403 || sometimes a writer || she/her || INFJ
hello! i'm 403 & i have a sneeze fetish (only with females). weird, right?
browse by fandom: yuri!!! on ice || voltron || be more chill (musical) || everything else
so this is... a seung gil fic i wrote back at the beginning of may. i dug it up and crammed out 800 more words to end it
anyways i’m stuck in rarepair hell but the dynamics btwn seung gil and phichit are great even though they’ve pretty much never met
He messes up his free skate.
And, god, it shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. As a professional skater, Lee Seung Gil is used to failure; he knows that not every opportunity is going to come to fruition, and it’s been something he’s learned to accept the hard way.
Except––except, this is different. This is Worlds, and it’s his first time here. He’s finally made it to somewhere big. And the fact that he screws up his free skate so badly–shaky limbs and awkward movements and badly executed jumps and all–that just isn’t representative of him. It’s just one bad performance, but it’s all the world gets to see of him. Nobody cares about his better days if he’s not standing on a stage.
And it hurts.
His coach takes the hint. She’s always been good at reading him after having to deal with him for so long. She gives him time to compose himself, under the pretense of giving him a few days off, but she knows it’s not out of kindness. It’s out of pity.
And he takes it. He doesn’t go to the rink after that. He can’t think of skating, can’t think of going back onto the ice when all he can ever do is fall, fall, fall–
It’s a day after the free skate when he runs into Phichit Chulanont in his hotel on the way to breakfast. Or, rather, when Phichit runs into him.
“Morning, Seung Gil,” Phichit chirps, wearing the same vivid, hundred-watt smile that he always has on.
And Seung Gil flinches. Phichit might as well be the most cheerful person who’s ever tried to talk to him–the boy has a personality equivalent to sunshine, and Seung Gil just doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now. He pushes past, pretending not to have heard.
“Hey, hello?” Phichit asks, falling into step beside him. “What’s with the sad face?”
Does he really not know? Impossible. As a finalist, Phichit has to have watched the semi-finals, right? Seung Gil straightens up, sending him his most convincing glare. “I think you know.”
Phichit opens his mouth again, and all Seung Gil can think is, shut up, shut up, shut up. He isn’t ready to speak to anyone about it. Not now, and not ever. Maybe he should just spend the rest of the trip locked up in his hotel room, he contemplates.
“Hey,” Phichit begins, then clears his throat. “Is it the fr–”
“I’m not really in the mood.”
There’s a beat of silence, but it’s not nearly long enough. “I don’t get why you’re beating yourself up over this. Honestly, I think you were amazing.”
“I don’t need your pity, Chulanont.” He enunciates each word through gritted teeth, voice kept carefully low so Phichit can’t tell that it’s shaking.
“Wait, what are you talking about? I’m not pitying you!”
Seung Gil whips around, eyebrows drawn together and mouth creased in a frown. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just leave me alone.”
“Oh,” Phichit says, face falling. “Okay. I’m sorry for bothering you, then.”
He turns and leaves. And, damn it, Seung Gil hasn’t done anything wrong, but Phichit’s somehow managed to make him feel so damn guilty. He swallows, dumping his half-finished plate and grabbing his coat. Breakfast suddenly doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. He has a headache that’s been present ever since he’d performed his free skate, and come to think of it, it might have played a part in his lackluster performance.
It doesn’t matter now, anyways. He can’t change anything. He heads toward the elevators, not turning back once.
Dialing Park Min So.
Seung Gil leans back in his seat, holding a hand up to his throbbing temples. It may be something to do with skipping breakfast and lunch, or it might just be karma for having turned everyone away, but he feels like shit. Physically.
His coach picks up. “Seung Gil,” she says, voice warm and familiar, and he almost tears up at the sound. “I’ve been waiting for you to call. How are you?”
And now he’s going to disappoint her too, he realizes. The one person who knows he could’ve done better. Shifting, he leans so that the phone is held between his ear and his shoulder as he grabs the tissue box. “I’m fine.” He feels compelled to lie further, but his thought process is interrupted by a few harsh, jarring coughs that take him by surprise. He swallows, and his throat is sore. Weird.
“Are you feeling okay?” She’s asking, and he finds himself nodding. It’s a bad idea, considering that she can’t actually see him, and his phone nearly falls off his shoulder at the sudden movement.
“I don’t know,” he admits, then coughs again, muffling it into a handful of tissues. Had he had more hands, he would’ve brought the phone further from his ear. He knows it must be unpleasant for her to hear his symptoms up close. “I don’t…” he sniffles, feeling utterly pathetic. “...feel that great.”
