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softsnzstuff · 2 days

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IM BACK! I’m just thinking about maybe some EvanStan at a convention or something but one of them is sick 👀

I did a convention one recently so maybe during an interview??

***

“Are you… feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sebastian manages to keep his composure for about three seconds before his face falls. He turns over his shoulder and lets out an exhausted sounding “aiiishoo!!” that leaves him sniffling into his elbow.

Chris sighs and shakes his head. “Come on, let’s go find some tissues.”

***

It only takes five minutes until Sebastian’s shoulders shake with his fourth stifled sneeze of the interview. He really hopes his sneezing is subtle enough that it isn’t noticeable on camera— though for Chris, it’s definitely noticeable.

Chris lays a gentle hand on Seb’s thigh and gives a reassuring squeeze. “Bless you,” he whispers.

Seb sniffles and looks at Chris with tired, teary eyes. “Thanks,” he mouths with an apologetic smile.

Luckily, Mackie had been the one to answer the first couple questions the interviewer had asked them, though both Seb and Chris chuckled and nodded along.

“So,” says the interviewer, transitioning to her next portion of questions. “Tell me more about the filming process. What was it like for all of you this time around?”

Chris decides to answer this one. “Well, it’s sort of different every time…”

But as Chris speaks, Sebastian feels an all too familiar itch prickle in the back of his sinuses. He scrunches his nose a few times in a quick succession to ease the ferocity of the tickle, but it doesn’t do much. Seb’s nostrils flare as the sensation makes its way into the front of his nose. He clamps a hand tightly around his nose and mouth, turning into his shoulder to let out a harsh, unstifle-able sneeze.

“H-h… hngk’xxtshhiew!!”

“Bless you,” Mackie says quietly, giving Sebastian a pat on the back.

“Thank you,” Seb replies, though he knows he isn’t done sneezing. That last sneeze seemed to have merely opened up the floodgates.

Sebastian lifts the collar of his shirt over his nose and once again twists away from the camera. His body shudders with a strong “ahH’TSHoo!” immediately followed by a wetter, sick-sounding “UH’DTSHhhiew!!”

“Bless you!”

“God bless you!”

“Gesundheit.”

Sebastian’s face turns red when all the attention lands on him.

“Ugh, I’m so- oh, thank you- so sorry,” Seb apologizes as a production worker offers him a box of tissues. He immediately holds one to his face and dabs gently at his nostrils, careful not to upset them any further.

“Are you alright?” Asks the interviewer, genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” Sebastian coughs into his fist then clears his throat. “Just got a small cold.”

“This guy’s tough, he can handle some sniffles,” Mackie chimes in, wrapping an arm around Sebastian to give him a good-natured squeeze. “He’s got that Romanian DNA.”

Sebastian chuckles bashfully and looks at his shoes, rubbing the side of his nose out of habit. He senses Chris’ concerned gaze from his peripheral vision as he absentmindedly fiddles with the used tissues, waiting for the attention to be directed elsewhere.

***

“Is the tea too hot?”

“Ndo, it’s perfect. Tha’gk you.”

Chris nods then takes his seat on the couch right next to a pale and blanket-wrapped Sebastian. Tissues, cough drops, cold medicine and mugs of all sorts take up the majority of the coffee table in front of them.

“Let me know if it gets cold, though. I can add more hot water,” Chris says, making Seb chuckle and consequently dissolve into a small coughing fit.

Once Sebastian catches his breath, he turns to Chris with a fond smile. “You’re being fussy.”

“Your nose is running,” Chris deflects, grabbing the tissue box from the table.

Sebastian rolls his eyes and takes a couple tissues to wipe his nose. He can’t help but wince at the soreness of his raw, red nose. He also can’t help but give in to the sneezes that come over him so suddenly.

“heh-GHXTShhh! hih’gdtSHHuhh!! Oh, sddfff!”

Chris doesn’t waste a second before handing over a few more tissues.

“Here, Seb. Blow.”

Sebastian does as told, sounding all squelchy and stuffed up and just flat out sick.

“I hate this,” he groans, his nose taking on an even angrier shade of red.

