hellooooo here's the lowdown :D for my anime blog!
intending to post/rb whump and sneeze fetish content!!
i love bnha, attack on titan, trigun, jjk, chainsaw man, witch hat atelier, tgcf/heaven officials blessing, mob psycho, one piece, buddy daddies, LL with uramichi, cherry magic, ++other stuff! but i know those are the hot ones right now :)
lots of jjk headcanons around here so i have a tag for that too ToT
here is my fic tag if you want to read my fics!!
and a masterlist if you want to see them organized by fandom
name based on that character "best jeanist" in case you guys thought i was calling myself the best whumpist. i know i still have a long way to go...!
please read this before sending me messages or tagging me in posts
heatwave power outage where I live has me thinking about sneezes by candlelight…
A and B are sprawled on the couch on a hot and stormy summer evening waiting for the power to come back on. Gentle candlelight illuminates the room around them. B has been suffering all day from terrible allergies, and with no a/c, the windows have to be wide open to survive the heatwave. B is almost constantly building up for an itchy fit, their eyes watering and nostrils flaring wildly.
“Hiihh..haH! heEAASCHIOOOO!!” B sneezes openingly, accidentally blowing a candle out with the force of their expulsion.
They sniffle and gaze towards A with wet and heavy eyelids, already inhaling sharply again as their nose tries desperately to expel the persistent tickle.
“Ahh-hiihh..HEAASHIOOOO!!!”
“Oh baby…you’re so itchy,” A gently wipes a tear from B’s cheek and then leans to grab the lighter to relight the blown out candle, hoping the power comes back soon so they can close the windows for poor B.
When someone's sick enough that their voice takes on that delicious deep, hoarse, gravely quality... and it completely alters the way their sneezes sound too.......ough
i think there’s something so romantic about liking the way someone sneezes. it’s like appreciating the little details of an art piece that most viewers would just gloss over
do you guys ever feel like you have to psych yourself up and procrastinate to look at something that makes you happy because the sensation of happiness will be so strong that you won't be able to process it yet...?
Perennial fantasy of: two people who are wildly attracted to each other sharing the same bed while one of them is sick, recognizing that at least one of them really needs the rest, but incapable of concealing how badly they both want to disrupt it.
W/itch H/at A/telier snz fic where O/lly and Q/ifrey care for each other :) 1.4k
contains: m snz, illness, light mess, contagion
MINORS DNI
for those unfamiliar with the source material, these two basically watch over an atelier of 4 apprentice witches together. relationship left ambiguous on purpose, but they're totally in love. you can quote me on that.
Olruggio is under no false pretenses on how the next few weeks are going to go, so he's been quick to finish up his ongoing commissions and just as hasty with his polite refusals of new ones, citing, “A time-sensitive project that needs my attention before I accept any new commissions. I appreciate your patience and thank you for your patronage” as the reason behind his reticence.
In actuality, it's been people rather than objects that have been taking up much of his time in recent days. Their atelier had been touched by illness, a simple cold that made its way through Qifrey's apprentices before settling down in their master. The ailment hadn't been dangerous, though it had been rather severe, and Olruggio had found his hours outside of his usual commission work occupied by trips to the healers for supplies, warming and cooling spells, and a new magical object that concentrated steam in a round shape to allow their little witches to momentarily ease their congestion.
To his and Qifrey's relief, the girls had healed rather quickly, as youths are wont to do, though their atelier is still bathed in a calm quiet as their master works through achieving the same outcome and their Watchful Eye struggles through the beginnings of his own inconvenient ailment.
Olruggio rubs firm circles into Qifrey's back as the witch doubles over into a handkerchief with productive, chesty coughs. Nearby, the girls are clinking around in the kitchen, adding some final touches to a soup that they had been saving for a day like today. Qifrey wipes at his mouth with a congested sigh, sending a tiny, grateful smile Olruggio's way.
“Tetia's got the tea on,” Olruggio says, taking his hand from Qifrey's back and returning to his sketches that are spread across the floor. “That'll hopefully soothe yer throat.” It's a quiet midday in late fall, cool outside but warm inside, and they've all accepted that it'll be a subdued next couple of days.
“Here Olly,” Qifrey croaks, handing Olruggio a fresh handkerchief produced from somewhere beneath his leisure robes. He feels warmth dust his cheeks as he accepts the handkerchief, dabbing it under his leaky nose. He had dripped a little onto his sketches to make Qifrey offer up one of the precious, clean cloths, and it's equal parts embarrassing and truly that dire.
