I didn’t wanna hang anymore just ‘cause I got clean,” Angel admitted, coughing slightly as he rubbed his chest, “It’s just that hangin’ out can be… a lot, even when I don’t feel like shit.”
Cherri, now far more cemented in her right mind, looked back on some of her behavior from the night and rested a hand on her best friend’s thigh, “Sorry Ange,” she said, just loud enough to be heard over the rain, “Still gettin’ used to the new you… I’m tryin’, I promise.”
Angel rolled his eyes, “h-Hihh’Ddtshhew! Ih’DdtSsHEW! I’b ndot that different, Cherri… I would’ve been happy to hang out wit’ ya if I wasn’t… Hih’DdtSHHEW!... sick,” he explained, “Mbe bein’ clean doesn’t- Snff!- mean I don’t wanna have fun anymore.”
Cherri smiled, slowly rising to her feet and pulling Angel up after her, “C’mon, let’s go home,” she said.
“I-Ihh’KtSschew!” Angel sneezed, dragging the heel of his palm under his nostrils, “Uch, I’m outta tissues.”
Cherri fished around in her pockets, pulling out a beige square of cloth and handing it to Angel, “I usually keep these around to make molotovs, but you can use it as a snot rag tonight,” she said.
Angel wiped his face off, slightly embarrassed, but choosing not to be too headstrong about it, “Thanks,” he mumbled, beginning to sound hopelessly stuffy as he blew his ‘nose’ into the cloth.
Upon arriving back at the hotel, Angel was practically dead on his feet, soaking wet from the rain for a second time, and struggling to find a dry spot on his damp makeshift-handkerchief that he could use.
“hHihh… Hi-ihh’ktschhiew! Ih’KtsSchew!” Angel sneezed.
“Bless you,” Husk sighed, “I’m gonna go root through the medicine cabinets to see if we’ve got any cold medicine while you take a hot shower and get changed.”
“Mkay,” Angel replied, too exhausted to argue or attempt to challenge the passive demand, “I-ihh’KTsSchhew!”
“Oh wait, Angie!” Cherri called out, pulling a plastic bag out of her pockets that was filled with what looked like rock salt, “Here-”
“Cherri… what the-”
“No, relax! It’s bath salts… they’re uhh… Eucalyptus and lavender,” Cherri offered, “If you put ‘em on the floor of the shower, the steam helps a ton… that’s not why I have ‘em, but you can still use ‘em that way!”
Angel smiled, hugging the bag to his chest, “Thanks Cherri,” he replied, nervously rubbing the back of his head, “Once I’m outta the shower… you wanna watch a movie?”
Cherri smiled, twirling a strand of her blonde hair around with her index finger, “Fuck yea,” she replied, resisting the urge to eagerly shake Angel by his shoulders, “See ya when you get outta the shower, dickhead!”
Angel nodded, shooting Cherri a curt wave, and turning to head upstairs for an all-too-necessary hot shower and a warm pair of pajamas. Halfway up the steps, Angel paused, fanning in front of his face as an itch built in his sinuses.
“What’s he doin’?” Cherri asked Husk in a hushed tone, watching Angel remain frozen on the steps, “Should I go ask him what’s wrong?”
Husk shook his head, counting down the seconds with his claws, “Nahhh, watch this- in three… two… one-”
“hI-IHH’KTSsSCHHIEW!”
“That was it,” Husk whispered to Cherri, snickering as Angel disappeared up the steps.
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Something inspired me, and I wanted an "I Told You So" situation, so I wrote this. It's only a teeny bit D/s, with a sweet ending.
“Aww, sweetheart, you look miserable,” says A.
“SNF. I amb,” B responds, their words thick with congestion.
“I’m sorry you’re feeling poorly. But you know, this could have been prevented.”
A miserable, viscous sneeze is B’s only response. It fills the tissue that’s held desperately to their face, a constant presence under their red, streaming nose.
“Like I said, if you had only…” A looks at B expectantly, prompting them to finish the sentence.
“If I had… ha… ha’ERRSSHH’IUE!” B groans miserably into their mangled tissue. “If I’d have godden bmy flu shot.”
“Yep. Then you wouldn’t be…”
“Ha’IIGHHH’SHUU! Ugh. Sigg.”
“With?”
“The… huh- the -heh’AAIIEEH’SHUH! With the flu,” B practically whines into the tissue.
“Correct.” A can’t control their smug, satisfied smile. “Now, are you going to listen to me next time?”
“Yes. ihh-KIIISSSHH’iew!”
“Good,” says A, their smile turning sunny.
“Can you brigg bme sobme tea now?”
“Of course, love.”
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Nobody asked for this, but it's my OC Elliott. Have fun!
----
"Hehh!!-- Ihh- ihh- IHHH-- HIIISSHHH'HUUEE!! Ohh… sdf!-- HH'JSSCHHUuee!!"
Elliott sniffled - a thick, viscous sound reminiscent of sludge far too packed to flow through the pipe it currently resided in - and winced at the 'bless you's' which echoed through the garage. Taylor spoke up first, as always, with a blow to Elliott's already fragile ego.
"Jesus, you plan on stopping any time soon? I only have so many fingers to keep count!"
Though a part of Elliott, a large part, wanted to beam his co-worker with an allen wrench, he knew that the comment was at least partially warranted. Ever since arriving to work, Elliott had been sneezing on and off; and that wasn't even including the sneezing before he'd gotten to the auto shop.
Pausing to cough into his elbow, the brunette decided to opt for non-violence - and instead threw up a not-so-friendly gesture towards his fellow mechanic.
"Maybe if you actually focused on working instead of counting my sneezes, you'd leave on time for once," With another forceful, snorting intake of air, Elliott laid back down on the bench beneath his back. It felt cold and rough beneath his aching muscles, the skin shivering every so often, sticky with sweat. He was genuinely surprised he hadn't soaked through the entirety of his shirt already.
Despite his malaise and slight dizziness, he continued working on the car's suspension.
A few minutes in, he blinked blearily, before a panicked, albeit hazy expression settled onto his face. No no, not again, he was almost done! Rosy nostrils fluttered as his chest rose with a sharp inhale.
"Ehhh--!! EHH'JSSCHH'HIEW! HH'RRRSCHH'HIIEW!!Ohhh…"
The sneezed threatened to bolt him entirely upright, and he barely managed to restrain the strong expulsions from doing so. Still, his nose still got it's vengeance: glistening trails of mess clung to his upper lip, along with a heavy spray settling onto his face and shirt. Elliott swore under his breath, then went rigid as Taylor piped up again.
"Thirty-six!"
Fucking hell. He'd probably beat his record at this point, and it was only... 11:30am.
Today was gonna be long.
#greywrites;#oc: elliott;#mess#snz#snz fic#sick fic#sick drabble#snz drabble#this was genuinely so fun to write i missed writing so much#snz kink#snzblr
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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.
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"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
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The Worst Timing | [5/5]
we made it!!! part 5/5 + a mini epilogue (5.6k words) at long last 🥹 (aka the installment in which i remember that h/c has a c in it in addition to the h, haha.) [part 1] is here!
this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!
Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)
—
The world comes back to him in pieces—first the wooden panels of the ceiling, the sloped wooden beams. The coldness of the room, the slight, monotonous whir of the air circulating through one of the vents overhead.
He’s leaned up against the wall, seated on the floor in the hallway, and Vincent is kneeling beside him, his eyebrows furrowed.
