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slightlyunconventional · 3 months

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its 2am and op needs sleep (2.1k)

hi d/abihawks nation here is your food for the day (more to come in the foreseeable) aaand yeah. this is from an ask i got that i didn’t answer with this because it had three parts to it and i wanted to actually do all three ?? idk. anyway if youre the anon who asked for d/abi inducing with his piercings then this is for you :)

The fuck kind of time to wake up is this? Dabi thought, squinting at the digital alarm clock beside the bed. 4:16AM, it reads. Still dazed, he rolled over with a huff and got ready to go the fuck back to sleep - until it hit him.

“Jesus fucking Christ-” he hissed, as an itch that felt like wildfire crashed into his sinuses like a freight train, rendering him unable to form a coherent thought for a good few seconds. He sat up. The motion somehow made the burn triple in intensity. He scrunched up his nose forcefully, waiting for it to succumb, for the itch to peak, but it didn’t. It felt like it was taking over his entire face, an incessant buzzing that wouldn’t back down, half-closing his eyes and forcing him to keep his nose held in a permanently-crinkled position. Dabi dared to rub at it, knuckles pushing back and forth rather aggressively, and instantly regretted what he’d done. The contact seemed to set alight a million different nerve endings, and he decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck me,” Dabi managed to breathe out. He stood up and made his way to the bathroom, the whole way squinting against the inferno plaguing his nose. The burn was near unbearable now, like flames licking at the tender inner walls of his nostrils, yet still nothing came of it. Even switching on the horrendously bright bathroom light in Hawks’ apartment, which usually managed to tease a sneeze or two from him, had no effect. Christ, he just wanted to go back to sleep. Eyes narrowing further due to the harsh transition from dark to light, Dabi moved to the sink and turned on the faucet. With a deep breath in, he splashed the cold water on his face a few times, and gave his full face a rather aggressive scrub with both hands for good measure. He stood up to find it had done absolutely nothing, and now he just had a wet face. Awesome. Why, for the love of fuck, was this happening? he thought in frustration. Could it have picked a more inconvenient time?

He grabbed a towel and dried off his face, rubbing with particular force at his nose (though still keeping low expectations that it would actually make a damn difference). The itch burned with ferocity, but remained stagnant; Dabi just wished it would either do something or piss off. For a man who normally despised sneezing - everything about it, the feeling, the loss of control, the vulnerability of it all - he seemed pretty desperate to do it now. He was running out of options, and he sure as hell wasn’t about to go wake up Hawks and make him stick a feather up his nose. There was probably a box of tissues in here, somewhere, he was sure, judging by how awful Hawks’ allergies got in the spring… bingo. It didn’t take long to find, just a few moments of staring into the medicine cupboard with one hand knuckling absently at the side of his nose. The dark-haired man pulled a few from the box, irritated, and sat down on the edge of the bathtub. The ever-present itch had his nostrils practically pulsing with need, and a handful of tissues suddenly pushed up to his nose really didn’t help. Hell, it was almost stinging now, and it was torturous.

“Shit,” Dabi breathed, as he began to rub his nose in slow, deliberate circles through the tissues. The sensation was all-consuming - he became completely laser-focused on the way the itch prickled ever so slightly with his movements. It was like the light at the end of a tunnel. He just had to will it to rise in intensity, just enough to make him– “...h-hhuh!” His breath caught, even if only slightly. Fuck, he was close, so damn close. In his mind he was begging for it, for relief, and he daren’t even move, for fear of losing the– damn it. The sting backed down just as quickly as it had come about, forcing Dabi to let out the breath he was holding in a short, irritated sigh. He couldn’t just go back to bed, not while this itch was still wreaking havoc in his face. But, it wasn’t like he had many choices left. The only thing he knew that really set him off was cats, and he was fairly sure bathrooms didn’t come preinstalled with a litter of kittens. Stubborn as ever, he refused to just give up and go sleep again - but what could he really do? Sit and wait it out, hoping it would just go away? Or go back to trying to make himself- hold on. Dabi suddenly remembered the absolute mess he’d been when he first pierced his nose (in this very bathroom, as a matter of fact). The needle had hardly been halfway through the cartilage before his chest was stuttering with rapid hitching breaths that had very quickly turned into fits of desperately itchy (and bloody) sneezes, untameable to the point where he had no input in the, well, output. He’d simply had to sit and let them barrel through him in awful tickly waves. He didn’t know why he’d sat through three rounds of that just for a triple nose piercing. One would have been plenty.

Dabi pushed himself up from the edge of the bath, binned his tissues, and moved back to the sink. He stared at himself in the mirror for a moment, running a tired hand over his face and sighing. His hand brushed lightly against the side of his nose, sending jolts up his sinuses, and he decided he couldn’t tolerate another second of such torment. The thought to pierce his nose again flitted briefly through Dabi’s mind, but was quickly dismissed. Imagine how that would go down. “Hey, you’ve got another piercing,” Hawks would say. “Oh, yeah, I had to sneeze really fucking badly last night so I did what any sane person would do - gave myself a fourth nose piercing!” Dabi rolled his eyes at the thought. He went for the next best thing - messing around with his current piercings to try and make something happen.

He leaned in closer to the bathroom mirror, well aware that he looked an absolute sight for sore eyes, red-rimmed nostrils and an oversized t-shirt hanging awkwardly around his frame proving an… interesting combination. Christ, what am I doing, he thought, as he took a silver stud between his fingers and began to twist it - and, hell, the effect was instantaneous. Immediately, the tickle reared its head, intensified tenfold from before, and all but consumed him. There was nothing he could do to stop his jaw from slackening, his eyes from fluttering shut, his nostrils from flaring to nearly twice their size– “Shit, shit, s-shiihh–!”

Breaths rising in his chest, pitchy and desperate, Dabi let out a string of curses and stumbled backward, almost losing his balance as the need to sneeze took over him such that he couldn’t possibly think about anything else. He braced a hand against the edge of the sink to keep upright, drew in an immense gasp, and pitched forward at the waist– “hh’hhahH’DDSHHhhew! Hohhh, God, fuck me…” The sneeze that followed was harsh, scraping, and instantly relieving. But Dabi soon found that he was nowhere near done, and snapped forward with a trio of back-to-back sneezes, equally intense as the first.

“huhH’HDJJSHHh! ‘gGKSHHh’uh! hah’DSHHh’iew!” He straightened up to try and catch his breath, but his nose tingled in a way which meant there was guaranteed to be more sneezing to come. He was about to cast his gaze up to the light fixture on the ceiling to try and coax it out prematurely, until he saw a glimpse of red in his peripheral vision - Hawks. Shit. How long had he been standing there? Dabi looked at him, unsure of what to say. The hero was sure to have a barrage of questions for him, he could already imagine it: Are you getting sick? Allergic to something? Oh my god–is it me? Did I use a new… something? I’m so sorry, are you okay? He was leaning on the doorframe in a loose-fitting shirt that Dabi had sacrificed (cut holes in the back of to accommodate Hawks’ wings) and wearing an expression that was a blend of sympathy and amusement. Dabi opened his mouth to speak.

“Bless you,” Hawks said, with a lopsided smile, before Dabi had the chance to say anything.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean t-to… wake you up,” he replied. Fuck, he still needed to sneeze.

Hawks exhaled a little laugh. “It’s okay. You were sneezing pretty damn loudly, it would have been hard not to.” He took a few steps forward and wrapped his hands around Dabi’s arm, absentmindedly rubbing tiny circles with his thumbs.

“Are you okay?” he asked, more of that sympathy now shining through. As predicted, questions. “Yeah, I– fuck, I-I, hhah– needtosneezeagaiihHGKSHHhew!” He sniffled, then used his free hand to rub his nose, hard. “No idea what it is, just… started.” At least it was partially true. He did have no idea what it was, but he wasn’t about to admit to Hawks that he’d actually been trying to make himself sneeze for the best part of half an hour. Hawks frowned. “Bless you,” he said again. “You aren’t sick? A cold, maybe?” There it was again. “No, dumbass, it’s May.” “Who says you can’t get colds when it’s not winter? I get colds when it’s not winter!” Hawks said indignantly. Dabi huffed a laugh. “Yeah, that’s you though. Your immune system’s shi-sh-hhahH’dDTSHHh’uh! Shit.” “Shut up,” Hawks said, swatting his arm. “Sounds pretty itchy.” Dabi pulled a face at that. “Sounds itchy? How can– how– Jesus, fuck, always when I’m trying to t-talk…” “Bless you-!” Hawks said prematurely, tipping his head to the side. “-hhHRRSHHHhew!” The smile on Hawks’ face widened. God, Dabi had thought this would just be one and done, but now he couldn’t seem to stop. It was as if he’d opened some metaphorical floodgates in his sinuses just by twisting his nose studs a bit, and released sneeze after terribly violent sneeze. It would be infinitely easier to deal with without his overly enthusiastic witness, that was for certain. He couldn’t say it wasn’t at least a little endearing, though, in some bizarre way. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you sneeze this much before,” observed Hawks, in such a tone that made the statement sound like it was some earth shattering discovery (It wasn’t. Dabi was eternally thankful that Hawks had never bore witness to the explosive fits he got when cats were part of the equation).

From behind the hand scrubbing at his still-burning nose, Dabi raised an eyebrow. “Right…?” he said slowly, “Is that supposed to h-hah–!” This was getting ridiculous. He pinched his nose tightly, brows furrowed and eyes nearly shut. Absolutely not. “There’s no point holding it in now that I’m awake, you know,” Hawks said, a mildly teasing tone creeping into his voice. “Just wanna get a full f-fucking… hhuh– sentence out-! hh’ehHDSZZHhew! h-hhH’RSCHhh’uh!” “Bless you, bless you,” Hawks moved closer towards Dabi, evidently starting to feel drowsy again after having been out of bed, judging by the way he rubbed lazily at his eyes with one hand. “What were you gonna say?” “What?” “Before you sneezed again. What were you gonna say?” Dabi averted his eyes. “I don’t remember.” Hawks snickered quietly. “S’okay… you gonna come back to bed? I’m getting cold,” he said, his head now resting on Dabi’s arm. “Not your personal heater,” was the response, punctuated with an irritated sniffle. Hawks shook his head. “Whatever.”

“Even so, I don’t think you’d really want, well…” Dabi gestured vaguely at his face. He didn’t particularly want to say it out loud. “I don’t mind,” the hero replied softly, “I just want you to get some sleep. Besides, the pink nose is a cute look on you.” He added the last part with a wink, and it earned him a rather affronted scoff and a flick to the forehead. “Fine, let me just–” Dabi pulled a couple of tissues from the box and blew his nose with some force. It seemed to shift something high in his sinuses, which of course triggered a sneeze. The floodgates really had opened. “hh’hehHDDSHHhiew! Jesus Christ, can’t catch a break…” Hawks hummed. “Bless you,” he mumbled again, before starting to lead Dabi out of the bathroom and back to their bed. He paused, however, halfway to the door, and turned around. With a nod towards the tissue box on the counter, he said, “You’d better bring those with you.”

#whhuuuhhhh i csnt br arsed for TAGGING #hope u like it guys #d/abihawks #d/abi #m/ha #snz #snzfic #snzblr #sneezefic #snzfucker #snzario

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hitchinghaha · 3 months

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OH MY GOD FINALLY!

I was finally able to do a little Tumblr treat and put a exclusive snzwav up here 🥳 (thanks for everyone helping me out)

As you can hear, I’m still quite sick 🤒 in get those sneezing fits occasionally but mostly in the mornings. Not to mention that I am ENTIRELY UNABLE to stifle my cold sneezes since they just take too much energy out of me. 🤧

Anyways I hope you guys enjoy it if your a fan of scenarios: just imagine hanging around with me after our exams and I caught this terrible head cold cause I haven’t been resting properly. (Wich is basically what happened lol)

hope it’s okay for my first try on here! :)

#snz audio #snz wav #snz fet #snzario #snzblr #snzfucker #snz kink #sneezeblr #sneezefucker #cold sneezes #coldfucker #sniffles #sneeze wav #sneezing #sneezefic

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whiskey-tango-matcha · 8 months

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City Slicker (m, allergies)

I present to you all: p0rn lmao. This is my first allergy fic in YEARS and it is literally just 2k of Elijah sneezing himself silly. It's a little messy, just fair warning. Hope you all (especially my allergy-hungry friends in my ask box) enjoy this - I certainly enjoyed writing it lmao.

cw: male snz, MESS

City Slicker

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“Greyson. I really am not in the mood to play twenty questions right now.”

“But I’m bored.”

Elijah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other held firmly on the steering wheel of the van. “What are you, a toddler?” he asked, replacing his hand so both were white-knuckling the steering wheel. “Play on your phone or something.”

“I’ve reached the end of the internet. Can we stop and get Starbucks?”

“Greyson, we’re in the middle of bum-fuck-nowhere. What do you want me to do, conjure up a Starbucks? You should’ve asked before we were out of the city.”

Greyson groaned loudly, living up to the toddler label his boss had bestowed upon him. “Great, so now I get to be bored and uncaffeinated.”

“I’m sure they’ll have some shitty folger’s or something when we get there,” Elijah said, prompting a loud, fake gag from Greyson. Elijah took a deep, calming breath in through his nose. “We’re almost there, you fucking brat.”

The event this weekend wasn’t one Elijah would have normally said yes to; it was a Farmhouse Retreat out in a rural part of New York State, and any town with fewer than a million people living in it tended to give him hives. Not to mention his irrational fear of farm animals – not that he’d ever actually seen one in person; the thought alone of a pig looking him in the eye was too disgusting for him to put into words. But, it was a paid event which was incredibly rare, and it was a celebrity getaway which meant buzz for the restaurant. Those were two difficult things to say no to.

Elijah’s phone signaled them to turn right, and when he did he and Greyson gasped in unison – this was no Podunk farmhouse getaway. The house itself was more of a farm mansion, twice the size of even the largest house Elijah had seen out in the Hampton's. The agriculture was meticulously kept, and the animals were grazing out in the tall grass – far enough away to escape any fear, but close enough to give the entire place a Fisher-Price-esque charm. Greyson whistled long and low as they parked next to the line of other caterer’s cars.

“Not in Kansas anymore, eh Dorothy?” the chef asked, yanking open the passenger side door and stepping out to stretch. Elijah couldn’t help but huff out a laugh as he opened his own door.

“Guess no – HTSCH!” Elijah wrenched to the side as he stepped out of the car. Clearly the air out here was too clean for his city-boy sensibilities. Greyson barked out a laugh from the other side of the van.

“Bless,” he called, pulling open the two trunk doors to start unloading their things. “I figured your systems would all start shutting down the moment you breathed in air that didn’t smell like piss.”

“Oh, like you’re any better,” Elijah said, starting towards the trunk to help his friend. “When’s the last time you chose to take a trip somewhere with no bar or coffee shop?”

“Obviously never, but I grew up in a shitty one-horse town,” Greyson said. “You’ve probably never even seen a cow in real life.”

Elijah’s face flamed, and Greyson howled. “Shut the fuck up,” Elijah grumbled, elbowing Greyson in the stomach and grabbing the decorations for their booth. Greyson doubled over with laughter, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted into the quiet farm air.

“CITY SLICKER! WE GOT OURSELVES A CITY SLICKER!”

“Greyson, shut up,” Elijah called, turning to face the chef. “People are paying to stay here, you fucking dickhead.”

“Alright, alright, sorry boss,” Greyson lamented. He pulled a few chafing dishes out of the back and hoisted them onto his shoulder. “Not my fault that it’s hilarious that your body hates fresh air.”

“It doesn’t – hhITZCH! TSHH! HTSH!” Elijah crushed his nose into his shoulder to sneeze this time, prompting another round of laughter from Greyson.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Greyson said, passing his boss to head towards the sign directing the purveyors to the massive yard of the farmhouse. “City slicker.”

***

Something was happening – he didn’t know what it was, but he did not like it.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Like, I know I was making fun of you before, but are you sick?” Greyson asked as Elijah buried his face in his arm for the fiftieth time that hour.

“HTSHH! Hh-ITZCHH! HRSHH!” Elijah wiped his running nose on his sleeve and cringed. He used his hand to attempt to wipe the sleeve of the watery mucus he’d left behind to no avail. “I’m not sick, I feel fine,” he said. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me – HTSHH!”

Greyson slowly raised an eyebrow, covered his finished food so it would stay fresh for the first guests’ arrival in thirty minutes, and leaned against their booth. “Lij, I’ve spent a lot of time around you – you literally never sneeze this much unless you’re sick.”

“Grey, I’ve been completely fine up until we got here, are you saying the fucking fresh air made me sick? Do you think I’m some sort of nega-Victorian child, instead of needing the fresh air to clear up my scarlet fever I need the sweet smell of street hotdogs and sewage? Hhuhh’ITSCHH-ue! TSHH! ITZCHUE! Fucking hell.” Elijah covered his face with a hand and looked desperately around for something to wipe it with. Grudgingly, Greyson handed him one of his kitchen towels. “Thanks,” Elijah muttered, blowing his nose.

“Y’know,” Greyson said, “normally I would say that yes, you are the nega-Victorian child, but I don’t think you’re lying.”

“Thanks,” Elijah said, rolling his eyes from behind the towel.

“For once.”

Elijah flipped the chef off.

Greyson laughed. “Seriously, though, have you ever been on a farm before?”

Elijah threw his hands into the air, annoyed. “No, Greyson, I’ve never been on a farm. Happy? Yes, I’m a fuckin’ liberal-elite city-slicking dickhead. Happy?” He sniffled lightly, post-tirade, his nose already itching again with the need to – to -

“HTSHH! HRSHH! Huh! TSHHH! HRSHH-uh! ITZCHH-ue! Huh!” Elijah pressed the back of his hand hard into his nose to stop the stream of sneezes – the other caterers had to be staring at him. He was sure of it.