“I know,” Chris replies. He picks up the mug of tea and nudges it into Seb’s hands. “Drink some tea. Your throat sounds scratchy, babe.”

Sebastian just smiles to himself and obliges, hoping to appease his fussy boyfriend.

#thank you!!!#logged on at the right time to see this

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softsnzstuff · 18 days

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the intense urge to give all my ships modern academic aus is omnipresent, so... have some ineffable husbands i wrote for myself. 3k words of them having lunch while crowley is sick and aziraphale is melting for him...

~ ~ ~

Aziraphale

Do you still feel like grabbing lunch today? My office hours will probably run a little late–you know how students are around mid-terms.

But I’ll be finished by 1pm, promise. 🩵

1:15? At Calais?

aj crowley 🐍🖤

yeah… i mean, yeah! yeah, i do. and yeah, the cafe will be perfect. should be less noisy after 1 anyway

just a warning: you’ll have to put up with listening to my gross sickvoice 🙄

Aziraphale

I’m sure you sound fine, dear.

aj crowley 🐍🖤

i sound SICK, angel.

i know because my 8 a.m. class told me so. 😠 they’re supposed to keep those thoughts inside their heads

Aziraphale

Poor love. 🩵 Have some tea while you’re working.

And I also promise I won’t mind your apparently atrocious sick voice.

aj crowley 🐍🖤

i’ll remind you of that later…

should i bring my newest chapter draft? if your brain’s not worn out after reading two dozen undergrad essays on how sexy satan is in paradise lost………

Aziraphale

My brain is happy to take a look, but you might be the one paying if I’m listening to you cough at me and I’m reading about MATH.

And you know they’re not writing about that.

aj crowley 🐍🖤

math AND philosophy.

i know they WANT to 🐍

Aziraphale

Even worse.

aj crowley 🐍🖤

I think you’re paying…

Aziraphale puts his phone back down on his desk and leans back in his seat. For all that they’ve been dating since the start of the academic year, he still gets a little flutter in his chest rereading his and Crowley’s text conversations. Even seeing his contact name–one that Crowley put into Aziraphale’s phone himself–makes Aziraphale smile in a way nothing else does.

Today’s conversation makes his chest feel warmer than usual, though. Crowley’s been ill for the past couple days. Aziraphale knows that. On Tuesday, though, the last day they were both on campus and got to see each other in person, he only had a runny nose and sore throat.

It was enough to make Aziraphale melt over and over each time Crowley cleared his throat, or reached for a tissue from the box on Aziraphale’s desk. He seemed to shy away from anyone else noticing he was coming down with a cold, but once he was safely tucked into Aziraphale’s office in the English department, he didn’t mind some tea and attention.

Aziraphale was more than happy to give him both. Really, he’d give Crowley ten times more attention and affection if Crowley let him. A hundred times, even, and not just hot tea and soft tissues, but … really, whatever Crowley wants. Soup, or other warm food, and as much cuddling as he could endure.

Which… well, Aziraphale expects that’s probably a thought he should keep inside his head. Crowley’s something of an introvert, and probably a private sort of sick person, and Aziraphale doesn’t want to make a fuss.

Or, no, he does. But not at Crowley’s expense.

He really is a very attractive sick person, though, and Aziraphale can’t help but look forward to their lunch at the cafe with that warm flutter in his chest.

Crowley’s already at the cafe when Aziraphale finally gets there. The early spring day is chilly and damp, and Aziraphale steps into the warm, quiet cafe with a sigh of relief. Thursday mornings are busy for both him and Crowley, but they usually spend the afternoons together. In one of their offices, in the library, sometimes for hours in an off campus cafe. Lately, their Thursday afternoons together have unfurled into Thursday evenings and Friday mornings, and despite Crowley’s cold, Aziraphale cannot hope for the same this week.

“You’re late,” Crowley says, but he leans right into the kiss that Aziraphale presses to the top of his head. He has a few papers spread out in front of him on the table, along with two cups of tea.

“Barely… besides, you got to choose our table today.” Aziraphale nods towards their small table in the corner of the cafe. Usually, he’ll choose a table for them by the window.