It takes him a moment to realize where he is. He had been about to head back to the courtyard, hadn’t he? He doesn’t have much memory of anything that happened after, but judging by Vincent’s reaction, he thinks he can probably guess.
“Hi,” Yves says, for lack of a better thing to say.
He watches a complicated set of expressions flicker through Vincent’s face—relief, first, before it turns to something distinctly less neutral.
“You’re awake,” Vincent says. He turns away, for a moment. Yves notes the clench of his jaw, the tightness of his grip—his fingers white around Yves’s sleeve.
“Was I out for long?”
“A couple minutes.”
Yves wants to say something. He should say something. Anything to lighten the tension, anything to get the point across that this is all just an unlucky miscalculation, on his part. It really isn’t something Vincent should have to be worried about.
“I’m sorry for making you wait,” he starts. Really, what he means is, I’m sorry for making you worry about me. “I promise I’mb fine.”
The look on Vincent’s face, then, is something that Yves hasn’t seen before.
“Why do you have to—” he starts, frustration rising in his voice. He sighs, his jaw set. “I don’t understand why you—” He drops his hand from Yves’s sleeve, and it’s then when Yves notices the stiffness to his shoulders, the tension in his posture. He runs a hand through his hair, lets out another short, exasperated breath. “You’re not fine.”
It’s strange, Yves thinks, to see him like this—Vincent, who usually never wears his emotions on his face, looks clearly displeased, now.
“Hey,” Yves says, softly. He reaches out to take Vincent’s hand. Vincent goes very still with the contact, but he doesn’t say anything. “I—”
Fuck. His body seems to always pick the worst time for unwanted interjections. He wrenches his hand away just in time to smother a sneeze into his sleeve, though it’s forceful enough to leave him slightly lightheaded.
“Stay here,” Vincent says, getting to his feet. “Lay down if you get dizzy again.”
Yves blinks. “Where are you going?”
“To tell the others that we’re leaving.”
Yves wants to protest. Dinner is already halfway over. It’s not as if the festivities are particularly strenuous. They’ll probably move inside after dinner, where it’s warmer.
But he thinks better of it. Judging by how exhausted he still feels, how much his head aches, it probably wouldn’t be wise to push it.
“Don’t tell them about this,” he says.
Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“Aimee is going to worry if she finds out,” Yves says, dropping his head to his knees. He doesn’t want to look at Vincent, doesn’t want to know what expression is on his face. “Just—let them have this night. It’s—supposed to be perfect.” I really wanted it to be perfect, he almost adds. There’s a strange tightness to his throat as he says it, a strange heaviness to his chest.
He knows what it means. If, after he’s tried so hard to do his part, their evening still ends up ruined on his own accord, he’s not sure if he could live with himself after.
For a moment, Vincent doesn’t say anything at all.
“Okay,” he says, at last. “Just stay here.”
And then he heads down the hallway. The door at the end of the reception hall swings shut behind him. Yves thinks he should be relieved, but he finds that he doesn’t feel much other than exhausted.
—
The ride home on the shuttle is silent. Vincent sits next to him, even though all of the other seats are empty. Yves thinks the proximity is probably inadvisable. He opens his mouth to say as much, and then shuts it.
Vincent sits and stares straight ahead, his posture stiff, and doesn’t say anything for the entirety of the ride. It’s strange. Yves is no stranger to silence—Vincent is, after all, a coworker, and Yves has endured more than a few quiet elevator rides and quiet team lunches at the office, but it’s strange because it’s Vincent.
Vincent, who usually takes care to make conversation with him, whenever it’s just the two of them. Vincent, who stayed up through the lull of antihistamines a couple months ago to talk to Yves, until Yves had given him explicit permission to go to sleep.
Yves tries not to think about it. Through the haze of his fever, everything feels unusually bright—the interior of the shuttle, with its leather seats and metal handrails.
The shuttle stops just outside the main entrance to their hotel. Just before he gets to the doors, he stumbles. Vincent’s hand shoots out, instinctively, to steady him.
“Sorry,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. It’s not that he’s dizzy. The roads are just uneven, and it’s dark. “I can walk.”
But Vincent doesn’t let go—not for the entirety of the walk through the cool, air-conditioned lobby, through the hallways to the hotel elevators. Not when the elevator stops at their floor, not when they pass by the grid of wooden doors leading up to their room.
Before Yves can manage to reach for his keycard, Vincent has already swiped them in, scarily efficient. He slides the card back into his pocket, pushes the door open.
“Thadks for walking me back,” Yves says. “Sorry you couldn’t stay longer. You mbust’ve been halfway through dinner.”
“I already finished eating,” Vincent says.
“Even dessert?” Yves says. “I think Aimee got everyone creme brulee from one of the local bakeries. I was excited to try it. Maybe Leon can save us some.” he muffles a yawn into his hand. It’s too early to be sleeping, but his pull out bed looks very inviting right now.
“Take the bed,” Vincent says.
Yves blinks at him. “What?”
“The bed’s warmer.”
There’s absolutely no way he’s going to let Vincent take the pull-out bed in his place, Yves thinks blearily. He’s spent the past couple nights muffling sneezes into the covers—if there’s anything he’s certain of, it’s that he really, really doesn’t want Vincent to catch this.
“I dod’t think we should switch,” he says, sniffling. “I’ve been sleeping here ever sidce I started coming down with this. I’mb— hHeh-!” He veers away, raising an elbow to his face. “hh—HHEh’IIDZschH’-iEEW! Ugh, I’mb pretty sure I contaminated it.”
“We can both take the bed, if you’d prefer,” Vincent says. As if it’s that simple.
Yves opens his mouth to protest—is Vincent really okay with sharing a bed with him?—but then he thinks about Vincent finding him in the hallway—the stricken expression on his face, then, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched—and thinks better of himself.
Instead, he lets Vincent lead him to the bedroom. The bed is neatly made—the covers drawn, the pillows propped up against the headboard.
“Lay down,” Vincent says, pushing lightly down on his shoulders. Yves sits. He peels off his suit jacket, folds it, and sets it aside on the nightstand.
“Hey, I kdow that was sudden,” he says, in reference to earlier. “I’mb sorry you had to witness it. I… probably shouldn’t have pushed it.”
Vincent says nothing, to that.
Yves lays down, shuts his eyes. “You didn’t have to accompady me home, you know.”
Silence. He exhales, burrowing deeper into the covers. “It’s not as bad as it looks, seriously.”
He opens his mouth to say more. He has to say something, he thinks, to convince Vincent that it’s really not that big of a deal. Anything, to assuage that look on Vincent’s face.
But he’s so tired. He can feel the exhaustion now that he’s finally let himself lay down. The bed is traitorously comfortable, with its soft feather pillows and its fluffy layers of blankets, and Vincent was right—it really is warmer.
He feels the press of a hand on his forehead, feels the cold, unyielding pressure. Feels gentle, calloused fingers brush the hair out of his face.
“Sleep,” Vincent says, firmly.
And Yves—
Yves, already half gone, is powerless, when Vincent says it like that.
—
When he wakes, it’s just barely bright outside. He takes it in—the first few rays of sunlight, streaking through the curtains. The bed, a little more well-cushioned than the pullout bed he’d spent the past few nights on—higher up and decisively sturdier. He blinks.
Beside him, seated on a chair he recognizes as belonging to the desk at the opposite end of the room, is Vincent.