Greyson bit his cheek to keep from laughing. “Lij,” he said, placing a careful hand on his boss’s shoulder. “I think you’re allergic to this farm.”

Elijah blinked back itchy tears. He rubbed his nose on the towel, sniffled lightly, and looked around him – at the animals he’d never been near before, the grass he’d only been around when it was perfectly manicured for a lawn or fake, the trees with their yellow pollen floating in the wind. “Oh,” he said. “I… I mean, I’m not allergic to anything.”

“Not allergic to anything you’ve been around before,” Greyson corrected, a shit-eating grin slapped across his face.

Elijah pressed two fingers into his itching, swelling right eye. “Yeah,” he said, taking in the allergen-ladled scenery. “I guess you’re right.”

Greyson motioned towards the back doors of the farmhouse, where throngs of people were beginning to head towards the booths of food. “I’d offer to ask the host for an antihistamine,” he said, “but I think it might be showtime.”

Elijah watched the crowd with a mix of anxiety and abject horror. This walk-around event was two hours long, and he couldn’t go two minutes without sneezing. “Fuck me,” he muttered, shoving the towel behind their booth and sniffling. “Hhh-! HTSSHH! HRRISHH!”

“Get it together, man,” Greyson said, unwrapping his food and setting out tiny plates. “It’s showtime.”

***

By the time the event was over and the guests had filed back into the farmhouse for whatever rich person activity they had planned for the evening, Elijah had quite literally sneezed himself hoarse.

“Dude,” Greyson said as he piled their things back into the containers they’d brought with them, “maybe you should go sit down for awhile.”

Elijah turned to the chef, rubbing his nearly-swollen-shut eye, and gave him the dirtiest look he could muster. “Sit where, Chef? In the grass that’s trying to kill me, or under the tree that’s trying to kill mehhh – ETSCHH-ue! ESHHH! HRTSHH-uhh! HTSHH! TSHH! ITZCH-ue! Guhh…” Elijah had given up the facade and moved from sneezing helplessly into his sleeve to sneezing directly onto the ground, hands braced on his knees so as not to pass out from dizziness. Greyson cringed as his boss wiped a string of snot from his nose with the back of his hand – this was about to be a long drive back to the city.

“I meant in the car, Lij,” Greyson said, not-so-subtly handing Elijah his last clean kitchen towel. The GM took it, grateful, and wiped his nose, which seemingly subconsciously turned into a long, congested nose blow.

“Fuck, sorry, my brain isn’t fucking working,” Elijah muttered, clearing his throat. “I can’t fucking stop – HRRSHH-ue! Snee – HTSH! HRSSH! ITZSSCHUE! Hhh!” Elijah cringed into the now-soiled kitchen towel, delicately wiped his nose, and folded it up. “You don’t have another one of those by chance, do you?” he asked, breath already hitching once again.

“Sorry, boss,” Greyson winced. “Last one.”

Elijah nodded, somber. “Yeah, I’ll go waii – huh… snf. Wait in the cah – HUHHITSZHH-ue! ITSSZHH-uh! Huh! HTSHH! HuhhhITSZZHH-ue!” Elijah once again turned away from Greyson to sneeze towards the ground. Each one sounded more desperate, more painful than the last. Greyson had literally never seen his boss so… well… affected.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” a voice from behind the both of them said. Greyson whipped around as Elijah attended to his nose. It was one of the other chefs, smiling in sympathy and holding a pink package. “I wanted to see if he needed some Benadryl. I mean, it’s not non-drowsy, but since the event is over I figured -”

“Yes,” Greyson said without consulting Elijah. “Yes, one million percent.” He took the Benadryl out of the other man’s hand and placed a grateful hand on his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

The other chef laughed in earnest, took a peek over at Elijah, then regarded Greyson again. “I remember my first farm trip,” he said. Greyson bit back a laugh.

“Something similar?”

“You could say that.”

Greyson smiled and patted the man’s shoulder. “Thank you again. Seriously, here’s my card – stop by anytime for dinner on me. You just saved me from five hours of breathing in his fuckin’ mucus.”

The man laughed again. “Anytime,” he said, taking the card from Greyson’s hand. “And I think I’ll take you up on that. You guys in the city?”

“Lucky guess,” Greyson said. The other chef smiled.

“See you around,” he said, heading towards his truck. Greyson popped a pink pill out of its packaging and placed a rough hand on his boss’s shoulder. Elijah, obviously gearing up for another fit of sneezes, turned and saw, almost instinctively, the pill in Greyson’s hand.

“Oh thank god,” Elijah gasped, snatching the Benadryl and choking it down dry. Greyson snorted out a laugh.

“Now you really need to go sit in the car,” he said as Elijah wiped his raw nose for the millionth time.

“Wha - ? Why, what was that?”

“Benadryl, you pill-fiend,” Greyson said, showing his boss the packaging. “Can’t sneeze if you’re passed out.”

“At this point I would’ve taken a lobotomy if it stopped the snee – sneezi – HUTSHHH-ue! HRSH! HRSHHH! HTSHH! Hhuhhh… hh, hhh… huhhITSSZZH-ue!” Elijah, clearly too exhausted to even cover his mouth, just turned away and allowed the fit to happen, sneezes sprayed into the open, pollen-heavy air. He groaned and held a hand up to his streaming nose. Greyson sighed, took off his chef’s coat so he was just in a white cotton t-shirt, and handed it woefully to his boss.

“You owe me a new coat,” he said as Elijah, too exhausted to even feel shame, took the garment and held it to his face. “Now go to the car and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Cheehh – HRRTSHH-ue!”

#whiskeyswriting #snz #snzfic #snez #allergy fic #allergies #sneezefic #snzblr #snzfucker #snz kink #snz fet

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lemoncatissour · 3 months

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Hoshi’s Pollen allergies are acting up today 😳🤧

💖The Family Dragon💖

Art and Character belongs to LemonCatIsSour

Please don’t repost to non snez blogs

#sneeze kink #sneeze art #sneezario #snez kink #snez #sneeze #sneeze scenario #sneeze blog #sneeze comic #sneezefic #snezblr #allergy sneezes #sneezeblr

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finnpeach · 4 months

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In the Alley

Hey guys... sorry about this. Bakudeku, NSFW, present for @themiseryandcompany

For the ninth time today, Dynamight wipes his nose on his shoulder.

It’s also the twenty-eighth time he’s sniffled, the fourteenth time he’s cleared his throat, and the third time he’s gotten that far-away, hazy look in his eye before he shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Which marks Izuku’s third boner of the day.

They’re patrolling on a cold day in January. To anyone, they may blame Katsuki’s constant sniffling and congestion on the chilly weather, but Izuku knows better.

Kacchan has a cold.

He’d heard it this morning when his boyfriend had slid out from under the warmth of their duvet to blow his nose in the bathroom and cough like it was his job. He’d heard it when Katsuki complained about how cold it was outside, his vowels marred by the viscosity of congestion. And he’d heard it when Japan’s top pro-hero had yelled at the poor receptionist at their agency when she dared suggest that he might have a cold.

“A cold?! As if Dynambight would ever have somethi’gg as pathetic as a cold! Do you hear this, Deku?!”

Katsuki’s voice had cracked and fizzled with each strained word, betraying just how sore his throat was. Izuku had known then that his boyfriend was feeling under the weather. It's been so long since Kacchan had lost his temper so easily, and even longer since Izuku's had to drag his boyfriend away before he caused an even bigger scene.

Their patrol has been quiet. Boring, in fact. There’s a light frosting of snow on the ground and the harsh whip of the wind keeps Tokyo’s residents indoors. To keep himself entertained, Izuku has taken to counting the number of times his boyfriend sniffles, wipes his nose, almost sneezes. Izuku hasn’t been lucky enough to see him sneeze yet, but he hasn’t given up hope.

“Hey, Deku! Snf!” Twenty-nine. “We’re going this way. We haven’t checked out this alley since December.” His boyfriend stops in his path and points to a small alleyway up ahead, adjacent to the 7/11. Maybe he can convince Kacchan to stop for some tea at the convenience store before they continue on their route.

Izuku follows Kacchan’s pointed finger, wrinkling his nose in uncertainty. They tend to ignore this alley simply because it’s boring. People only use it to pass through if they need a shortcut, and the most interesting thing about it is the spray paint of graffiti along the brick.

Still, not one to argue with the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, Izuku follows. “There? Okay.”

The alleyway is small, hardly big enough for them both to walk side by side, so Izuku walks behind his boyfriend. His broad shoulders take up most of the space in the alley, and though he’s wearing his winter pro-hero costume, Izuku can tell that Kacchan is cold. In the quiet of the alley, he can hear the blonde’s teeth chatter.

It’s not uncommon knowledge that fire-type powers get cold easily, and have a harder time producing flames (or in Kacchan’s case: explosions) in cold weather. But Izuku has never seen his boyfriend shiver before.

The desire to get him warm, comfortable, overrides any responsibility he feels towards investigating the alley. Izuku turns and looks at the beacon of light illuminating the 7/11 behind them. Snow is starting to fall from the hazy grey sky.

“Hey, why don’t we turn around and go get some tea from–”

“hhKSsh’IH!” The harsh sound of a sneeze cuts through the air, echoing off the brick walls in the alley.

Izuku doesn't turn around. He’s too scared to. If he looks, will the moment disappear? He can hear his blood pumping in his ears.

Another shaky breath. “Hh–!” It sounds sharp, desperate, like the gasp one makes when a cold hand is pressed to the warmth of their skin.

“h’ihKTsZHHh–hh…” Softer, no exclamation. Izuku can hear the wet kiss of spray on Kacchan’s lips. He can picture his shoulders sagging, can picture him holding onto the wall for support. Izuku doesn’t need to see it to imagine it.

“Hhdt–!” Another? Something must really be bothering his nose. “hihh–nghKT! ih’KssCH’hyu!” Two. The second one brings more spray, a consequence of stifling the first. The blood rushes from Izuku’s ears to his abdomen, warm and sweet like syrup.

Izuku’s personal orchestra of sneezes concludes with a wet, heavy sniffle and a stuffy sigh that tells him everything he needs to know about Kacchan’s cold..The sounds replay in his ear like a vinyl on its last groove, repeating over and over again for his own pleasure.

When Izuku finally turns around, Kacchan is indeed holding onto the wall, just like he imagined. His head is bent forward, though he quickly straightens up as if he sensed Izuku’s eyes on his back.

“What’re you looking at?” he grumbles, turning on his heel to face his partner. His eyes are narrowed into slits. Izuku can see the most delicate, damp sheen on Kacchan’s cupid’s bow.

“N-nothing,” Izuku stammers. The words ‘Bless you’ die on his tongue. His face is hot. He brings his hands up to his chest, exposing his palms in defeat. In his tight costume, there is absolutely no hiding his erection, so he does his best to keep Kacchan’s eyes from wandering too low.

Kacchan sniffles again, still glaring, then wipes his reddening nose on his shoulder without looking away. Ten. It’s not really possible to wipe it anywhere else, with his grenade cuffs.

“What’s with the erection?”

How had he noticed?! Izuku can feel himself turning pink, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. His tongue swells thick, useless in his mouth. “I– well, it’s… You know how I–”

“‘How you’ what?” Kacchan steps closer. The alleyway is too small for Izuku to slip past Kacchan, and he can’t go back onto a public street with such an obvious boner. It would be all over the news, ‘Japan’s Pro-Hero Indecent in Public!’

So Izuku presses himself against the wall. The skin on his back alights with goosebumps as he makes contact with the cold brick. Kacchan steps closer, like a lion on the prowl.

“How I– you know. That.” He can’t say it. Kacchan knows how he likes sneezing. He’s always known, he figured it out himself at U.A. University. It’s not exactly a secret that they don’t discuss and, more often than not, his boyfriend uses it as a way to tease him.

“Use your words.” Kacchan’s voice is deep, congested in Izuku’s ear. He stands an inch away, his thigh sliding between Izuku’s legs. Izuku’s face has turned from pink to red. Kacchan bends his head down, lips a hair’s breadth from his boyfriend’s sensitive throat.

“Kacchan– aah…” He’s cut off by his own gasp when Kacchan’s lips find his throat. Gentle kisses that turn hungry, ravenous. One hand finds Izuku’s hips to pin him closer to the cold wall while the other palm is pressed flat against the wall by his head, trapping him.

A shiver runs up his spine when Kacchan sniffles right by his ear. The sound is urgent, like his nose has just started running again. Another kiss and a small bite. Izuku is losing himself in his partner’s touch.

“I’ve needed to– hh…! sneeze for thirty minutes now. Why do you think we came down this alley?” Kacchan says between kisses, his gloved hand finding its way inside Izuku’s costume. Izuku feels himself turn to jelly.

It makes perfect sense. Kacchan would never let the general public see him so vulnerable, so pathetic. To Dynamight, sneezing in plain view would make his enemies see him as weak. Hiding away in an alley to sneeze came with the added bonus of trapping Izuku, too.

He has no words to describe how hot this is. Pinned to a freezing wall by Japan’s #1 pro-hero, who is also weakened by none other than a pathetic cold, makes Izuku feel as though he’s on fire. His cock grows harder in his costume, breaths coming in choppy pants.

Kacchan’s lips glide from the arch of his throat to his jaw, pressing kisses everywhere he goes. Eventually, their lips meet, working in a perfect dance for balance as they push and pull each other.

It’s only interrupted when Kacchan’s breath falters.

“Hih–!” His eyes open, then slip shut again, nose wrinkling beneath his black eye mask. He looks so pretty like this. The lightest brush of snow has started to collect on his shoulders, chilling him to the bone. His head tilts back with a final serrated gasp. Izuku watches with bated breath.

“ihk–dZSchh’h! h’hKschhh’YIH!” He doubles forward, sneezing between the both of them. A warm mist intermingles with the falling snow, melting any flakes before they can reach the ground. With each sneezy exhale, Izuku can also see Kacchan’s hot breath condensing in the frigid air to create a fleeting, misty cloud.

Izuku swallows. He touches his boyfriend’s wrist, the one by his head, to hold on for support. Let him know he’s there. Kacchan isn’t done, clearly.

His breath staggers again. Hardly a warning, before– “hh’iiIHZSChh! –izzthhuewH!” That one had sounded different, like the tip of his tongue had been caught between his teeth.

He’s never known Kacchan to sneeze this much. The thought fills Izuku with a strange mixture of pleasure, concern for his boyfriend, and eagerness to figure out just why so he can add it to his pro-hero book. It can’t be due to his cold alone, can it? Maybe there’s a certain temperature at which fire-types get sneezing fits from, or a certain condition to the snowy weather, or–

“Deku.” Kacchan pulls him out of his haze, flicking his finger against Izuku’s temple. “Pay attention to me. I’m not– hh! Done yet.”

The way Kacchan demands his attention makes Izuku smile, his freckled cheeks rising against his eyes. His petulance is endearing. “Sorry, Kacchan. I’m watching.”

“Good,” the pro-hero grumbles, moving his hand from Izuku’s hip to grab the curly dark hair on top of his head. He leans in again, his rose petal lips just brushing Izuku’s. How strange, that someone so rough could have lips so soft. “Because I’m.. heh.. Gohhnna…”

His nose crinkles again, eyes slipping shut. Izuku can practically see the exact moment when the itch escalates beyond tolerance, promising relief if he only gives in…

“Hyieh– hKSshh’iu! Hkt’KySCHhh’IEWH! Hah…– hh…” The final sneeze seems to toy with Kacchan, leaving him stuck in a transitional space of sneezy misery and liberation. The spray from the two previous sneezes settle between them and Izuku can just make out the thin, dew-drop shine collecting atop Katsuki’s top lip. He longs to rub it away, help him through it.

It doesn’t seem such a bad idea, really. Cautiously, Izuku releases his grasp on Kacchan’s wrist and traces his gloved finger down the curve of Kacchan’s twitching nose. His eyes are still shut, so he can’t see it coming.

“Hihh–!” Kacchan only gasps when he feels Izuku’s finger touch his nose. A tear rolls peeks from the crescent of his eye, sliding down his cheek and leaving a frozen trail in its wake. The slight touch does the trick, somehow, because in an instant he’s pitching forward again.

“H’idhKzSHhh! hEh’kchZShhyh!... hh… hk–dzSHhhyih!” He sneezes through his nose, against Izuku’s shoulder. The misty feeling settles through the thin fabric and leaves a chill on his skin, covering his skin in goosebumps.

Izuku shivers, but not because he’s cold.

“Bless you,” Izuku manages. Kacchan sniffles and pulls his hand back from his boyfriend’s hair to pinch his nose between his fingers, coughing slightly. When he sees just how red Izuku’s face is, his lips spread into an arrogant grin.

“Knew you’d like all that. C’mon, we’re behind on our patrol now, and I want some tea from the konbini.” He presses a kiss to Izuku’s flushed lips before he turns on his heel and leaves his boyfriend stranded, fully erect, against the wall.

“W-Wait, Kacchan!” Izuku calls, one hand covering his crotch. His face is bright red, burning hot against the cold snow flakes. Desperately, he wills his boner to go down just as Kacchan stumbles, still sneezing, into the 7/11 across the street. The last thing Deku hears before the automatic doors slide closed is his boyfriend yelling at the shopkeeper that he should consider himself lucky because he just heard THE “Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight” sneeze.

#my writing #brrrrrr enjoy. my only bnha fic to see other eyes #lemme know if I got their personalities right #this is a one off before I go back to my patrocchilllessss #hope everyone had a good xmas #sneeze kink #sneezefic

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devilscastle69 · 4 months

Text

wake me up next time (j/jk itaf/ushi)

heyy here's a small j/jk fic in the fun like haha everyones thriving in the future,they all made it to 2023 2024 and are grown and most of the characters are in love au. theyre about 23 here if the math is mathing (it might not be but theyre early-mid 20s) and probs were the last couple to get together imo bc theyre kinda dumb.

minors do not interact tyty~

Yuji gasped and jolted out of his sleep. Something had shattered loudly.