Crowley looks up at him with a knowing smile, then quickly turns aside to cough against his fist. The sound is strained, like his throat must still hurt, and he groans quietly when Aziraphale rubs his shoulder.

“You do sound sick,” Aziraphale says. He squeezes Crowley’s shoulder again through his black cardigan, then comes to sit down next to him.

“... ngk,” Crowley says, rubbing his nose against his knuckles, then relenting and pulling a tissue from his pocket. “I did warn you.”

“I don’t think I needed a warning,” Aziraphale murmurs. He takes a sip of his tea, then glances at Crowley over the edge of his cup and offers a small smile.

The tension in Crowley’s shoulders eases and Aziraphale can tell, without Crowley saying, that he’d been worried about showing up to their lunch date with a cold. He sniffles a few times, then wraps his hands around his own cup of tea, and leans in to press a kiss against Aziraphale’s cheek.

“M’glad you don’t mind,” he says softly. “I hate missing–” Crowley pauses and looks so shy for a moment that Aziraphale nearly wraps his arms around Crowley right there. “I wanted to see you.”

“I miss you when I don’t see you, too, dear,” Aziraphale says. He can still feel the warm press of Crowley’s lips, and the even softer way Crowley’s nose brushed against his cheek.

While Crowley looks at the menu, Aziraphale can’t help but look at Crowley. His nose is already flushed such a sensitive shade of pink and every time he sniffles or touches his nose, it flushes even more around the edges. He must’ve been rubbing at it so much in his office, trying so hard to evade his insistent cold sneezes, and–

“Angel?” Crowley says, then touches Aziraphale’s arm. “All right, there?”

“What? Oh… oh, of course. Just thinking–mid-terms, you know.” Aziraphale has to give himself a shake, and then feels his heart flutter all over again when Crowley wrinkles his nose against another pair of sniffles.

“Ugh… I haven’t even looked at the exams I have to mark.” Crowley’s voice peters out into a rough, congested rasp, and he has to turn aside and cough again. He really is all stuffed up and his poor throat must feel terrible, even with the tea he’s been drinking this morning.

He sounds adorable.

“You can take a break this afternoon. Come work in my office after lunch?” Aziraphale offers.

“And you’ll make me tea again?”

“Of course.”

Crowley smiles despite having to rub his nose into the crumpled tissue. Before he gets a chance to blow his nose, their server appears at their table and he has to sniffle strongly before he orders. He keeps the sniffles at bay while he puts his own order in, but they get the better of him while Aziraphale orders his own soup and sandwich. He looks a little desperate towards the end, and buries his face in his tissues as soon as the server leaves.

“huhCHushh! CH’ushhoo!” The sneezes are sharp and strong, and Crowley has tears in his eyes when he lowers the tissues from his face. His nose is flushed red around the edges now, and when he sniffles he sounds so, so congested.

Aziraphale melts.

He murmurs a bless you and touches Crowley’s wrist, but the urge to cuddle into Crowley and put an arm around his waist is so strong. To comfort him and to be close to him. Aziraphale settles for petting his thumb against Crowley’s wrist, then giving him a sympathetic smile when Crowley rubs at his face.

“Maybe I should’ve warned you about that, too. snff! SNF! Nghh… head cold,” Crowley mutters under his breath and grabs a couple more tissues from his messenger bag.

“I did assume you’d have cold symptoms with your cold. Crowley, it’s fine… you’re just a little under the weather, and I don’t mind.” His hand still on Crowley’s arm, Aziraphale pets him again through the material of his soft, warm sweater.

Crowley glances down at Aziraphale’s hand, gets this soft little look on his face, then shifts his chair a couple inches closer to Aziraphale. He’s not particularly fond of public displays of affection, and Aziraphale knows and respects this about Crowley, but he’s so privately sweet and affectionate. He loves being close to Aziraphale, and he makes sure their hands and legs touch as often as he can on most days.

Today, he sanitizes his hands a couple times before slipping his fingers through Aziraphale’s, but his touch is no less warm for that. He keeps his fingers interlaced loose with Aziraphale’s while they chat about work, his little sniffles and coughs punctuating their conversation. When he has to rub at his nose, he turns it into his shoulder and wrinkles it, or catches his sniffles in a couple tissues.

