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littlekatleaf · 7 months

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Fly down into the endless mysteries

So, what happens when one goes on vacation and instead of checking out Greece ends up checking out the ceiling of the hotel because one is stuck down with The 'vid for the first time ever? One finally finishes the Sandman fic they've been working on for *ahem* ever. Dreamling, with a visit from Desire. @prismaluv - Better late than never? Maybe?

Suddenly the flower Has fire-colored eyes And one of the shadows vanishes. Clearly, now, the flower is a bird. It lifts its head, It lifts the hinges Of its snowy wings, Tossing a moment of light In every direction ~ Mary Oliver, “What is it?”

It’s near enough to last orders when the bell above the pub door rings that Hob almost calls out that they’re finished serving before he looks up and it’s only luck (of some sort, he can’t say good or bad) that stops him. Someone pauses just inside the door, a burning vision of scarlet and gold. Raindrops glitter in their hair and dapple the velvet of their jacket a deeper red and Hob swallows, struck silent.

An almost-memory teases the edge of his thoughts like a word on the tip of his tongue. Familiarity, though he can’t place why. The sensation is hazy, indistinct, maybe dream rather than memory? A fever dream? For an instant his skin flushes hot. Restlessness burns along his muscles. Longing floods him - for the savor of his father’s venison stew, the curve of Eleanor’s breast under her nightdress, the sparkling notes of Robyn’s laugh, the warm weight of his mother’s arms around him when he was very, very young. Over it all like a watercolor wash a wordless aching to be needed. It clenches his stomach, tightens his chest, snagging the softest parts of him with barbed hooks. Has anyone, ever, honestly needed him, in his particularity? Not for position or role - husband, son, soldier - but his deepest, truest self? If you have to ask… the song on the jukebox echoes his thoughts.

They slide into an open spot at the bar, which seems to have freed up just for them, and give a smile that somehow feels sharp as a knife blade. It cuts; he’s not sure where, but pain slices through him. He resists the urge to retreat, reverts to script. “What’ll you be having?”

They look at him and their eyes spark amber, feline. “What would you suggest, Robert Gadlen?” Their tone is rich, smooth caramel. He has the unsettling sense they know this isn’t his name.

“I’d wager you’re one who appreciates the finer things.” His fingers itch to toss back a shot. Or to reach out and touch their cheek, see if their skin is as rosepetal soft as he imagines. Ghost fingers squeeze his heart; yearning shivers through him like the echo of a struck bell. He turns away, ostensibly to pluck a bottle from the line behind him. The Glenmorangie Signet isn’t a whiskey he offers to just anyone, but the liquid is the color of their eyes and tastes as spicy sweet as he imagines their lips would. He pours out a couple drams, striving to ground himself, to focus on the clicking of billiard balls, the murmur of conversation, the movement of breath in his lungs.

Hob slides the drink across the bar; they reach for it; fingers brush. Feverflush blooms through him again.

A smirk hovers at the edge of their lips. “Why don’t you join me?” They raise the glass and take a long, slow draught. Hob watches their throat move as they swallow and finds himself wanting to press his lips to the hollow.

Instead he pours himself a healthy measure of a significantly less expensive whiskey and tosses it back before he can taste it. Even so, he coughs once on the burn.

“Better?”

The word implies question, but Hob hears the demand in it and his body responds, muscles going loose. A pleasant blur settles over his senses. He nods and refills the glass. He’s going to need all the help he can get.

“You don’t want to sit?” Hob could have sworn someone had been beside them just a second ago, but the chair they indicate is empty.

He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. Warning prickles the hair at his nape. Heedless, he slides into the seat. Sounds muffle and recede, a bubble of privacy encases them. The air is heavy with the sweet scent of summer peaches.

They tilt their head, take in the room at a glance. “You have built an inviting space, Robert. A place for the lonely to find companionship; a home for those who lack one.”

Their unexpected understanding startles a laugh from him. “It’s my aim,” he says, shrugging.

“You strike me as someone who has seen and experienced much in your years. Doubtless you understand the importance of family.” Layers of meaning in the words and Hob is off kilter, certain he’s missing nuance. After six centuries of practice he usually has a better grasp of a person.

“I recognized the need in my first year teaching uni. So many students couldn’t go home for hols…” Kids who couldn’t be themselves; kids who had been rejected for who they were, for who they loved. “I couldn’t be what they lost, but I could create a haven, of a sort.”

“Blood kin plunge their dagger in the most secret corner of our hearts.” Their eyes go distant, shadowed with sadness, but only for a moment and they smile again, bright as sun reflecting from glass shards. “Chosen family can be suture and balm,” they add.

Their fingers brush Hob’s, then trail over his inner wrist. A shiver runs through him and he could swear they also shudder, cheekbones and nose suddenly stained with a light flush. Even as Hob notices, they raise a finger and rub their nose once, twice, then sniff delicately.

“It’s what I hope to provide,” Hob says. Don’t stare, he admonishes himself, but can’t seem to look away.

“Excuse me.” Their voice pitches up, breath catching. They turn, pulling a linen handkerchief from an inner pocket of their jacket, fold it over their nose and mouth and wait. Hob waits too.

They breathe in, slow, deep, their shoulders hunch and “Ht’chff! T’chh! Hih-t’shhew!”

“Bless you.” He hopes the words sound more normal than he feels. He’s fairly certain his face has gone redder than theirs.

They flash a look of gratitude over their still raised handkerchief and hold up a finger, their eyes losing focus again and drifting closed. Hob forces himself to look away; take another drink.

Then they hitch a sharp breath and his attention snaps back. Their brows crumple and they stifle two sneezes. A third and fourth follow near on top, escaping their hold with small sounds, and the fifth breaches their defenses completely. “Ht’chesshiew!” They shake their head slightly on the exhale. “Pardon me.” Despite the contrite words, their expression is sly, eyes alight with teasing.

Hob waves away the apology. “No need; are you quite alright?” They don’t know… do they? How could they? He’s told no one in lifetimes. He’s had too much to drink on an empty stomach. Firelight and shadow are playing tricks on his eyes. He’s imagining things.

“I’m afraid I seem to have come down with a chill.” As if to prove their point, their voice rasps over their words and they muffle a cough in their shoulder. In the aftermath, they suddenly look delicate, vulnerable, in need of protection and Hob wishes, somewhat desperately, for a chill of his own to douse the fire that licks along his skin.

Then, almost as a prayer answered, a hand comes down on his shoulder, cool and steadying. “I believe this establishment is closed.” Dream’s words are frost-rimed, crackling.

“Good evening to you as well, my brother.” The knifeblade smile is back; their eyes flame. “I could be offended you have not yet introduced me to your … companion.” They tsk tongue against teeth. “After all of these years. Could you be ashamed of something?”

“No.” Dream offers nothing more, arms crossed over his chest, face still as a carving. Even so, Hob can feel the tension in him.

“Why don’t you join us?” The invitation spills from Hob before he considers the wisdom. He really needs to stop doing that with Endless siblings in pubs. He tries to recover with another drink and he can feel Dream’s coming refusal in the set of his jaw.

Before he speaks, though, his sibling cocks a brow and their teeth glint, putting him in mind of a shark. “Yes, why don’t you?” The challenge couldn’t be clearer if they’d dropped a gauntlet on the bar.

Dream slides a chair between them and sits, stiffly. “Why are you here?”

“Come now, can’t a sibling want to meet their dear brother’s paramour? To have a drink and a friendly chat?”