Unfortunately, the dabbing causes a tickle to radiate through the congestion in his nose, and he sniffs sharply to abate it. Screw it, he might as well blow his nose. It's not like it would be the most unsanitary thing to happen in the atelier this month. He tents the handkerchief around his nose with firm hands and blows best he can. His sinuses are simultaneously congested and drippy, which means that his nostrils are an irritated red from being wiped at and his attempt at emptying them ends with a sad, crumpled-sounding HONK.
Quick glances of sympathy come from everyone in the room, which make his cheeks heat again, but he knows better than to hide in his quarters. Without anyone to make Qifrey rest, the master would run himself ragged and make his recovery time twice what it should be. Plus, the girls couldn't be left unsupervised in the kitchen, and he has to admit that the spot on the floor by the fire that he and Qifrey had set up their spellbooks near is comfortable and warm. Much better than– and he would admit this only if threatened– spending the entire day alone. The only thing worse than being miserable is being miserable by yourself.
Qifrey didn't seem to believe that. Since their childhood, he'd always tried to endure alone, which is why Olruggio finds it as easy as breathing to drag him along when he's ill and force his friend to the inconvenience of his company. Sometimes he knew that his constant fretting frustrated Qifrey, but it was worth it for every private smile and grateful side glance.
“You're warm,” Qifrey says softly, his palm suddenly pressed to Olruggio's forehead. The hand travels to his cheek, cupping it briefly so that Qifrey can turn Olruggio's head towards him. Whatever he's looking for in Olruggio's eyes, he must find, because he gives a small, regretful smile and lets go, instead clasping Olruggio's free hand that isn't occupied with his nose and the handkerchief. “I'm sorry for passing my illness to you.”
Olruggio has time to remove the fabric from his nose and open his mouth before he's hurriedly covering both again, barrelling forward to catch his spraying sneezes. “Hn… h'ngtchh! —HRRAAHHT'chht!”
“Bless you,” Qifrey squeezes his hand.
Olruggio just shakes his head, sniffling and panting raggedly into the cloth before losing two more sneezes to it. “HNnt'chihh! ih'YISHhieew! Snft!”
“Goodness, bless you again. That sounded like it hurt.”
Blowing his nose with one hand isn't something he's well practiced in, but Qifrey's grip on his free hand is stronger than ever so he gives it a go. He can feel how much he's failed when the handkerchief isn't enough fabric to hold the mess he's made, which is simultaneously mortifying, fascinating, and disturbing. Qifrey seems to realize the problem right as he does, and lifts the handkerchief he had coughed into to assist in Olruggio's cleanup. He doesn’t let go of his hand.
“Let's just…here…” Qifrey's voice is soft and private, eyes focused as he gently wipes at the sides of Olruggio's nostrils. He's leaned in to get a closer look, his lips parted to make up for the fact that he's probably as stuffed up as Olruggio is right now and can't use his nose for basic functions like breathing. “Your kerchief is a bit obsolete, Olly, would you mind terribly moving it aside?” Qifrey looks amused as he asks, likely knowing exactly why Olruggio hasn't done so yet. He gives the man a halfhearted glare as he sniffles wetly into the handkerchief one more time in a futile attempt to snort up the majority of the mess that the kerchief can't contain, but based on the way he can feel the coolness of the air interact with his damp nose and upper lip, he hasn't really succeeded.
Luckily, Qifrey is quick with cleanup duty, pinching off Olruggio's nose with a wet sound that makes him wince, but Qifrey doesn't even blink. It's as if taking care of Olruggio is as natural as drawing spells to him. Qifrey gives a satisfied smile as he dabs at Olruggio's philithrum one last time. “There. All– oh– aADTSSCHHeUH!!” Qifrey is just quick enough to bring the handkerchief to his face. The same one that he had just used to mop Olruggio's face with.
“Bless. We make a right disgusting pair, don't we?” Olruggio remarks, making Qifrey choke on a laugh that quickly becomes a cough.
“Master Olly, is Master Qifrey okay?” Coco asks with concern, checking in on them between tea and meal preparation. Qifrey is turning a bit red from the effort of coughing, but still seems to be breathing.
Olruggio nods to her. “He'll be alright. Even better if we could have some o' that tea.”
She straightens. “Right! Right away!” and disappears again.
Qifrey's eyes are amused, sparkling in a way Olruggio hasn't seen in a few days due to his misery. “Good girls,” Qifrey remarks, voice slightly hoarser.
“I suppose we're a bit fond of ‘em,” Olruggio allows with a sniffle. He glances back at the spells littering the floor, a wave of exhaustion moving through him. His headache, which has been slowly getting worse throughout the morning, is pounding after his small sneezing fit.
“I've decided. We'll drink Tetia's tea, and then you'll have a nice nap before dinner.”
Olruggio raises an eyebrow at him. “Will I?”
