My name's Clay // mid-20s //bi as fuck // ok to chat but not open to flirtatious or sexual convos // this is a sneeze fetish blog, NO MINORS // any reference to irl contagion is fictional fantasy only
Could you do a scenario where you come home to your girlfriend/boyfriend after being sent home sick from work with a sneezy cold? I love your sneezes and youâve been really good at scenarios!
Sent home early, but I definitely don't have a cold
A collaboration with the amazing @autumnsneezes!
CW: male snz, m/f, cold denial, v small mention of mess, wholesome :')
âš 18+ only -- please read my pinned post before interacting/following -- if you do not have your age listed prominently on your blog, I'm going to block you instantly âš
Script below the break, for the curious.
sound of keys jangling, door opening
B: Hello -? - oh honey, it's you! Gosh, you scared me. I wasn't expecting you for hours. What are you doing home so soon?
A (sniffly/congested): Hey, oh it was quiet today, so they - excuse me - *sneeze* - they said I could get away early.
B: Bless you! You feeling okay? You were a little peaky when you left this morning.
A: Iâm fine, yeah - *sneeze* - itâs just been a long day.
B: Sweetie, itâs barely lunch time.
A: Uhh, a long week.
B: Itâs TuesdayâŠ
A: *sneeze*
B: ⊠in peak season⊠they really let you come home?
A: Do we have tissues somewhere?
B: Probably! You coming down with something?
A: No, no. It's a bit chilly out there and it set me off for a sec. *sniff* All done now. Uhm, actually, hang on - *sneeze, sneeze*. OK, now I'm all done. Just a little tickle, but that's gotten rid of it.
B: Bless you, sweetheart. You never sneeze this much - that's five times already since you came in! Are you sure you're okay? Let me feel your foreheadâŠ
A: *sniffling*
B: Hmm, you're a little warm and clammy. Didn't you say there was a bug doing the rounds at work?
A: Oh yeah, it's been awful. Half the office has been off for a few days. *sniffling* But you know me - I never catch these things. (breathily) World's best immune system.
B: Mmhmm. Hey, even the world's greatest has to take a break sometimes.
A: *sniffling, rubbing nose* Not me.
B: So, if you're not sick⊠why are you about to sneeze again?
A: I'm not.
B: You are. Stop trying to hold it back.
A: I'm not.
B: Honey, I can see it in your face. Your nose is bright red and dripping.
A: *rubbing nose* No, it's not. I don't need to sneeze.
B: Yes, you do. You can hardly even keep your eyes open against that tickle.
A: I can - I'm not gonna - *very forceful/wet stifle*
B: Hey. Don't do that - you know it's not good for you. Just let them out.
A: (pinching nose) I'm - I'm gonna make a mess -Â
B: Doesn't matter. It's just us here. Now let. it. out.
A: *gives a series of drawn out, unrestrained sneezes. B blesses/encourages/petnames them after each one*
A: (from behind cupped hands) Oh my godâŠ
B: All done?
A: *sniffling thickly* For now.
B: Good. Now, admit you're sick and I'll get you a tissue.
A: Alright, alright⊠I'm sick. *sneeze* And I'm gonna need more than one.
It's been a while since the last one, so I figured I should make a new post announcing that I'm opening commissions, with a few more recent examples!
Commission types you can see here include:
Sketch- $25 (a rough sketch with minimal shading)
Line Art- $30 (a clean line drawing with minimal shading)
Line and Color- $40 (a rendered drawing with clean lines and full color)
Comic Page- $35-$65 (price will vary based on length and complexity of comic, let's talk about it!)
As always, I love drawing any variety of (adult) characters (i.e. not limited to humans! Furries, monsters, etc. are cool!) and am open to both SFW and NSFW commissions đ¶ïž
Again, sharing to sneeze kink or other related blogs is always cool and welcome! DM me if interested, thanks y'all! :)
and she fingers you with a disinterested expression and you cum so hard you start crying and she looks so disgusted but she still lets you lie there shaking. okay?