“Sounds like it. I’m sorry,” she says sympathetically, and he curls an arm around himself, trying hard to conserve his body warmth. Briefly, he wonders if the air conditioning has started malfunctioning. It’s utterly freezing in here. “Just take it easy, okay? Take as many days off as you want.”
“Okay,” he says, and then repeats it, more for his own ears than for hers. “Okay.”
“Drink plenty of fluids, and make sure you get enough rest,” she says, sounding like his mother, but he knows she really just means, take care of yourself.
“Yeah,” he responds. “I will.”
He clicks the end call button, and the room is suddenly too silent.
When he next wakes up, he feels like shit. Physically and emotionally. It’s freezing and he’s shaking all over, but it’s the unpleasant type of coldness that extra layers can’t fix. His head still hurts like hell, but it’s worse now–a constant, throbbing ache–and he can’t breathe through his nose.
A hot shower should help. He hoists himself out of bed, trembling at the coldness of the wooden floorboards beneath his feet, and makes his way over to the bathroom. He’ll feel better after this, he tells himself.
When he steps inside the steady stream of water, he notices that he has to turn the knob a few degrees more than he usually does–he’s always been mathematical enough to notice things like this, and it’s not a good sign. It probably indicates that he has a fever. Great.
He doesn’t even have the energy to wash his hair, so he settles for just standing in place, letting the warm water flood over him. It’s nice and it loosens up his congestion a bit, but suddenly the hot water is running out and the coldness is starting to make him sneeze, and he’s getting congested all over again. It’s not a pleasant sensation.
He groans, turning the water off and hurriedly wrapping two towels around his shivering frame. The air feels mercilessly cold on his too-hot skin, and it’s concerning. He’s Korean; he’s supposed to be good with the cold, considering that he lives in one of the coldest areas in South Korea. The fact that he’s shivering right now isn’t characteristic of him at all.
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. More than once, he gets dizzy and has to slump against the bathroom counter, waiting for his vision to clear. Maybe he’s worse off than he’d thought.
When he’s finally done, he exits the bathroom and falls back into bed, face-first, too exhausted to stay awake for any longer.
In his dreams, he’s skating his free skate over and over again, except every time, he messes up. It’s hard to breathe. Feels like he’s suffocating. The ice rink is too cold and his body is out of his own control and he wants to prove himself but he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. Or maybe he has nothing to prove in the first place.
When he wakes, he realizes that it’s dark outside, and he hasn’t left his room since breakfast. His throat is dry, and his whole body feels out of whack; each movement is uncontrolled, sluggish.
He needs to call Min So, he thinks to himself. He needs her to get him medicine to take for this.
Except he’s already bothered her enough. Except he’s already let her down. The least he can do is buy medicine for himself; there’s a convenience store on the street and he should be able to make it there and back, right?
It’s worth a shot.
He stands up, using the walls for balance, and makes his way to the door. He pulls on an extra jacket that’s too big for him and pries the door open, shivering as he steps into the hallway, which is somehow impossibly colder than his own hotel room. There’s only one thought on his mind, and it’s how much better he’ll feel after he takes something.
He doesn’t expect to end up standing at the cash register in the convenience store, his hands clammy and mouth suddenly gone dry.
In his wallet sit a few crumpled bills amidst a sea of coins. Blue, red, green, yellow. Korean currency. He can’t use this. He’d been planning on going to a bank sometime this week, but he hadn’t been taking into account that he’d spend the majority of his week locked up in his room, too out of it to even consider leaving the building.
“Would you be able to convert won to rubles?” He asks, and the woman at the cashier smiles apologetically.
“I’m sorry, we don’t offer that service here.” Of course. It’s a relatively small convenience store; he shouldn’t even have asked. Seung Gil looks at the medicine on the countertop, at the bottled water that sits tantalizing close to it, and swallows, a little painfully.
“I’ll have to pass on these, then,” he admits, shoving his wallet back into his pocket and scooping the items up into his arms. He coughs a few times into his shoulder. “Sorry, I’ll put them back. Thanks for your time, miss.” He turns to head back in the direction of the shop, energy sapped.
“It’s okay. I hope you feel better,” she calls after him.
He’s standing at the end of the medicine aisle, wondering if he can really make it back to the hotel without passing out, when he sees.
Standing a few rows away from him is Phichit Chulanont, gazing contemplatively at an assortment of ramen on the shelves. It’s kind of endearing, actually, how seriously he seems to be taking the decision process.
