Basic info - I don't have a chosen name here yet, so ig we can go with Coze until i come up with something better. I'm a 25+ perpetually tired grad student who's been lurking in this community for way too long (like 10+ years) and this is me finally giving into the guilt of not contributing. I'm somewhere on the Ace-spec and not quite sure where this weird kink fits into all that, but also not sweating it too much. I gravitate much more toward illness than allergies (the hurt-comfort and general sickness ick scratches something in my silly little brain). The coldfucker tag has me in a choke hold, along with tried and true ol' contagion, nose blowing, and mess.
I have no grand plans for this sideblog other than using it like a dragon's hoard of posts that also scratch something in that weird ol' noggin and occasionally contribute some thoughts of my own. Although, as a sideblog, I won't be doing much liking or following, but just assume i'm around lurking.
Description: S/antos has a bad cold on her day off and is frustrated to find that she is, in fact, lonely without W/hitaker around.
CW: cold sneezes, some mess, congestion, fever, angst, caretaking, whump, mentions of loneliness.
(This is my first time really writing a fic/drabble and definitely first time posting something I’ve written so I hope to get better with practice! :))
Non-snz blogs and minors DNI!!!!
In theory, S/antos should have begun to recognize the pattern in her immune response that as soon as the adrenaline of fast paced shifts, skipped meals, and little sleep finally wore off during a few days of real rest, her body had the tendency to fail her.
Really, she thought as she laid in her bed the morning of her second day off in a row, she should have seen this coming. The cold going around the ER had forced many of her coworkers on the day shift to slow their rapid fire pace of work that they were normally so comfortable existing in. It was only a matter of time before she was also taken down by this cold from hell.
Unfortunately, she had convinced herself that she might have escaped it as she left her last shift with her four days off as a beacon glowing ahead of her. The fact that she was wrong only made her grumpier. Her throat started with a telling roughness the previous morning, and by the evening of her first day of rest, she was a sniffling, sneezing mess.
Now, she groaned as she rolled over and checked the time.
6:14am. Perfect.
She sniffled and adjusted her pillow behind her to sit up slightly, hoping to find a way to be able to breathe more easily out of her nose. Her head felt like a cinder block and she coughed lightly at the tickle buzzing deep in her sinuses.
She wondered absently if Huckleberry had come home from his farm widow’s house last night. She hadn’t heard him come in, but he could be very quiet when he wanted to be. She smirked lightly at a memory of her stumbling, bleary eyed, into their shared kitchen for a glass of water in the middle of the night and turning the light on only to find him sitting in the dark, eating crackers straight out of the box, scaring the shit out of her. He apologized like hell and she didn’t let him live it down for weeks.
An odd sense of melancholy settled in her chest as she listened to the quiet of the house around her. He probably spent the night with Amy again. Santos hadn’t seen him since he left the shift they worked together the last day before she was taken out by this cold.
“-hhiih -hiHH’ngxt-chiew…uhgh,” she stifled a sneeze that left her head pounding. She sniffled as the tickled reared again, unrelieved by her restrained release. “-hihh…-hIH -itscHIW- haaTCSIIEW -hiiihCHIEW! *snrfff*.”
She groaned again and closed her eyes. Maybe she could sleep a bit more. Despite her fit of sneezes, she still felt a tickle lingering under her congestion. She grabbed a tissue off of her nightstand and blew to try and relieve it.
Closing her eyes once more, she wrapped her duvet closer around herself as a chill swept down her body. She wished she had grabbed some cold meds from the break room in the ER. She didn’t think there were any around…maybe in the back of the kitchen cabinet if she could just find the energy to get herself up to look.
If Huckleberry caught this he’d probably die. She thought to herself. But a part of her hoped he did catch it, and maybe he would come home from Amy’s to get some sleep in his own bed.
“Oh jeez, you don’t look so good…” he would probably say when he saw her. “Did you get that cold too??”
“Damn Dr. Whitaker how did you deduce that one??” She would snap back and roll her eyes.
And then they would probably sit together on the couch watching trash reality tv together, order soup and make fun of the dumb contestants and their silly little scripted problems all afternoon.
“haTSHEW! itchIEW! -hihhH -hiH” she waited for the last sneeze to come with her head tipped back, mouth open and pink nostrils flaring slightly. She took a shaky inhale and hitched and hitched, “hiiHhh…hihHH…HITCHIEW!” Finally.