Vincent, awake. Yves isn’t sure if he’s slept at all. He certainly doesn’t look tired, at first glance, but closer inspection reveals a little more. It’s evident in the way he holds his shoulders, stiff, and perhaps a little tired, as if there’s been tension sitting in them all night.
He’s reading a book. Whether he bought it at the convenience store downstairs, or on one of the other days when Yves was busy running errands for the wedding and Vincent was elsewhere, or whether it’d been sitting in his suitcase since the start of the vacation, Yves doesn’t know.
“How’s the book?” Yves says.
His throat is dry, he realizes, for the way it makes him cough, afterwards. Vincent’s eyes meet his, unerringly. He shuts the book, sets it down on the bedside table.
“It’s a little boring,” Vincent says. “How’s the fever?”
Before Yves can answer, Vincent leans forward and presses the back of his hand to Yves’s forehead. His touch is unerringly gentle, and Yves allows himself to look.
Vincent’s eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, and Yves wonders, suddenly, if he’s been this worried for awhile, now. If he’s been this worried ever since he’d walked them both back into the hotel room last night.
“I’m fine,” Yves says.
It has the opposite effect he intends it to.
Vincent’s expression shutters. “The last time you said that, you passed out in front of me,” he says, withdrawing his hand with a frown. “So forgive me if I don’t entirely believe you.”
Yves sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s a fair point. “I’m usually more reliable whed it comes to these things.”
“What things?”
“Kdowing my limits.”
Vincent says, “I think you knew your limits. I think you just didn’t want to honor them, because you decided the wedding took precedence.”
He’s… frustrated, Yves realizes. Still. He’s sure he can guess why. Their fake relationship does not extend to Vincent having to look after him, to Vincent having to drop everything in the middle of a wedding, of all things, to take him home. To Vincent having to worry about all this—the fever Yves knows he has, now, and the bed he’s currently taking up—on top of everything else. As if being in a foreign country, surrounded by people he knows almost exclusively through Yves, who, for the most part, converse in a language he barely speaks, wasn’t already enough work on its own.
And Yves gets it. He hadn’t wanted this to happen, either. He’d told himself that if this—this pretend relationship, this pretense—is contingent upon both of them playing their part, the least he can do is be self-sufficient outside of it.
But now—because Vincent is here with him, and because they share a hotel room—all of this is now Vincent’s problem, too, by extension.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks.
Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly, as if the answer is evident.
“You gave up your bed just for me to steal it,” Yves says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s really comfortable, and all, but I’mb pretty sure they make these kinds of beds for two.”
“Is that a proposition?” Vincent says.
“Maybe.” Yves thinks it through. “Realistically, probably ndot, until I have a chance to shower.” He’s still dressed in his dress shirt and slacks from yesterday, a little embarrassingly—he should probably get changed. “Speaking of which, I should do that soon, so you don’t feel the need to stay up all night reading—” Yves leans forward, squints at the book cover on the nightstand. “—Hemingway? Somehow, I didn’t expect you to be the type.”
“I’m not,” Vincent says. “Victoire lent it to me.”
“Oh,” Yves says, trying to think of when Vincent would’ve had time to ask her for a recommendation. “Yeah. She’s—” He twists aside, ducking into his elbow. “hHEH’IIDzschh-EEW! snf-! She’s quite the literary reader. Is it really that boring?”
“I can see why people think the transparency of his prose is appealing,” Vincent says. “But I’m fifty pages in, and nothing has happened.”
“Isd’t that the sort of thing Hemingway can get away with, since he’s straightforward about it?”
“In a short story, maybe,” Vincent says. Then: “You are trying to make me feel better.”
Ah.
Yves laughs. “Where in the world did you get that idea?”
Vincent just sighs. “I would be exceptionally unobservant not to notice when I’ve seen you do the same thing all this week.”
“What?”
“Telling people that you’re fine,” Vincent says. “And distracting them when they don’t believe you.”
Yves doesn’t think that’s entirely accurate. It’s not like he was trying to be dishonest. It’s just that it was never the most important thing to address.
“Distracting is a bit disingenuous.”
“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, with a frown. “You’re so insistent on putting yourself last, even when you were obviously—” He sighs. There it is—that expression again, the one that makes itself evident through the furrowed eyebrows, the tense set of his jaw—frustration, and maybe something else. “You’re surrounded by people who care about you, so why not just—”
“There are plenty of things more important than how I’mb feeling,” Yves says.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
But of course it is, Yves thinks. A wedding is a once in a lifetime occurrence. An illness is nothing, in the face of that.
“I promised I’d be there,” he says, because when it really comes down to it, it’s true. He had no intention of going back on his word. “I didn’t want to be the one to let them down. Is that so hard to believe?” He reaches up with a hand to massage his temples. His head aches, even though he’s slept for long enough that he feels like it ought to feel a little better, by now. “It’s already bad enough that I had to drag you into this.”
“You didn’t drag me into this,” Vincent says. “I came on my own volition.”
Yves tries a laugh, but it’s humorless. “I made you leave halfway through the wedding dinner.”
“I’d already finished eating.”
“Ndot to mention, you practically had to carry me upstairs.”
“Because you’re ill.”
“That’s no excuse.” Yves wants to say more, but he finds himself beholden to a tickle in the back of his throat—irritatingly present, until he concedes to it by ducking into his elbow to cough, and cough.
When he looks up, blinking tears out of his vision, Vincent isn’t looking at him.
“You should get some rest,” he says, simply.
Yves can tell—just by the way he says it—that there is no argument to him, anymore. Just like that, Vincent is back to being closed off—poised and perfectly, infuriatingly unreadable, just like he is at work, his face so carefully a mask of indifference, even in the most stressful presentations, the most frustrating disagreements. Yves wants none of it.
“Hey,” he says. A part of him itches to crack a joke, to change the subject—anything to take away this air of seriousness. A part of him wants to reach out, again—to take Vincent’s hand, entwine their fingers; to reassure him, again, that he’s really fine.
“I’m sorry,” he says, instead. Maybe it’s the fever that loosens his tongue. Maybe it’s just a combination of everything.
He can feel Vincent’s eyes on him, still. Vincent has always held a sort of intensity to him, a quiet sort of perceptiveness. “I’m not sure I follow,” Vincent says.
“This visit was supposed to be fun for you,” he says. “And now you’re here, stuck in the hotel room because of me, even though today was supposed to be for sightseeing.”
It doesn’t feel like enough. What can he say to make it enough? There’s a strange ache in his chest, a strange, crushing pressure. Yves is horrified to find his eyes stinging. He’s held it together for so long, he thinks. Why now? Why, when Vincent is right here?
But a part of him knows, too. Of course traveling to a different country would be more involved than going to a party, or spending an evening at a stranger’s house. But there was a time when he thought this could really just be a fun excursion for the both of them—half a week in his family’s home country, with someone who he thoroughly enjoys spending time with.
And now, because of this untimely illness—or because of his own short-sightedness in managing it—it isn’t. He didn’t get to stay through dinner, didn’t get to wish Aimee and Genevieve a good rest of their night, like he’d planned to. He has no idea if things went smoothly in his absence. To make matters worse, Vincent is here, having endured a sleepless night, instead of anywhere else.
And really, when he thinks about it, who does have to blame for all of this, except himself?
“I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this,” he says. “So I’m sorry.” He resists the urge to swipe a hand over his eyes—surely, he thinks, that would give him away.