Megumi’s side of the bed was abandoned and cold, but the sounds of the footsteps from down the hall were so distinctly his. He groaned at himself—that’s what he got for lying under the covers and believing he’d stay awake. Yuji squinted at the clock on his phone and found it wasn’t even six in the morning yet. What could he be doing up at this hour?

Yuji found his boyfriend picking up shards of glass with a dish towel before depositing them into a plastic bag.

“Morning. Wow, can’t believe you’re already up,” Yuji greeted with a smile that quickly dissolved into a yawn. Megumi flinched for a fraction of a second before he hummed and rose to dispose of the broken ceramic. “Oh sorry, didn’t mean to startle you! What time did you end up coming back?”

Megumi shrugged. “Dunno. Didn’t sleep much, honestly. Be careful. I broke a cup.” He gestured at the floor vaguely and sighed like talking had sapped him of all energy,

“You look exhausted.” Yuji noted, frowning. He left out the addition that he sounded exhausted too. “Was it really rough?

Megumi shook his head and cleared his throat.”Nah. The only thing that was really a pain was the flight getting delayed.”

“Ah,” Yuji said, giving him a once over; his hair was unkempt as it always was in the mornings, but the dark shadows under his eyes only made their appearances when he’d been sleep deprived for at least a few days. “That sucks. Are you all jet lagged? I know you don’t sleep on planes.” He put his hand on Megumi’s shoulder. He got a confirmatory nod before Megumi shrugged his touch off and faced him.

“I made tea if you want some.” He nudged his head in the direction of the tea kettle. Usually he has a few cups of black coffee in the morning, but if Megumi was planning on going back to sleep anytime soon, tea would be more forgiving. Yuji nodded and Megumi pulled two cups from the cabinet without issue and poured a helping of tea in each and set them down on the table.

“Thank you.” Yuji smiled and scooted closer to his boyfriend and wrapped an arm around him. He’d forgotten to claim his welcome back hug, but he didn’t want to make his tired boyfriend stand up again, so this would have to suffice for now.

Megumi shook his head but didn’t turn to face him. “Wait…d-dohh h-hihh- eh’cshht!” He ducked into his inner elbow and shook against Yuji’s grasp.

“Bless you.”

“tzssht! h’Kxxt! ndh-- KXxsh’uh!”

“Bless you!”

“heh’eISHschh’tuh!” He kept his arm up and sniffled and rubbed his nose with his hoodie sleeve as a buffer between his nose and wrist. “Excuse mbe.” It was normal for him to sneeze in multiples on occasion, but that last one had been particularly harsh and left his throat feeling raw. He coughed briefly against the cuff of his sleeve and took a small sip of tea. A small tear escaped when he closed his eyes and trickled down his cheek.

“You alright?” Yuji rubbed his back. Megumi pulled his sleeve down after a moment and nodded. The spray was extremely visible, but Yuji pretended like he didn't notice.

Instead, he kissed his temple and frowned at the unnatural heat coming from his boyfriend. “Oh.” He put his lips there again, the back of his hand moving to both feel his boyfriend’s cheek and to prompt him to make eye contact. “You’re really warm.” He brushed away the stray tear that’d continued marking a trail down to his chin.

“Figured.” Megumi sniffled and took a slow sip of his tea. “You shouldn’t be this close.”

“Why don’t you go back to bed while I make you some breakfast?”

“It’s not that serious.”

Yuji cupped Megumi’s cheek to turn him so he could see the pout directed at him. “That’s not fair. You had me stay in bed when I was sick last month and I didn’t even have a fever.”

“That’s different.” Megumi said, cheeks flushing as he turned away, distracting himself with the warm beverage in front of him.

“I mean, not that I’m complaining. I think about all that time in bed a lot.” Yuji waggled his eyebrows.

Megumi choked on his sip of tea. Coughing was better than attempting to respond to that in his current state.

“Please?”

“I’m not really hungry.” He sniffled again. And again. And then he pawed at his nose slightly with the back of his sleeve in an attempt to discreetly sop up any lingering moisture.

Yuji nodded and passed him a napkin that’d been out of reach. “Hm. We could break out those massage oils Nobara gave us. I bet your neck is all stiff. Especially if you were sleeping on the couch.” The hurt seeped in just a bit in the last remark.

“It was the middle of the …night,” Megumi said, scrubbing at his nose with the napkin before crumpling into it entirely, “hihhtx!”

Yuji may not have shared Megumi’s affinity for sneezing, but there was something adorable about Megumi’s little fits: from the way the bridge of his nose creased with a few small wrinkles to the frustrated sounds he’d make trying to stifle them, to the way he always looked frustrated with himself if he knew people were watching.

“C‘mon, you can let them out. It’s just me,” he said when Megumi didn’t put the napkin down and continued his silent but uneven breathing pattern.

“I-it’s not that.” He turned and blew his nose slightly.

“Oh it got stuck?”

He confirmed with a nod.

“Well, when it comes back don’t hold back.” Yuji patted his shoulder and gave him a thumbs up. “Do your best.”

The color rushed back to Megumi’s face and the distraction gave the tickle a chance to respawn stronger than before. “Ihh’tshh! TZtshh! TsChh’eh! ihdtShhu! H-hih…hDjtSHhh’uh!”

“Bless you,” Yuji murmured as Megumi tended to his nose again. He handed him another napkin, noting that the original one looked spent. “Good job.”

A few years ago this would’ve earned him a smack, but instead Megumi sighed and leaned into Yuji’s hold, temple meeting shoulder in a way he only did when they were alone. Yuji combed through his hair, content to stay like this for as long as Megumi needed.

“You shouldn’t let me be all over you, you know.”

Yuji easily pulled him into his lap and then into the proper hug he'd wanted before. “I’m not gonna catch anything from you.”

“Uh…”

“I’m gonna take your cold from you!” Yuji announced before quickly closing the gap between them and kissed softly on his lips that’d gotten cracked during his time away. When he pulled away, he noted that Megumi’s feverish flush had deepened and he knew exactly why but would definitely bring it up later. He put his forehead to Megumi’s. “Wake me up next time.”

#j/jk #kink!megu/mi #snz fic #sick fic #sneezefic #my writing

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accidentalmistress · 2 months

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New Fic - To Have a Voice

Alrighty, here's the new story that I've been working on for quite a while now. I hope y'all enjoy these new characters, because I sure as hell do. This story takes place in the same world as Accidental Mistress, Vibrahnem, but where Accidental Mistress takes place in the country of Schorseau, To Have a Voice takes place in the neighboring country of Merseheim. The events of To Have a Voice take place around the same time period as Accidental Mistress.

Title: To Have a Voice

Word Count: 9,772

Content and Warnings: snz - male, allergy

In which a young Archivist stumbles into a chance encounter that may well change the course of his life, though he certainly doesn't know it at the time.

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PART ONE: THE CAT

Jakob's mother had taught him from a young age that one must treat others as one wished to be treated. This, she advised, would ensure that one was well-liked by one's peers, which in turn would propel one into a successful and happy future. Jakob had now reached an age in his adult life where he suspected that his dear mother, though well-intentioned, was sadly misguided. For though he was nothing but kind to everyone he met, seldom raised his voice or lost his temper, and strove to always maintain a cheery disposition, these qualities had not brought him friendship and acclaim so much as they had relegated him to what felt like the background of his own life.

Which is all a very roundabout way of saying that, as his one and only close friend Vera liked frequently to remind him: Jakob Steiner was a people-pleasing doormat.

Still, the habits drilled into him by his moral upbringing could not easily be shaken. So when he saw the cat lying motionless along an exterior wall as he left the Archives of the Order, he felt compelled to do what he believed to be right and check on it.

His work in the Archives had kept Jakob late, as usual, while he fulfilled the various requests made of him that he could never quite bring himself to say “no” to. Night had fallen, and rain slicked the streets of Onteburgh with a glistening sheen. Thick cloud cover blocked any moonlight, and the city instead was awash in the soft golden glow of many arcane street lamps. The rain and quality of light made it difficult to tell if the animal was even alive, but if it was, then perhaps it needed help, and Jakob could no more turn a blind eye than he could call off the rain with his thoughts alone.

He approached the creature slowly, the rain whispering in a soft patter on the umbrella he held in a tightening grip.

“I hope I don't regret this…” he muttered with the tone of a man intimately familiar with regrets.

The cat looked like little more than a lump of soaked, black fur on the pavement, its tail encircling its legs as it lay there curled up on its side. Jakob crouched down next to it and took a long look at the animal. If it had died of an illness, he didn't want to touch it and risk contracting some sort of contagion. After a few moments, however, he observed the cat's chest rise and fall with a shallow breath.

“Oh dear. So you are alive, poor thing. Are you hurt?”

The chance of illness remained, but he could not very well aid the cat without touching it, so Jakob reached a hand towards the pitiable creature and brushed two fingers along its head, between its ears. One eye opened, a distinctive shade of violet that took Jakob by surprise. He’d never seen a cat with such unusual, haunting eyes. Though, to be fair, he didn't spend much time around cats. He didn't spend much time anywhere that wasn't the Order's Archives or his own quarters.

The animal lifted its head and looked at him, its strange eyes half-lidded, and opened its mouth. The meow that issued was so faint as to be nearly inaudible over the rain.

Well, I certainly can't leave it here now, can I?

With a sigh, Jakob set his umbrella aside and gently scooped the soaked creature into his arms, a few fat raindrops splattering across the round lenses of his glasses in the moments he was uncovered. The animal didn't protest or make any sort of indication that he was hurting it, but it seemed so weak Jakob couldn't be sure it could if it wanted to. After cradling the drenched little cat in the crook of an elbow, he took up his umbrella again and continued on to his quarters in the Order dormitories.

When he arrived, he placed the cat carefully on his bed and murmured the chant that would activate the lamps in the room. The soaked umbrella he left leaning against a wall by the stout wooden door. If there was one thing that Jakob was satisfied with in his life, it was his living quarters. To be sure, there were far more luxurious places to live, but Jakob was fortunate enough to enjoy one of the most spacious apartments in the entire building. The main room was large enough that, with the help of a pair of folding screens, he could divide it into separate living and sleeping areas. It was also equipped with a private bath, a privilege that was not even afforded to many Knights. His role as an Archivist provided him with a life that was, if not glamorous, more than comfortable enough for a solitary bachelor.

Carrying the cat had thoroughly wetted Jakob's robe, and so he shucked the garment, only to find his shirt also soaked through to the skin. He stripped this too, then caught sight of himself, naked to the waist, in a panel of mirrored glass hung on the wall. The corner of his mouth twitched into the hint of a frown as he studied his reflection. Straight brown hair that brushed his chin. Pale skin that spoke to time most spent indoors. Eyes that were an almost yellowish shade of green. He'd been slight of build for his entire life, which was perhaps appropriate for someone of a scholarly bent. All that echoed in his mind, however, was the jeering voice of one colleague to another, words scarcely whispered behind their hands. “Goddess, no. He's far too scrawny…”

Jakob quickly turned away from the mirror. He had the cat to attend to.

Said feline had not moved from where Jakob had deposited it upon his bed. He fetched a towel and brought it over to dry the cat's fur. He gave a sniff as his nose began to run a bit, then rubbed the appendage with his forearm. At first he thought nothing of it, but then he groaned as realization hit.

“Oh no. Already?”

He'd thought that with the cat being wet he might not have a reaction to it, or at least not much of one, but it seemed this was too much to hope for. Cats always got him allergic to one degree or another, and this one looked to be no exception. At this point, however, his conscience would not allow him to do anything but see this task through, allergies or no. So he wrapped the little cat up in the towel and set about carefully drying it, even as his eyes began to water and a spot of irritation flared in the back of his sinuses.

“Stars of the Sister, -snnf- the things I get myself into…”

The poor creature was worryingly cold. Jakob could feel that clearly as he gently wiped the towel across its fur. Afterwards, he set the dampened cloth aside and instead wrapped the cat in a soft blanket, which he cradled to his bare chest. At least the blanket would keep the cat from touching his skin. His nasal passages were not quite so lucky, that irritation soon building to an intensity he could no longer ignore as an unsteady hitch threaded into his breaths.

“O-oh dear… hh… hh'nxtch!”

Jakob managed to turn aside and stifle the sneeze that seized him.

“Sorry,” he muttered on reflex, quite forgetting that the only other being in the room was the cat. The animal was already feeling warmer and had opened its strange violet eyes to look up at him. Under that intense gaze, it almost felt like he was talking to a person.

“I'm afraid I'm, um… hehhih'nxgch! Sorry. I'm a bit a- aller- allergic… to… heh-CHT! Heh-ITCHU! ISSHIU! HISHIU! Nguh…”

This time his attempt to stifle the tickle failed spectacularly, resulting in a rapid fit of sharp sneezes that misted his shoulder and slid his glasses down his nose. To Jakob's great surprise, the cat wriggled out of his grasp and slunk to the foot of the bed in an instant, wide-eyed. He didn't think the cat could move at all, let alone so quickly.

“S-Sorry, I… I-I didn't mean to sca- scare you- hh'xtch! Oh, goodness…”

He managed to stifle again, but the cat seemed no more interested in coming closer.

“Well of course it won't if I'm sne- sneezing like a ma- a ma- hhp'cht! Nhuh… a maniac,” he muttered, stifling yet another itchy outburst.

Rising from the bed, Jakob fixed his glasses and rummaged about his bedroom until he found a clean handkerchief, and none too soon as he buried his twitching nose in the cloth.

“heh’ISSHIU! ISSHIU! ISSHIU! Oh gods… HETCHIU!!”

He smothered another fit before blowing his nose. At work he was a habitual stifler in the sepulchral quiet of the Archives. Though dust was blessedly not among Jakob's myriad allergies so far as he knew, the Archives were so thick with it, and it was so inescapable, that he would be more surprised if he didn't sneeze at some point during his work each day. That stifling habit bled into his time at home, but this allergic tickle was so intense that he knew continuing to stifle would only serve to make matters worse.

“Don't worry -snf-,” he assured the cat, still staring at him from the foot of the bed. “It'll pass soon… I think.”

Several sneezing fits later, however, it was clear that Jakob's allergy attack had no intention of releasing him from its itch-inducing grip.

“Of course this would happen when I haven't got any allergy medicine… hehhp'tchiuhh!”

The living area of Jakob's quarters was equipped with an economical kitchen, complete with a small cooler-box. The thick-walled metal cabinet bore an arcane gem with an affinity for ice affixed to the door, and any food stored within was kept perfectly chilled. From this Jakob withdrew some leftover chicken from his dinner the previous evening. If the cat wasn't as physically injured as he'd imagined, then perhaps it was weak from hunger combined with the damp chill. It was thin, though Jakob knew quite well that slim did not always mean starving. Perhaps it was not the same for cats, but he could not count how many times in his own life he'd needed to assure one well-intentioned person or another that, yes, he was, in fact, getting enough to eat.

He placed a small portion of chicken on a plate before returning to the bed, where the cat still huddled against the footboard. Jakob stifled another couple of sneezes into his arm as he offered the plate to the cat, setting it down near enough for the animal to reach. The cat stretched its neck out and sniffed at the meat before snatching a hunk of chicken off the plate and devouring it in a few bites. A smile played at Jakob's lips as he watched the little cat tear voraciously into its meal, until at last the plate was so clean that there was nothing left for the cat to lick but its whiskers.

“Well, someone was hungry. Speaking of, I ought to eat something myself.”

He heated the remaining chicken for himself, and spent the rest of the evening alternating between attempts to befriend the cat and retreating to another part of the room so as not to traumatize the animal with his nigh-constant sneezing.

PART TWO: THE CURSE

In the morning Jakob awoke with a start and the realization that he had fallen asleep on his sofa. Bright sunlight streamed through his windows; the rain, it seemed, had moved on. Moments later his eyes fluttered closed and his chest heaved as he was drawn helplessly into a prolonged sneezing fit, his sinuses once more protesting to the fact that he had deigned to spend time in the presence of a feline, and overnight at that.

Once able to catch his breath, he cast about the room for the cat in question but did not immediately see it. Had it somehow snuck out in the middle of the night as he slept? Were it not for his furiously tingling nose and streaming eyes, he might think the whole thing had been a dream.

“Erm, kitty? Here, kitty-kitty… -snf-”

After an anxious minute of searching, Jakob was relieved to see two violet eyes staring back at him when he checked under the bed.

“There you a-are- het'chh! Sorry! Sorry. I know you don't like that…”

He sat back and scrubbed his nose with his palm, trying to quell any further sneezes. For the most part, he only succeeded in eliciting an unpleasant squelching sound.

“Mmh… Well, I-I've got to get ready for work. I'll need to leave you alone for a while, I'm afraid. I might be able to pop back on my l-lunch- heh-heh! Oh, goodness…”

A fresh tickle fluttered through his sinuses like a feathery wave from his quivering nostrils to the bridge of his nose, teasing him with a false start.

“On second thought, perhaps I ought to use my lunch break to get more a-allergy medicine… eh-tchiuhh!”

Jakob dressed in a hurry, the night spent on the sofa and morning search for the cat having completely thrown him off of his normal routine. He left a bowl of water and a bit of cooked fish out for the cat before heading out the door and rushing to the Archives.

“Jakob? Are you actually running late? Perhaps I should play the lottery.”

The elderly voice that greeted him pronounced his name in the Old Merseheiman fashion, using a “y” sound for the “j”. Yakob.

“S-Sorry, Mrs. Neumann…”

With how congested he was, he could hardly say her name properly. It almost came out like “Doybin”.

The ancient woman in front of him stood all of four and a half feet, and that's if she wasn't perpetually hunched over. While not exactly tall, Jakob's respectably average height still meant he practically towered over her. He sometimes wondered if there were fey somewhere in her lineage. Her hair was mostly silver yet shot with black strands, even at her advanced age, and was pulled back into a severe bun. Her skin reminded Jakob of a walnut.