“Delirium? Maybe. Death? Regularly. Even Despair, occasionally. But not you, Desire.”

Hob holds his expression carefully neutral. Desire - well, that explained things then, if their realm followed the pattern of Dream and Death.

They lean back and away, take a sip of their whiskey, and as they cast their gaze down, dampness shines along their lashes. Sadness flickers in the corner of their quirked lips. “Perhaps not me,” they admit with a sniff. “Perhaps I just needed shelter from the storm.” Lightning flashes through the windows behind them. Thunder cracks and rolls. They shiver and Hob only stops himself from offering his coat at the last moment. They won’t actually need it, will they?

“You bring the storm with you,” Dream says, giving no quarter.

They cough a mirthless laugh, and it’s followed instantly by a heavy sneeze, belatedly caught in their handkerchief. “I do,” they agree, blowing their nose. “You are not the only one in the family who appreciates melodrama. And I know an appreciative audience when I see them.” They dip their head to Hob, toss back the last of their whiskey and stand. “Relax, brother mine. I merely wished to see who you find more compelling than one I created. And he is, indeed, delicious. When you exhaust his patience with your eternal melancholy, I do hope you’ll send him my way. In the meantime, maybe loosen the stranglehold you have on your reins.” They lean forward, abrupt as a striking snake and press a kiss to Dream’s cheek and they are gone, only the jangle of the bell as the door closes to mark their movement.

In their absence, the pub seems darker, somehow. Colder. The rain on the windows hisses and branches tap the panes. Hob blinks. “I… didn’t know you have other siblings,” he says, rather bemusedly. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Dream, seemingly equally nonplussed by their unexpected departure, doesn’t reply.

Hob takes up the empty glasses, Desire’s stained with candyapple lipstick. He resists the urge to run his finger through the gloss as he slides it into the dishwasher. He wants to ask about Desire, ask what they meant ‘the one I created.’ But before he can figure out how to phrase it, there’s an odd squelching sound.

He looks up to find Dream hunched forward, shoulders practically to his ears as he pinches another sneeze firmly to near silence. “Bless you?”

“Th-thank you… ht’Gnxxt!” Neither this one or the several that follow seem to offer any relief. Even in the brief pause between contained explosions, he stays hunched into himself, as though he could hide in the middle of the room.

Hob’s torn between wanting to offer assistance somehow, and just wanting… He compromises, presses a tissue into the hand hovering lightly curled under Dream’s nose, which has gone an endearing pink, and lets his other hand linger on Dream’s back in comfort. Not to feel the muscles tense and relax as another set seizes him. “Httnxxt! N’xxt! Hih-N’xxtch!”

“Bless…”

“Hih…ht’Issh! Issh! Hih-Isssh!” He gasps a breath, two, and dissolves again. “It’chh! Ishh! Issshuhh!” At first he’s careful to keep each fit relatively contained, but as the sneezes keep coming he is gradually overcome, eyes tearing, nose running, and the last couple burst free. “Huhusssh! Ussshuh!”

For a long moment, in the silence following the outburst, Hob can only stare at Dream as he blinks fuzzily in the aftermath, undone. “Are you…” He’s not sure how to end the sentence. Finished? Okay?

“It seems my dear sibling has left me a parting gift,” Dream says, consonants blurred with congestion.

“Gift?” Hob echoes and his voice cracks like a bloke hitting puberty, before realizing Dream is being sarcastic, of course he is. Why would anyone think that was a gift.

Dream wipes the moisture from his eyes, blows his nose, and studies Hob so closely he feels uncomfortably like an insect under glass. Slowly any lingering hint of embarrassment is replaced with a different flush. His eyes go black and starry and his voice, when he speaks is deep in the way that makes Hob’s knees weak. “Only you know the answer to that, Hob.”

Hob rubs the back of his neck and grins, a little rueful. “Well, if you’re ill, you’d better come to bed.”

#snezfic #look i managed a shortfic #s/andman #d/reamling

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 1 year

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A Cup of Tea and Paracetamol (Part 1/?)

Hi friends, I heard a hot scenario in the normal world and now I must make my characters miserable because of it. Elijah & Greyson are venturing out of the restaurant for this one! Not sure how many parts, and there’s limited sneezing in this first part (also this first part is kind of short but I have to leave my house so you get a cliffhanger lmao) but I promise more is coming.

Enjoy!!

CW: male, colds, contagion

A Cup of Tea and Paracetamol

“You’re never going to believe what is in this email.”

Greyson raised an eyebrow at his boss and took his best shot. “Is it a letter from the queen of England bestowing upon you the dukehood you always knew was your lifeblood?”

Elijah turned fully to face the chef with a look of bemusement. “The queen of England is dead, Grey.”

Greyson gasped in such mock horror that half his staff turned to see what was happening in the office. “The queen is DEAD? WHEN? HOW?”

Elijah rolled his eyes and pushed Greyson lightly, playfully. “You did get one thing right, though,” he said, expanding the email so Greyson could read it over his shoulder. “It’s the Epcot World Tour event in England,” he said as Greyson scanned the email. “They invited us to participate.”

Greyson took Elijah’s shoulders in his hands and shook him from behind. “What the fuuuuck man! That’s fuckin wild! I want to go! Can we go?”

Elijah held his hands out, palms up, as if to say ‘I don’t know’. “I mean,” he said, “I don’t think we can say no to something like this. We’re probably going to have to close the restaurant for the week that we’re there, but the publicity for doing this kind of thing… I mean, it’s unparalleled. We couldn’t pay for that kind of press.”

Greyson punched the air. “Oh, HELL yeah!” he said, smacking Elijah on the back excitedly. “We’re going to England, baby!”

***

The event was on a Saturday, which was stressing Elijah out so much that Greyson almost wanted to throw his hands up in the airport security line like a fed-up father and say ‘That’s it, turn around, we’re going home’. Almost.

“Lij,” Greyson said, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration as Elijah crunched the numbers on his phone for the millionth time. “It’s ONE weekend. We’re literally going to be gone not even five days. I need you to relax.”

“I’m relaxed, I’m just worried about -”

“If you’re worried about something, you’re not relaxed,” Greyson interrupted. “Look, dude, this is going to be so good for the restaurant. It’s going to bring so many people in. Five days closed isn’t going to take us down, okay? I promise.”

Elijah attempted a smile and put his phone back in his pocket. “Alright,” he said, sighing. They made their way through security in silence, and once they were through Elijah finally spoke again: “Where’s the bar in this joint? I need a drink.”

“It’s seven in the morning,” Greyson laughed, and Elijah shrugged.

“Airport rules,” he said, a statement that Greyson couldn’t find an argument for. They found a bar near their gate and flopped their things down before ordering two overpriced bloody mary’s.

“You’re sure the contact got all our ingredients?” Greyson asked as he sipped his drink. Elijah snorted.

“Now who’s the worrywart?”

Greyson flipped him off. “I think that’s a valid thing to be worried about. I mean, I have no idea what they even have available in England. Are there real grocery stores if we need to pick something up? Or is it more of a stand-on-the-side-of-the-road kind of deal? Or is it like back in the 1600s where every store only sells one item and all the stores close at three pm?”

Elijah gave Greyson a look of incredulity as he sucked down his drink. “Grey,” he said. “It’s England. We’re traveling across the ocean, not across space and time. They’re going to have grocery stores.”

The bartender came by then and asked if they’d like another round, which Elijah responded to by shaking his head and handing her a credit card. “Thanks, boss,” Greyson said as Elijah signed the check, which he responded to by waving the chef off.