He turns away. It’s convenient, he thinks, that the embarrassing sniffle that follows could be attributed to something else.
“You’ve been nothing but accommodating to me, this whole visit,” Vincent says. “If anything, I should’ve insisted that you take the bed earlier. You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”
He says it with such certainty. Yves opens his mouth to protest this—or to apologize, for all the times he must’ve kept Vincent up, including but not limited to last night—but Vincent presses on.
“You spent all of yesterday morning helping everyone get ready, and when I got back, you apologized for not being around—as if the reason why you weren’t around wasn’t that you were so busy making sure everything was fine for everyone else.” Vincent pauses, takes in a slow, measured breath. Yves is surprised to hear that he sounds… distinctly angry, in a way that Yves is not used to hearing.
“And then you showed up to the rehearsal and the wedding, even though you weren’t feeling well. And you still think you have something to apologize for? Are you even hearing yourself?” Yves hears the creak of the chair as he stands, the sound of quiet footsteps. Feels the dip of the bed as Vincent takes a seat at the edge of it.
“You know, after you left the dinner table, Genevieve was talking about how much she liked your speech? Do you know that yesterday morning, Solaine told me how grateful she was that you helped her with fixing her dress? Do you know that when I got lunch with Leon and Victoire, they told me how much time you spent preparing for everything—the speech, and the wedding, both?”
Oh. Yves hadn’t known any of those things, and he knows Vincent isn’t the kind of person who would lie about this sort of thing.
“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, sounding distinctly pained to say it. “How could you possibly think that you haven’t done enough?”
Yves finds himself taken aback—by the frustration in his voice, by the fact that Vincent has noticed these things in the first place, by the fact that he’s deemed them important enough to take stock of. He makes it sound so simple.
“I don’t know,” Yves says, at last. He shuts his eyes. “If it was enough.”
“I’m telling you that it was,” Vincent says.
But Yves knows that he could have done more, if the circumstances were different. If he hadn’t been so out of it during the wedding. If he’d taken the necessary precautions to avoid coming down with this in the first place. If he’d been able to stay through dinner, at least; if he hadn’t needed Vincent to accompany him home.
“You don’t believe me,” Vincent says, with a sigh.
Yves doesn’t say anything, to that.
“I can’t speak for anyone else,” Vincent says. There’s the slight rustling of the covers as he shifts, rearranging one of the pillows at the headboard. “But I had fun.”
Yves’s heart twists.
It’s sweet, unexpectedly. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better,” Yves says.
“When have I ever said anything just to make you feel better?” Vincent says, with a short laugh. When Yves chances a look at him, he’s smiling down at himself. “I mean it. Meeting your family has been a lot of fun. It’s not often that I get the chance to be a part of something like this.”
Whether he’s referring to France, or the wedding and the festivities, or being surrounded by Yves’s large extended family, Yves isn’t sure. But if Vincent is trying to cheer him up, it’s working.
“I can see why you like France so much,” he says, turning his gaze out the window, though the view outside is filtered through the semi-translucent curtains. “It’s beautiful.”
“Today was supposed to be the last day for sightseeing,” Yves says, a little regretful. “But you’re stuck here.”
“In a sunny, luxurious hotel room, with a view of the pool and the garden?” Vincent says, with a scoff. “I could think of worse places to be.”
Staying up all night, just to check up on Yves, more accurately. Vincent must be tired, too—yesterday was already tiring enough. And now it’s morning already, and he hasn’t gotten any sleep.
“Reading Hemingway,” Yves adds.
Vincent looks a little surprised. Then he laughs. “Yes. I guess you’re right. Perhaps it’s an agonizing experience after all.”
The yawn he stifles into his hand, after that isn’t half as subtle as he tries to make it.
Yves feels his eyebrows creep up. “Are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep? There’s plenty of room.” He scoots a little closer to the edge of the bed, just to make a point.
Vincent peers down at the space beside him, a little hesitant. “At 10am?”
“It’d be, what, 4am, back in Eastern time?” Yves says. “By Ndew York standards, you’re supposed to already be asleep.”
“That’s not how it works,” Vincent says, but he dutifully moves a little closer to Yves anyways. He’s changed out of yesterday’s wedding attire, more sensibly, but now he’s wearing a knitted cardigan which Yves thinks looks unfairly, terribly good on him. Yves finds himself marveling at the unfairness of it all. How can someone look so good wearing something so casual?
Vincent smells good, up close. When he lays down next to Yves, pulling the covers gingerly over himself—leaving a careful amount of room between them, but still dangerously, intoxicatingly close—Yves feels his breath catch in his throat.
Vincent is right there, less than an arm’s length away from him, closer than he’s ever been, and Yves—Yves is—
“See,” Yves says, as evenly as he can manage to, in his current state, as if his heart isn’t practically beating out of his chest. He swallows. His throat feels dry. “This bed definitely fits two.”
“I suppose it does,” Vincent says. “Now you can tell me if I’m a terrible person to share a bed with.”
“After everything I’ve put you through,” Yves says, “I think I’d honestly feel reassured if you were.”
Vincent smiles, again, as if he finds this humorous. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine?”
“Positive,” Yves says. “You should sleep. I’ll wake you if I ndeed anything.”
“Okay. If you’re sure.” Vincent shuts his eyes.
It’s not long before his breathing evens out, not long before he goes perfectly still. He must really be tired, Yves thinks, with a pang.
Yves, for some reason, finds that he can’t get to sleep. He stares up at the ceiling for what feels like minutes on end, shuts his eyes, all to no avail. Maybe it’s because he’s already slept far more than his usual share. Maybe it’s the jetlag. Maybe it’s merely Vincent’s unusual presence—the strangeness of having him so close, in an environment so intimate.
But when he allows himself to look, he sees—
Vincent, his eyes shut, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. From the window, the filtered light gleams unevenly across the crown of dark hair on his head. There’s almost no movement to him at all, aside from the even rise and fall of his shoulders.
And Yves knows what the feeling in his chest is. He’s regrettably, intimately familiar with it.
He just isn’t sure he likes what it means.
—
Vincent—despite falling asleep so quickly—is up before him. When Yves wakes, next, it’s to a hand to his forehead.
“Hey,” Vincent is saying, softly. “Yves. You have a visitor.”
Yves opens his eyes.
He’s feeling—a little better, remarkably. Still feverish, still a little unsteady, but leagues better as compared to yesterday. When he looks over, he sees—
He doesn’t jolt upright, but it’s a close thing. “Aimee!”
He barely has a chance to ask before she’s crashing into him, encircling him in a tight hug. “Yves!” she exclaims, pulling back from him. “How are you feeling? Oh my gosh, when I heard you left early because you were unwell, I was so worried…”
Yves grimaces, turning away. “Sorry, I had every idtention of staying until the end—”
“You came all the way out with the flu!” she says. “I honestly can’t believe you. The fact that you still took the trouble to attend with a fever—”
“It—” Yves starts, but he finds himself twisting away, lifting an arm to his face. “hhEH-! HEEhD’TTSCHH-iiiEEw! Snf-! It’s fide, snf-! I’mb practically recovered already.”
“I should’ve told you not to push yourself when you told me you were coming down with something,” Aimee says, shaking her head. “And you stayed and gave such a lovely speech, even though you weren’t feeling well? When I was talking to Victoire after, she mentioned that you’ve been sick for days and Genevieve—you should’ve said something.”