She tutted with her tongue as she shook her head. “Oh, and you sound awful to boot. You could have simply sent word that you had taken ill. I would have given you the day off, you know. Sister knows you do not take enough time off as it is. Which is probably why you are—”

“I-I’m not sick, Mrs. Neumann.” Jakob cut her off before she could launch into a full tirade. “It's my allergies, that's all. You know how bad they get. I'm f-fine, re- real- ah-heh!” He managed to turn aside and throw a sleeve over his nose. “Huh’tchiuh! … -snnf- Really.”

The look she gave him was so flat you could build a house of cards on it, but she merely sighed and dropped the issue, much to Jakob's relief.

“Very well. A shipment arrived early this morning. Three crates containing a mixture of artifacts and written materials donated from a museum that is, unfortunately, in the process of shutting down. I need the items to be sorted and cataloged.”

Jakob bobbed his head, sniffling and rubbing his nose with the back of a hand.

“Understood, Mrs. Neumann. I'll get started on it right away.”

Receiving and cataloging new acquisitions was an aspect of Jakob's work that the young man truly enjoyed. Even the most mundane objects contained the stories of the people who once owned them, and within every shipment the Archives received was the possibility of coming across something truly extraordinary. In only his first year as an Archivist Jakob had cataloged a rather peculiar artifact, which he discovered had been mislabeled and was, in fact, a relic of such importance that it was now used as a holy symbol by one of the Order's Knight Sisters.

Though he highly doubted that he would be uncovering any holy relics today, there was nearly always something of interest to be found among the pieces the Archive received. He located the three small, wooden crates stacked in one of the store rooms. It quickly became evident from the appearance of the wood, aged and discolored, that they had not been packed recently. Whatever was inside must have already spent quite some time in storage at their former home. Jakob hunted down a small pry bar and set about working the lid off the top crate, but after having remained sealed for so long it was proving a stubborn task. After a few minutes he managed to create a small gap around the perimeter of the lid, as well as work up a slight sweat.

“I hate to admit it,” he huffed, “but Vera is right: I need to exercise more…”

After wiping his sleeve across his brow, Jakob thrust the bar into the gap he’d created and wrenched it with all of his strength and bodyweight. The wooden crate creaked, then groaned, and finally the lid came popping off with a loud crack before it clattered to the floor.

Jakob heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness…”

Panting like he’d jogged up a short flight of steps, the young Archivist noticed the rising plume of dust, motes sparkling in the beam of sunshine coming through the window, a split second before his nose twitched.

“Oh no, n-hh-heh! Heh! hhHIT’SHHiuh!”

It hit him too fast and strong to stifle, and his face colored with a burning blush at the noise. He buried his nose in the fabric of one hanging sleeve in an attempt to stave off any further dust, but it did not change the fact that he’d already gotten a face full of it.

“hh’chgt! hah-esshht! hhh’CHXT!-CHXT!-CHXT! Nhuh… huh-kssht! hhshhgt! hh’nxssh!-chiew… Oh Goddess…”

“I thought you weren’t allergic to dust.”

The sudden voice made him jump so badly he nearly dropped the pry bar. He spun and found a young woman with warm brown skin and long, curling hair of raven black done up in a high ponytail standing behind him. Her dark eyes glittered as the corner of her full lips turned up in a slight smirk.

“V-Vera! hh-CHT! Good Gods, y-you could have said something be- before- HUH-cndsh! Before you were right behind me.”

She tipped her head and gave him a one-shouldered shrug, the picture of nonchalance. “I tried to, but you were too busy sneezing your head off to notice. Don’t tell me you’ve developed another new allergy?”

Jakob pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose, shaking his head.

“No… No, I don’t think so. -snnf- I was already having an allergy attack. Since last n-night, actually. Huh’chggh! And you know everything sets me off when I’m like this.”

“Right… I guess nothing spicy for lunch, then. So much for my idea. I was gonna take you to this new stall that opened up along Market Street. They make a wicked curry.”

“Oh, don’t tell me that,” Jakob moaned, “I love curry.”

Vera folded her arms in front of her chest. She almost seemed to be enjoying taunting him.

“Well, don’t forget to take your allergy meds next time.”

“I didn’t forget! I-I haven’t got any!”

“Then maybe don’t wait until you completely run out to get more!”

Unable to think of a valid argument against that, he stifled another round of sneezing into his handkerchief instead. Vera walked around him and peered into the now-open crate. Whatever was inside was still concealed by a layer of wood wool packing material, as yet a tantalizing mystery.

“What are you even working on?” she asked.

Jakob made a vague gesture towards the crate. “New acquisitions. -snf- From a defunct museum. Mrs. Neumann asked me to c-catalog them- hh’tsht!”

“Want some help?”

Jakob waved a hand. “Oh, don't trouble yourself. I can handle it.”

Vera raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “I’m not troubling myself; I'm doing my job. I'm an Archivist too, you know.”

Jakob closed his eyes so she wouldn't see him rolling them. “I'm not saying you're incapable, I'm saying you don't need to step away from your own work just because you find me especially pathetic today.”

The heat behind those last few words surprised even him, and the hurt that flickered behind Vera’s eyes hit him like a knife to the gut.

“Wait, Vera, I—”

“Is that really what you think of me? That I’m only here because I pity you?”

The tone she used was so low and insulted, he almost would have preferred she shouted at him.

“N-no! No. Vera, I'm sorry. I don't- I didn't mean for it to come out like that. That's not what I think at all. I know you're trying to help as a friend, I just…” He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “I'm all out of whack this morning, and I feel horrid on top of it. But… I still shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm really sorry.”

Hard eyes glared at him for a moment more before Vera sighed and some of the stiffness went out of her posture. Still, her arms remained crossed in front of her, like one last barrier he had not yet broken.

“Alright, fine. I accept your apology. This isn't like you, though. Did something happen?”

Immediately Jakob's thoughts went to the cat, with its curious eyes and the presence it had when he spoke to it, like it could somehow understand him. Was he imagining it? He had to be.

“N-no. Er, maybe? I don't know… I found this stray cat last night—”

“A cat? Aren't you super allergic to cats?”

He nodded, taking a moment to blow his nose again and give it a thorough rub in the process. While this did not satisfy the itchy burning in his sinuses—nothing short of a miracle would at this point—it did at least succeed in pushing it to a background annoyance rather than an immediate concern.

“Why do you think I'm currently a sniffling, sneezy mess and sound like my sinuses are stuffed with cotton? I was around it all night.”

“Hold on a moment. Are you saying you found a stray cat… and then you brought it home?”

“Well, yes. It needed my help.”

“Jake…” She drew his name out in exasperation.

Jakob spread his hands. “I couldn't leave it! It was just lying there on the ground getting soaked by the rain, a-and it was so weak it could hardly even meow at me. The poor thing was freezing. It might have died if I hadn't done something!”

“Alright, alright. I get it. You brought an injured cat home and were up all night sneezing. I suppose I can see why you’d be out of sorts.”

Jakob rubbed the back of his neck. “I-I did manage to fall asleep for a little while on the sofa…”

Vera sighed and finally dropped her arms to her sides. “You ought to go home, then. Get some rest. I'm sure you're worried about the cat, too. I can handle these crates.”

“I'm fine, Vera. It's not the first rough night I've had with my allergies. Besides…” He turned back to the open crate and its mysterious contents. “I have got to know what's in these.”

Another sigh from Vera, this one more resigned.

“Alright, but I’m staying and helping you. I won't take no for an answer. And put a mask on or something, for Sister's sake. These things look like they're full of dust, and I am not carrying you to the infirmary again.”

“I-It was one time!” Jakob stammered, his voice squeaking up an octave.

“Yeah, one time too many.”

Unpacking the crates and sorting the contents did go faster with Vera's help. The cloth Jakob tied around the lower half of his face at Vera's insistence served to keep the dust out well enough, but when the fibers brushed against his raw, chapped nostrils in just the right way…

“hh-hhih’chh! Nnggh… Sorry.”

Vera waved off his apology without a word or even looking up from the fragment of ancient text she was examining at a nearby table with practiced care. At this point in their friendship, she seemed to take little more notice of Jakob's sneezing than she did of him simply breathing. After a few moments, though, she turned her attention to him for another reason.

“Jake, what do you make of this?”

“Hm?”

He came to peer over her shoulder at the text, her finger extended to a particular section of the parchment, yellowed with the passing of untold years.

“I think these are Tulyranese runes, but you've always been better with them than me.”

Jakob adjusted his glasses and leaned closer, squinting at the text she’d indicated.

“Mmm, yes. Definitely Tulyranese. Third century, I should think. See the way this first character is drawn? With the sort of looping tail coming off of it? That's typical of the style used in official and religious texts of that era.”

“So, we're looking at this being, what, seven, eight hundred years old?”

“Thereabouts.”

Vera gave an appreciative nod. “Wow. It’s in pretty good condition, then, for its age. I mean, whatever binding this text had is long gone, unfortunately, but the pages themselves are in good shape. The ones that are here, anyway. I’m almost certain they’re part of a larger work.” She glanced up at him before carefully shifting the pages in front of her with gloved hands. “Did you find any more pages in the other crates?”

Jakob shook his head, the motion almost setting off another sneeze. “N-not individual pages, no. -snf- Some scrolls that I’ll have to examine later when I have the proper tools. I’m honestly not even certain any of these items are related. Most of them aren’t even from the same continent, let alone the same era. And I can't believe that nothing is labeled! What sort of ‘museum’ was this place, anyway? No wonder they shut down. I mean, they sent us a cheap replica of the Five Seals of the ruling houses of Schorseau, like the ones they sell to tourists— Wait!”

He placed an urgent hand on Vera’s arm as something on the page she was currently handling caught his eye. With his other hand he pointed to an illustration near the center of the page that depicted a spindle-shaped object with three bands around it.

“That. That object there. That was in one of these crates!”

He whirled around, eyes scanning over a handful of broken pottery, a collection of handheld farming tools, and a number of figures carved from soapstone before his gaze landed on the object in question: an obsidian spindle that was a little longer than his hand and had three metal bands wrapped around it: one around its center and two more on either side of the first, equidistant between the center band and the artifact’s pointed ends. Jakob rushed to retrieve it, so caught up in his excitement that he forgot he had taken his own gloves off a few minutes prior when his hands had begun to sweat inside them.

“Jake, your gloves!” Vera snapped, just as a shock pricked the middle finger of his right hand where it touched the center ring.

He jerked his hand back with a slight yelp as a tingle ran up his arm. “Ah! S-sorry! I- hh-hhih'chh! Hih’CHH! eh-TCHIU! Nnh… I-I wasn't thinking.”

Vera rolled her eyes. “If you develop an allergy to artifacts, I'm forcing you to resign.”

“Oh, hush,” Jakob grumbled as he tugged his gloves back on, “It was only a static shock. It surprised me, that's all.”

His annoyance was quickly forgotten as he took up the artifact and carried it carefully over to the table with the texts. He set it down next to the page with the illustration, a grin hidden by the cloth over his face but present nonetheless.

“Look at the similarities! It's the same shape, the same color, and it has those three bands around it.” He leaned in, examining the metal bands more closely. “Wait, there are carvings here.”

“Tulyranese?”

He slowly shook his head. “I'm not sure… They're very worn. Could be, though. I'll need to examine them with a magnifying glass to say what they are for sure, I think.”

“Still, you're right that this artifact is a very close match to the illustration,” Vera agreed, “It's almost certainly related, somehow. Even if it's not the exact same object, it's at least a similar one or a replica.”

Jakob took the artifact in his hands again, turning it in the light.

“It can't have been a common item. I've never seen anything like it.”

Vera was bent over the pages again.

“You know, Jake… I may not be the best with Tulyranese runes, but I think this says something about a curse.”

He looked at her sharply. “What? A… a curse? Um, l-let me see.”

“Let's hope you were right about that shock just being from static,” Vera said as she stepped aside for Jakob to move in, “Do you feel strange at all? Anything out of the ordinary?”

“Oh, of course not. I feel fine. Well, as fine as I can be on a bad allergy day,” he replied as he began examining the text in detail, “True curses are extremely rare, and I think we'd know by now if we'd set one off.”

“If you’d set one off. I didn't touch the damned thing.”

He shot her what he hoped was a withering glare, but which probably lost much of its effectiveness with the cloth mask on. Then he huffed out a breath and turned back to the text, trying to decipher the runes.

“Alright, let me see here… This first section refers to the First Sovereign Emperor, ‘the one of great wisdom’. It seems he… hid the artifact in, um… someplace underground. ‘The subterranean place, the hidden deeps below the earth, the domain of Death.’”

“So, like, the underworld?”

He held out a hand, palm down, and tipped it from side to side. “Ehhh… The literal translation of these characters for ‘Death’ is ‘That Which Follows’, and there's still some debate on whether they were an actual death deity or a type of… collector of souls.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Well, one causes you to die, the other just sort of waits around for it to happen. Most likely the place it's referring to is a tomb or burial site of some kind.”

“So, if your interpretation is correct, the First Sovereign Emperor of Tulyran hid this artifact in a tomb?”

“I think so, but I'm making a very rough translation here. This next part… seems to be a number of praises for the Emperor. This means ‘to raise one’s lips to the sky’, so they are, ah, shouting their praises. ‘The one of great wisdom’, ‘the ancient power’, ‘the one who… brings changes’? I think?”

He could hear Vera tapping her foot impatiently.

“Okaaay, but is there anything about a curse?”

“I'm checking. I'm checking. Uh… Oh, here's something about ‘trespassing’. Um, ‘those who trespass upon the domain below’, if they ‘violate the’… ‘seal’, I think. They ‘shall be—’” He paused and glanced over at Vera before speaking the next word. “‘—cursed… Banished into shadow for all eternity.’ You were right, it does mention a curse.”

“I knew it! Are you sure you're okay? What if there’s some kind of ancient magic still active on it?”

“I told you, I don't feel any different. The only thing I feel is my damned sinuses itching.” He reached up to rub his nose through the cloth, which was apparently a mistake as it ignited a fresh prickle that flared up from a sore spot at his septum. “Oh dammit, and I fe-feel like I'm gonna- gonna sn- snee-hheeze!”

“Oh, Hell no! Mask or no mask, you are not sneezing on the artifacts!” Vera snapped, shoving his shoulder.

Jakob managed to turn and put his back to the table just as his lungs pulled in a sharp breath.

“Hihh! hh’ishht! Heh-chght! HEH! HH-CHHT! Nnh… S-Sorry. Excuse me.”

As he lifted his glasses to wipe a few tears from his eyes, Jakob turned to find Vera with a hand on one hip and another of her trademarked smirks on her face.

“Maybe you've been inflicted with a sneezing curse.”

He rolled his eyes. “If that's true, then I've been suffering from it my entire life.”

He pulled the cloth mask away from his face so he could blow his nose into his handkerchief, wincing at both the tenderness of his abused nostrils and the sounds he was making. The congestion in his nasal passages was so thick that the air squeaked as he forced it through. His best friend’s expression softened.

“Jake. Go get some allergy meds from the infirmary, and then go home and get some rest. Please.”

“But—”

“No buts. You are a mess. You said you wanted to know what was in the crates. Now you know. I can handle it from here. And these artifacts aren't going anywhere; you'll have plenty of time to study them later.”

Jakob sighed. Vera was not one to back down, especially when she knew she was right. And she definitely was right, though he was loath to admit it.

“Alright, fine.” He allowed a smirk to creep across his own face. “Just don't go hogging all the interesting discoveries, okay?”

Vera put a hand to her chest in mock indignation. “You wound me, sir! Would I do something like that?”

His response was deadpan. “Yes. You have. Repeatedly.”

“Well, okay, but never anything important. Besides, is it so wrong to have a thirst for knowledge?”

Jakob snickered. “Better than some of your other thirsts.”

That earned him a scoff. “You're just jealous that I get all the cute boys. And some of the girls.”

He poked Vera with an accusing finger. “Then I suppose there's more than one area of your life in which you ought to learn how to share.”

Vera gave his arm another shove. “Oh! You are in such a mood today! Are you sure you're not cursed? Or is this still that cat’s fault?” She paused, narrowing her eyes. “What are you going to do with it, anyway? The cat, I mean.”

Jakob rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly abashed. “I don't know… I was thinking, um, maybe I could… keep it for a while.”

Vera looked at him like he'd just declared his intent to marry the animal. “You… want to keep… a cat?”

“Just for a while! Maybe I'll get used to it! And I'll take allergy medicine—”

“You know what? Fine. If it'll get you to actually take your meds, go right ahead. Now go to the infirmary!” Vera grumbled as she practically shoved him out the door of the Archives storage room.

PART THREE: THE MAN

By the time Jakob arrived back at his quarters, he was already feeling better from the dose of allergy medicine he had taken as soon as he'd acquired it at the infirmary. In his hands he carried a small wooden case that held more tiny vials of the pale green elixir, enough to hopefully get him through the next month or so.

He pushed the door to his quarters open carefully, hoping that a little black blur wouldn't dart out and vanish down the street. When nothing appeared in the crack of the doorway, he swung the door in fully and stepped inside.

“Um, kitty? I'm home…”

He checked the plate of fish he had left out and found it clean, which he took as a good sign. Soon after he located the cat itself, curled up asleep at the foot of Jakob’s bed. It raised its head and fixed him with that twilight-purple gaze that struck Jakob so. When it continued to do naught but stare, he felt a sort of weight pressing down on him, like he ought to say something, anything to break the sudden awkward tension. Going with what was literally at hand, he held up the little box.

“I-I got some allergy medicine! Now I won't be, um, sneezing quite so much. Although I suppose I should warn you that I tend to sneeze a fair amount anyway. Just the way that I am…” He trailed off with a self-conscious laugh that dissolved into a defeated groan as he closed his eyes and brought a palm to his face. “Am I seriously talking to a cat?”

Prrrp.