Qifrey nods. “I know for a fact you didn't get much sleep last night.” Qifrey, alongside everyone else in the atelier, were probably almost as disturbed by Olruggio's nighttime misery as he was. He tries not to feel too mortified by the thought of them all hearing his miserable sneeze attacks. “So take a nap, just a quick one. It's warm and lovely, right? We'll keep your soup warm for when you wake.”
Olruggio's eyelids are already feeling heavy, and he feels hands on his shoulders that helpfully lead him horizontal. Someone– it must be Qifrey, but he can't be sure because he can't be bothered to open his eyes to check (and when had he closed them?)– wedges some pillows beneath his head, which helps him breathe slightly better, and he hums a thanks. He'll just take a quick nap before lunch, and he'll feel much better when he wakes….
i love pathetic little coughs and sniffles. when someone is nowhere near sick enough to stay home, just a little congested and hoarse, but they can’t suppress the sickly little sounds that make it obvious they’re a bit under the weather 🥺
A stern, severe man who does not deny his allergies (or illness if that's your thing), but he can most certainly handle them on his own, is quite capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much, and, good Lord, could you please stop making such an awful fuss over him??
i’m such a goner for the dynamic of someone who gets extra love from their partner whenever they sneeze
their partner always says a sweet “bless you~” and gives them a little kiss to their cheek, their forehead, the tip of their nose, the nape of their neck, wherever is in reach in the moment
their partner is always endeared to their sneezes, and at first they thought it was kind of embarrassing, but over time it became a thing in their relationship, and they started automatically associating sneezes with affection
getting praise for their sneezes. “aw, that one was cute” / “that was a nice one” / “you’re so perfect”
and eventually, they start seeking praise after a sneeze. “how was that?” / “was that one good?” and yes, their partner always thinks every one is good
whenever they randomly sneeze they immediately glance at their partner for their reaction
and if their partner takes too long to react, they tease, “where’s my bless you?” / “where’s my kiss?”
whenever they sneeze when their partner isn’t around, it makes them think of their partner
occasionally they text their partner simply, “i just sneezed,” and they always get a “bless you sweetheart 💕” / “bless you cutie 🥰” / “bless you my love ❤️” in response
just the way sneezing was once a normal everyday thing that they never thought much about, but because of their doting partner it’s morphed into something fun and playful, something that makes them happy
a/n: sickfic, about 1k words, orufrey, as much h/c as those guys will allow,
Sunlight naturally illuminates the kitchen so well that there’s no need to use one of the contraptions Olruggio has set up. The sudden exposure to the brightness sends a shockwave of pain ricochetting through him. He’s over a clock mark late to prepare breakfast, Qifrey realizes upon walking into the smell of eggs simmering over the stove. Placidly, he lets his lashes rest against his cheek and clasps his hands together to find his center of gravity.
“Girls, you should’ve woken me,” he chastises mildly.
“That wouldn’t make for much of a surprise,” Richeh’s voice comes, her back pointed towards him as she slides chunks of cured meat into the cast iron pan.
Tetia’s bright curls bounce in his peripherals as he glances down. “By the looks of you, I’d say you should’ve slept in more.”
“Oh no, no.” He takes a step back, waving his hands dismissively. Did he look that bad? Usually she saved such comments for Olruggio. “I’m more than rested.”
If only his body could be so convinced. Agott slides a plate in front of him.
Neither the steady intake of honeytree laden tea nor ginger he’d self-imposed the day prior had been enough to nip Qifrey’s cold in the bud—he’d realized as much when he’d awoken plastered to a tangle of linens by his own cold sweat. Panic from the uncomfortably familiar sensations of being cold and wet threatens him from the other side of his carefully crafted wall. In a sense, it’s a blessing to not have to search for such a thing.
Ever festering stress makes for a fine breeding ground for these viruses and try as he might, he’s never seemed to be able to get away with a simple sore throat or sniffle. He can handle being sick. He’s used to it all—the distinctive searing pressure that crosses his sinuses to his temples, the deep-seated chills that make him wonder if his bones themselves had frozen over, the shards of broken glass encrusted into the lining of his throat, the endless shifting between a runny nose and a blocked one. All of that is easy. Everything else, comparatively, well, the implications he’d rather not consider.
“Master Qifrey,” Coco starts, “Does it taste alright?”
He jolts when he realizes he’s only eaten half of the prepared egg melt. Now four pairs of eyes are upon him. “It’s perfect,” he assures her with a pleasant smile. Each swallow of his breakfast raises his discomfort, but he lets out a satisfied hum as they watch. In the warmest voice he can manage, he affirms, “And the fact that all of you worked so well together only adds to it. Excuse me for taking my time partaking.”