“Don’t mention it,” Elijah said. “Let’s get to our plane.”

***

Elijah had been holding his breath as everyone boarded the plane, begging whatever god there may be that no one would be sitting in the seat next to him.

When they had booked the tickets, Elijah had assumed he and Greyson would sit in the same row, but it turned out that was a pipe dream.

“I’ll take the aisle,” they said at the same time when Elijah found them an empty row. Greyson had laughed and said, “Jinx.” Turned out neither of them could stand the thought of being trapped at the window for seven hours, so instead Elijah booked them across from each other and hoped he wasn’t trapped next to someone who smelled – or worse yet, talked to him the whole flight.

He really thought that he’d somehow beat the system when the last few people had trickled onto the plane and no one had sat in the middle seat yet. Even Greyson gave him an eyebrows-raised look of, ‘congrats, you won the airplane lottery’; that is, until the very last person stumbled onto the plane.

To say that the man who was barreling down the aisle and towards the seat next to Elijah looked terrible would’ve been a massive understatement. He was a good enough looking man – in his 30s, probably around Elijah’s 35, and, also like Elijah, covered in tattoos from the neck down – but clearly he wasn’t...well.

“Excuse mbe – huhhITTZSCHUE!”

Oh, you had to be absolutely fucking joking, Elijah thought as he let the man past him and into the tiny seat next to him. The man sat down and tried to make himself as small and unobtrusive as was possible, but that seemed to be impossible, given his situation.

“Oh fuckigg hell – hehITSZHUE! ITSSHHHUE! Huhh...huh…”

This had to be a joke. He had to be getting punked. The flight hadn’t even taken off yet, and Elijah could already feel a stranger’s cold seeping into his pores, as if it had been specifically chosen for him. He looked over at Greyson, who was clearly biting his own cheek to keep from laughing. Elijah subtly flipped the chef off, and Greyson covered his mouth so as not to let the guffaw escape.

I’m sorry, Greyson mouthed when he had finally composed himself.

Fuck you, Elijah mouthed back, and Greyson once again collapsed into silent laughter. Behind him, Elijah felt the ill man tap his shoulder.

“Pardond mbe,” the man said, his English accent and his cold making him nearly impossible for Elijah to understand. “You wouldn’t happen to have a paracetamol ond you, would you?”

“I’m sorry,” Elijah said. “I don’t have anything.” What the fuck was paracetamol?

“That’s alright,” the man said, coughing lightly. “I’mb so sorry about...all this,” he gestured to his entire presence, and Elijah attempted a smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “And bless you, by the way.” “Much thangks, mbate – huhhITSZCHUE! HUHISHHUE!” The man folded himself in half to try and sneeze away from Elijah and their other seatmate – a woman so asleep Elijah thought she may be dead. The man in the middle coughed harshly into his lap, and Elijah winced.

It was going to be a very long flight.

#coldfic #male cold #cold #snzfic #snz #snz kink #snezfic #snez #sick #male sneeze #male snz #contagion #whiskeyswriting

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bewitchedfeathers · 2 years

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Grumpy Sick Steve and Caretaker Eddie

Thank you @poetic-illness for the request! I hope you enjoy it.

By the time Eddie had woken Steve had already been out of bed so Eddie stumbled his way to the kitchen to find Steve staring moodily down at his coffee. "Morning Stevie," he said followed by a yawn. Steve only offered a wordless grunt in return. Eddie figured he just hadn't slept enough and would perk up after some coffee.

But that didn't happen. He shrugged Eddie off when he tried to drape himself over his back while they drank their coffee. He shut down any attempts at conversation with short one word answers. And when he offered to put on some music Steve snapped that he'd prefer some quiet, stomping into the living room.

Eddie was more bewildered than hurt, knew that sometimes nightmares or flashbacks got under Steve's skin and he'd be restless with it. But usually Eddie was able to soothe him and help him relax. The fact that all of his usual tricks weren't working left him concerned for the younger man.

He stepped into the living room doorway and caught Steve with his eyes closed rubbing the bridge of his nose. And then Steve's nostrils fluttered wide and sneezed against his wrist. "Hh'Rrsshh…ESSHuh…snffsnf..Hhh…

Hhhh….Huh'GSSHue…nggh…."

"Bless you, baby. You feeling under the weather?" He asked as he cautiously approached Steve. Steve's head whipped up at Eddie's voice.

"I'm fine. I'm f-fine. Huh'Rrshoo…snf." Steve tried to insist, somewhat undercut by another sneeze.

Eddie raised an eyebrow in disbelief as he sat down on the couch next to Steve. He pressed a hand to Steve’s forehead, gently brushing a few stray hairs away. “You’re feeling pretty warm, sweetheart. There a reason you’re protesting so much?” he asked amicably, no judgement in his tone.

Steve frowned and looked like he was going to keep fighting him but finally he huffed irritably. “I really am fine. It’s just a stupid head cold.”

“I know you’ll be fine, Stevie. But doesn’t mean you should rest and take care of yourself.”

“I just…” he trailed off rubbing at his nose and ducking his head.

Eddie frowned setting aside his coffee and gently tugging the other boy to lean against his side. “Just what, love?”

Steve predictably softened a bit at his favorite petname in such a sweet coaxing tone.

“I just don’t want to need it. I don’t want to let anybody down.” Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve embracing him fully and Steve tucked his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

“Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean your letting anyone down, baby boy. You deserve to rest when you need to. And I know you’re real good at taking care of people but you don’t need to be looking after everyone else every minute of everyday.” He ran one hand through Steve’s messy bedhead, massaging at his scalp. “Think you can let me take care of you for a day?” he asked pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

“Yeah, I guess I could let you for a day,” Steve said with a fake exhasperated tone.

Eddie grinned, flush with the taste of victory at getting Steve to agree to let someone take care of him for a change. “Thank you, princess,” he said words all teasing but his tone soft and genuine. Grateful for the chance to dote on his love.

---

Open to requests for Eddie or Steve ❤️

#snz fics #snzfic #snzblr #sneeze kink #snezfic

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coldsandfluff · 1 year

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I know it's not even Halloween, but I just had this little winter snippet pop into my head and had to share...

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It's only your second date with him, but deep down, you know he's the one you've been waiting for. He walks you home in the gently falling snow, even though he insisted on driving you back. "It's too cold out, you'll catch a cold," he said, but you didn't want the night to end so soon, so you convinced him to go on foot.

His hand is warm and protective over yours. He holds it like it's a precious treasure, and it sends wave upon wave of tender lust through every fiber of your body.

When you reach your porch, he looks down at you, his gaze intense and soft, and you know he wants to kiss you just as much as you do. You tip your head up towards him, welcoming him in, and it's all it takes for him to close the distance between you. When his lips touch yours, it's everything you've been dreaming it would be. His hand reaches behind your head, firm and gentle and warm. His beard is rough at the edge, but you like what it adds to the experience. It reminds you of him. Rough and weathered and strong, but also tender, and caring, and vulnerable.

His lips part from yours for a moment, and he whispers "Your nose is cold" in a chuckle that sends shivers down your spine. You dive in for more, your lips hungry, your cold nose caressing his during the dance that is your kiss.

Suddenly, a tickle reaches deep down the length of your bridge, crashing into the curves of your nose. You sniff to keep it at bay, but it only ignites the tickle, and forces you to turn your head away from his, your lips still deliciously numb from the passionate kiss.

"Eh'KTCHsss!"