If he weren’t right in the middle of his cold, and if he weren’t here with Aziraphale, tucked into the back corner of the cafe, he probably wouldn’t let himself be so obviously sick. Even now, he’s a pretty reserved sick person, and he only groans a little over his stuffed up nose and frequent coughs and sneezes.

All of which has Aziraphale wondering what he’s like at home when he’s sick. How affectionate is he then, and how much would he let Aziraphale fuss at him. If they could cuddle up together, Aziraphale wouldn't mind all the coughs and sneezes at all. Very much the opposite, he thinks, and rubs Crowley’s back gently after a series of coughs.

Crowley glances at him again after that warm gesture of affection, looks uncertain for a second, then, before Aziraphale can worry, settles into the arm Aziraphale has around his shoulder. He gives Aziraphale a pleased little smile, too, and reaches for his tea.

“You’re cuddly today,” Crowley says.

“Oh, I… is that–that’s all right, though?” Aziraphale asks.

“That’s very all right.” Crowley nudges his shoulder against Aziraphale fondly, and reaches for his tea. “Think I need it today,” he admits, just as voice gets that rough, scratchy edge to it.

For a while longer they just stay closer to each other, sipping their tea. The moment settles around them warmly and comfortably until their food arrives. Soup and sandwich for the both of them, though Crowley seems more interested in his tomato soup than in his grilled cheese. After a coughing jag, he runs his hand through is already mussed hair, then tugs his cardigan closed more tightly around his chest.

“Did you teach wearing that?” Aziraphale asks and motions towards Crowley’s black cardigan. He has his glasses on, too, which is rare for a teaching day. When Crowley grimaces at him, Aziraphale nods. “Right, of course not. Heaven forbid.”

“I have a reputation to uphold. Can’t be intimidating in the chunky cardigan you wore to work because you’d rather be back in bed.” Crowley prods a bit at his sandwich before opting for another spoonful of his spicy tomato soup. “Wore my glasses, though,” he admits with a sniffle.

For some reason, the image of Crowley in his sharp black jacket and well-styled hair despite his tired, watery eyes and stuffy nose, along with his black frame glasses, sends such warmth through Aziraphale. Crowley is a source of intimidation for most of the undergraduates in the maths department, and he’s an energetic lecturer despite his claims otherwise. He probably did sound sick teaching this morning, and he already looks worn out from his cold this afternoon. Aziraphale spares a moment to wonder how much coughing and sneezing he did while lecturing, how much medicine and staunch self-control it took him to get through the class hour.

And he’s right–he does not look intimidating at all in the heavy, black cardigan over his black button up shirt. His hair’s a little rumpled now, and both his eyes and nose are tinged pink with irritation. Aside from sounding sick, he very much looks sick.

“I think you look–”

Crowley levels him a look, taking in Aziraphale’s own sweater and shirt and bow-tie, all in shades of tan and pale blue today. Unlike Crowley, this is his usual on campus dress, though he’ll put a blazer on most days, too.

“–you look soft,” Aziraphale says, and he knows he sounds fond and fussy. “And handsome, and–”

The expression on Crowley’s face melts. He leans in and presses a sniffly little kiss to Aziraphale’s ear, hiding his face against Aziraphale when Aziraphale leans into the touch. He sniffles against Aziraphale again when he nuzzles into him, and even muffles a quick, quiet cough against him, too.

“And you said I was being cuddly,” Aziraphale murmurs. Crowley feels so warm against his side, and he wants to just hold every single moment as long as possible.

“You are. snffSnff! I’m sick and susceptible to your wiles,” Crowley says. He keeps sniffling, too, the hot tea and spicy soup affecting him more than usual, and he has to pull his crumpled tissues back from his pocket. His eyes water as he wipes his nose, poor thing.

“Does that mean I can tempt you to come rest in my office after lunch?” Aziraphale puts his own brie and pear grilled cheese aside to wipe his hands, then rests one on Crowley’s shoulder.