Maybe she should text Huckleberry and check to see if he did catch this too. But no…she would let him be. If he did catch it Amy would probably love to coo over him for a few days.
And I’ll just stay here, sick as a dog, by myself. She thought bitterly. She was used to it. Despite the last few months of unlikely friendship with Whitaker, she was used to relying on herself. But she couldn’t help but feel a sense of longing to have his annoying ass around when she felt so terrible, even just to go get her some cold meds from the drugstore.
Another shiver wracked her. She definitely had a fever.
Despite herself, she let out a little whimper as she sniffled and another tickle wound its way through her nose. “hATChiew! -hiiHH-chIEW! -hiHH! itcHU!” she sighed and snuggled deeper into the bed.
Slowly, sleep blissfully started to take her.
****
She woke again later with a pounding head.
9:47am.
Although she was still wrapped in her blankets and hoodie, her teeth chattered and rounds of shivers felt like they were running through her bones. Okay, really time to go find some meds now.
Pulling a soft throw blanket from the end of her bed and wrapping it around her shoulders, she dragged herself into a seated position.
Her nose twitched in protest and she breathed a shaky inhale “hiiHdshIEW! -schIEW! hih…hitchIEw..uhhh.”
Santos sniffled and got to her feet, wobbling slightly on her way out of her room and through the small apartment to the kitchen.
Dialed in on the cabinet she suspected had some cold meds lurking in the back, and wanting to get herself back to bed as quickly as possible, she jumped when she heard a voice from behind her.
”Uhh hey, you good?”
She whirled around, and regretted it instantly as a wave of dizziness clouded the corners of her vision and she wobbled slightly.
Whitaker jumped forward and gently steadied her by her arms. “Woahhh there. I see…not so good” he took in her appearance in with a grim look and a wince. “Bad cold eh?”
“N’do gendius, I’mb feeling fandtastic” she replied, but her rasp and heavy congestion took away some of the bite of her words. She coughed lightly into her fist, sniffled, and moved away from her roommate to go back to searching for meds.
“Looking for these?” Huckleberry asked and she looked back to see him holding a new pack of cold and flu meds out to her.
She nodded and took them from him, actually looking at his face and noticing slightly more darkness bagging under his usually tired eyes, and a redness to the edges of his nose.
“Ahh so Am’by didn’dt wan’dt you sticking around to spread the plague?” She asked him as wryly as her current state could allow.
“Ah no, I just thought I’d get out of their hair in case I passed it along…I don’t think it’s hit me as hard as you though” he sniffed lightly and looked at her with an edge of concern around his eyes. “Have you taken your temperature?”
Santos rolled her eyes again and cringed as she swallowed down a dose of cold medicine. Was she really missing him earlier? Of course he would come home and immediately start mother-henning her.
“Im’b a Doctor, Huckleberry, I don’dt need you t-hiihh-“ she was cut off as her nostrils flared. “hiihH- hiT’ngxt! Ngtxh! hitNGXT-CHIEW!” The sneezes sounded painful and she and Huckleberry both winced.
“Hey…okay, why don’t you go sit on the couch and I’ll order some soup for us?” Whitaker took out his phone and gazed over at her expectantly.
Santos grumbled but didn’t argue as she made her way over to the couch and curled up with her blanket.
“Chicken noodle or hot and sour?” Huckleberry called from the kitchen.
Santos felt a smile tug on her lips and though she still felt like crap, her heart felt a little lighter.
Quifrey catching an awfully messy cold and trying to hide it because he doesn't want it to spread... but Olly catching said cold while taking care of sick Quifrey
✦ hiiii !!!!! anon!!!!!! i want u to know that this hasnt left my brain from the moment you sent it. this is the first thing ive finished in so long. i wish it was longer and had more snz, but im so rusty T_T pls enjoy!!!!
Qifrey knows Olruggio. Knows almost everything, after years of being together, his tells and behaviors, and he loves it, aside from when it goes the other way around. Olruggio isn't easily decieved by him, no matter what he tries. Qifrey can tell from the sideways look he gets at breakfast while he’s resisting the urge to cradle his head in his hands.