You manage to smother it in the wool of your scarf, horrified that you almost sneezed directly in his face. But he makes no move to step away. He chuckles and leans his forehead against yours, as if resting it, weak and out of breath.

"Bless you," he murmurs with a smile against your lips, then kisses the tip of your nose. "I told you you'd catch a cold."

#snz #snezfic #snezdrabble #snez fet #snzblr #sneeze kink

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sneezingfetishftw-fics · 1 month

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Insufferable (1/7)

My sick!Vox fic is finally up, or at least part 1 is! Decided to break into what I think will be 2 chapters. Featuring an insufferable bastard, plus caretaking from the Vees.

Next chapters: 2 3 4 5 6 7

Wavs: 1 3

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“Why are the lights so fucking bright in here? Are you trying to give me a headache?” Vox was often a bit of an insufferable prick, but today he was far worse than usual. His interview for Voxtech Angelic Security was just an hour away and he’d already managed to insult pretty much everyone in the room. The lights dimmed, he returned to a previous complaint. “And why haven’t you turned the AC colder already? It’s like a sauna in here!”

“The AC is already as cold as it goes, sir.”

“Then fix it! God, what am I even paying you for?” He paused, then pulled out his cell phone. “Hey Val, are you free right now? I got an employee I’d like you to knock some sense into—or rip the limbs off of, whichever you prefer. I could do it myself, but I know how much you enjoy that thing.”The employee shuddered. “Great, thanks! See you soon.”

Vox looked around. “Where is my water bottle? There should be one on the interviewing desk. Is anyone around here doing their goddamn job?” Another employee rushed over with a water bottle. “Finally.” He took a sip and immediately grimaced. “Where did you get this? Normal water doesn’t scrape my throat like that! Disgusting.” He threw the water bottle aside, pausing only to make sure the lid was on first.

He took a deep breath, which immediately triggered a coughing fit, his voice crackling like a broken speaker. His screen went grey and fuzzy, static flaring with each cough. “Who did the last maintenance on the filtration system?” A sheepish woman stepped forward. “Fix it! Actually, no. Get out. You’re fired. The air is so thick in here I can hardly breathe.” She hung her head and wandered off. It wasn’t like she was the first to be fired on a whim, and at least Vox didn’t literally tear people apart. “I’ll take a look at it along with the AC, then, sir,” the employee from earlier offered.

“You’d better. But don’t think that’s enough to save you,” Vox said, standing so close the employee could hardly hear anything over the fan. “Val’s still on his way.” The employee gulped.

Valentino began shivering the moment he stepped in the door, but he ignored that and made a beeline for Vox. “Where’s the victim?” he asked with a grin.

Vox pointed to the man cowering in the corner. “He won’t fix the AC.” Val nodded, still shivering. “He says it’s already as cold as it can go, but I’m boiling here!” Val raised an eyebrow at that. A loud whirring started as Vox’s fans kicked in.

Val put a hand on Vox’s forehead, and jerked it away almost immediately. “Amorcito, you’re incredibly hot!”

“Save it for later, Val,” Vox chuckled.

“No, I mean it’s hard to believe how much you’re overheating. And in a freezing room, no less. I thought my hand was going to burn!” Vox crossed his arms and shook his head. “I mean it, Vox, you’re obviously running a fever!”

“Shut up. I’m fi… hi…” his screen flickered with each hitch. “Hi’tzzzcht! Fine.”

“Sir?” The employee raised a finger tentatively, regaining some boldness now that neither of them was ripping him apart. “One of the lights just broke.”

“Why the fuck are you telling me? Just fix it! Ugh, it’s a wonder anything gets done around here.” He gave a long sniff, trying to stave off the buzzing tickle. “And send a cleaning crew in. It’s way too du… huh… huh… hut’TZZZZSHT! Dusty in here.”

“We just cleaned yesterday…” the employee said weakly, trying not to look at the speaker that had just popped.

“I didn’t ask you when the last cleaning was, I asked you to clean the damn studio! Now get on with it before I change my mind and let Val rip your arms off.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The employee practically ran off to begin his tasks as Val gave a toothy grin, looking menacing despite the intense shivering.

“There you go. I’ll be back here for the sound check. And this place better be fucking spotless.”

Vox and Val walked out the door. “I’ll catch you at the penthouse,” Vox said, activating his teleportation powers. He only made it a few feet. “Hhh’dzzzzcht!” The hallway lights flickered.

“How about we walk together?” Val offered, wrapping his arm around Vox. Vox sighed, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. Repeatedly teleporting a few feet at a time sounded even more annoying than walking. While they walked, Val pulled out his phone with his free hand to text Velvette. “Meet at the penthouse ASAP.”

Velvette almost dropped her phone when she saw the pair of them walk through the door. “Walk” was actually a bit of an overstatement. Vox was practically staggering, leaning heavily on Val for support. His screen was dimmed, except for a bright spot in the center where his nose would be, if he had one. His fans were still whirring loudly. His normally immaculate suit was wrinkled, as if he’d crumpled in on himself repeatedly. The man was, quite obviously, a mess.

Velvette stared in silence for a moment. “Wow. He really does look awful, doesn’t he?”

Vox glared. “I’m fine. I’m just taking a quick break before the studio’s ready for my interview. Those morons still have a lot to set up.” The pair stared at him.

“Um, Vox? You sure now is the best time for an interview?” Velvette asked.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, his hypnotic eye swirling so slowly it might as well be a broken Ferris wheel.

“Right,” Velvette said, rolling her eyes as Vox’s screen flickered again. “Totally fine, and definitely not about to sneeze.”

“I’m not going to… hih’tzzzzch!” He opened his mouth to protest more, but no sound came out. Damn it, were his audio drivers glitching too? Or was it just his vocal cords? He smacked the side of his head with a grimace. “The interview has to be today. If I delay it, it’ll look like we’re hiding something.” Thank god that worked. Vox without his voice was… well, he really didn’t want to think about that.

Velvette raised an eyebrow. “You literally just smacked yourself in the head cause you couldn’t talk. You really think you’re in a good state to be giving an interview?”

Vox’s screen brightened for a moment. “I’m fine! It’s fixed now.” His screen dimmed again, then started flickering. “I’m perfectly heal… heh… hhh… healthy! Just let me go to the godda… ehh… ahh… hah’TZZZZSHT! The goddamn interview.” Valentino’s phone instantly shut off. Velvette, seeing this, clutched her phone tightly to her chest.

Val tried turning his phone back on, but it was unresponsive. “You broke my phone, Vox. You broke my fucking phone! What else are you gonna break if you go back in there?”

Vox frowned. Loath as he was to admit illness, it really was in his best interest to minimize property damage. Especially with a live audience.

“I’ll do the interview,” Velvette offered.

Vox gave a laugh that quickly turned into a coughing fit, his screen a sputtering mess of static again. “No offense, Velvette, but I’m pretty sure you’re not familiar with the ins and outs of the system.”

“And I’m pretty sure you’re not recognizing you don’t have a lot of options. Would you rather send Valentino?”

The other two recoiled at the suggestion. “God, no!” Vox replied. “Ugh, I guess if you really want to, go knock yourself out. My notes are on that tah… hhh… ahh… hah… hah’TDZZZCHT! Tablet.” Said tablet was now stuck in bluescreen. “Shit.” He rubbed his aching head, trying to think.

“Are the notes backed up like the rest of your files?” Vox nodded, not even trying to speak this time. “I can pull it up on my phone, then. I’ve got this. Backbone of the Vees, remember? You just stay here and get some rest,” she said, blowing a kiss as she left.