The relief hits Seung Gil all at once. Phichit can help him. They may not be friends, but they’re certainly acquaintances–surely Phichit will be willing to lend him just enough to cover the cost of the medicine pack, right? Seung Gil will even be willing to pay back in interest when he’s feeling well enough to stop by an actual bank. He takes a few steps over to Phichit’s aisle, relief completely overriding caution. He feels so unwell, but the idea of having medicine solve all his problems sounds just so damn appealing–
Only when Seung Gil opens his mouth to call out to Phichit does he realize what he’s doing. He’s the one who’d rudely pushed Phichit away just a couple days back. He doesn’t have the right to ask Phichit for a favor at all.
He’s so selfish. Blinking away the liquid in his vision, Seung Gil turns on his heels, mind set on getting out of this aisle as quickly as possible–
–and then his body has the audacity to make him sneeze.
The timing would be almost comical if he weren’t feeling so shitty. Phichit whips around, calling out a cheerful “Bless you!”, before his eyes widen in recognition. He sets three packs of ramen back onto the shelves, then takes a few steps in the Korean's direction, looking unsure of himself. “Seung Gil?”
This is the part where Seung Gil should make a run for it, except his legs won’t move, and his body feels stuck to the ground. “Hey,” he says, almost wincing at how his voice comes out. It’s dry and raspy and scraping, and, god, if he hasn’t made enough of a fool of himself already–
“I didn’t think I’d see you here,” Phichit says, making no comment on the fact that Seung Gil’s voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “What’s up?
“Nothing’s up,” is the default response, and then he takes a step back, making a startled sound as he bumps into a shelf of cans. They rattle from behind him, and he feels his cheeks flush hot in dizzying embarrassment. “I was just… planning to get going.”
He takes a step out of the aisle, except then he’s coughing and he can’t stop–his frame shakes with every outburst, and his attempts to draw in a shaky breath are all interrupted by more coughing. It’s suddenly requiring way too much effort to stay upright. Wow, this is really bad timing. He can feel Phichit’s gaze on him, which isn’t a good sign. He probably looks like a complete jerk right now, coming to a convenience store when he’s sick and most likely contagious–
“That doesn’t sound good,” Phichit says, and Seung Gil almost flinches at the bluntness of the comment. “Are you not feeling well?”
“No, I’m not.” He swallows; he’s not even going to try to deny what’s blatantly obvious. “I was just stopping by for some medicine, but I think I’m going to head back now.”
“Without any medicine?”
“Yeah. I, uh… I didn’t know what to get. I couldn’t find the kind that I always use.” It’s a blatant lie, but he doubts Phichit knows him well enough to tell.
“In that case, I know some brands that work really well,” Phichit offers. “Wait just a second.” He darts off into the medicine aisle, and Seung Gil fumbles with his coat zipper so that it’s zipped all the way up to where his scarf begins. It’s too cold in the shop; his head hurts and he can’t breathe through his nose. He just really wants to get back.
Then Phichit’s there again, holding three different types of medicine, including the type that Seung Gil had brought up to the cash register before. “These should work.”
Seung Gil blinks, a little dazed. “Thanks.”
But Phichit isn’t leaving, and Seung Gil finds himself at a loss. He doesn’t want to turn down Phichit’s suggestions, but he can’t go back again and pretend he doesn’t know about the lack of Russian currency in his wallet.
“I appreciate it,” he stammers, “but I really can’t take these right now.”
“How come? Is it an ingredient allergy? Or something about the brands? Or–”
Seung Gil feels his face flush red. He should’ve just been straightforward with this in the first place. Now it’s practically too late to say something, and yet, what other choice does he have?
“I only have Korean currency with me.” He pulls his jacket a little closer in an attempt to suppress his shivering, wishing his body could at least attempt to cooperate. “I’d, uh, have to stop at a currency exchange store first.”
“That’s okay,” Phichit says, and Seung Gil almost gapes at how nonchalant he sounds. “I’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.” It’s as if he really, genuinely doesn’t mind. As if he isn’t practically offering money to a stranger.
“That’s too much,” Seung Gil says, “I can’t let you pay for this.”
“It’s not that expensive.”
“Yeah, and it won’t take me that long to find an exchange service.” He twists away to cough into the crook of his arm, making sure to put as much distance between himself and Phichit as possible. “I’ll buy them myself after I get the money converted.”
Phichit frowns. “When you’re well enough to go to an exchange service, you won’t really need the medicine anymore. Just let me do this, okay?”
“It’s really not necessary--”
“Think of it as a favor between friends.”
His eyebrows crease. “We’re not friends.” Are they?
“Then... a favor between fellow skaters?” There’s a steely determination in Phichit’s eyes--one that suggests that he’s not going to back down easily.