Between his watery eyes and stuffy nose, Crowley doesn’t have much of a chance. Aziraphale can tell he tries to resist his cold, though, and that those attempts at resistance are futile. He hasn’t been able to hold back a single sneeze this afternoon, though he usually manages when he’s not ill.

“uhh–UhCHUShh’oo!” Crowley sneezes firmly into the crook of his elbow, draws in one trembling breath, and then sneezes again. “hh’USShhiioo! Nghh…” He groans into his sweater after another sneeze that just sounds tired and congested. His shoulders tense, then relax when Aziraphale rubs his thumb against the back in a tiny, affectionate gesture.

“Bless you… maybe you should just go home, actually,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley shakes his head. “And do what? Mope around?”

“Well… rest, I think, is the usual thing to do.”

“Hm.” Crowley considers, then scrubs his nose into the tissues before easing himself back in closer to Aziraphale. “I can do that in your office.”

Aziraphale can’t help but beam a little. He’s still beaming while they finish up eating, and while he orders them both more tea, and while Crowley pulls his chapter draft out of his bag. He sniffles, clears his throat, sniffles again, and then snags one of the napkins from the table with a sigh of resignation.

“It’s a working draft,” Crowley says. “Thus all the notes and doodles. snff-snff! But if you don’t m-mind… snff!” He passes the papers over, then rubs at his nose over and over again.

Eventually, he has to excuse himself to go blow his nose and wash his hands, and Aziraphale presses his knee against Crowley’s just before he gets up to go. He can’t help it; all he wants is to be close to Crowley, but not overwhelm him with the fussing and affection he’s yearning to show him.

Thankfully, Crowley’s writing is rich and complex, and Aziraphale gets drawn into his latest book chapter in no time. He’s penciling in a few notes of his own next to Crowley’s neat, tight penmanship when he feels Crowley touch his shoulder, then slip back in close to him.

Closer. When Crowley sits down, he leans in closer to Aziraphale than he had before, and even reads over his shoulder while Aziraphale finishes writing down a few notes.

“Better?” Aziraphale asks. He finds himself learning right into Crowley’s warmth, and only going a bit bashful when Crowley has to notice.

“Mn… I think that last dose of DayQuil is wearing off.” Crowley tucks himself against Aziraphale’s side and wraps his hands around his cup of tea. He does sound a little better, like his head is a bit less blocked up with congestion, but looks more like he’s ready to curl up and let himself admit the cold is getting to him. “You have a lot to say there.”

“It’s a very good chapter, dear. Though now I fear I know more about maths and logicism than I ever needed to.” Aziraphale flips to one of his favorite passages to reread it, and feels himself settle into a content warmth when Crowley’s cheek presses against his shoulder.

“And some of us have had vast swathes of Milton read aloud to us on Sunday mornings in bed, so…” Crowley turns to press his face to Aziraphale’s shoulder again and he makes this soft, pleased, congested sort of sound. “Hmm…”

“What?” Once again, Aziraphale finds himself wanting to simply wrap himself up around Crowley. It’s probably obvious, and he feels a flicker of worry. That worry dissolves as soon as he feels Crowley nuzzle against him.

“Nothing. Just… looking forward to having you read to me in bed this weekend, that’s all.” Crowley lifts his head from Aziraphale’s shoulder, but stays close enough that Aziraphale can hear the stuffy catch in his breathing, and the small, quiet sniffles he gives every so often.

Aziraphale glances over his shoulder at Crowley. At his hazel-gold eyes and fine, handsome nose, and the faint flush over his nose and cheeks, and the little smile that tucks into the corner of his mouth when he notices Aziraphale watching him. He’ll make soup for dinner tonight and play with Crowley’s hair the way he likes to help him relax, then bring him tea and read to him in bed tomorrow morning.

“I think we’ll have a good weekend,” Aziraphale says. “As long as you don’t mind being fussed at.” Which is the best shorthand Aziraphale can come up with for how much he just wants to look after Crowley and bask in the warmth and closeness himself.

“Looking forward to that, too, angel,” Crowley says. He gives Aziraphale another smile, one that tells him he doesn’t need to worry at all about how much he enjoys having Crowley to himself when he’s sick.

#I enjoyed it OP #love them #g/ood o/mens

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