Velvette strutted out the door, taking with her the responsibility that had been keeping Vox together, and it was like a switch had been flipped. Vox immediately plopped himself down on the couch, limbs dangling limply. “Everything huuuurts, Val.”

“I know, Amorcito, that’s why I’m here.” He gently stroked Vox’s arm. “Now, is it really everything? Or can you be a bit more specific so I can actually help you?”

Vox’s mouth moved, but no words. A frown. A throat clearing sound. More mouth movement, still no words. A deeper frown. A self-inflicted smack on the side of the head. Still no words. The fans kicked into high gear as Vox was about to spit steam out of his head.

“Shh, gentle, Voxy. Let’s try not to blow out the power grid again, hm?” Val patted Vox’s screen. “I’ll get you something for your throat.” He searched through the fridge for some Gatorade. Electrolytes had to do something for an electric being, right? In the absence of any speech from Vox, the fans were even more noticeable. Better grab a cold compress from the freezer too, then. He placed the cold pack on Vox’s screen and handed him the bottle. Vox took a sip and shook his head. His voice still failing him, Vox made images appear on the screen. Val blinked, trying to figure out what he was looking at.

“Something wrong with the drink?” A nod. “Tastes bad?” Head shake. Val tried to think what could possibly be wrong with a drink. “Too liquidy?” Vox rolled his eyes. “Wrong color?” A facepalm. “Uh… too cold?” Vigorous nodding, and then a wince and a dizzy expression. “I got it. Just rest here, Vox. I’ll find you something.”

Val returned a few minutes later with a steaming mug of tea. Vox’s screen was dim and pale, the colors washed out. His weak fingers could barely grasp the handle of the mug. “Oh, Voxy, you poor thing,” Val said, his wings wrapping around Vox for support. The steam from the drink got into Vox’s vents and his screen started flickering. Val noticed immediately and set the mug on a nearby table, holding Vox through the buildup.

“Hhh… hhhh… hhh… hhht’dzchhht! Hhhh’zzzzch! Hhh’ZZZZZSHT! Htchh’RRRRGZZZZZZT! Ugh.” The demon clawed at his throat, then paused in realization. “Fucking hell that hurt!” He winced. “Talking hurts.” Still, better to have a functioning voice, he supposed. He gestured to the mug, and Valentino handed it to him. He took a sip, grimaced, and then finished the rest of the mug in one gulp. Val surveyed the room and realized that a few of the TV screens were out. “Let’s get you into bed, hm?” Vox raised an eyebrow. “Not like that! Unless you want to, of course…” he added, licking his lips. Vox shook his head, exhausted. Val led Vox to the bedroom, the TV clinging hard to the moth as he took a few shaky steps. Val paused, then nodded to himself. He hoisted Vox over his shoulder, ignoring the spluttering protests. “Amorcito, you can barely walk. Let me carry you for a bit.”

Vox huffed, and Val felt the static shock. “You could at least have the decency to carry me like your partner instead of, I don’t know, a corpse?”

Val chuckled. “Have you seen yourself, darling? You practically are a corpse at this point.” Still, he switched to bridal carry.

After what felt like an eternity, dragged out by Vox’s complaining that he was on death’s door, they finally reached the bed. Val laid Vox down and sat next to him. “Now then, does everything still hurt? What can I get you?”Vox’s lips moved silently, then rapidly into what Val assumed to be a string of curse words. Hard to tell without audio. Val sighed. “You really are feeling awful, aren’t you?” Vox nodded. Val stared at Vox for a while until the moth’s singular brain cell finally came up with an idea. He blew a puff of smoke in Vox’s face. Vox flinched, and his screen flickered rapidly. “Hhh… hih… hhhh’dzzzzzzcht! Hih’tzzzzsh! Hah’TZZZZZCHT! TZZZSH! Tzzzsch’TZZZZZST’dzTZZZZZSSHHT! What the fuck, Val?” He rubbed his throat. “Oh. Uh… thanks, I guess? I don’t know. That fucking sucked.”

“If you’d rather not repeat that, then I suggest you get your words out now before you lose your voice again.”

Vox scowled, but he knew it was a valid point. “I just… I’m sore all over. It’s not fair! What did I do to deserve this?” Val raised a finger. “Besides everything that got me into hell.” Val shrugged. “Ugh… my throat hurts, my head hurts, all my muscles ache, there’s this constant buzzing in the back of my head that won’t go away, everythig is blisterigly warmb whatever I try… oh for fugck’s sake, I get congestiod dnow too? Ughhhh…” He groaned and rolled over, faceplanting into the bed.

Val tutted sympathetically. “You never do anything half-assed, do you?” Vox nodded, dragging his screen across the blanket. “Vox, if you’re feeling so warm, why are you still wearing all those clothes?” A pause. Vox wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “There’s no image you need to keep up right now, Vox. Let’s get you comfortable.” Vox sat up and let Val get to work. The crumpled suit was set on a nearby chair. The sweater and shirt were pulled off and tossed to the same chair, Vox dropping his arms instantly the moment he no longer needed to put in the energy to keep them up. The shoes were removed and the pants taken off and folded up with care. As soon as it was done, Vox collapsed face down into the bed again, breathing heavily from the effort.

“You said you’re sore all over, would you like a massage, Amorcito?” A thumbs up. Val got up to find the massage bar. They’d found that using a more solid form helped avoid any accidents… they did NOT need a repeat of the time poor Vox got massage oil stuck in his vents. Val began massaging Vox’s arms, but paused when he felt Vox’s shoulders shudder.

“Hhhh’dzzzzzzchmp!” The sound was muffled into the bed. Vox slowly dragged himself up until he was facing Val. “Hit’chZZZZZZZCHT!” Sparks flew from Vox’s screen and landed on Val’s arm.

“Keep your sparks to yourself, Vox!” he said, wincing at the static shock. “Hmm… that might explain the electronics failures…”

“Sorry, Val.” He said, rubbing his screen. “Wasd’t expectig it to comb that fast.” He gave a long sniff. “Hhhhh’dZZZZZZT!” He pointed at the massage bar. “Can you put that away? I think the scent is too strong right now, my sensors must be acting up.”

Val switched to an unscented massage bar and resumed the massage. A few soft moans from Vox let Val know that his attempts were effective. Eventually the sound dropped off entirely, except for the occasional sneeze, which Val assumed meant the video demon’s voice had given out again. After a while, there was no sound at all except for congested breathing. Val gently turned Vox on his back, revealing closed eyes. Val breathed a sigh of relief. The man was much less exhausting when he was unconscious. Maybe now both of them could get some rest.