Seung Gil weighs his options. A part of him wants to keep arguing. After all, he’s an honorable person–it’s only natural to decline acts of kindness that he can’t repay. But the convenience store is somehow even colder than his hotel room is, and he’s shivering even under all the layers he’s wearing, and the walk here has drained all the energy from him and now he’s–well, he’s dizzy. Frustrated. Exhausted. And, more than anything, he wants to get his medicine and head back.
“Fine,” he caves, his voice cracking on the note. “But you really don’t need to do this.”
“I know.” Phichit turns on his heels, heading towards the first available cash register, and there’s nothing left for Seung Gil to do but follow him there. “I’m doing this because I want to.”
He pays for the medicine, then stuffs everything into a plastic bag and slings the handle over his wrist. “I’ll walk you back to the hotel?”
Seung Gil, previously preoccupied with attempting to stifle a sneeze as quietly as possible, glances up quickly. “Don’t you have more stuff to buy?”
“Not anymore. I was going to get ramen for dinner, but since my flight’s tomorrow, I think I’m going to eat out tonight instead. Get a taste of Russian food while I’m here, you feel?”
“Oh.” Seung Gil sniffles, blinking owlishly. “...Yeah.”
They cross the street and navigate the cluttered sidewalks to the hotel, side by side. Seung Gil tries to focus past the headache that’s taken root in his skull, but it’s next to impossible–everything around him is too cold and too bright, and his vision is slightly hazy around the edges, as if all of this is taking place within a dream.
It isn’t until they get to the hotel lobby that Phichit hands him the bag of groceries he’s been holding. “For the record, I meant what I said,” he asserts. “I think your free skate was really good.”
Seung Gil frowns, his fingers tightening around the bag handle. “I could’ve done better.” It’s a blatant understatement.
“That doesn’t change the facts. You were really cool out there.” Phichit grins, and his smile is just one degree from blinding--Seung Gil has to will himself to look away.
“Thanks for the medicine,” he says, changing the subject. “I’ll pay you back when I’m feeling better?”
“My flight’s tomorrow. If you’re that insistent on paying me back, I guess you’ll have to find me at the Grand Prix next year, huh?” Phichit quips, his tone light.
Seung Gil doesn’t say, I’m not participating next year. He doesn’t say, I’ve always skated for the fame; after a rough start like that, I’ve lost people’s respect for sure. He doesn’t say, I don’t have anything left to skate for. Because when he looks up at the person in front of him--acquaintance? Fellow skater? Friend?–that doesn’t feel quite true anymore.
Instead, he smiles, feeling something screwed tight in his chest loosen for the first time in years. “You’re right,” he says. “I’ll see you there.”
For my wonderful beautiful outstanding and lovely friend who’s incredibly talented and funny, @403secret happy birthday 🎂🎉
Brooke felt so damn miserable. Her face felt like she fell asleep in the sun and her entire being felt gross from all the sweat and snot endlessly flowing. She had gotten sick suddenly, positive that it was from all the strain and stress she’d been putting on herself lately, and now she felt two seconds from death. She sniffled weakly and rubbed at her itchy nose with no relief before groaning into the leg she was laying on.
Chloe glanced down and rolled her eyes, “If you get a drop of snot on my nice ass leggings-”
Brooke groaned again and rolled over, now laying on her back with her eyes covered by her arm. Chloe frowned a bit at the pale complexion and the growing flush, but forgot about that when Brooke whined again, “Ugh, I won’t I won’t Chlo.”
Chloe ran two fingers through Brooke’ s hair, stopping every now and then to take a knot out as painlessly as possible, “You didn’t have to sleep over if you were this sick. I can like- bring you home so you can stop being a whiny bitch”
Brooke shook her head, peaking an eye out from under her arm and cringing at what little light broke through, “If I go home I’ll have to do like…chores or something”
“Yeah. Fuck that.” Chloe stopped brushing Brooke’s hair and placed her fingers across the girls forehead. A quick flash of concern washed over her face, she instantly lost all amusement, “Wow you’re kinda…burning up.”
“Am i?” Brooke sighed and placed her hand against her cheek, “Feels fine to me…”
Brooke sniffled loudly and then curled up in Chloe’s lap to let out a series of sneezes. When she finished she sniffled again and held her abdomen with a little whine, “Ow…” She had been sneezing so much it got sore.
Chloe sighed, “Get up, I’m thirsty.”
“…Sorry Chlo.” Brooke scooted down the couch and off her lap, miserably sneezing down into the cushions and trying to catch it on her sleeve. Chloe gently tapped her knee to tell her it was alright before heading off to the kitchen and making Brooke some instant tea. When she came back with the cup in hand Brooke was sitting up, running a hand through her messy fizzy hair in attempt to make it calm down. She had her loose t-shirt knotted in the back to make a crop top, her fever making the sweat roll down her exposed stomach. Every now and then her nose would drip, when she noticed Chloe she blushed embarassed and hid her face.