A little trilling sound, almost like a soft chirp. Jakob looked up, found the cat staring at him just as before, but he knew he had not imagined the sound. He was not so foolish as to believe that the cat had actually responded to him out of genuine understanding, but it was the only sound the animal had made since that first pitiful meow in the rain. And it even sounded friendly.

“Oh…”

Jakob deposited the box on an end table and approached the bed. Perhaps it was simple exhaustion, but his steps possessed an almost dreamlike quality, as though he were sleepwalking while awake. He slowly reached out a hand towards the cat, not to grab or even pet it, just close enough for it to smell him if it wanted to. The little black feline leaned in toward his hand, sniffed him once… twice… Then it pressed its small, wet nose against his fingers and rubbed him with its cheek. Jakob could not help the delighted gasp that escaped his lips, followed by a chuckle as the cat brought its face back around for a second rub.

“You like me, huh? Or is this your way of saying ‘thank you’ for bringing you in out of the cold and giving you something to eat?”

Shifting his hand to stroke the cat’s head and down its back, Jakob was pleasantly surprised by the silky softness of its fur. The last time he had touched it, the cat had still been damp with rain, its fur slick and matted to its body. Now that it was dry, he could scarcely believe that he had picked the animal up as a bedraggled stray. This was the sort of cat that Jakob imagined would warm the laps of wealthy ladies or appear in royal portraits.

Maybe the cat was an escaped pet, a fugitive from some noble household who slipped out on a lark that soon became a misadventure. Or perhaps the cat had been spirited away from its home by force, to be sold or held for ransom, and had managed to flee its captors only to be unable to find its way home again.

Jakob felt around the cat's neck, giving it a few chin scratches in the process, but did not feel any evidence of a collar. Not everyone collared their cats, though. The absence of one was no guarantee that the cat was feral. Still, even as he imagined an owner, fretting and distraught over the loss of their beloved pet, there was a part of him that hoped that there was none.

Jakob's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, familiar itch.

“Uh-oh- heh! Etchiu! Etchiu!”

A quick, sharp double sneeze hit him, and he barely had time to turn and bury his face in his elbow. The cat flattened its ears and took a few cautious steps back, though at least it did not outright flee this time.

“Sorry! Sorry. It's not you, it's just me being, um, me. Er, well, it might be you a tiny bit, but it’s not nearly so bad as before.”

As the cat moved across the bed, concern sprouted in Jakob’s chest as he thought he saw it favoring one of its back legs. It had squirmed from his arms so quickly the previous night, and then hadn’t moved much afterwards, so he hadn't noticed anything wrong with its gait then. He scrounged up a bit of string and took a few minutes to observe the cat, teasing it back and forth across the bed. There was indeed something odd about the way it moved its right hind leg: not the pronounced limp of a fresh hurt, but the slight, stiff unevenness of an old wound that never quite fully healed.

Jakob frowned. Perhaps the cat really was a stray. He couldn't imagine that the owner of such a beautiful animal would allow their pet to suffer an injury like that without treatment. At the very least, the animal must have been living on the streets for several months, if not longer. Jakob took a seat on the edge of the bed and tried to coax the little cat nearer again. When it settled within arm’s reach, he went back to stroking its back.

“I'm afraid I'm no healer,” he told it softly, “but I'll do what I can to help you get better.”

Perhaps he was anthropomorphizing the cat too much, but he couldn't help thinking of the purring that vibrated beneath his hand as an expression of gratitude.

For the next several days, Jakob spent his time at work studying the strange artifact and text that he and Vera had uncovered, while his time at home was largely spent bonding with and caring for the cat. Sadly there was not much in the text he could glean about the artifact beyond what he had already translated. Vera was right that the pages appeared to belong to a larger work, and upon closer inspection Jakob determined that they were not consecutive—they all came from different parts of the original book. The page with the illustration was the only one they had that referred to the artifact at all.

The artifact itself was no more forthcoming on the particulars of its purpose and history. The runes carved into the metal bands, when he examined them more closely, did not match any Tulyranese runes Jakob was familiar with, nor any other script he knew besides. It did not possess any moving parts, so far as Jakob could tell, and though he could detect a faint echo of potent magic upon it, whatever power it contained in the distant past was long spent. It would no longer be cursing anyone to the shadows, it seemed, if it ever truly did at all.

As for the cat, Jakob consulted with a veterinary physicker and came home with a healing salve to be rubbed on the cat’s injured leg. The feline in question was surprisingly tolerant of this treatment, much to Jakob's relief. He thought for certain that he would have to hold the cat still in a death grip while he massaged the medicine through its fur and into its skin. Instead the cat lay quietly while he worked on its leg, almost as though it knew that the treatment was intended to help. There was no guarantee that the old wound would ever be fully healed, but after a couple of days of application Jakob swore he saw improvement in the cat’s mobility.

One night after Jakob had come home from the Archives and had already eaten supper, bathed, and tended to the cat’s medication, he lay on his back in bed while the little black cat perched on his chest with all of its paws tucked beneath it, a content purr rumbling in its chest. Jakob stroked it absently with one hand as he mulled over the artifact and the warning of its curse.

“Those who trespass upon the domain below, should they violate the seal, shall be cursed: banished into shadow for all eternity…” he muttered. “I don't think I've been banished to the shadows.”

He looked down at the cat watching him with its violet eyes, and smiled.

“What do you think, hm? Do you think I've been cursed, little one?”

It trilled at him in response, and Jakob chuckled. He grabbed the cat under its front legs and held it up, much to the animal’s consternation judging by the grumpy meow it gave.

“Oh, don't be cross with me. You're so cute! How can I not want to pick you up?”

For a moment he thought the cat might try to scratch him, but it simply lashed its tail and hung there, its back paws resting on Jakob's chest while its forelegs dangled in the air.

“Hm. If you're going to stay with me, I think you'll need a proper name. I'm not sure if you're a boy or a girl, though… Well, perhaps it can just be something neutral. Let's see… Vesper? No… Maybe Noctis? Eh, no. How about… Onyx? Hm, no…”

The artifact text came to mind again, “banished into shadow for all eternity.” In the original Tulyranese, the word for shadow was ahkre. Jakob perked up, pulling the cat back in close so they were nearly nose to nose.

“Ahkre… How about it? Would you like to be Ahkre?”

The cat stared at him, wide-eyed, like he had just personally insulted every single one of its ancestors. Jakob laughed and, with a grin, leaned in to give the cat a little kiss.

Everything went dark.

Weight.

Warmth.

Pressure.

Something was pressed firmly against his mouth. Something warm and wet and delightfully soft. Complete disorientation gripped Jakob's mind like a spider wrapping its prey. What the hell had just happened? In the next moment, sharp clarity pierced the haze as he realized that the thing pressing against his lips was… someone else's.

He was being kissed.

“Mmph?!”

He jerked his head back as far as he could in the limited space. Wave after wave of heat washed across his face, radiated down his arms and legs, and coiled up in his core as he found that he was now being pinned to his bed. By a man.

The man pulled his own face back, his expression just as confused as Jakob felt. His skin was a rich brown that reminded Jakob of river clay, and his face was framed by waves of long, silver-white hair. Jakob flushed even hotter. Oh, stars above, this man looked like he'd been chiseled from stone in the image of a god. High cheekbones. A strong, angular jaw with a perfect dimple in the center of his chin. A long, sharp nose with a slight bump in the ridge of it. Those soft lips that had been on Jakob's own just moments before. The man blinked slowly, like someone just waking from deep slumber, and as they locked gazes Jakob's stomach did a flip.

The man’s eyes were violet, like a band of vivid color across the twilight sky.

“Y-You… you're…” Jakob's voice came out as little more than a squeak, and it was of course at that moment that his traitorous nose prickled with abrupt, urgent intensity. Maybe bringing the cat so close to his face had been a bad idea. Panic began to set in as he realized that his arms were pinned at his sides. He clamped his jaws shut, pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth—anything to hold back from sneezing with this gorgeous man on top of him.

“P-Please, I’m- I'm gonna- hehh!”

No good. His breath hitched in his chest as the tickle insisted—demanded to be satisfied. He screwed watering eyes shut and did the only thing he could: turn his face into his shoulder as far as possible and try his best to stifle.

“G-gonna- heh- heh! HH’ISHHT!”

The man jumped up and sat back on his haunches, still straddling Jakob’s hips on the bed and revealing that he was completely, maddeningly naked. He held up his hands in front of his face, turning them over and over and flexing his fingers with a look of slight terror on his handsome features.

“I-I am so sorry!” Jakob stammered, “I d-didn’t mean to, um… hh’tssh! Sorry! I-I-I just… I mean, you were a- ah! Hih’CHH! Nguh, -snf- Y-you know, a-a cat, and, um… W-weren't you?”

Instead of replying the man scuttled backwards, flailing, and fell against the footboard of the bed with a hoarse, wordless cry that was practically a whimper. Jakob pushed himself up on his elbows and rubbed his nose, forcing the itch into submission for the moment.

“Oh my, are you alright? Well, no, I suppose you're not. You were a cat just a minute ago. You… were the cat, right?”

Jakob rose until he was sitting upright, but still the man didn't answer. Another raspy moan passed his lips, then a cough. He looked on the verge of panic, and it was this, more than anything, that eased Jakob's own nerves a little as the familiar role of caring for the needs of another before his own settled over him like a well-worn pair of slippers.

“H-Hey, it's alright. Don't be afraid.”

No response. He couldn't seem to get through to the man at all, who was hugging his arms around himself as his breath came in quick, shallow pants. Jakob's heart wrenched when he saw tears standing in those beautiful violet eyes. What could he do? There was no handbook for this, no instructions for what to do when the cat you've been keeping for several days suddenly turns human.

“Um… I…” He cast around, as though the answer might be written on the walls, but he knew that nothing and no one was going to swoop in and rescue him. He returned his gaze to the man before him and was suddenly reminded of a lost child, confused and afraid. So Jakob did the only thing he could think of: throw a warm blanket around the man’s shoulders and pat him gently on the head.

“Shh… It’ll be alright. No one's going to hurt you.” He murmured, stroking his hand across the man’s silvery hair. It was soft. Softer than anything Jakob had ever felt, he thought, like strands of silken moonlight. “I won't let anything happen to you.”

The man’s breathing eased. He looked up at Jakob, really focusing on him for the first time.

“That's it. Deep breaths,” Jakob said, keeping his voice low, as though talking down a skittish horse. “I'm, um… Oh, I never told you my name, did I? Well, I-I don't think people usually introduce themselves to cats… Um… B-But anyway, I'm Jakob. Do you… have a name? Er… Can you talk?”

The man’s lips trembled.

“Bh… Buh…”

He gasped, as though the simple act of trying to speak cost him great effort. He swallowed and gazed at Jakob for several eternal moments, straining and clearing his throat, before at last forcing out a whisper:

“B-Balthasar.”

He let out a breath, like a sigh of relief, and sat up straighter, and Jakob's face flamed as he found he was now the one needing to look up. Balthasar had the kind of body that many people would kill for, and not a few would kill over. A man like this had wars fought in his name. And he was sitting naked in Jakob’s bed.

“Um, i-it's nice to meet you, Balthasar.”

Balthasar’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his jaw working with the stiffness of disuse.

“Hh… S-Sorry… I… Mm… This is… strange.” He spoke in a bare rasp, difficult to make out.

Jakob leaned closer to hear. “Strange?”

Balthasar nodded. “Strange,” he croaked. “Strange to… b-be in this… body. Strange to… h-have a voice.”

“Oh…” Jakob nodded slowly, feeling like his thoughts were running through mud. “Er, yes. I-I suppose it would be.”

“I…” Those violet eyes couldn’t quite look at him. “Sorry for… kissing you.”

Another wave of heat washed over Jakob as he waved both hands in front of him. “Oh! N-no, no, it’s fine! Really, I-I think it would be my fault, if anything. B-But I had no idea that, uh, kissing you… would… um…”

“How—” Balthasar broke off and coughed before trying again. “H-How did… you know?”

Jakob looked at him quizzically. “Er, how did I know what?”

“Ahkre. Tynn bat’tam ahkre.”

“Oh, um… Well, I'm an Archivist. A-A historian, I suppose. I’ve been studying this ancient Tulyranese text and artifact…”

Jakob trailed off and his frown deepened. ‘Tynn bat’tam ahkre’ was the original Tulyranese that translated to ‘banished into shadow for all eternity’. He’d only said “ahkre”, so how did this man know the rest of the line from the curse? Jakob's eyes widened.

“Wait, you don't mean— You were under the curse? It turned you into a cat?!”

Balthasar nodded. “Mm. For a long time. I did not… I thought no one could… um…”

He spent a few moments in thought, then made a motion with his hands like he was snapping something.

“Break the curse?” Jakob supplied.

“Yes! Break. I thought no one could break it. I am… I must…”

To Jakob's great surprise, Balthasar suddenly placed his hands in front of him on the bed. He then bowed low, the blanket slipping down from his broad shoulders, and he touched his forehead to the sheets. Jakob couldn't help but notice the way Balthasar's silver hair fanned across the dark skin of his back, his eyes then drawn to the lithe curve of his ass as he bent forward. Jakob's heart began crawling up his throat. When Balthasar spoke, his voice sounded the firmest it had ever been.

“I am in your debt. I pledge myself to you. My life is yours to do with as you see fit.”

Jakob threw a hand over his mouth, his blush volcanic. “P-Pledge yourself? To- to me?! Oh, no. No, no, no. Y-You don't need to do that!”

He reached out and took Balthasar’s shoulder, warm brown skin beneath pale fingers, and urged him to rise. “Please, this is all very strange, and- and honestly a little overwhelming, so c-can we not talk about pledging oneself to one another right now?”

Balthasar looked at him, silver brows drawn together in confusion.

“But… You took me in. Cared for me. Healed me. Broke my curse. I owe you a debt. My life. I have nothing else to give.”

“Th-that doesn't mean—”

Suddenly Balthasar took Jakob's hands in his, a note of desperation entering his voice.

“Please. I will earn my keep. I swear it. I admit, I have a… a reason that is… it is… selfish. I-I…” He looked at their clasped hands and suddenly released Jakob's as though stung, his own face flushing. Then he cast his eyes down into his lap, his shoulders dropping and his long bangs falling across one eye. “I have no home. Nowhere to go. I wish to stay here… with you. Please.”

Jakob took a breath and tried very hard not to consider the implications of the “with you” part.

“But… What about your family?” he insisted, “Friends? Surely they must be worried about you.”

Balthasar did not raise his gaze, only shook his head. “They are gone. All gone. There are none left who mourn my absence.”

Something caught in Jakob's mind, then, puzzle pieces falling into place. Balthasar spoke with an accent he could not place, and the way he had spoken Tulyranese was like that of a fluent speaker.

“Balthasar… How long were you cursed for, exactly?”

He glanced up at Jakob's question, but quickly looked away to the side. As the light from the bedside lamp shifted across Balthasar's striking features, Jakob noticed a smattering of freckles across his cheeks.

“I do not know. A very long time. I stopped… stopped counting the years when I left Tulyran.”

Jakob's jaw nearly dropped. Though he had the suspicion, it still beggared belief. “You… You're actually from Tulyran?”

Balthasar nodded.

“But— But Tulyran has been dead as a civilization for… for… for hundreds of years!”

Again, a silent nod from Balthasar, and Jakob could only continue to gape, leaning in closer.

“Are you telling me that you lived as a cat for centuries?”

Balthasar turned, a flicker of heat behind his violet eyes that made Jakob flinch backwards. In an instant, the air around Balthasar changed: one moment he was steeped in mournful uncertainty, and in the next he radiated quiet strength.

“You do not believe me? My years as a human are a- a fraction of my life. I may as well be more cat than man. I watched as the people around me— they were born, they grew old, and they died. Over and over and over. Undying. Alive within the- the sea of humanity, yet ever an outsider. Witness to life's richest fruits, yet unable to touch. That is the true curse. To do nothing but… watch as everyone and everything you hold close in your heart… leaves you behind.”

By the time he was done speaking, his voice had grown hoarse again. Balthasar's pain was laid bare within his words—words fueled by centuries of torment. Silence reigned in the apartment for a long moment. Jakob knew that nothing he could say could soothe so deep a wound, yet he had to offer what balm he could. He spoke softly, his words infused with a gentle tenderness as he reached out to place his hand on Balthasar's. The other man's hand was large and sinewy, the hand of a warrior, yet it trembled beneath Jakob's fingers.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to imply that I didn't believe you. I do. It's just a lot to take in, that's all. And my gosh, I have so many questions, but…” Jakob swallowed his nerves and took a deep breath. “You can stay with me. For a while, at least. B-But I don't want you pledging your life to me, or anything like that! Um, how about… starting as friends?”

He offered a shy smile, but the one that lit up Balthasar’s own face as he took up Jakob's hand in both of his made the Archivist’s heart skip a beat or three.

“Friends! It would be my honor. You have my deepest thanks, Jakob, my… my friend.”

As Jakob took in Balthasar's dazzling, beaming grin, his expression of pure joy, and the thundering of his own heartbeat like a herd of horses galloping through his veins, one thought suddenly rose above all else:

Stars above. How was he ever going to explain this to Vera?

---------------------

End: "To Have a Voice", the first tale of Cursebreaker.

#snzblr #snz #snz kink #sneeze kink #snzfic #snz fic #sneezefic #Jakob the Allergic Archivist #Balthasar of the Broken Curse #snzfucker

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theartofsnz · 19 days

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another hot take from ur fave,,,

i LOVE dad sneezes. i love when they’re super loud and bend the sneezer over and you can hear that enunciated ‘choo’ at the end.. like yes bro sneeze on me and you can make that sound while ur head is between my tits… sigh.