#my snezfic #snezbin hotel #srsly pls help me come up with a better title lmao #chapter 2 will have more of Velvette - a snippet of the interview and then some caretaking when she comes back after the interview #also I don’t care if it’s ooc to have Val be this caring you can pry caretaking tropes from my cold dead hands #man I love writing this tv demon there are so many fun things to play with

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sneezingfetishftw · 2 years

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Based on a ridiculous conversation with my friend where he was like "the jury's still out on whether or not listening to sneezing counts as porn" and I was like "lmao what a cursed jury that would be". @snezfics-n-shit check this out lol

#snez attorney #sorry for starting in media res lol idk how to do an intro #also sorry for the terrible spelling lmao i tried #i kinda wanted to include more embarassed sneezefucker phoenix but i couldn't find a good way to do it without disrupting the flow too much

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tiisshu · 1 year

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Anyone else seen the dragon!jask snezfic on ao3? Got a bit of everything for everyone. Including a burgeoning fetish!gera|t

#listen i just want to talk lol #need more

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aller-geez · 1 month

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Freya Lorelai & Blythe Nevrin

｡☀︎⋆ (BlyFry) ⋆☀︎｡

Mini Fic Masterlist ᡣ𐭩

══════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════════

(Placeholder photo until I have art to put here 🩶)

@thekinkyleopard owns Blythe 🩶

Separated into three categories: snz fics (snzr listed), vanilla fics (no snz), and series. ᡣ𐭩

The Sagening (Freya sneezes ; allergies/inducing)

stay tuned… ⋆☀︎｡

part 1 of our OC Masterlist is here 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

& part 2 of our OC Masterlist is here 𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊

⋆☀︎｡ For the full fic list, you can find it here! ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⋆☀︎｡ For fic navigation via each ship,

— Find the directory here! ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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lemoncatissour · 8 months

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💖The Family Dragon💖

Kaito takes his daughter to the dog park. Even though he himself has doggie allergies! 😳

#sneeze kink #sneeze art #sneezario #snez kink #snez #sneeze #sneeze scenario #sneeze blog #sneeze comic #sneezefic #allergy sneezes #sneezeblr #snezfic #dragon sneeze #sneezecomic

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littlekatleaf · 4 months

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Roll here in my ashes anyway

Needed a little soft, holiday story for the Junkerboys. It's almost Christmas, I must be feeling melancholy.

I wouldn’t know where to start Sweet music playing in the dark Be still, my foolish heart Don’t ruin this on me. ~ Hozier, Almost Sweet Music

Junkrat leans closer to the paper, rubs his eyes, but the tiny print refuses to come into focus. Damn chicken-scratch writing, hand can never keep up with his thoughts. Roadie’s voice echoes in his memory, “Gonna need glasses before you’re thirty if you keep squinting like that.” Bloke’s got a point, as always. He sighs and sits back, giving in to his aching body. When he looks up reason everything’s gone vague and blurry is abruptly clear - light’s changed. Fat clouds’d been lining the horizon now blanket the sky, winter sun too anemic to dent them.

He glances back down at the launcher, still in pieces, screws and metal bits scattered over the workbench. Not as far as he’d like to be - Chrissie’s coming on soon. Gotta have Roadie’s prezzie ready. It’s close, but detonation speed needs tweaking - don’t want anyone else losing a limb. He scribbles down a last thought then rolls it all up, plans and gun together, and shoves them in the very back of his desk, behind old comics and skin mags, shit Roadie’d not be caught dead reading. He straightens, stretches, spine pops. Stomach rumbling too. How long’s he been at this anyway? Hungry enough likely missed lunch. Maybe dinner too?

As he crosses the threshold between work room and shared living space, he notices a tray on the coffee table. Coffee gone stone cold, same with the eggs and toast. He sticks a forkful in his mouth anyway. Can’t let it go to waste. Breakfast food. Apparently worked all night. Explains a good portion of the headache throbbing in his skull, the leaden ache of his joints getting in on the complaints. Less so the congestion and vague sense he’s gonna need to sneeze. Rubs his nose. Ignores it.

“Oi, Roadie,” he calls. No answer. He frowns. Hog hadn’t mentioned anything, had he? Wouldn’t go on a mission without him. Wouldn’t go hang with Hana or Lúcio, sick as he’s been. Might’ve been trying to downplay it, pass it off as a lingering cold, but Rat noticed. Felt the fever heat at night, heard the crackle in his lungs when he coughed, the edge of a wheeze in his deeper breaths. Bloke’d been sick for a while and didn’t seem to be improving.

Lack of caffeine’s making his thoughts feel slow, his head full of sludge. Must be why he can’t seem to figure where Roadhog might have gone. He’s still trying to puzzle it when there’s a mechanical click and the door whirs and slides open, revealing Roadie, looking somewhat abashed, with Mercy right behind in Avenging Angel mode. Sheila might be a good couple meters shorter than the Hog, and several stone lighter, but way she looks right now, Rat reckons she can take both of them, not even break a sweat, and is more than ready to do so.

“As Mr. Rutledge seems to be incapable of following the simplest of instructions, I appeal to your better judgment, Jamison.” Her tone is clipped, precise. She steers Roadie into the room with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Rat steps back, out of her way, and grins. “Breaking out the surname and suggesting I have anything approximating good judgment? What the bloody hell’d he do?”

“I explicitly told him to return to his quarters to rest. Under no circumstances was he to exert himself in any way until he completes his treatment. Not even ten minutes later, where do I find him?”

Junkrat shrugs. “Not here.”

“Indeed not. He was outdoors. Working in the garden. With neither jacket nor hat.”

Junkrat shakes his head at Roadhog, struggling not to laugh. Least it’s someone else getting the dressing down for a change. “How very dare you.”

“Just taking care of a couple of things,” Hog protests. “Not a big deal.”

“This is not a joke.” Mercy directs a glare at Junkrat before turning back to Roadhog. She sighs, deeply. “I am not coddling you or some such foolishness,” she says. “I’m trying to save you from yourself. While the infection is relatively mild at the moment, if you don’t take care it will worsen. I would not have you risk the lung function you still have, Mako.”

Roadie ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck, looking for all the world like a child being chastised. “Yes, ma’am,” he says.

“Take all of the antibiotics. Use the inhaler.” She shoves them into his hand and pivots to leave. “And don’t call me ma’am,” she adds, over her shoulder. “Doctor, if you must.” The door whirs open and closed behind her.

Junkrat blows out a breath. “Ain’t like no doctor I ever met.” Not like he’s met many; ‘doctors’ in Junkertown more like glorified butchers, but still. He raises a brow at Roadhog. “Sheila’s got a point. You look like shit. The fuck you doing out there? Gonna snow any minute and I can feel the fever radiating off you from here.”

“Don’t start with me, Rat,” Roadhog grumbles. “I’m fine. Just need to put the last of the garden to bed before the weather shifts. Been meaning to take care of it for days. Thought I’d be better by now.” He tosses the bottle of meds toward the coffee table and misses. It hits the floor with a rattle.

Junkrat moves to pick it up but is stopped by Roadhog’s glare. He holds up his hands in mock surrender and backs off. Knows better than to push straight on when he’s like this. Situation needs a little more… subtlety.

Roadhog leans down to retrieve the bottle, and immediately lapses into a fit of jagged coughing. It drags on, impressively long until finally dwindling away, stealing most of his voice with it. “Fucking hell,” he rasps, breathless. Least it’s enough that he takes a hit from the inhaler without Rat needing to say anything. Probably better he doesn’t. Bloke’s emanating as much pissed off energy as fever.

Instead Junkrat drops a bag of Lúcio’s medicinal tea into a Pachimari shaped mug and fills it at the instant hot tap. He adds a dollop of honey, enough to soothe Roadie’s throat, but woefully small to Rat’s own eyes. Somehow Hoggie lacks a reasonable appreciation for the sweeter things in life. The rising steam smells of cinnamon and clove, comforting as Lù himself.

Roadhog’s retreated to the couch, resignation clear in the set of his shoulders. He’s taken off his boots. “Ta,” he says, voice glass on gravel, when Rat holds out the peace offering. Makes Rat’s own throat ache to hear. “Doc’s right. I was acting like a bloody idiot. Garden’s gonna be what it is. Not the end of the world.”

“Already been through that once.” Junkrat floats the admittedly sad attempt at a joke. Testing. Predictably no response. Junkrat frowns, then nods. “Ain’t a lotta people smarter than the doc.”