He had woken up late after turning in early, exhaustion seemingly triggered by the rain that had been pelting the atelier for a few days now, making his head throb. Upon waking up that morning, he realized it was only actually accentuating an existing pain, starting under his eyes and working its way into his temples. He had scrambled up to find the girls already awake, and came up with some flimsy excuse that none of them bought. It's his own fault for having such smart apprentices, but he would appreciate it if they gave him some slack.
As is his usual luck, it's one of the few days Olruggio is awake before noon. While Qifrey struggles not to slump against the wall of their kitchen as his apprentices eat their breakfast in the other room, easily entertained by their own ideas, thank goodness, because Qifrey’s throat feels thick and the vibration of his own voice echoes through his head in sharp pains, Olruggio staggers downstairs and into the room, likely in search of coffee. His hair is mussed, and he's still blinking away sleep, but when his eyes lock with Qifrey’s they hesitate for a moment too long.
Qifrey tries to smile, but it makes Olruggio’s brows furrow, so he just turns away to gently wipe his nose against his wrist. He’s been caught like always. It’d be easier to hold up the facade if Olruggio didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, because he just feels guilty lying to him. He sighs with defeat when Olruggio leans against the counter and levels him with a stern look.
“You look awful.” Olruggio says, voice still rough. Qifrey sniffles again, nose irritated by the steam wafting off the bowls of oatmeal in front of him, feeling all too much like he's advertising his symptoms. “I’m quite alright.” He says, and his voice is just as congested as he feared it would be. How embarrassing he is. “Just a cold.”
Olruggio huffs, leaning over to gruffly force a hand against Qifrey’s forehead that he's a bit too unsteady to dodge. “Jus’ a cold.” He murmurs. “You’re awfully warm for that.” Qifrey smiles again, suddenly finding his nose itchy. He pushes olruggio’s hand away, not unkindly, and steps back a bit to create space, waving a halfhearted hand in front of his face. “Not at all,” He can’t help the wince that comes across his face, the feeling aggravating both his sinus’ and his headache. “I’m merely warm from bearing near the stove. I’m in a fine state to-” has to pause to press a knuckle against his nose, which ends up having the opposite effect. The itch crescendos, so he has to whip around in an attempt to protect Olruggio from the worst of his symptoms.
“ ‘chT-!" he has to pause for a moment, curled over into his wrist, until his vision returns from static and he can feel anything but the thundering pulsing of his own skull. After a few deep breaths, he manages to straighten up and almost-look Olruggio in the eye. He looks annoyed, but not in the way he does when dealing with frustrating clients or mental blocks. He looks, frustrated, almost, closer to when their girls stubbornly refuse rest, or even Qifrey, sometimes. It's not a look he likes very much when it's placed onto himself.
“Go to bed.” Never one to mince his words, Olruggio tells him flat out. “You’re going to fall over.” Qifrey was perfectly able to come to that conclusion himself, because there is still grey towards the corners of his vision, and his legs are starting to get suspiciously shaky. It's not something his lovely Olruggio should be seeing, though. Having his own weakness thrown back at him sparks an age-old defensiveness every time, like a cat backed into a corner. He sort of wants to snarl.
“The girls need a master present.” He grits out instead between clenched teeth. Olurggio sighs, looking worn already, drags a hand down his face. “I’ll watch ‘em. I’m basically their master already.” He makes a shoo-ing motion. “Go off to bed before they start worryin’.” It's a bit lowbrow to bring them into this, but Qifrey can’t argue it, no matter how much his skin is prickling with desire to fight back. He sniffles against the back of his hand again instead of replying, starting to stumble his way upstairs to his chambers. Olruggio’s shoulders are tense as he passes, and his eyes look even more tired than normal, even though he doesn’t have any upcoming deadlines that he’s heard about. Not that he's been a good listener these past few days.
••●━━━ 𖤓 ━━━●••
His room is dark when he wakes up. Intentionally, surely, because he had been too tired to bother closing his own blinds when he collapsed against his bed, had fallen asleep with his head buried into the pillow to try to drown the light out. There’s only one person that would be in here, so he squints against the dark shapes, ignoring the way it makes him ache, and can vaguely make out a dark robe.
Olruggio must be focused, or else he would’ve noticed. Qifrey takes his time getting up, for no reason relating to the way the world spins and heady pressure shifts in his face, tries to study Olruggio. There's the faint scratching of a quill, and Oruggio's posture seems stiffer than usual, like he's focused. Once Olruggio sniffles a few times, unconsciously, because his nose has started running since he lifted his head up, Olruggio looks up at him.