The last time I was ill I was still with my ex, and I accidentally got him sick too (we had hung out the day the symptoms started) and then we got to have hot sick sex. (Literally hot, I think he had a fever).
Idk how Iâm ever going to top that in terms of fetish-fantasy fulfillment
stranger talking on the phone in a public place and theyâre so obviously sick, their eyes have dark circles and their voice is husky and just gone and their sniffles are tidal, but the person theyâre talking to has just made them laugh and itâs awful, squeaks and gasps and then theyâre coughing, phlegmy and thick then dry and hacking, and then sharp, soupy sniffles with their weak laughter interspersed.
with their voice absolutely wrung- âYes, Iâb okay. *sddrff!* âŠFuckiâg hell.â
She has one of the most miserable colds you've ever seen but she frustrates every attempt you make to take care of her. Won't use any of the tissues you offer her just keeps wiping her increasingly red nose on her sodden sleeves. Refuses medicine even though she's coughing and moaning and sniffling every few minutes, keeping her from relaxing. Kicks off the extra blankets you bring and only uses them to blow her constantly running nose. Interrupts or shushes you when you try to bless any of her countless sneezes, even if she has to do it mid-sneeze. Doesn't actually deny being sick, just denies you taking care of her at all decently, wallowing purposefully in her sneezy, drippy sickness.
Disclaimer! I know nothing about any sports of any kind, least of all hockey. I will attempt to make it believable but any mistakes are a product of my ignorance.
â-And if Rozanov could keep his hands on the stick rather than on his face, the Raiders have a good chance of advancing in the fight for the cupâ
Drawn by the commentatorâs jab at his boyfriend, Shane tore his attention away from his meal prepping stations and turned towards the game he had admittedly been watching with only a small portion of his attention. He knew Ilya was never one to be bashful, so to cover his (second, after his ass- his brain added) most valuable asset mid game was a sign that something was off. Had he been hiding some sort of injury from Shane, or worse his team members, hiding behind his gloves to avoid letting the camera see a wince? The cameras panned away from the center, bringing attention to Marleau as he advanced with the puck towards the opposing goalie, though Shane barely noticed the play over his worries. Immediately Shane reached for his phone and texted the Russian.
âAre you ok?â
He didnât expect an answer immediately but the lack of response did nothing to quell his concerns as the camera zoomed in on a tense, distant expression that passed through Ilyaâs face that dispersed soon enough, giving through to frustration, but not before the commentators had the opportunity to mock him for his apparent distraction. At this Shane abandoned his meal prepping and migrated to the couch, worried he might miss something glaringly concerning about Ilya. He still seemed to be skating with his usual force, but Shane knew Ilya better than to assume he couldnât be hiding something deeper.
As the second period ran to a close and the players exited the ice, Shane turned a worried glance to his phone. Logically, he knew it might be unlikely that Ilya would even see the message knowing he only had a handful of minutes till he had to skate back out. He didnât need to worry for long however, as soon after the game cut to commercial, a three-dotted bubble appeared in their chat.
âDa,â Ilya replied. âAm fine. Nose is⊠How you say? Scratching?â
âYou mean itchy?â
Normally, seeing the usually stoic player flub a word in English would bring a smile to Shaneâs face, but the topic at hand made him unusually nervous.
âYes, that. Been sneezing all day, headcold is annoying.â
Shane stared at the screen, a sudden, familiar heat blooming low in his chest,
He flushed at the thought of Ilya, usually an unstoppable force on the ice struggling with such a small crack in his facade.
âOh be careful on the ice then, donât want you to get worse.â Shane replied, though secretly he wished his condition would improve for selfish reasons first.
âYou worry too much.â Ilya replied, but before Shane could craft anything approaching a clever retort, intermission was over and the teams were called to return to the ice.
Shane sank deeper into the couch cushions as the third period officially got underway, his focus completely narrowed down to number eighty-one. The heat that had sparked in his chest during their brief text exchange only intensified now that he knew exactly what to look for. Ilya was out there playing high-stakes playoff hockey while silently battling a miserable head cold.