His next bite is deliberately larger. If only he could really appreciate the taste, though perhaps it’s for the best that he can’t.
Tetia comes to his rescue in carrying the morning conversation and manages to rope Coco into her latest idea for a spell. All of the chatter allows coverage for him to sniffle and occasionally swipe at his nose with the cloth napkin.
“Tell you what,” he says, rising to collect their plates once they’ve all finished. “Since you’ve been so kind as to do all of this fine cooking, I’ll handle the cleaning so you can return to your primers.”
“Are you sure?” Coco asks, cocking her head like she’s nervous about something. “Shouldn’t we—”
“Go on.”
It’s then he sees how much of a mess they’d made in the process.
***
“Mornin’, Qifrey.”
He nearly fumbles the bowl he’d been cleaning. It would’ve been a shame if he’d dropped it, especially given that it would be the last thing he needed to put away. His hands are shaking so terribly that he’s sure drawing a decent spell would take tenfold its required concentration. And he’d need all of that to get through this brief exchange.
“Olly,” he greets warmly as if even speaking his name hadn’t wreaked havoc on his throat. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
Does he ever? Olruggio gives him a guilty look. “Was up late. Did you save any for—“
Qifrey points at the plate that’d been set aside.
“Courtesy of our dear apprentices.”
“Looks delicious.” He rubs his hands together.
“It is.”
Olruggio takes another bite of egg melt and gives a smile unfettered by fatigue. “You’ve taught ‘em well.”
Always so achingly sweet. Something twists painfully in his chest and he can’t help but cough. He quickly tries to pass it off as a chuckle, though it’d been so resonantly ugly he supposes it’s all for naught.
“You alright?”
“Hm? Ah.” He nods. “It was just nice to see them all working together. Even Agott was helping out.”
Now’s the time to make his retreat. Of course now his nose has chosen another path. He’d managed to keep this under control, but in Olruggio’s presence something always seems to have to give.
The next inhale he takes breaks into three distinctive parts “hih-hih-hehh—” and then—
“nkxt’shh!”
“Bless.”
Perhaps pinching his nose was stupid; Olruggio was looking right at him, after all. All he’s done is prolonged the fit. His pulse quickens.
“Excu-hhse me,” he manages, sniffling behind his sleeve as he searches for a handkerchief, fingers finding nothing as he gears up for another. “heh’CHSHhiu!”
His vision is bleary once again, his hand rests on the countertop for balance.
“Comin’ down with a cold, are you?” The accusation comes with a handkerchief hand-delivered by Olruggio of the torch himself.
He’d hoped to avoid this entire situation altogether, but of course he couldn’t manage that. Qifrey accepts the cloth with thanks and dabs at his nose with it, ignoring that it, too, carries traces of his scent. Harder to overlook by many strides is the calloused palm that greets his forehead, warm-tipped at the fingers, but ultimately a distinct cold feeling at the hollow of his hand, revealing the fever he’d suspected. How he wants to lean into it, to put his hands on those shoulders.
“I suppose you’re right,” he says, arching his back away from Olruggio, and averting his gaze from the concern pinching his brow. With nowhere to back into, he steps to the side. “Could I ask you to mind the girls?”
“I’m meant to…ah, well, it shouldn’t be any trouble, but Qifrey, shouldn’t you—”
“Olly, please, back up a bit. I’d hate for you to become ill too,” he chides. Even in this state, his words flow naturally. Years of practice, he supposes. “I’m sure it’s catching. I'll manage much better knowing they’re in your care.”
“You’re burnin’ up.”
“I’ll manage.”
The throbbing behind his eye is getting worse. Faster. More domineering. Is that his pulse? The headache that never seems to fully leave him? Both, probably. How awful.
Olruggio supports his weight from the side without his permission and begins guiding him to his room. Instead of fighting it, he falls in line, matching his careful pace, all the while, berating himself. It’s all he can do to not lose consciousness, to not give into the warmth only he could provide. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness this time, just lets himself be led to bed and thinks of the snugstone on his bedside table that’s never seen use.
Not enough pointing out characters’ hair being scruffed-up when they’re sick. Unbrushed hair from the morning when they got up and didn’t have the energy to mess with it, hair that’s gotten messy from their attempts to nap or lay down for a little bit. Hair that’s messier than usual just because they don’t have it in them to fuss with it during the day. More scruffy hair from sick characters nowewwwwwwwwwww
Sick person touching foreheads with their partner (or whoever is caring for them) in bed while they're half asleep because the other person's forehead feels so pleasantly cool against theirs... They're not even fully aware of what they're doing, they just know it feels so so nice.