#snz kink #snz thoughts #snzfucker #sneeze attack #sneeze kink #sneezeblr #sneezefucker #snzblr #snz wav #sneezefic

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snzagaba · 5 months

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Sorry, but WORKMATES TAKING CARE OF EACH OTHER:

-Workmates who bless each other, even throwing some terms of endearment

-Workmates who rub each others back when they have a fit

-Workmates taking over what the other is trying to do because they can't do it while sneezing

-Workmates who encourage the sickie to go home because they genuinely feel bad for them

-Workmates who TAKE THE SICKIE HOME

#snz #snez kink #snz kink #sneezing kink #snez #snzario #sneezing #sneezefic #snzkink #sneezefucker

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lots-of-pockets · 1 year

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My poor, sick baby

Pairings: Scarlett Johansson x you

Word count: 2619

Warnings: none that I know of

Summary: Your girlfriend Scarlett was absolutely miserable with one of the worst colds in her life. You willingly take care of her; snotty nose and all.

I literally could have gone on forever with this. I loved writing it so much!

Scarlett sniffles miserably into your shoulder as she sits on the bathroom counter with you stood in between her legs. The poor thing was suffering from a pretty heavy cold, one of the worst she’d had since you had gotten together nearly three years ago. This was only day two of the sneezes, coughs, and sniffles, and you knew she was absolutely sorrowful.

No medicine had really helped, so you’d resorted to standing in the bathroom with the shower running on the hottest setting possible in an attempt to clear up her congestion. It hadn’t worked.

The blonde was adorned in nothing but a pair of shorts, her top half bare with your last futile attempt at getting her fever down. You suddenly feel her chest begin to hitch against your own, and you pout softly as you trail your hand up and down her back.

“Huh’htsch!” She attempts to stifle a sneeze into your shoulder.

You press a kiss to her bare shoulder, “Bless you, baby.”

Scarlett groans softly as her chest hitches again, and you instinctively cup the back of her head to stop her from hurting her neck. “H’htschoo! Huh’tsschoo!”

“Bless you.” You repeat. “I don’t think this is helping my love.” You murmur, and Scarlett nods in a silent, miserable agreement as she sniffles wetly against your shoulder.

With ten more futile minutes pass with no change, you deem your attempt unsuccessful.

“Okay, let’s go back to bed,” you murmur, reaching sideways to turn of the shower water before placing your hands beneath her thighs and lifting her into your arms. Scarlett unsuccessfully manages to stifle three wet sneezes against your shoulder as you carry her through to the bedroom, and you sigh lightly as you set her down onto the bed before placing a gentle kiss to her scolding hot forehead.

Scarlett looks up at you with red, teary bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks, and you smile sympathetically as you kneel down before her.

“What can I do baby?” You murmur, reaching up to tuck a sweaty strand of hair behind her ear. Your free hand remained on her thigh, tracing soothing circles against the soft skin.

Scarlett sniffles softly as her bottom lip trembles, and your heart breaks for her. “I know baby,” you murmur, reaching up to cup her cheeks, “it’s time for more medicine, okay? Then after that we’ll take a nap.”

“Downstairs?” Her hoarse voice speaks, sounding cracked and painful, and though you didn’t quite know why she wanted to lay down on the couch as opposed to her large, comfortable bed, you find yourself nodding your agreement.

“Of course.” You sooth, reaching over slightly to grab the cough syrup, the box tissues and some Tylenol from the nightstand. Without a word, you grab two tissues from the box and fold them up once before holding them against her nose. If Scarlett seems embarrassed by the implication, she doesn’t show it. She simply blows her nose and allows you to wipe away the remaining boogers.

After thoroughly sanitising your hands, you fill the tiny plastic cup with the allotted dose she was allowed to take before placing it against her lips. Her shaky hand rests over your own as she downs the fowl tasting medicine, and you chuckle softly at the slight look of disgust that appears on her face.

“One more baby,” you tell her as you hand over the two Tylenol along with a bottle of water, watching with a concerned expression when her face crumples up in pain as she swallows. She attempts to clear her throat, but it only ends up throwing her into the deep end of yet another coughing fit. They were wet sounding, full of gravel, and you watch as Scarlett’s eyes finally allow her tears to fall. The stifled sob she emits only worsens the coughing, and you feel your heart break further.

She was so sick you almost wanted to cry with her.

“You’re okay scar,” you murmur as you reach around her to firmly pat her back, “let it out baby. You’re okay.” Scarlett could do no more than cry softly as she tries and fails to catch her breath, and by the time she was done, there wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t trembling in pure exhaustion.

Placing your hands beneath her armpits, you ease her to her feet and into your arms. Your lips instinctively press a kiss to her forehead, simultaneously comforting her and checking her temperature. “Let’s go lay down.” You murmur as you pull away, grateful that whilst her fever hadn’t exactly gone down, it hadn’t risen either. “Still want to go downstairs?”

Scarlett nods as she wipes her runny nose on your shirt, and whilst you find the action as equally adorable and gross, you knew not to say anything.

Scarlett was quite the emotional person on a regular day, and it was amplified by a thousand when she was sick.

“Okay.” You bend down slightly and wrap your arms underneath her backside, easily lifting her wary and exhausted body up into your arms. Scarlett could barely find the strength in her to wrap her legs around your waist, and you press a soft kiss against her bare shoulder as you carry her out of the bedroom and towards the stairs.

You ease her down onto the couch first before quickly returning upstairs to grab the medicine, tissues and water. Scarlett was so out of it she barely even realised you were gone. But that doesn’t stop her eyes from lightly up when you make a reappearance in front of her. You couldn’t help but smile at the adorable sight in front of you, leaning down to cup her cheeks before pressing a brief kiss to her nose.

It scrunches up cutely before her breath hitches, and you watch as she lets out three wet sneezes into her hands. You tut slightly in light chastisement as you wipe her hands off with a tissue before sanitising them, and Scarlett once again sniffles wetly as she rubs her hands together.

Without a word, you settle in the corner of the couch and tug her body into your arms. Her upper body ends up cradled against your chest as though she was no more than an infant, her legs curled up against your hip. Her arms were folded and trapped lightly in between both of your chests, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Try to sleep baby,” you murmur as you hold her close, one arm beneath her for support whilst the other settles over the top of her so you could cup the back of her head.

Scarlett sniffles softly as her eyes seem to instinctively flutter closed, and you find yourself beginning to hum quietly as you begin to comb your fingers through her slightly tangled and sweaty tresses. With both her fatigue along with your gentle ministrations, sleep seems to hit her like a truck on the free way, and you could only sigh in relief when her sick self finally succumbs to dream land.

“Sweet dreams, my beautiful girl.” You whisper. “You deserve it.”

You eventually end up falling into a light sleep yourself, only being awoken when you feel Scarlett’s breath hitch in her sleep.

“Huh…huh…” she seems to struggle slightly before finally finding her release. “Huh’tsschoo!” It was messy, unstifled, uncovered, and kind of gross, but you find your heart melting all the same.

Despite the loudness, the sneeze does no more than rouse her slightly, her eyebrows furrowing in slight confusion. You pout slightly as you grab a couple of tissues from the box, pinching the end of her nose to help her somewhat blow it without waking her. You wipe off her cupids bow also, tossing the now soiled tissue into the small trash can you’d purposely brought over to the couch earlier.

“Bless you my love,” you find yourself saying despite knowing she couldn’t hear you, cupping her face and wiping the pad of your thumb over the warm skin of her cheek. With a quick glance at the time that tells you it was nearing dinner time, you figure that it was about time to start making food.

Scarlett hadn’t eaten today due to the nauseas feeling in her stomach, but soup was light, and you didn’t want her going to bed on an empty stomach.

Deciding to let Scarlett wake up on her own, you settle back against the couch holding her close to your chest.

It was another sneeze that wakes her only minutes later. It was throat scraping, and she lets out a quiet groan of pain as her eyes blearily flicker open and meet your own.

“Bless you baby. How are you feeling?” You murmur, cupping the back of her head, pressing your lips to her forehead to once again gauge her temperature.

Okay for now.

Scarlett sighs hoarsely as she nuzzles herself against your chest, “Okay.” She squeaks out as she goes to wipe her nose with her hand, and you lightly shake your head and hand her a tissue instead. She complies and wipes her nose before letting her hand fall back to your chest. You place yours over it and give it a soft squeeze.

“Are you feeling up to some chicken noodle soup?” You ask softly, and Scarlett coughs wetly as she nods her head. Soup sounded good. You manage to coax her reluctant frame out of your arms, kissing away the teary pout as you make your way through to the kitchen.

Not wanting to leave her alone for any longer than necessary, you simply decide to warm up some soup on the stove. It takes only minutes, and you soon find yourself carrying the bowl into the living room.

Scarletts eyes were glazed and unfocused as she stares at a random spot in front of her, and you lightly rest your hand on her back to get her attention. She looks up at you with a confused look on her face.

“Baby? Your soup.” You murmur, and Scarlett nods as she struggles to sit herself up. You eventually end up having to help, and you gently settle her against the corner of the couch in the space you’d just vacated only moments prior. Sitting yourself down next to her, you pick up the bowl of soup from where you’d placed it on the coffee table before scooping up a small spoonful.

You blow on it carefully before holding it to her chapped lips, and Scarletts mouth automatically opens allowing you to feed her.

“Nice?” You question as she swallows with only a slight grimace, and Scarlett simply shrugs as she wipes at her nose again with her hand before you could stop her. You knew it was because she couldn’t taste a single thing, and you let out a quiet sigh as you hand her a tissue with a pointed look.

Scarlett flushes, but this time, it wasn’t because of her fever. She however, takes the tissue and wipes off her cupids bow before opening her mouth for a second spoonful. She manages only half the bowl before pushing your hand away, and you nod in understanding as you place the bowl back down.

Without a word, you hand her the Tylenol, watching as she takes it before allowing you to feed her the cough medicine.

“Alright baby. Let’s head back to bed.” You murmur, standing up and holding out your arms for her. She takes your hands and allows you to tug her to her feet, stumbling ever so slightly when her legs seem to give out beneath her.

“Shower.” She murmurs hoarsely as you once again lift her up into your arms, and you tut slightly as you proceed to carry her through to the bedroom.

“You can barley stand up baby.” Scarlett pouts as her eyes immediately fill with tears, and your heart breaks as you change direction bringing her through to the bathroom. “I’ll compromise on a bath instead, okay?” That way, you could hold her up should she choose to pass out on you.

“With you?” She squeaks out before letting out a wet cough of which she fails to muffle with her hand, and you nod your head.

“Sure my love.” You murmur, easing her down onto the closed toilet seat. You keep a hand on her when she wobbles unsteady, reaching over with your free hand to start the water and making sure to add lots of bubbles.

After helping her strip off her remaining clothing and easing her into the tub, you let out a quiet sigh and stretch out your back before pulling off your clothes and stepping into the water behind her.

She ends up nestled in between your legs with her head resting against your shoulder, and you find yourself smiling in content as you wrap your arm around her waist and trail the pad of your thumb over her tummy.

Without a warning, her breath begins to hitch and her chest begins to heave. “Huh’htsch!” She suddenly jolts against you, and you startle slightly at the loudness of it.

“Bless you my love.” You murmur, but Scarlett shakes her head slightly as her breath hitches signalling she was going to sneeze again.

“Huh’tsschoo!” This one was so strong it has her bending forward at the waist, and she lets out a quiet groan as she falls back against your chest. You press a kiss to the side of her head.

“Bless you.”

Scarlett sniffles wetly, and you silently curse yourself for not bringing the tissues into the bathroom with you. You wait a second to see if she would be okay, but when she sniffles heavily again, you accept your fate. With a slight grimace, you find yourself bringing your hand towards her nose.

“Blow.” You murmur, and Scarlett’s face slips into one of confusion. You chuckle slowly, “Blown your nose. It’s okay.” Although her cheeks flush with embarrassment, she complies, and you use the bath water to clean your hand.

“Sorry that’s was gross.” She murmurs somewhat hoarsely, and you shake your head softly as you press your lips against her bare shoulder.

“It’s okay baby. It can’t be helped.” You murmur, and though Scarlett’s cheeks remain flushed in embarrassment, she doesn’t have it in her to fight you.

You settle into a comfortable silence with the exception of her soft sniffles, your hand idly trailing soothing circles against her soft tummy. When you feel her begin to slip into a light slumber, you coax her from your arms and out of the tub. You may be able to carry her with ease, but you were not about to test your capability with a wet floor.

“I know baby, I’m sorry.” You sooth her confused pout as you drain the tub before bundling her up into a towel, supporting her wobbly frame back through to the bedroom. She allows you to dress her in a light T-shirt and underwear, and after slipping yourself into some similar attire, you tuck her back up into bed.

She ends up on top of you, chests flushed together as her head nestles itself into your neck. She clings to your shirt, and you sigh happily as you slip your hands beneath her shirt to rest on the warm skin of her back.

“Thank you for looking after me.” You feel her whisper against your skin, and you smile tenderly as you press a kiss to the side of your head.

“Anytime baby.” You murmur truthfully.

Any time.

Thank you so much for all the likes and reblogs for my last post! 🤍🤍

#scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson x reader #sickfic #sneezefic #black widow #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #reader insert

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slightlyunconventional · 2 months

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long overdue second dbhwks fic (2.8k)

SLAVED AWAY at this for days (i didnt. i could have done it in one but i procrastinated so much it’s unbelievable. but heres some food) quite happy w how it came out too if i do say so myself,, hope u enjoy!! 🫶

“Sorry I’m late.” Dabi. He’s picked the damn lock again.

“Oh my god, do you seriously not know how to knock?” Hawks calls back, practically skipping into the living room.

“Don’t wanna stand around outside your door like a creep, thanks,” deadpans the villain. Hawks rolls his eyes.

“You look like more of a creep picking the lock, but sure. Come here.”

He takes Dabi by the hand and leads him toward the couch. His fingers are warm, like usual. God, has Hawks missed that. Between hero work, villainy, and conflicting schedules they’d barely had time to see each other and, man, was it miserable. It takes everything in him not to bowl Dabi over with an absolutely suffocating embrace - it’d probably kill the man.

Dabi raises his eyebrows. “You cleaned?”

Hawks had expected Dabi to notice, but not point it out, so he’s a little caught off guard by the halfway-question. “Oh, yeah,” he says, a fraction sheepishly, “Is it too much?”

“Mm, no, looks good,” Dabi smirks, “Makes a nice change from all the crap you’ve usually got lying around.” Hawks hits him playfully and he laughs, clear and smooth, not at all like the peals brimming with malice he’d usually hear from Dabi.

“Uuugh, I hate you, leave me alone,” he complains. When Dabi’s eyebrows raise again, Hawks pulls a face and adds, “I’m a busy man! I don’t have time to clean!”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m flattered.”

He sits Dabi down on the couch, maybe a little too eagerly, and comes down to straddle the taller man’s lap.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, before pressing his lips to Dabi’s with an urgency that only comes from being deprived of seeing one’s lover for far too long. Dabi loosens underneath Hawks and they quickly fall into a long practised pattern, all pretences dropped for this moment of touch-starved tenderness. Nothing exists outside of this room, everything is so warm, and Hawks melts even more when he feels Dabi smile against his lips.

“Seems like someone missed me,” murmurs the villain, voice sleek and low. The response is simply a hand laced through the dyed-black hair at the back of Dabi’s head, taking hold of him and pulling him closer with nothing short of absolute need. In turn, Dabi’s hands find the small of Hawks’ back, and heat begins to pool in his stomach as they slowly threaten to sneak closer to the bases of his wings. And his lips are warm, so warm, and he always seems to know exactly what to do with them to make Hawks collapse like putty in his hands. For a crazed villain who incinerates shit for fun, Dabi’s a fucking good kisser.

…And a tease, apparently! Hawks knows that Dabi knows how badly he wants this, and how long he’s been waiting - yet he still seems to be taking his sweet time. He can feel the villain absently tracing circles into his back, with the same pace as his mouth is working against Hawks’. The little shit. He knows exactly what he’s doing; well, two can play at that game. Hawks takes it as a challenge, takes Dabi’s scarred face between his hands, and takes control. He presses closer, kissing the man with some previously unseen vigour, practically forcing him to match the increased pace. A little wave of triumph passes through Hawks as he hears Dabi’s breath catch in the back of his throat, nearly silent, but they’re close enough that nothing can really go unheard. Feeling like he’s succeeded, Hawks goes to indulge further, perhaps elicit some more reactions like that, when he feels Dabi’s hand leave his back. Before he can register it properly, the hand is upon his chest, pushing with some insistence. Hawks pulls away, panicked.

“Oh, shit, fuck, sorry, was that too much?”

The arm Dabi has outstretched towards Hawks’ chest slackens slightly, as do his facial features. He doesn’t reply, but rather his lips part and his eyes glaze over, forming an expression so laced with vulnerability that Hawks is almost taken aback - though, he can’t dwell on the display for long, as he’s quickly instead watching Dabi bring his other hand, curled tightly into a fist, up to his own face and press it most firmly to the underside of his nose. His chest rises once with an inhale not unlike before, only this time a little louder and deeper, and he ducks forward slightly with two slightly-awkwardly stifled sneezes.

“hhahh-! ..hh’nGXT! kxNTsh! Ugh, fuck.”

“Oh!” Hawks says, a little surprised, “Bless you.” A part of him wants to chide the villain for holding it in like that, but he refrains, knowing full well he himself would stifle exactly the same.

Dabi hums in lieu of a thanks, and Hawks returns his hand to his boyfriend’s face and leans back in.

“Can I go back to kissing you now?” he murmurs.