It didn't take long for the cracks in Ilya's armor to show.
During his first shift, the camera tracked Ilya as he raced down the boards to fight for a loose puck. He won the battle with a vicious shove, but as he turned to pass it back to the blue line, he suddenly stiffened. Mid-stride, his head snapped down into his shoulder twice in rapid succession. Even through the grainy television feed, Shane recognized the violent, full-body jerk of a suppressed sneeze. The momentary lapse in his rhythm cost him; an opposing defenseman easily intercepted his pass, and Ilya let out a visible, frustrated snarl, his jaw hanging open as he forced a heavy, congested breath through his mouth.
Shane swallowed hard, his throat dry as he watched Ilya skate back to the bench. His hand inevitably reached for his boxers, cupping the bulge that had silently been growing as he watched. Ilya constantly worked to portray himself as a paragon of strength, and in this moment of weakness, the contrast was utterly intoxicating.
Once on the bench, Ilya immediately ripped off his helmet and gloves. Instead of leaning back to rest, he buried his face in a white trainer's towel, blowing his nose with a harsh, unbothered roughness. When he pulled the towel away, the camera caught a tight close-up of his face. His cheekbones were sharply flushed, a feverish, beautiful pink that stood out starkly against his sweat-dampened hair and the white ice behind him. His eyes looked glossy, heavy-lidded, and clearly irritated by the bright arena lights.
Shane wouldnât have been able to control himself if he had tried, he had never seen Rozanov look more gorgeous. He reached into his pants and released the pressure that the waistband was placing on his achingly hard dick, taking the precum that had started beading at the tip and spreading it all over his penis. He couldnât help but imagine that it was Ilyaâs snot as he twisted around the head and he had never felt more ecstasy running through his veins.
On his next shift, things got messier. Positioned right in front of the opposing goalie to screen his vision, Ilya was a wall of muscle. But as the whistle blew to halt play, Ilya didn't have a towel. Shane watched, a sudden thrill spiking in his stomach, as Ilya lifted his heavily padded forearm and messily wiped the back of his wrist right across his nose, trying to clear the inevitable snot before his next sprint. Shaneâs hand quickened around his member, chasing the peak of his arousal desperately. Ilya looked completely drained of his usual prickly pride, operating entirely on pure, stubborn adrenaline and a rising temper fueled by his own physical misery.
He was a lethal, terrifying athlete, but right now, he was also just a sick, feverish mess who was going to be completely exhausted the second his skates hit the locker room floor.
The commentators praised his "gritty, physical play" and noted how aggressive he seemed tonight, but Shane knew the truth. Ilya wasn't just mad at the opposing team, he was furious at his own congested sinuses, leaking snot onto his face and disrupting his concentration as his body tried to sneeze out the virus that had lodged itself in him. Shane leaned back against the pillows, a heavy, restless anticipation settling deep in his core as he watched Ilya's chest rise and fall in hitchy stuttered breaths as he lost what little control he had left over his body. Both of them were building up their release, and as the camera chose that inopportune moment to zoom in on the raidersâ captain, Ilyaâs nose finally succumbed to the tickle that had been erratically building in his sinuses and, making eye contact with the camera, he released a loud uncovered sneeze straight onto the ice, unable to bring his arms up fast enough once he realised he wasnât going to be able to shake the itch. At the sight of this Shane finally lost control of the coil that had steadily been building in his abdomen while watching Ilya lose control and he came harder than he had in months, shooting ropes of cum over his stomach and his hips.
The announcers commented on Rozanovâs unhygienic practices, but Shane was too far in the afterglow of his release to even notice. He reached for his phone.
âI have to see you. Tonight.â
He sent the text, then got up to clean himself off. He wasnât sure what heâd say or do when Ilya came over, but he knew he couldnât wait longer than absolutely necessary to see him. His phone buzzed on the coffee table.
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