“Just wish I’d gotten the roses wrapped.” Aims the words into his mug and Rat barely catches them. Roadie picks up a novel and disappears behind it. Over his shoulder the trees bend and creak in the wind. A few leaves that had been clinging to the branches tug free and scatter. Above it all the clouds hang, milk white and heavy with snow.

A shiver wants to creep down Junkrat’s spine but he manages to suppress it. Hoggie’s roses ain’t just any flower. Ain’t replaceable. Little bit of home, here in this place that isn’t theirs. Nothing for it; Rat knows what he has to do.

The wind cuts straight through his jacket before the door even slides closed behind him. He grits his teeth against the chattering, squares his shoulders and heads into the garden. Watched Roadie enough times, shouldn’t have a problem. Starts with the roses. Makes sure they’re trimmed and wrapped proper. Gonna keep the roses safe. The memories safe. He’s sniffling before he gets the first one finished, nose threatening to run. Guess he knows what Jack Frost nipping at your nose feels like. Least raking warms him enough that he opens the jacket even as the first flakes of snow drift down.

By the time he’s done, everything set and settled down to the last twig, the world’s gone dim and silent with snowfall. It’s a lonely peaceful feel, the gathering dark, the swirling flakes, the way the air is sharp but the world is blurred. He sniffs, sleeves his nose, but makes no move to go inside.

“There you are. Been wondering where you’d got to,” Roadie says.

Junkrat startles. “Gonna kill Hanzo for givin’ you the ninja lessons.”

This time Roadhog huffs the particular laugh means he’s torn between amusement and not wanting to encourage Rat.

Junkrat wraps his arms around himself and sleeves his nose. Still itching, but knows if he starts sneezing Roadie’ll make him go inside and he’s not ready yet. Luckily Roadhog’s smart enough to have put on more appropriate winter gear. “See ya ain’t risking Mercy’s wrath.”

Feels Roadie smile behind the mask. “Nah. Once is more than enough.” He pauses and the snow drifts down, dusting their shoulders. “Thank you for this, Jamie.” Roughness of his voice now got nothing to do with being sick.

Junkrat looks up at him, puzzled. “Well ‘course, mate. Couldn’t exactly let them die, could I?”

“You could.” Roadhog says, still facing the garden. “Did a good job, Rat.” He puts an arm around Junkrat.

Rat leans into the warmth, then curls forward with a harsh sneeze, hastily muffled in his scarf. Another follows, and a third. “Shit. Jig’s up.”

This time Roadie actually laughs. “Bless you. Better get back inside before Mercy hears you sneezing.”

Later, even in a pair of Roadie’s pjs and wrapped in several of their blankets, Junkrat still shivers. “F-fuckin’ freezin’. Ain’t never gonna be warm again. Barely more’n a corpse. Heat of life already left my bones…” Plays up the whinge, because he can, and muffles a round of sneezing in the blankets.

Roadhog reaches over, palms his forehead, but gently. “Definitely has not. And don’t be disgusting.” He tosses a box of tissues at Junkrat who can’t free his hands quick enough to catch it. It bounces off his chest.

“This the way you show your appreciation? Some caretaker you are.” Tugs free a handful just in time to catch another, in triplicate. “Fucking hell.”

“Nah. This is the way I show my appreciation.” Hog shifts so Rat can lean against him and begins to knead the tension from his shoulders. Rat sighs as the aching fades, the shivering stills. Feels himself begin to thaw, to drift. As he slides into sleep, he catches the scent of roses, the heat of the sun warming him through. Not the wan halfhearted thing here, but the encompassing burn of Australian summer. Maybe someday they’d go home. Least they had a piece, even if it slept in the winter dark.

#snezfic #look i managed a shortfic #oversnez

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snezandsickheadcanons · 1 year

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wait is the form for the signup for the snezfic holiday exchange still open? or did it close already. i wasnt sure about doing it bc i have a few other writing projects i want to work on but i might want to give it a shot anyway but i can’t find the post and i thought the close of date was november 7th but i’m not sure

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snezficsnshit-main · 2 years

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Noot Noot

This is the main blog linked to @snezfics-n-shit

To clarify to those I follow: I am a grownup (in the late half of my 20's as I write this; specific age is also in parentheses in my blog info section) and I am a snzfcker.

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strawberrymilkshakeprice · 2 months

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does anyone know where to found some cute/good, Angel dust snezfics? Or wavs, I’ve been desperate. Makes me want to write my own *wink* *wink* *hint* *hint* but seriously… anyone know where to find em’? I wanna see my horny husband!

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sneezingfetishftw-fics · 1 month

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Guessed it on the nose

At last, the Kink!Husk fic is here! Angel tries to get Husk to admit he has the kink. Sequel to a previous fic of mine (https://www.tumblr.com/sneezingfetishftw-fics/744412486700285953/done-tagging-zensations35-since-you-were-like), but you can understand this one without reading that one.

Angel Dust had been warned there might be lingering aftereffects of the sneezing powder. So he couldn’t exactly be too surprised when he got back still a tad congested. “Husk, baby, I’b hobe!”

Husk greeted him at the door, concern flitting across his features. “Are you alright? You don’t sound too great.”

“Excuse you, by voice is egseedigly sultry,” he replied in a voice that was indeed lower than usual.

“You know what I mean,” Husk responded, feeling Angel’s forehead. Normal temperature, that was a relief.

“I’b fide,” he insisted, grabbing a tissue and blowing vigorously. “Just a little congested from work today.”

Husk raised an eyebrow. “What did they have you do, crawl around in a dusty closet?”

Angel laughed. “Something like that. Anyway, I’m back and…” he froze, breath hitching a little. He felt Husk’s eyes on him, perhaps just a bit more intently now. “Het’CHIEW!” Did Husk’s ears perk up? Maybe for a split second, but they were back to normal again. “I’ll be fine, I promise. How about we just relax with some cuddling on the couch?”

“That sounds great.” It barely took any time for Husk to begin purring. Usually it was a bit further into their cuddle session before he got that happy.

Wait a minute. Angel Dust thought back to earlier today and replayed Husk’s behavior for the last few minutes. Was it possible? Unlikely perhaps, but there were definitely signs. But then how hadn’t he noticed them before? To be fair, signs are much easier to find when you know to look for them. Angel hadn’t even heard of a sneezing kink until today, and now he was starting to suspect that Husk might be into it. But how would he know? There’s no way Husk would just outright confess - the man was far too guarded, especially about things this intimate and embarrassing.

Husk hadn’t woken up yet, so Angel took the opportunity to send a text to the person he saw earlier. “Thanks again for yesterday! Can you tell me a bit more about what you like about sneezing, and also what it’s like to be in public and try to keep your kink secret?”

“Sure! But there’s gotta be a reason you’re asking lol. What’s up?”

Angel sighed. He supposed that was a fair question. “I think my boyfriend might have the kink? Not sure though, I wanna test the waters.”

“If so then he’s a lucky man, your sneezes are incredible!”

Angel laughed. The idea of being someone else’s “type” for sneezing was so silly but hey, who was he to turn down free arousal?

After some discussion back and forth, Angel was armed with plenty of ideas. He put the first idea in action while making breakfast. Husk was in the bedroom getting dressed, and Angel was in the kitchen making eggs, using a bit more pepper than was really necessary. This suggestion had come with the caveat that pepper would probably just make his nose burn and no more, but Angel knew from his own experience how sensitive he was to spices. And sure enough, his nose was tickling. “Hah’TSCHHH! ITSSCHH! TCHIEW!”