“I’ll say somethidg next time,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. “Did the wedding go okay?”
Aimee visibly brightens, at this. “It was more than okay,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “It blew every expectation that I had out of the water.”
Aimee fills him in on everything that happened after he left, last night—dessert, the first dance, the cake-cutting; her favorites out of the photos they’d taken after the ceremony (a shot of Genevieve braiding her hair during the cocktail hour; a shot of them leaning in close, for the dance, tired but smiling; a shot of the cake with its multiple tiers, the frosting strung like banners across it; another where both of them are holding onto the cutting knife together and Genevieve looks like she is trying not to laugh; a shot of the bouquet toss, the flowers suspended in mid-air). She tells him about the conversations she and Genevieve had with others about marriage and their futures and their plans for their honeymoon.
Then she lectures him on how he should worry about his health first, next time. She tells him, in no uncertain terms, that she’s fully prepared to give him a piece of her mind the next time he tries to pull something like this. She insists that his health is more important than anything. Vincent stands off to the side the entire time, his arms crossed, passively listening in, but when Yves looks over helplessly, mid-lecture, he definitely looks a little smug.
All in all, she doesn’t seem disappointed in him at all. And, more importantly, she seems happy. Yves finds himself relieved, at this.
Genevieve stops by, too, a little later, to thank him for the advice he’d given her the day before the wedding. She hugs him too, and she leaves him a bag of tea that she promises “is practically a cure to anything—I hope it makes your flight home tomorrow a little more tolerable.” Victoire stops by, with Leon, and Yves resigns himself to more lecturing from the both of them. It’s humbling, a little, to be lectured by his younger sister and his younger brother, though he concedes that perhaps this time, it might be at least partially warranted.
Then Leon opens their hotel fridge to show him the two creme brulees he and Vincent had missed out on, packaged nicely in small paper containers. (“Vincent told me you were interested in these,” he says, and Yves finds himself slightly mortified—but perhaps also a little endeared—that whatever it was that he’d said last night, offhandedly, Vincent had deemed it important enough to text Leon about.)
Later, after Yves showers and gets changed—when he and Vincent eat the creme brulees at the table in the living room, and Vincent tells him that he’s finished the book, perhaps a little masochistically (“it doesn’t get any better,” he says, sounding a little spiteful)—Yves finds himself smiling.
He’s happy, he realizes, despite everything that’s happened. Even with the slight headache, and the lingering congestion, the fever that hasn’t quite gone away entirely. The revelation comes as a surprise to him, at first. But when he thinks about the people he’s surrounded with, he thinks perhaps it isn’t all that surprising.
—
EPILOGUE
“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Vincent asks.
“Yes,” Yves says. It’s not a lie.
This time, he’s seated right next to the window, and Vincent is in the middle seat. Yves had offered to take the middle seat instead, but Vincent had insisted(“If you wanted to sleep, you could lean against the window,” he’d said, and Yves had accepted only because it would be better to fall asleep against the window than do something embarrassing, like fall asleep on Vincent’s shoulder).
“It’s just the annoyidg residual symptoms, now,” he says. “I—”
God. He always has the worst timing. He veers away, muffling a tightly contained sneeze into his shoulder.
“hHEH-’IIDDZschH-yyEW! Snf-! I’mb — hHhEHh’DjjsSHH-iEW! Ugh, I’m fine. I feel better thad I sound.”
“Bless you,” Vincent says, leaning over to press his hand against Yves’s forehead. “No fever,” he says. “That’s good. But you should take another day off when we get back.”
Yves doesn’t think taking another day off is necessary. “I spedt the entirety of yesterday sleeping,” he says. “I think I’ve rested enough.”
Vincent just raises an eyebrow at him. “Need I remind you that someone very wise told you to take it easy?”
“Since when has Aimee been your spokesperson?”
“She made a lot of good points,” Vincent says, deceptively unassuming. “I think you should consider taking notes.”
Yves looks at him for a moment. “You’re laughing at me.”
This time, Vincent smiles. “Maybe.”
Yves leans back in his seat, reaching up with one hand to massage his temples. The changing cabin pressure is not exactly comfortable—his head still hurts a little, but he’s flown enough times to know that it won’t be as much of a problem once they finish their ascent.
“Thadks again for coming,” he says, unwrapping one of the small, packaged pillows the airline has left on their seats.
“You invited me,” Vincent says, blinking. “All I did was show up.”
But that isn’t true at all, Yves thinks. Vincent is the one who spent time learning basic French, who met Yves’s family and who spoke with everyone with genuine interest, who bought Yves medicine and water, all while being careful to not be overbearing. Vincent is the one who left the wedding early to walk Yves back to the hotel, who stayed with him the entire day afterwards.
“That’s such a huge understatement I don’t even kdow where to get started,” Yves says. “Thanks for meetidg my family—they love you, by the way. They’re going to be askidg about you every summer from now on, I just know it.”
He can already picture it—June, this year, after busy season is over, if their fake relationship lasts that long. Another flight where they’re next to each other. Another dozen conversations about how they’d met, about what it’s like dating a coworker, about what their plans for the future are.
Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. This was never meant to be a long-term arrangement in the first place. But something about this—about being here with Vincent—just feels so unthinkingly easy.
“It’s no problem,” Vincent says. “The feeling is mutual. I’m glad I got to meet them.”
“Thanks for looking after me, too,” Yves says, with another apologetic smile. “I’mb sure being stuck in a hotel room all day wasn’t how you were planning on spending your last day of vacation.”
“I don’t mind,” Vincent says, sounding strangely like he means it. “I like spending time with you.”
Yves nearly drops the pillow he’s holding.
When he looks back at Vincent, Vincent looks faintly amused. “Is that so surprising? I think I’d be a terrible fake boyfriend if I didn’t.”
“You make a really good one, as it stands,” Yves tells him, sincerely, and Vincent smiles.
Yves looks out the window—where the city beneath them begins to resolve itself into miniature, where the sky stretches where he can see Vincent reflected faintly back at him, from the glass—and finds that he feels impossibly light.
#sneeze fic#snz fic#sneeze kink#snz kink#snzfic#when i set off to write a slow burn h/c fic i don't think i expected it to be 28k words#this was a journey for me... thank you sincerely to everyone who's joined me for the ride 😭#i am not sure if this specific chapter feels rushed? or if it's too short? (if it does i'm very sorry 🙇♀️)#some thoughts... (spoilers ahead; pls read the chapter before proceeding)#1) this installment in particular is something of a turning point in their relationship development (and i hope that's not too subtle)#2) vincent not being like a traditionally 'soft' caretaker and having his frustration show a little more openly is something i've had in my#head for awhile :') it was fun to let that crystallize this chapter#yvverse#my fic
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unnecessary things
man this is SO LATE but i finished writing a b-day snz fic for W/anderer!!!
word count: 1k
“Hh-hH’Nxt!!”
Aether froze mid-step, looking over his shoulder at where the Wanderer was standing behind him, avoiding eye contact.
“...Was that a sneeze?” Aether asked, turning around fully to face him. The Wanderer tsked, tilting his hat down so that Aether couldn’t see his eyes.
“You must be hearing things… maybe you should go get your ears checked.” He said, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m nothing more than a puppet. I don’t do such unnecessary things.”
“Oh, really?” Aether started walking towards the other, smirking a little when the Wanderer took an instinctive step back. “Then surely you wouldn’t mind if I tested a few things, would you?”