Dabi rolls his eyes but drapes his arms lazily over Hawks’ shoulders, an invitation, yes, you can go back to kissing me now. Their lips interlock once again, picking up where they left off, with Hawks feeling absolutely on top of the world from the fact that he’s doing the work here, he’s the one kissing Dabi, not the other way around. He’s never been opposed to Dabi taking control, in fact he loves being ravaged by the man, but sue him, sometimes it feels good to be the one doing the ravaging. However, his elation at this seems to be poorly concealed, or perhaps Dabi just wants to knock him down a peg, because Hawks feels teeth closing on his bottom lip. Not so hard that it hurts, but just enough to tease an audible gasp from him as he tenses up on Dabi’s lap. He’s fairly certain he’s never needed someone all over him so badly until this point. Clearly it shows, too, since Dabi insists on being such a menace and playing the long game with him. Well, Hawks decides that’s not going to fly; he presses in closer, almost entirely closing the gap between them and slides his other hand behind Dabi’s head, not-so-subtly tugging him closer and kissing him harder, once more regaining the upper hand. He takes to gently thumbing back and forth against the base of Dabi’s neck, to which the man lets out, involuntarily, a little noise of satisfaction, finally accepting submission. Hawks is almost tempted to bite Dabi back, but maybe that’d be pushing his luck. Besides, this side of Dabi - soft, pliant, accepting - is one he rarely sees, and he’s kind of into it. It’s a good look on the villain.

Before long, however, their rhythm is broken once again. One of the arms laying around Hawks’ neck begins to move, and the hand meets his shoulder. Hawks has a sneaking feeling he knows what’s coming (for the second time), as Dabi’s hand pushes against his shoulder - slowly, though, as if he’s really trying to prolong the inevitable. It really doesn’t seem like he wants to pull away, so Hawks does it for him, gently separates their faces, strangely endeared by Dabi’s reluctance - and it seems he did so at exactly the right moment. Being so close to him, Hawks can easily see the way his face immediately crumples, eyes flickering shut and lips parting with an inhale that sounded as though it had been waiting to be drawn for… a while. In a split second, he’s tugging the sleeve of his hoodie over his hand with some urgency, and Hawks catches the flare of his nostrils right before he pinches his nose, clamping the thick black fabric over the bottom half of his face. There’s hardly six inches between the two of them, so Dabi twists awkwardly to the side with a set of cruelly stifled sneezes.

“hh’GKTtch! ‘KXXSHh! Ugh, god– h-hahH’KGXt’sh!”

They sound harsher this time around, harder to stifle, probably.

“Bless,” says Hawks, “You okay?”

“Mm… yeah, just something really… stings,” Dabi replies. He’s knuckling the side of his nose with some force.

“You’re, uh, not getting sick are you?” Hawks asks, unable to conceal the tinge of nervousness that seeps into his tone. As much as he loves the man, he’s got some long days on patrol coming up soon, and a cold from Dabi would severely compromise him.

Dabi raises an eyebrow. “I’m not that much of an asshole, Kei.”

“Right-! Yeah, no, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t really think there.” Hawks grimaces internally at himself, and Dabi shakes his head.

“Ugh, Jesus, hold on–” He turns away again, breath wavering, “hehh’nGXKt!” A shaky exhale escapes from him as he releases his nose.

“So, what’s got you all worked up, then?” asks Hawks, teasing.

Dabi half-sighs, half-groans, and replies, “Don’t know, but I wish it would fucking stop.” As if for emphasis, the sentence is punctuated with an irritated-sounding sniffle.

“Well, it probably would if you stopped stifling like that,” Hawks says pointedly. That earns him a hazy blue-eyed glare… that doesn’t last long, since Dabi’s squinting again, and his mouth curls up into the beginnings of something akin to a snarl. Hawks smirks as he ducks into the crook of his sweater-clad elbow to muffle yet another sneeze.

“hehH’DSHHh’uh! What the fuck?”

At least he didn’t stifle it.

Hawks hums. “Bless you.” He sends a feather to retrieve a box of tissues, then decides the villain probably also needs some space, so he manoeuvres himself gracelessly off Dabi’s lap to sit beside him on the couch.

“Very elegant,” Dabi remarks.

“Ugh, shut up,” he replies, elbowing Dabi in the ribs. The laugh this elicits almost straight away rises into a staggered gasp, that itself turns into a pair of hastily covered sneezes.

“hhahH’KXXTshuh! hh’huuhh’DZSHHhue!”

“Jeez, bless you.”

Dabi sniffles thickly. “Yeah.”

Hawks’ feather zips back into the room and drops a box of tissues into Dabi’s lap - the thicker, softer ones that the hero always insists on buying despite them being double the price of regular ones.

“Sounds like they’re getting stronger,” Hawks observes, a note of concern in his tone, but then adds, more teasingly, “Not allergic to me, are you?”

Dabi scoffs and tugs a couple of tissues from the box. “I wish,” he says, scrubbing at his nose. “Then I’d actually have an excuse to avoid your annoying ass.”

“Wow, okay, that was so uncalled for. Just say you hate me at that point.”

It’s Dabi’s turn to elbow Hawks back. He probably deserves it.

“Ow, bitch,” he says in mock offence.

“You’re the bitch,” comes the reply, from behind a handful of tissues (which are then promptly screwed up and tossed, flying in a neat arc, straight into the trash on the other side of the room).

“Whatever, bitch. Are you done sneezing yet? This couch isn’t as comfy as your thighs-”

“Ugh, shut up, you are so weird,” Dabi interjects in fond disgust.

“Oh my god, what if you’re allergic to my apartment being clean? Then I never have to clean ever again, hah!”

Dabi gives him a look. “You say that as a joke, but honestly, you migh-might be right…hh.. hehH’KXNTtsh’uh!”

Dabi’s expression falls midway through his sentence, brows drawing together and eyes narrowing as he gives into another sneeze, hastily half-stifled against the back of his hand.

“Seriously,” Hawks deadpans, eyebrows raised. That’s new, he thinks.

“Well, unless you’ve suddenly acquired a pet cat - which I doubt - then yeah, seriously,” says the villain flatly, though with a note of congestion starting to creep into his voice. “Last I checked, your place didn’t reek of fuckin’ –all of spring and then some.”

Hawks suddenly remembers the air freshener he’d used–the only one he had, some floral one found right at the back of a cupboard, unused for entirely too long. He hadn’t had a clue what clean apartments were supposed to smell of, so he’d sort of just… went ham with it. Definitely a mistake.

“Don’t slander my choice in scents,” he teases, “Are you sure it’s… that?”

“Nothing else changed ‘round here, has it?” Dabi pauses to give his nose a brief rub. “I’m here practically every week and I’ve been fine, so, you tell me.”

Hawks will never not poke the bear when he’s got the opportunity, so he says, “So this does mean I never have to clean the place ever again, right?”

Dabi’s mouth falls open as he feigns offence. He says, dramatically, “Wow. That’s all you have to say? When I could literally die right now in front of you? I’m.. hah- I’m-”

Hawks snickers. “Bless you,” he sing-songs prematurely, utterly pleased with himself. It’s almost cute, the attempted glare Dabi gives him through his glazed over expression. Nobody can look menacing in the slightest when they’re trying not to sneeze (and that’s a fact!).

“Sh-shut uhhhp..” replies Dabi, his voice quavering. He lifts a hand slowly, bringing it to hover weakly before his face. His breathing is unsteady and his eyes half-lidded, and the crease between his dark brows deepens.

“Okay, point proven, idiot,” Hawks says with a laugh, “Just sneeze, this is torture even for me.”

The hazy glare returns, and Hawks clocks it.

“Oh!” he laughs, giving Dabi a slightly bewildered smile. “Oh my god, I jinxed it. You deserve that ‘cause you’re mean to me.”

“I hahh-hate you-” Dabi responds breathily. He rubs at the side of his nose with two knuckles, pressing decently harder than is probably necessary. The bridge crinkles in irritation when the rubbing clearly has no effect. “Jesus, it won’t go away.”

“Mm, what a shame.”

There goes a third bleary glare from the villain. “I’d like to remind you wh-whose fault thhihhs.. was in the first place,” he says. Any malice intended to be behind his utterance is immediately negated by his breath catching and wavering through the words. Though, at a point, Hawks begins to feel a little… voyeuristic just watching Dabi struggle. Sure, he’s his boyfriend and all, and yeah, he’s definitely seen worse, but it’s easy to tell Dabi’s getting a little self-conscious about this… spectacle. He’s never been a fan of having things out of his control, especially not displays of vulnerability like this, and Hawks knows this, so why prolong it?

“Well, I guess there’s only one thing for it,” he says, taking matters into his own hands.

“Fuck off- what–” Dabi gets out, as Hawks takes his face between his hands and begins to press kisses softly down the bridge of his nose. Hawks doesn’t let him twist away from it, trying not to laugh to himself about how dumb this probably looks. At least one of them is having fun. He considers pulling away with a “Gonna sneeze yet?”, but refrains - he’d probably end up on fire. He does, however, pause for a moment when he reaches Dabi’s trio of silver nose studs, hovering. There’ve been feathery, wavering breaths coming from his boyfriend consistently but, nothing has come to fruition, so Hawks decides–those piercings have always been sensitive, a fact he’d discovered about Dabi rather early on (and maybe, possibly sometimes used to be a menace). He plants a final, delicate kiss right upon where the three studs lie, and finally lets Dabi pull away.

“Oh, oh, fuck– s-screw you–hh’ehH’IIDTSSHh’uh! ‘kXXTS’SHhue! …Christ, you’re such an ass.” The pair of sneezes that result are harsh to say the very least. And even after all that, he still tries stifling the second– unsurprising, but at that point is it even worth it?

“Sorry! I had to!” Hawks says, really trying to look like he isn’t laughing. It doesn’t work.

“You absolutely did not have to,” corrects Dabi.

“Okaaay, okay, sorry. It was funny though.”

“Yeah, for you, maybe,” Dabi mutters, shaking his head, “Oh, fuck’s sake, hold on–”

“I’ll wait till you’re done to say bless you, this time,” says Hawks with a fond snicker.

“Good plah-an–! hhuh’hHDSHH’SHuh! …Ugh, fuck.”

“Bless,” Hawks replies. He averts his eyes, a little sheepishly. Dabi pulls a face.

He asks, “What the fuck’s with the guilty face?” to which Hawks throws his head back with a groan and slides his hands across his face.

“I just wanted to do something nice,” he says, “You know, clean the place up a bit. Since it’s always kind of a massive mess.”

“Jesus, Kei, I don’t care about that,” says Dabi, breathing a laugh. “It’s you I’m here for, not your fuckin’ apartment. I can kiss you whether or not there’s crap on every surface.”

Hawks isn’t used to Dabi outright saying nice things, so his cheeks flush slightly hearing this. He’s unsure what to say. Thankfully, Dabi speaks again.

“Okay. Where didn’t you spray that shit?”

Hawks scoffs. “I sort of went crazy with it, uh… my bedroom? If that works?”

“Very forward,” Dabi replies, raising his eyebrows. “Almost like you wanted me in there.”

Hawks jabs him in the ribs but still smirks. “Yeah, maybe I did.”

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hurt-care · 7 months

Text

The Wedding Date

I've had this idea for a fic for a few weeks and I just had to write it! It's been AGES since I've written and I got this one out pretty quickly, but I hope it's fun to read.

OCs, M/F relationship M, allergies Scenario - old college friends reconnect at a wedding. One of them is suffering from some spectacular hayfever. The other has a thing for sneezing....

-----

Pulling at the waist of her dress, Katie fidgeted as she looked around the gathering crowd. It was a warm spring day in Austin; not too hot but still brilliantly sunny. It was her first time visiting Texas and while she knew that she would eventually run in to some people she knew at this wedding, for now the people nearby were all strangers. She was in town to celebrate the wedding of her college friends, Ashleigh and Tim. They'd all met in Chicago but had since all moved away. Katie had continued on to Utah for a graduate degree and had since settled in Colorado. Ashleigh and Tim had moved to Austin where Tim had grown up. Katie was one of a handful of people who had flown in from out of town for the event while most of the guests were local friends and family of the couple.

Suddenly, Katie saw a familiar face across the lawn. They were all gathered on the grounds of a local museum in the midst of a beautiful five-acre property with sprawling gardens and trees. There, standing alone at one of the scattered cocktail tables, was Ben.

The last time she'd seen him was their graduation ceremony over six years ago. He'd lost some of the boyish roundness to his face and was sporting an unfamiliar scruffy beard, but he otherwise looked just the same as she remembered. Her heart skipped a beat as he looked up and met her eyes. She'd had an impossibly huge crush on him for all four years of school but she'd never had her chance to act upon it. He'd arrived at college already attached to a girlfriend from high school and they'd been together on and off all four years that Katie had known him.

He started to cross the lawn towards her. He was wearing a navy linen suit with a green tie and as he got closer, she could see that he looked...upset? His eyes were red and puffy. Suddenly, he paused his stride and turned his head away, tucking his face into the crook of his arm.

Katie froze as she watched him jerk with a sneeze. Oh god.

She's had a weird kink as long as she can remember. She always found sneezing to be strangely endearing and now her college crush was walking towards her and he was clearly suffering from allergies.

He recovered from the sneeze and approached her.

“Hey Katie!” he said. “Didn't know I'd see you here!”

His voice was subtly congested and he sniffled audibly at the end of the statement. She tried not to stare too intensely at him but it was hard not to notice his swollen eyes and nose.

“Hi Ben!” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as they embraced in a swift hug. “So good to see you! How're things?”

He was smiling at her but his expression was faltering and his eyebrows furrowed while his mouth hung open and he panted with a few shallow breaths.

“Sorry,” he said haltingly. “I have to---teh...ehTSGHH!!”

He turned away again, catching the sneeze with steepled hands.

“Ugh, sorry,” he reiterated. “Allergies. It's my first time in Texas and I didn't really realize how bad it would be here.”

“Ah,” she said, feeling her cheeks burn and she hoped she wasn't visibly blushing as bright red as it felt like she was. “I hear they're awful here. Cedar or something.”

He nods, fishing in his pocket and retrieving a bit of a well-used tissue. “I should've taken something stronger than my regular stuff but I guess it's too late now. Anyway, how're you? You look great! Whereabout are you living these days?”

She feels herself blush more. “Thanks! Um...I'm in Denver, actually. Finished grad school last spring and moved there in the fall. So it's been about six months. I like it, but I miss Chicago. Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I'm still at the bank. It's good. I saw Tim and Ashleigh in the fall actually. They came up to visit, which was nice. Tim was in town for work so they made a week of it.”

He pressed the tattered tissue to his nose as he spoke. Katie bit her lip, watching him with a mix of awe and embarrassment. His bright blue eyes, the feature that had first attracted her to him, were still beautiful and stood out thanks to his navy suit. But they were bloodshot and puffy today, clearly irritated and itchy.

“Maybe we should find our seats for the ceremony?” she suggested, glancing towards the rows of folding chairs where much of the crowd was gathering now. “See if we can find anyone else from school? I heard Mark was coming. And I think Amy too.”

“Sure! Yeah, I talked to Mark and he can't make the ceremony but he'll be coming to the reception after dinner. I'm not sure about Amy.”

They made their way over to the chairs and picked out seats. Beside her, Ben sniffled thickly and rubbed at his nose. She took out her phone, subtly checking her appearance in the camera to ensure she wasn't beet-red. Witnessing him in the midst of the allergy attack was doing her heart-rate no favours. He groaned quietly and put a palm to his eye, wiping away some tears as they watered.

When the ceremony music began, she gave mental thanks for the distraction from the spectacle at her side. The bridal party processed down the aisle and the crowd rose to stand for the bride. Ashleigh looked radiant as she walked towards the front of the ceremony space and stood opposite Tim. The officiant welcomed the crowd and invited them to be seated.

At her side, Ben turned and stifled two sneezes into his arm. Eh-GHXT! Tsh-GXHT!

He sniffled wetly and pressed his knuckles to his red, swollen nose. Out of the corner of her eye, Katie could see a damp spot around his nostrils. Digging in her purse, she retrieved a small folded tissue and held it out to him.

“Oh god, thank you,” he whispered.

“I brought it in case the vows made me tear up but I think you need it more,” she whispered back.

He pressed the folded tissue to his nostrils and almost instantly sneezed again, barely managing to stifle the sound.

Ehh-TSGHXXT!

Katie crossed her legs, feeling herself flooding with arousal and hoping that the ceremony would be short. Thankfully, it was. As the bride and groom were announced, the crowd rose to their feet and cheered the new couple.

“They look great,” Ben said as the bride and groom walked by. He turned and smiled at Katie.

“They do,” she agreed. His smile at her gave her a sudden jolt of confidence.

“Hey, she asked. “Are you still dating Amelia? Why isn't she here?”

“Oh,” Ben said, sounding a little surprised. “Oh, no, we broke up ages ago. When we were still in school actually. Close to the end of our last year.”

“Oh,” Katie replied, feeling herself growing bolder. “Are you seeing anyone else now?”

“No,” Ben said. “I've been single for a bit. Work is busy and all that. I'll get back out there eventually. What about you?”

“Err..no one at the moment,” she replied.

“Well then I hope you'll agree to be my dance partner tonight,” he said. “If I can stop sneezing long enough to dance.”

She was sure now that she was visibly blushing.

“I'd like that, yeah,” she stammered. “And it's fine. We know it's not contagious. Anyway, let's go find the cocktail bar. I need a drink.”

“Agreed,” he said. “My throat is so dry. Hopefully a few glasses of wine knocks the hay-fever out of me. Shall we?”

He extended his bent arm to her. She was surprised by the gesture but took his arm and smiled.

“Lead the way!”

They walked across the sunny lawn towards the bar. There was already a small line formed and as they took their place at the end, Katie could hear Ben's breath catch.

She tried not to turn and stare, but she couldn't help it. He steepled his hands over his nose and bent at the waist, sneezing forcefully.

Hehh-TSCHOOO!

He sniffled with a wet sound and didn't remove his hands from his face. She heard his breath gasp and he pitched forward with a small fit of rapid sneezes.

Nghh-TSGHT! Ehh-TSCHHT! Hehhh....ehhh-TSCHIIHEHHH!

He kept one hand over his nose as he fumbled for the tissue she'd given him earlier. A tear from his irritated eyes fell down his cheek.

“Bless you,” she said softly, feeling as if she was saying something much more flirtatious.

“Sorry,” he muttered, trying to clean himself up a little.