Husk stumbled out of the other room, one leg still not in his pants yet. “You alright over there, Ange?”

“All good, Husk, just got a little carried away with the pepper. Sorry if I startled you.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Least I’m definitely awake now.”

If the angle had been better, Angel would have had an easy way to check if Husk was enjoying this, but unfortunately the pants were pulled up before Angel could get a good look. Still, the fact that Husk had practically come running from the other room had to count for something. And the way Husk kept glancing at Angel from the corner of his eye as if hoping for more.

Later, he felt a sneeze coming on and he tried stifling it, pinching his nose with two fingers. “Hhhh’gnxt!”

Husk looked at him like he had three heads. “What’d you do that for?“

“It’s pretty late and the bar can get kind of echoey - I was just trying to be quieter so I didn’t wake anyone up is all.”

“Screw the rest of them,” Husk replied fervently. “Take care of yourself. That looked like it hurt.”

“It did, yeah.” No more stifles, then. “Thanks, Hu-hu… huh… Huh’TCHIEW! Husk. Thanks, Husk.”

Husk smiled. “Much better.” Hmmm, yeah, Angel was adding that to the list of “evidence that Husk is totally into sneezing”.

His next opportunity was a fortuitous one. Charlie brought him hand soap as a gift, offering that “everyone deserves to smell nice, and I’m guessing your hands could get quite unpleasant after work.” It was a nice sentiment, but peppermint really didn’t agree with him. Specifically, with his nose. Normally he would have flat out refused, but this time he had a plan.

Right before he and Husk went to get intimate, he went to wash his hands as usual. But this time he pulled out the soap he’d been hiding for this occasion. It only took one good sniff and soon his hands were no longer clean. “Heh’ITSCHH! TCHHH! Hit’CHIEW! ATSCHHH! Heh’huh’hih’HitSCHIEW! Heh’IT’shue! Heh’it’SHUE! Hah’TCHH! Hetschh! Itschhhh! Snff….”

Husk made it to the bathroom just as the fit subsided. “Woah there Angel, what happened?”

“Ugh, id’s the soap,” he pointed weakly. All that sneezing had taken a bit more out of him than he expected. “Forgot I was allergic to peppermint.”

“Let’s get that off your hands, then,” Husk said gently, taking the soap. Angel didn’t catch where Husk put it, but it didn’t look like Husk was taking it to the trash. Another addition to the list then, for sure.

He came back a moment later, as Angel was washing the soap (and snot) off his hands. “Ugh, sorry I’m such a mess,” Angel said.

“You are not a mess, Angel. You are beautiful,” Husk said, gently lifting Angel’s chin.

“Thanks. But I did still make a mess…” He gestured toward the mirror coated in spray, and the wet patches on his own chest.

Husk chuckled. “I suppose you did. We can clean that later. How are you feeling?”

Angel rubbed his nose. “A little sniffly, but otherwise ok. Not sure how long it’ll take the effect of the peppermint to fully wear off.”

There was a pause, and Angel could see Husk’s mind working, probably doing a cost benefit analysis in his head. “No worries if you’re not up for it, but do you think you have the energy? You know, for what we were about to start?”

“Sure, but I should warn you… I can’t promise I won’t start sneezing again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he replied. “I’ve dealt with worse,” he added, almost as an afterthought. Maybe to cover up his enjoyment? This whole incident was the strongest evidence of all.

Angel had thought that sneezing during sex would give him more proof that Husk was into it, but in reality it was impossible to distinguish moans of pleasure about sex from moans of pleasure about sneezing. What he did know was that the one time Angel had accidentally sneezed on Husk, the man had carried on enthusiastically as if nothing had happened. So that actually did count as more damning evidence, although all it proved for sure was that Husk wasn’t disgusted by Angel sneezing on him.

By now, Angel was quite convinced that Husk was into sneezing. The only problem now was how to get him to admit it. Right before sex would have been the obvious time, but Husk hadn’t said anything then. He could offer to dust the place? No, Nifty had that covered. What options were even left? He turned over the question in his mind, but nothing came up.

A few days later, Angel woke up with a raging head cold, and a plan emerged. After Husk had had plenty of time to fuss over his symptoms, he went into another room and placed a call, making sure Husk was still in earshot. “Yeah I’m free today. How about… Heh’ITCSCCH! Haha, yeah, you’re welcome. How about this afternoon? Ok perfect, see you then!”

“Going somewhere?” Husk asked, entering the room.

“Oh, yeah, just a quick work thing. I should be back pretty soon.”

Husk stared at him. “You are NOT working today.” It was not an observation, but a demand.

“I’ll be fine, I’m not even that sick.” A few stray sneezes immediately undercut that point.

“You are not working today. Whatever it is can wait until you’re feeling better.”

“Ok, but actually it can’t. That’s, um… kind of the whole point.”

“What?”

“This person has a sneezing kink. They want to see me when I’m all sick.”

Husk stared. “They want to see you… they want you to… what?”

It hadn’t escaped Angel’s notice that Husk had avoided saying the word “sneeze”. Twice in fact. Guilty! “It’s no big deal, I just have to hang out with the… he… heh… het’SCHH! Them and sneeze for a bit, then I can come back right home to you. Easy money, and I barely even have to do anything!” He grinned.

“You are not working today,” Husk insisted for the third time. Only this time, it sounded a little more like begging.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Angel continued, determined to wring the confession out of Husk through sheer stubbornness. “I won’t be gone long, and it’s not like I’m so sick I need bed rest.”

Husk frowned, trying to come up with a rebuttal. “Can’t I just want you to stay with me? Isn’t that enough?” The frustration was clear on his face.

Wow, an admission of feelings! Not quite the confession Angel was waiting for, but progress nonetheless. “Of course you can, Husk,” Angel said, taking his hand gently. “I’m just confused because you’ve literally never given me this much pushback about going out before. Is there something you want to tell me?”

“No,” Husk said a little too quickly. “There’s nothing.”

“Oh, but I think there is,” Angel replied, a smug grin forming. “Is it possible that you’re jealous?”

“Of what? I’ve never had a problem with your work before.”

“Therein lies the question,” Angel returned, pacing. “Whatever could have poor Husker all worked up?”

As luck would have it, Angel felt a sneeze coming on. He leaned into all the hitching breaths, taking note of Husk’s laser focus. And then, the urge faded away. “Ugh, the sneeze went away. Such a shame, isn’t it?” Husk remained motionless. “Hmmm, I know what to do. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where are you…”Angel returned with the soap, which he had found underneath the sink as he suspected. “Angel, what are you doing? No!” But it was too late. Angel took a deep sniff, maintaining firm eye contact.

The effects were as intense as they were predictable. Countless sneezes barreled their way out of Angel for what felt like eternity but was probably more like ten minutes.

“Now then,” Angel said, staring directly at the bulge that Husk could no longer hide. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

Husk sighed, knowing there was no way he could prolong this. “Ok, fine. You win. I like it when you… when you… goddamnit why is this so hard to say? I like it when you sneeze. And that’s why I want you to stay home today. Happy now?”

“Of course! I believe I have an appointment to cancel then, since it’s been replaced by time with my won… wuh… uh… uh’TSCCHH! My wonderful partner.”

#my snezfic #snezbin hotel #the title is cringe but I tried lol #this was a lot of fun to write #just a lil humor and fluff is a nice change of pace from that angst I wrote last lol

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