“And just what gives you the impression that I’m going to let you do that?”
“Because if you don’t, then I’ll know for sure that you were lying to me just now.”
“...Tch. Whatever.” The Wanderer slowly moved to sit down on the ground. “Have your fun. You’ll soon see that this is pointless.”
“We’ll see about that.” Aether kneeled down in front of him, rummaging around in his bag for something to make the other sneeze, but… hm. Now that he was thinking about it, what would make a puppet sneeze? The Wanderer was definitely capable of sneezing, Aether knew that what he had heard had not just been his mind playing tricks on him, but what had even set him off in the first place? Had it just been random?
“We don’t have all day you know.” The Wanderer said, tapping his finger on his knee impatiently, seemingly bored already. “Hurry up and get this over with.”
Huffing out a breath, Aether abandoned the useless contents of his bag, and decided to pick one of the longer pieces of grass surrounding the two of them. The Wanderer smirked.
“Seriously? A plant? Need I remind you that I was almost a god, a strand of grass isn’t going to affect me.”
“Oh, just shut up already.” A piece of grass wouldn’t have been Aether’s first pick either, but it was the best thing he had right now. Reaching out, he gently grabbed hold of the Wanderer’s chin, tilting the other’s head to have a slightly better angle. Surprisingly, the Wanderer didn’t protest this motion, instead remaining silent as Aether began to swish the piece of grass back and forth.
After a few minutes or so of no reaction, Aether let out a slightly frustrated noise, briefly pulling the grass away in order to lightly flick the Wanderer’s nose.
“You do realize that refusing to breathe implies that I was right, right?” Aether asked. The Wanderer blinked- seemingly surprised at having been caught, before glaring at him. Aether didn’t rise to it, instead waiting patiently, blade of grass at the ready. After a moment of prolonged eye contact, the Wanderer reluctantly let out a breath.
It hitched soon after.
Aether’s face lit up as the Wanderer’s glare darkened.
“Don’t think that means anyth- hIH- h-hey!” The Wanderer’s expression started to twist into something else altogether as Aether immediately got right back to work, gently tilting the Wanderer’s head from side to side as he tried to find just the right angle. “W-wait- hiH… hEh…”
Aether stuck his tongue out slightly as he focused, twisting the grass back and forth. He must have briefly hit some sort of spot, if the way the Wanderer’s hitching breaths had momentarily pitched up was any indication, it was just a matter of finding that spot again. The Wanderer’s hands slowly lifted up-
“If you rub your nose or stop me, it means I win.” Aether deadpanned, and the Wanderer’s hands froze in place. From the way they were trembling slightly, it must be taking the Wanderer some effort to keep them from moving any further. Aether let out a small laugh. “Although, I’ve practically already won, considering you so obviously need to sneeze.”
“HihH- N-no I don-hH- hiIH-”
“Of course you do, listen to you!” Aether continued, “You can’t stop hitching like ‘heH’ and ‘hAH’-”
“Hh’nNxti!!” The Wanderer abruptly forcibly pulled away to stifle a sneeze into his hands. Aether paused, briefly shocked, before coming to a realization as the Wanderer’s breath hitched again.
“Wait, hold on-”
“S-shut, hEH-, shutup- hiH-”
“Did you sneeze just because I mimicked it?” Aether asked, watching in fascination as the Wanderer’s ears slowly turned a faint shade of red. “You did, didn’t you.”
The Wanderer shook his head in the negative, unable to speak as his breath hitched desperately.
“Hh- hEH’xNtiu!! Hh’Nxtii!!” He stifled two more sneezes into his hands. Aether let out a disapproving sound.
“C’mon now, don’t stifle, it’s bad for you.” He said, reaching out and grabbing hold of the Wanderer’s wrists. The Wanderer startled, leaning back-
Tilted off balance, the Wanderer went tumbling backwards, Aether being slightly dragged with him. Aether let out a small yelp, quickly reorienting himself, blinking to discover that the Wanderer’s hat had fallen off in the brief movement-
And that he currently practically had the Wanderer pinned to the ground.
…Hm. Well, actually… he could roll with this.
“Get off of me.” The Wanderer managed to hiss out- seemingly practically biting his tongue before his breath could hitch again.
“Nu-uh, I don’t think I will.” Aether smirked as the Wanderer choked back another hitching breath. “Don’t hold back on my account. Or, maybe, do you need me to teach you how to sneeze?”
“D-don’t-”
“You already have the ‘hiIH-’ and ‘hEH-’ part down, now you just need the-”
“Hh- hiH’IsHKiu!!”
“There you go!” Aether laughed despite the strong surge of anemo energy, leaning into his geo affinity to remain unaffected. “Now was that so hard-”
“Hh’shKiu!! Hih- hEH’inKshii! F-fuck- hH’iKshiu!!”
“Bless you!” Aether let go of the Wanderer’s wrists, getting off of him as the other sat up, breath still hitching. “Maybe this was a bit too much, huh?”
“Hh’NxTtii!!” Attempting to stifle again did the Wanderer no favours as his next hitching breath reached a much more desperate pitch. “HhEH- hH’iSHiu!! Heh’ShKii!! H’eshii!! Hh- hIH- hhEH’inKShiu!!”
Aether watched in silence as the Wanderer sniffled, rubbing his nose against his sleeve.
“So…” He started, after a significant number of seconds had passed without another hitching breath from the other. “What was that about not needing to do ‘unnecessary things’, again?”
The Wanderer paused in the middle of retrieving his hat to give him a glare. (With his hair mussed up from both the tumble and the sneezing fit though, Aether couldn’t help but imagine a hissing kitten.)
“...Shut up.” The Wanderer muttered, before pitching his voice louder. “If you’ve finished amusing yourself with childish games, we have stuff to do.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Aether rolled his eyes, “Just know that I will be remembering this.”
The Wanderer said nothing in response, walking past him, but Aether couldn’t help but smirk as he noticed the faint blush on the other’s face.
#Gen/shin Imp/act#snz#snz fic#i'm saving the perfume concept for a later day so have fun with this in the meantime#i think you'll be able to pinpoint the exact moment i went ''lets get self indulgent with this'' dhfksjdlfkjds
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panic! at the drugstore (j/jk, nanami)
hiiiii @ezynse merry xmas, happy new year, happy day. <3
im ur secret santa. <33 i hope u like this fic. ily. i want u to know the j key on my keyboard is challenged so i wrote "Goo" by accident sm ToT
(sorry for the title i dont even rlly listen to them i- )
please keep this to sneeze kink blogs only! 18+ only!
Summary stuff:
Fandom: J/JK
Characters: Nan//ami, Go/jo, Ijic/hi, Yu/ji,
Pairings: slight nana/go. in the way la croix has flavor
Good future AU (no bad stuff, everyones an adult. set in 2023)
As soon as Nanami detected Gojo’s presence, he should have turned on his heel and left. Instead, he’d gone into the drugstore, reasoning that the necessity of his trip outweighed the aggravation it’d cause. He wasn’t naive enough to hope he’d get out of here without any additional psychic damage but maybe he’d luck out and Gojo would—
“Nanami!” Gojo sang from a few aisles over. This was starting to play out like one of his nightmares. Verbatim. “Wow, you shop here too?!”
“Not anymore.”
Gojo laughed easily and brushed off the obvious rejection with a wave of his hand. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not happy to see your best buddy!”