“Why don't you go find us a quiet spot to sit and I'll get the drinks?” she offered.

“That would be great,” he said, his voice cracking hoarsely. “White wine please. I'll get a spot over by that gazebo.”

He gestured to a sheltered spot on the far side of the lawn and she nodded. “See you in a few.”

With Ben gone, she can let her guard down for a second and she exhales, fanning her face with her hand for a moment. The spring day suddenly feels much warmer. She gets two glasses of white wine and carries them towards the gazebo.

Ben is sitting on a bench looking miserable. His eyes are more swollen now and he is dabbing his nose with the rapidly-disintegrating tissue.

“Thanks,” he said as she handed him one of the glasses. He took a long sip. “Sorry I'm such a mess. It's really nice to see you, Katie.”

“It's fine,” she said. “Really.”

“You look great. That dress is perfect on you.”

She looked at him in wonder. Was he flirting with her?

“That suit is great on you too. Blue is your colour. I always thought you had the nicest blue eyes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I'm glad you're here. To be honest, I wasn't even sure I was going to come because I wasn't sure I'd know anyone besides Ashleigh and Tim. They're the only ones I've really kept in touch with besides Rachel but she just had a kid in March and couldn't come.”

She was momentarily distracted by the flaring of his nostrils and she stared as he built up to another sneeze. He gave a faint growl of frustration before he turned and sneezed into his arm.

Ehh-TSCHEHH!

“Goddammit...ahh, sorry,” he said with a sniffle.

For a moment he stared at her and she stared back, unsure of what to say. In the distance, the DJ turned down the cocktail party music and announced that everyone should take their seats for dinner and the introduction of the bridal party.

“I guess we should find our seats,” Ben said.

They were seated at the same table they discovered upon examining the seating chart. Also at the table were a few university friends and a few of Tim and Ashleigh's friends from Austin. The dinner conversation was casual and fun, but Katie found herself distracted by Ben's continued battle. He excused himself to the bathroom at one point halfway through dinner and he returned with a much redder nose, evidently having blown it multiple times.

With dinner over, the DJ put on a popular song and encouraged the crowd towards the dance floor.

“I know I said I'd dance with you but I don't know how much longer I can stand this,” Ben said in Katie's ear. He gestured towards his face.

“Just a few songs and then I'll leave you to the mercy of an Uber to the drug store before it closes,” she said boldly. “You promised.”

They went towards the dance floor, joining the crowd. They started to dance and she moved her body closer to him, emboldened by the glasses of wine in her now. He was warm and his breath was hot against her skin as they embraced, swaying to the beat.

Someone came by with a tray of shots and they joined a group of cheerful bridesmaids, swallowing the tequila in one swift go before resuming their dancing.

“I can't believe I'm saying this but I had such a crush on you during school,” Katie says into Ben's ear.

He looked at her and grinned.

“You did not!”

“I did!” she shouted back over the music.

“Funny how things work out,” he said into her ear.

The music shifted to a ballad and the crowd thinned a little as couples joined up to dance. Ben put his hands around Katie's hips and they embraced, moving to the music.

“Would....is it okay with you if I kiss you?” he asked.

She didn't bother to respond, instead simply pressing her lips to his. Their noses touched and she could feel a bit of moisture from his. He pressed his lips back more firmly, getting lost in the moment. They broke the kiss and he turned his lips to her neck, kissing there. She ran her fingers through his hair, somewhat lost in disbelief that all her college fantasies were coming true tonight.

He froze in her arms suddenly, his lips leaving her neck. He didn't have time to react and she can feel him shudder as the sneeze bursts out of him unexpectedly.

Hehh-TSTZHHTT!

He managed to stifle it enough to avoid completely spraying her but she felt a small bit of moisture hit her skin.

“Oh my god I'm so sorry,” he gasped, pulling away and putting a hand over his nose. “I'm so sorry Katie. Fuck, this is so embarrassing.”

She burned hot from her own embarrassment and desire.

“Let's go somewhere else for a minute,” she suggested, taking his arm gently.

He let her drag him away and when they were out of sight of the other guests, he turned to her, looking humiliated.

“I'm so sorry...I didn't feel it coming and....”

She reached out and touched his cheek affectionately.

“It's okay,” she assured him. “I know it's not catching. I'm just sorry you're uncomfortable.”

He nods, staring down at his hands.

“Damn it. I was really having a good time.”

His cheeks were flushed red now too.

Maybe it was the tequila or maybe it was the knowledge that tomorrow he'd go back to Chicago and she'd go back to Denver....but whatever it was, Katie found herself making a bold proposal.

“I have a suggestion,” she said. “It's....well, it's pretty forward but we've established that the crush is mutual, yeah?

He looked at her curiously. “Yeah.”

“I have a room at the hotel to myself. And I don't think the pollen count is going to improve tonight and you're just going to keep suffering if you stay here. So.....would you want to come back to my room?

His red, swollen eyes widened.

“I....well, yeah, sure....I'd like that. Can't be that attractive for you though, can I? There's a lot of snot happening, well...like all over here.”

He gestured to his face.

She remained silent for a moment, biting her lip. She'd never admitted her kink to a partner before.

“I don't know if I can tell you this, Ben,” she said. “It's really....it's awkward. I don't know if I can say it out loud.”

“You can tell me. I promise I won't laugh.”

“It's...I have a thing. I guess you could say it's a kink. I...I don't mind sneezing.”

“You don't mind sneezing?”

“I guess I mean I like it.”

He stared at her a moment and then a grin split across his face.

“Oh!”

“Yeah...”

He laughed and shook his head.

“I know I said I wouldn't laugh but I'm not laughing at you. I...jesus, Katie, I'd say you're in luck tonight!”

She grinned back at him.

#dustyfic #sneezefic #snzfic #snzfucker #snzblr

84 notes · View notes

silentsneezes · 8 months

Text

ive recently become obsessed with g/ood/ o/mens (especially c/rowley) so here’s a little 2.2k cold fic i wrote!

if anyone is interested in exchanging snzcanons/writing prompts lmk! also my inbox is open if anyone has requests :)

with that said, enjoy! (sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors- i only proofread this once)

Crowley had been having a truly awful day; First, he’d woken up with a splitting headache and a throat like sandpaper.

Then, much to his disapproval, he realized that his newest plant had attracted fruit flies.

After spending a good ten minutes swatting at various flies, he gave up, huffing in resignation and making a mental note to buy fly traps. His throat burned too badly for him to yell at the plant, but he assured it that there would be a punishment.

Eventually, Crowley took to sitting at his desk and glaring at the flies buzzing around, slamming a book on any fly that dared to land on his desk.

And - most annoyingly - Crowley kept sneezing. At first, the demon didn’t mind. A few sneezes here and there weren’t uncommon, but it proved to be more than just a few.

As Crowley was snuffling into his sleeve, the black phone on his desk rang harshly. The demon sniffed deeply and cleared his throat, ignoring the painful burning sensation, “Hello?” he drawled, interally cursing the obvious congestion in his voice.

“Hello dear,” Aziraphale’s voice sounded through the phone, and Crowley grinned; he would always be happy to hear from the angel, regardless of how shitty he might feel, “I was wondering if I could ask for a favor,” he explained, sounding sheepish.

Crowley’s surprise was evident as he replied, but his response was genuine nonetheless, “Of course, always.”

As Crowley answered, he felt a faint burning sensation form in the back of his sinuses. He pressed a finger against his septum, hoping to quell the itch.

“Well you see,” Aziraphale started explaining his predicament- something to do with the way his books were arranged- as the burning sensation moved towards the front of Crowley’s nose, making his nostrils quiver with anticipation.

The demon quickly pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger to squash a sneeze into complete silence, cringing as his vision blurred momentarily. He released his nose, sniffing experimentally and feeling relieved that the single stifle was enough to quell the itch.

“-So I was wondering if you’d like to come to the shop and lend a hand?,” Aziraphale proposed, “I just got the loveliest merlot!”

“Well, I can’t say no to a nice bottle of wine, can I?” Crowley replied, but both he and Aziraphale knew he’d go regardless of whether or not there was wine; as long as his angel was there.

“Splendid!”

Crowley could practically hear Aziraphale’s smile through the phone, “I’ll be there at seven,” he said before fumbling to hang up the phone. He pitched to the side, a sneeze suddenly tearing through him.

“hh’HRRTDSCH!”

He scowled at the spray that landed on his lap, unable to cover in time, “Fugk me,” he groaned.

Crowley glanced at his watch: 5:42. ‘How is it already that late?’ he thought, wondering how many hours he’d spent sitting at his desk in a feverish haze.

He knew that he should start getting ready, but his body seemed to have other ideas. The demon was suddenly all too aware of the way his legs and feet throbbed, even as he sat; his body ached, his nose felt raw, and his head felt like it could explode at any moment.

He groaned, leaning his head against the cool, sleek desk and letting his eyes fall shut. It took everything in him to get up and saunter over to the bathroom.

“hh-,” Crowley’s breath started hitching as he peeled off his shirt, tossing it to the side and tugging off his pants. As he was taking off his boxers, he pitched forwards with a small onslaught of sneezes, “hH’ITSCHH! heHSZCHEW! heh- hh… HRRSCHHh!”

The sneezes left him panting, bent over at the waist with one hand placed on a nearby wall for support. He clambered into the shower, turning it as hot as possible and letting the water run over his face.

The demon rubbed harshly at his nose, which was already red and raw. Much to his dismay, the appendage twitched, nostrils flaring as the itch returned with a vengeance .

“Fu-heh-fuck…hhheH-EHTSHCIEW!”

He cringed at the mess that sprayed against his chest, blowing his nose productively as the steam loosened the congestion in his sinuses.

Luckily, Crowley managed to make it through the rest of the shower without sneezing- which was quite the accomplishment: his colds have always been accompanied with relentless sneezing.

As soon as Crowley stepped out of the shower, he started shivering. He scowled, pulling on a turtleneck and some black pants; he had decided against wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, despite his desire to feel comfortable.

He glanced at his watch again: 6:19

He was in the shower for longer than he’d realized, enjoying the burning heat of the water. Unfortunately, it hadn’t occurred to him that standing in a hot shower for half an hour would only make his fever worse.

He slumped into his seat, rubbing at his temples and removing his glasses. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror and cringed. He was visibly sick, and he was sure Aziraphale would notice. He considered calling the angel and canceling, but that wasn’t truly what he wanted (what he wanted, of course, was his angel).

“heh-hh,” Crowley’s breath hitched wildly as the itch suddenly returned, head rearing back and nostrils flaring, “hhhehHITSCHHh!” He snapped forwards with a powerful, unrestrained sneeze, barely managing to cover in time, “fugk me.”

After tending to his nose and washing his hands, he grabbed the keys to the Bentley.

The drive to the bookstore went by in a feverish haze. It was rather uneventful, except for the few times when the car was jerked into the other lane as Crowley bent double with a sneeze (or two).

It didn’t take long for Crowley to pull up in front of the bookshop, parking in his usual spot and clambering out. His head spun as he stepped out of the Bentley, and he had to lean against its black frame to stay upright.

Once he was sure he could stand on his own, he sauntered towards the bookshop, pushing the door open and hearing the familiar bell ring. He frowned when he realized he couldn’t smell; he’d always loved the smell of the store, though he would never admit that.

“I’m afraid we’re closed this evening,” Aziraphale called out in response to the bell’s chiming.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Crowley made a beeline for the plush red chair in the back of the bookstore.

“Oh! Crowley,” Aziraphale replied fondly, emerging from behind a bookshelf and grinning jovially. His smile faltered as he took in the demon’s appearance: his nose was red and bothered, his cheeks flushed, and his eyebags more prominent than usual.

As Crowley took a seat, Aziraphale busied himself with the tea kettle- Crowley was clearly in no condition for wine.

“So, what am I helping with?” Crowley asked, his voice raw and gravely.

‘Oh right, the favor,’ Aziraphale thought; He’d completely forgotten about his book organizing crisis after realizing Crowley was sick.

“It’s nothing, really. Muriel just had some free time and decided to reorganize all the books by color coordination,” despite Aziraphale’s annoyance, he still spoke of Muriel fondly; after all, they were intending to help.

Crowley laughed, which sparked a rough coughing fit, caught in his elbow, “S’cuse me,” he cleared his throat, feeling Aziraphale’s eyes observing him closely.

“Are you feeling alright, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked hesitantly, not wanting to anger or embarass the demon. In fact, he wanted to do quite the opposite; it was taking every ounce of self control not to wrap Crowley in a blanket and tend to his every need.

But that wasn’t part of their arrangement. They were simply an angel and a demon, occasionally exchanging favors and enjoying fine dining at the ritz. Except their arrangement had changed. Their dinners often turned into late nights full of dancing, talking, and laughing. They both sensed the change, but neither mentioned it, not wanting to burst their perfect bubble.

“Never felt better,” Crowley replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. His statement was undermined as he sniffled wetly, his body determined to betray him.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow questioningly, to which Crowley shrugged. The angel sighed, deciding not to push the topic any further.

“So, are we rearranging or not?” Crowley asked, gesturing to the color coordinated bookshelves- which, admittedly, looked pretty nice.

Aziraphale hesitated. As badly as he wanted to reorganize his books, it was clear that Crowley was in no condition, “No, no I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to undo Muriel’s hard work,” he excused.

Crowley was too distracted by a blooming itch in his nose to notice the angel’s obvious excuse, “hh,” despite his best efforts to quell the itch, his breath started hitching. Aziraphale nearly cooed, but he restrained himself for Crowley’s sake.

“hUTSCHHhew! hh-H’GNZTCH!”

“Bless you,” Aziraphale blessed him out of habit, a seemingly harmless act.

Crowley cursed, ducking back into his elbow, “hKISCHHh! ITSSCHHew!”

“Oh dear, bl-,” Aziraphale started, but Crowley cut him off, speaking through a desperate hitching breath.

“St-heh-stopheh- hhHTSCHH stop it with the blessings,” Crowley snapped, followed by an immediate pang of guilt at Aziraphale’s expression.

“I’m so sorry! I completely forgot about that,” he paused, searching for the right word, “peculiarity of yours.”

He learned early on in their relationship that blessing Crowley simply resulted in more sneezing, but blessing people came so naturally to him, he often did it without thinking.

“It’s alright angel,” Crowley waved a dismissive hand.

“Are you quite sure you’re feeling-,” Aziraphale started, but he was interrupted by the wailing of the tea kettle. Crowley was grateful for the distraction. As Aziraphale turned away to make tea, he used his sleeve to tend to his running nose.

Aziraphale returned a minute later with two cups of tea, smiling warmly as he set one beside Crowley.

“I thought you had a bottle of merlot?” Crowley asked, but he honestly didn’t care: wine would likely make him feel worse.

“Yes, well. We can enjoy that another time,” Aziraphale replied fondly, “But I’m in the mood for tea.”

Crowley rolled his eyes beneath his shades, but he tried the tea nonetheless. It soothed his throat, and he took a second sip, feeling his body relax slightly as the discomfort in his throat lessened.

As he continued drinking his tea, Crowley began to realize how truly miserable he felt; he hadn’t had a cold this bad in ages.

He rushed to set down his tea as a prickling sensation formed in the back of his nose. Aziraphale, noticing his hitching breath, placed a comforting hand on his back. Initially, Crowley tensed under the touch, a low hiss escaping him.

“h’MPDzXt” The stifle grated against his sore throat, and did nothing to please the burning in his sinuses.

Aziraphale rubbed small patterns along Crowley’s back, admiring his somewhat toned physique as his breath continued hitching, “don’t hold them in darling,” he instructed, voice soft.

Crowley whined, rubbing harshly at the itchy appendage. Aziraphale sighed sympathetically, “it’s not going to help if you do it like that.”

“St-heh-stuck,” Crowley managed to say between hitching breaths. It was quite the spectacle: his mouth was ajar, eyebrows knit together, breath hitching, and nose twitching. As sympathetic as Aziraphale was, he also found himself rather attracted to the demon, who seemed entirely helpless as he succumbed to the fit.

“hH-IDZCHUw!-ITSXHHh!”

The double came quickly, bending the demon over into cupped hands.

“heh-hRRSCHHU!”

Crowley was left panting and snuffling into cupped hands, unsure if the fit was truly over.

“You poor thing,” Aziraphale scooted closer to Crowley, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and tucking it into Crowley’s grasp. One of the angel’s hands settled on Crowley’s thigh, an expression of comfort for the sickly demon.

Crowley accepted the handkerchief, cleaning himself up before resting his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight,” Aziraphale prompted, “I can take care of you.”

Crowley hesitated, his instincts told him to go: a demon shouldn’t need to be taken care of. Aziraphale sensed this and quickly corrected, “plus, I could use the company. It would be a favor to me, really.”

Crowley considered this, knowing Aziraphale was just being courteous. After a few seconds, he sighed, “Alright, you win angel. I’ll stay.”

Aziraphale smiled widely, “Splendid. I’ll get us some more tea,” he made to stand, but Crowley wrapped his arms around the angel’s waist, holding him in place.

Aziraphale blushed, “Uhm, Crowley. Would you mind-.”

The demon cuts him off, voice tired and gravely, “Yes, I would.” He tightens his grip around the angel, burying his face in Aziraphale’s neck and letting the fatigue he’d been fighting set in.

“Okay darling,” Aziraphale agreed, settling in and running his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

It didn’t take long for the demon to fall asleep, and eventually, Aziraphale found himself dozing off as well. They stayed curled up on the couch all evening, the angel watching over his sick ‘friend’ carefully.

that’s all for now! i’ll likely write more for the in/effable h/usbands (im more comfortable writing c/rowley as the snzer, but if anyone has prompts with a/ziraphale, i’d be happy to try)

#sneeze kink #sneeze blog #sneezefucker #sneeze scenario #fanfic #snzblr #sneezefic #snz kink #ineffable lovers #crowley #aziraphale

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