“Sorry Chloe I know you think it’s gross so-”
“Yeah yeah here” Chloe handed her a tissue box that Brooke gladly accepted, adding to the growing pile of destroyed tissues in garbage cans. She sat next to Brooke who rested her head down on her shoulder and passed over the tea.
Brooke smiled, holding the warmth so the steam hit her face, she hoped her sinuses would clear, “Mmm..wish I could smell it.”
“Well lucky for you, so long as you don’t burn your tongue you can still taste” Chloe smiled, playing a new movie on Neflix for them to watch.
Brooke hummed, feeling drowsy from only a few warm sips down her scratchy throat, “You’re the best.” I love you
Chloe rested her head against Brooke’s, “I know.” I love you too
For my friend @403secret she’s the best and!! Love love!!
Chloe glanced down at her phone for must’ve been the thousandth time that day. Brooke hadn’t been texting back all day, Chloe didn’t want to admit it but she was honestly worried about the blond girl. Sure; the other had a strange means of fashion but she still had something about her that was absolutely adorable and perfect and-
Chloe took a deep breath before she pulled on her shoes making the decision that she would go see Brooke. Maybe her phone died, or Brooke lost her phone. That had happened before, Brooke was good at losing objects. Thinking to herself she walked down the sidewalk towards pinkberry before she got both of the girls frozen yogurt. If brooke we’re mad then she’d love some frozen yogurt.
But brooke wasn’t like that. She didn’t ignore someone purely because she was mad, no she tried to state her point and try to come to a conclusion, Chloe shook her head and quickened her pace, why was she thinking about Brooke like that?! Chloe shook her head on her and continued her walk.
She glanced to her left and saw the beautiful house, there were flowers outside of all colors of the rainbow, Chloe gave herself a small smile she always felt more relaxed while at brooke’s house. She made her way to the front door and gave a knock, she waited for about thirty seconds before she gave another knock, this time she heard movement from the other side of the door and soon it was swinging open.
Chloe stood in shock. Brooke looked like absolute shit, her cheeks were flushed and her hair was in a messy bun, strands falling out all over the place,
“Oh..Hey, Chlo..” Brooke said her voice hoarse,”I lost my phone this morning,” she stopped to do a small cough,”I’m so sorry, I know you-”
“You sound like shit,” Chloe stated and took off her shoes leaving them next to the door,
“My throat..” Brooke started,
“Shush, I brought pinkberry, i bet it’ll help,” Brooke gave a small smile before she slowly took her cup of frozen yogurt and the plastic spoon,
“You’re the best Chloe,” Brooke whispered as she made her way to the couch and sat down,
“Rest your voice,” Chloe said letting her voice soften as she turned on the tv so they could watch reruns of dance moms.
“Thanks..” Brooke whispered,
“No problem,” Chloe offered a small smile, taking another glance at brooke’s face she could tell something at that moment. Chloe knew that she was in love, and she knew she would need to confidence to tell Brooke.
That moment wasn’t that moment, but at least she could feel Brooke slowly leaning against her and soon fall asleep as Abby screamed at the dancers on the television screen.
I would like to thank @highwaytosickfics for letting me add to this lovely list, I only added like 3 animes haha but still…you are INCREDIBLE for keeping track of so many of these! This is a compilation of various animes/manga that have sick episodes or scenes in them. Enjoy!~
I’m not even trying to shame anybody I just want logistics
Like, do you like to be sneezed on? Is the spray of nosegoblins what does it for you?
Or, like, is it a thing where you want to sneeze while you orgasm? Like “Yes Brad, shove that feather up my nose and that dongle up my lady cave!”? I mean, there are always those claims that sneezes feel the same as orgasms or have the same brain waves or some bullshit (I am clearly not well-versed in the science), so is a sneezekink where you’re just, determined to have the most extra climax possible? Like double orgasm powers?
Or do you like watching other things sneeze? Or making things sneeze?
I SWEAR TO GOD I AM NOT GOING TO GOOGLE THIS BUT I’M PROB GONNA BE THINKING ABOUT IT MORE THAN IS REASONABLY NECESSARY.
I’m such a hoe for like,, indirect contagion?? Like oops, you also used that computer? Shit, I didn’t wash that spoon tho..
Like yes, direct contact is Good and Highly Encouraged but I want my OTP to accidentally get sick through INDIRECT CONTAGION.
romaincrisis
dailybridgerton
amandla
stormborns
origamiaround
pixelskylines
theartofmadeline