“I have no such thing.” Nanami sighed and drew out a cough in the process which he managed to muffle into the sleeve of his jacket. Anyone else would have read the room and left him alone, but Gojo continued to chatter on at a volume unfit for the public space they were in. If only he’d move back a few centimeters so Nanami could escape without having to push past him and potentially causing a bigger scene than they’re already causing. He’d already used up his energy—both cursed and otherwise—at work today and he was quickly fading.
For the first time, he wished he could focus on the bubblegum pop blasting through the speakers with its sentiments of Sakura blossoms and old times; it would beat trying to follow the embellished story Gojo was telling. He pinched the bridge of his nose. To make matters worse, the temperature change had caused the congestion that had mostly settled by the end of the train ride over here to return with a vengeance. His nose threatened to drip and he risked a small sniffle. Immediately, he recognized it as a mistake when the lingering prickle sharpened and traveled deeper into his nose.
As if he hadn’t sneezed enough today.
“And after all that I got some wagashi at this great place near the hospital, Great Luck right? And haha it was! Anyway, the point is… I got some stuff for Yuji, but then I got hungry waiting for the car so I figured I’d better make up for it.”
Nanami made a point of checking his watch as a last ditch effort for a polite departure, less for Gojo’s sake and more for the sake of everyone else in this godforsaken store. But most of all for his own sake, considering he’s quickly losing the battle against the pertinent tickle up his right nostril. “I don’t have time to talk,” he said evenly, breath only wavering once he’s gotten the last word out.
Unfortunately, Gojo clasped his shoulder, refusing to let him leave. “Did you take the train here? We could carpool instead, Ijichi is—”
“ht’KKxt!” Nanami interrupted with a poorly restrained sneeze directed into the sleeve of his jacket.
“Bless you!” Gojo’s head lolled to the side; he had the decency to release him, but otherwise didn’t move out of his personal space. Nanami nodded and turned away. “Wow, that sounded painful. You okay?”
It was. “hGNXt’ch! h’kKt…chh.” Damnit. “Hh- kmpht’Chhh!” He might not have been able to see Gojo’s eyes, but he sure could feel them on him. This tickle just wasn’t going to quit until he let it out, and he’d rather end this as soon as possible. “h’eSCHh!”
“Oh bless you.” Gojo, ever uncaring of displaying any decorum, took zero steps away from him. He examined him from a few different angles, tapping his chin as he hovered. “Bet I can guess why you’re here today!”
“Excuse me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed small circles all the way into the inner corners of his eyes and tried to ignore the heat that had risen to his ears. His head pounded even harder than it had before.
“Always so formal, huh?”
Always so inappropriately casual, huh? Nanami glanced at Gojo’s basket and its contents: strawberry shampoo, bags of candy, winter apple body wash, face masks, moisturizer, cotton candy flavored lip gloss, and more items he couldn’t quite make out, but surely none of them were essential enough to inconvenience Ijichi in the way Gojo was. Everything he’s learned about Satoru Gojo has been against his will, and now he’s horrified that his brain was wasting the time wondering if he’s one of those people who can’t go to the store and truly buy one item.
“So, how was your—”
“I don’t have time to talk. Excuse me.” Risking a shoulder check, Nanami walked towards the aisles. He tried not to sniffle more than strictly necessary and tried to ignore the extra set of footsteps behind him. Key word was tried.
“Oh wow, you really sound terrible.” Gojo said sympathetically, continuing to haunt Nanami all the way to the cold and flu aisle. “How long have you had that cold?”
Why did it have to be Gojo?
“Stop following me.”
“You forgot your basket, though.”
So he did. “I don’dt need that much.” It was true, but Nanami accepted the basket anyway from the pouting man.
“Mm, really? You kinda sound like you’re dying, y’know.” Gojo wandered around the aisle and picked up a box of medicine that he held up to his blindfolded eyes. “No offense.” A man started walking in their direction, took one look at Gojo, and immediately turned around. Nanami released a small forlorn sigh through gritted teeth.
“I’ll be finde.” he said, clearing his throat. He could curb the hoarse quality his voice had taken on, but the congestion was something he’d have to live with for now. “You mentionded Ijichi is waiting?”
“Yeah, so hurry up, Nanami!”
“I will n’dot be ri-ridi’hhgg wih—” He’d gotten distracted and hadn’t noticed that the itch from before had been slowly respawning. Gojo gave a questioning hum as Nanami his knuckle to his nose, sniffled sharply, and cleared his throat again. “I will not be riding with you.”
“Aw, not with me?”
Nanami shot him a glare. All of his efforts were in vain because the urge to sneeze returned with a vengeance and demanded his attention in a way that put Gojo’s efforts to shame. The prickle spread like wildfire through his sinuses, and in spite of his efforts in snuffing it out, he’d allowed himself to get distracted enough to give the enemy the advantage. “Hh-!” He inhaled sharply before shoving the back of his wrist up to his nose. “nGhthsCH! hh’NGXTCHh’ueh!” That last one had been particularly loud but had been just as unrelieving as its predecessors. “hehH’TSChhiuh!”
Gojo patted his back. There was a warmth to his palm that Nanami could feel even through the layers of fabric acting as a buffer between them. “Bless you.” Using only his free hand, he easily broke the seal of a travel pack of tissues on the shelf and nudged a few tissues into Nanami’s palm.
“You’re supposed to pay first.” In spite of the protest, he fixed his glasses that were in danger of falling off his face and accepted the tissues; by noon, his handkerchief had become unusable and he’d already gone through the tissues he’d accepted at the train station this morning, so his options were limited. He turned away for a moment to blow his nose. While his efforts were productive, they did little to kill the taunting buzzing in the back of his nose. He pinched his nostrils shut from behind the tissue and willed the tickle to recede.
“Not yet! Hey if I buy your stuff will you ride with me? Wouldn’t you get back sooner that way? Oh, bless—”
“hh’MPHtchh!”
“—you again!”
He took a moment to massage the bridge of his nose in a silent apology to himself for the poor attempt at stifling before clearing his throat and bringing up sodden tissue to wipe the lingering moisture from the red rims of his nostrils.
No amount of free cold medicine would make spending his free time with this absolute menace in a small enclosed space worth it, but at the same time it’d be less aggravating for him to just go along with it in the long run. Gojo’s already made it clear he has no intention of leaving him alone. He gave half a nod and picked up the first bottle of cold medicine that he saw and a bag of face masks and took a few steps in the direction of the check out.
“That’s all you’re buying?” Gojo asked. His lips formed an exaggerated frown and his forehead wrinkled as if he was bewildered by Nanami’s shopping habits.
Nanami was too busy fighting a losing battle against the threat of another sneeze to tell Gojo to stop adding more items to the basket, but he managed to shoot him a pointed glare before his expression crumpled. “Hh- hehhH- …mPHTtshhiuh! Pardon,” he said more out of habit than anything and wiped his nose again, “I have more than enough now.”
“So frugal.”
He supposed the cough drops, vicks, lotion tissues, vitamins, and nasal spray wouldn’t hurt, especially if accepting them will get Nanami out of here faster. Since he’d already opened the tissues, he figured he might as well put on one of the masks in the pack. His glasses immediately fogged and he tucked them into his inner coat pocket.
After they’d approached the register Gojo told the cashier they would be paying together and nuzzled his cheek against Nanami’s shoulder in an intimate way. He’d smack him later.
The cold pierced through Nanami’s coat as soon as they opened the door. As annoying as this situation is, he can’t say he’s upset that he won’t have to walk back to the train station. They turned a corner and Gojo pointed out the car.
“I know, I know.” Gojo opened the door to the passenger side and abruptly wrapped an arm around Nanami’s shoulder, yanking him into the field of vision as if he’d run away. “That took a little longer than I said, but look who I ran into!”
“Nanamin!” Itadori called out from the back seat with a cheery wave. Nanami is just as surprised to see him, though he’d mostly tuned out Gojo’s story. “No way, what a coincidence!”
Nanami shot Gojo a withering look and gave a slight bow to Itadori. “Itadori-kun…”
“Think fast!” Gojo called out and threw a bag of candy at Itadori.
He caught it easily. “Wow, thank you, Gojo-sensei!”
“Gojo-san, we were meant to be back over a half hour ago—“
“Ijichiiii, you need to relax. Seriously, you’re already getting frown lines, that’s no good. Look, I even got something for you. Tadaaa~” He dropped a pack of instant udon into his lap and a face mask and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. “Can you drop Nanami Kento-kun off first?”
“Don’t call me that.”
Ijichi sighed and took a moment before he half-heartedly thanked Gojo for the gifts. Then he turns to look at the backseat. “Of course, Nanami-san.” He and Nanami shared a quick glance as the cause of their stress tore into his own pack of candy and ate it noisily.
“Oh, why are you wearing a mask, Nanamin?” Itadori asked as Nanami sat next to him and put on his seatbelt. “Do you have a cold?”
“It’s alright,” Nanami assured him and cleared his throat, “just a mild one.”
“I dunno if mild is the right word there, Nanamin.” Gojo interjected as Ijichi finally started driving.
Itadori’s face fell and Nanami sincerely considered kicking the back of Gojo’s chair, though he was too busy pinching his nose shut over the fabric of the mask to stifle a sneeze that had nearly escaped his detection. “hGXxt’chshh!- excuse me.”
“Bless you. I hope you feel better soon.” Itadori frowned and offered him a piece of candy. Nanami shook his head and Itadori shrugged and ate it himself.
“You’re gonna pop an eardrum like that,” Gojo chastised, clicking his tongue.
All of this was past the point of the nightmare he’d thought he was having earlier and was starting to veer into the fever dream category. Perhaps in more ways than one. Gojo flicked through the radio stations until he found what he was looking for and started singing along with a pop song. Itadori joined him and they pointed at each other while Nanami reflected on his life choices and folded his arms more tightly over his chest.
Nanami glanced at Ijichi’s GPS. Twenty minutes of this felt like a death sentence. His limbs had started aching a few hours ago and now that the adrenaline was long dead and he was sitting again, he felt it in full force. The sudden urge to lean his temple against the foggy window arose and he indulged in it, ever so slowly pressing his forehead to the window.
While Gojo was especially pitchy, the noise at least took the focus off of Nanami as he muffled a series of throat-tearing coughs against the crook of his arm. His lungs gave a slight whine as he regained his breath and he could feel the silent attention the other three men were giving him.
“Can you breathe okay, Nanamin?” Itadori asked, patting his shoulder. If it were anyone else, Nanami would have batted the hand away, but doing that to Itadori would feel like kicking a puppy and it's not like he was heartless. While most people become hardened and jaded after living the life of a jujutsu sorcerer, Itadori remained as kind and genuine as ever over the years.
Instead he nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry.”
Itadori gave him a thumbs up. The singing continued and he pitied Ijichi for how long he’s had to put up with Satoru Gojo today.
To Gojo’s credit, he toned down the singing, but Nanami almost wished he’d go back to his caterwauling, because his nose had chosen that moment to betray him yet again. It itched like mad and putting pressure on the tip of his nose did nothing to chase the feeling away. He did his best to muffle it into his sleeve anyway, hoping the extra layers would do anything to make it less intrusive than he knew it would be. “Hh- hgzt’SChhiuh! heHMPHhshh’ieuh!- pardon me.”
“Aw, bless you,” Gojo chimed in, stretching out his seatbelt as he turned his body around to face him. “Do you want my jacket, Nanamin?” He puckered his lips.
This time he let his shoe dig into the bag of Gojo’s chair. “No.”
Ijichi quietly turned up the heat. “Give him a break, Gojo-san,” he said tiredly.
The rest of the ride quite literally blurred together as Nanami fought to keep his eyes open. With the heat on, his chills were kept at bay, and it was easy to drift off to sleep. He jolted and shook himself awake at least three times before the familiar building came into view, and the third time, it’d been because Itadori was saying his name to get his attention. Ijichi pulled up closer and stopped the car. Nanami thanked him for the ride and held up a hand to stop Itadori from offering a side hug.
“Get well soon, Nana—”
Nanami shut the car door and ignored the rest of Gojo’s sentence. Getting into the apartment was a blur, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d come home in rough shape, relying on autopilot. He immediately hung his jacket and loosened his tie, and then he removed his face mask, cringing as he pinched away the lingering moisture from his nostrils. He’d done his best to avoid rubbing his nose all day, but his efforts seemed to be in vain considering how sore it still was.
As much as he wanted to just collapse into the couch, his discipline won out and he managed to undress. Though, not without challenge. “huhh…HGSCHh’uh!” He sneezed all over his chest, too slow to cover in his exhausted state. Undeniably, it was a relief to be able to sneeze freely in the privacy of his bedroom. “hh-...hDJtSchh’euh! hhaH’DTzSHhh’ih!”
He found the tissues from the bag and blew his nose, letting out a slight hum of relief as some of the congestion came free. His eyes still ached and with a quick dose of medicine, he was ready to close them. He laid in bed with the extra throw blanket atop the comforter and waited for the chills to die down so he could sleep.
It was restful for the first few hours. As he’d anticipated, he woke up in the early hours of the morning coughing, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and his mouth bone dry.
3 AM.
It was too early for this. He forces himself into the kitchen to fill a tall glass with water and to find a few more items from the bag. He took the cough drops out and put one in his mouth and placed the rest of the bag on the bedside table.
Somehow knowing that he needed as much sleep as possible hindered him from doing so. He drifted in and out of sleeping for the entire morning, occasionally walking up mumbling something incomprehensible.
He was finally asleep until his phone went off a few minutes past 6 AM. It wasn’t his alarm, but an obnoxious ding.
Gojo:
heyyy nanamin~
… Nanami clenched his jaw as he watched the animated ellipses bubble and waited to see what could possibly be so important to disturb him.
Gojo:
good morning! 🌞hope u get some rest today hahaha :D you sounded awful 🤒dont go dying </3
Typically jujutsu sorcerers have about as much paid sick leave as he would’ve had at his former company: basically none. What kind of fucked up—
Nanami frowned, realizing he’d missed some other notifications, including the ones canceling his mission for the day. It’s easy to put the pieces together. He had to put the phone down to sneeze a few times, and it continued to ding throughout his fit.
Gojo:
we’ll have to go out when youre better!! next friday?? theres a new barcade i wanna try and then KARAOKE!!!!!! :DDD
Gojo:
Nanamiiiiii D:
Gojo:
don’t leave me on read
Gojo:
bless youuuuu :3
Gojo:
no i cant hear u im just guessing
Gojo:
was i right?? o.O
Nanami silenced his phone and went back to sleep, deciding to address the new situation, along with the strange feelings that’d started coming up, later. For now, at least he could relax.
Nanami:
Thank you.
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