“Mornin’.” He says, voice soft like he knows. “Want a light on?” Qifrey feels his face pull into a frown. “Why not just open the blinds? Natural light is always better.” According to Beldaruit, anyway, who liked to preach on the importance of nature at random turns. Olruggio opens his mouth, then shakes his head like he’s thinking better of something. “It’s the middle of the night, Qifrey.” Is all he says, quill taping an anxious rhythm against his paper.
Qifrey sits up in a frantic motion, almost tipping over in the process. He has to grip the sheets hard and pant for a second, the whole world consisting of spinning shapes and his heartbeat in his skull. He sniffles again, uselessly, and Olruggio shifts around for a moment before handing him a grey handkerchief.
The gentle touch of fabric against his nose sets him off almost immediately. He barely has time to take in a breath before twitching. “ ‘dszhh-!” The shifting of congestion in his nose makes the itch reignite before he manages to catch his breath. He watches Oruggio's gaze as his breath wavers, on the edge, until he's finally set free. “ ‘dSZh - eH’dTZh!” thick and so unlike his usual sneezes, they hurt his throat.
“Bless.” Qifrey hums in response. He doesn’t trust his ability to talk. He's sick of this song and dance with Olruggio. Tired of pretending, tired of everything. He's exhausted, aching, and feels trapped in this room.
“You’ve got a fever.” Oruggio says, startling him out of his fervor. His hands are gripped in the sheets, handkerchief still in hand. He avoids Olruggio’s eyes. “Nothin’ bad, you’re not too warm.” Qifrey sniffles again, pathetically, clears his throat into his shoulder. He’s so foggy-minded. “Okay.” he murmurs. “Thank you, Olruggio.”
Olruggio doesn’t say anything, for a few minutes. Long enough that Qifrey nearly starts nodding off, lulled to sleep by rhythmic noises of anxiety. His quill never stops its tapping, probably bleeding through the paper and onto his sheets. Neither of them mention it.
“Can I just take care of you, for once?” Qifrey finally meets his eyes, through his half closed eyes. He looks more ragged than usual, accentuated by the dark shadows of his room. Qifrey wants to ask him when he last got a good night's rest, when his next commissions are due, when the last time he checked up on the girls is. Wants to ask if Richeh ate much dinner, if Tetia is too hyper without enough to do today, if Aggott even looked up from her studies once. He does none of this.
Instead, he sighs. “Will you take no for an answer?” he tries, to Olruggio's scoff. “Do you ever?” Qifrey can’t help but feel a little guilty at that, sinking back into the bed sheets with flushed cheeks. Olruggio stands, groaning, like he had been sitting there for a while. He shuffles across Qifrey’s room to his desk, full of books and scattered sheets of paper. There’s a bowl on it, and Olruggio takes it before returning to his chair heavily. He reaches out the bowl, full of cool oatmeal, until Qifrey begrudgingly takes it, is slow to release it like he is worried Qifrey will drop it. It lays heavy in his lap. He sets it aside, despite Olruggio's look, and neither of them mention it.
Olruggio shuffles around a little more and pulls a few snugstones out of his pocket. He sets them around Qifery’s form in the blanket, and they’re too warm, but he doesn’t have the heart to say anything with Olruggio’s thoughtfulness. He closes his eyes, too tired to keep whatever it is they have going, and lifts a corner of the blanket. “Come in here, then. You look tired.”
Olruggio gives him a long look, and Qifrey’s worried the fever got to him for a second. But then he stands from his chair, slides into bed without complaint. Their bodies are so close, and wife's aflame. He falls asleep burning.
••●━━━ 𖤓 ━━━●••
Qifrey feels disoriented when he wakes up. He can’t find anything that could have startled him awake, and he hadn’t had a nightmare. He stares at the dark ceiling for a few moments, trying to get his bearings, until he’s startled by a sudden “ ‘rSZCHh!”, and the previous hours start to drift back to him.
“Bless you..” Qifrey murmurs, voice surprisingly present. He must have passed the worst of it, finally. “Are you okay?”
Olruggio makes a thick, snuffling sound somewhere to his left. The bed is still warm, so he must have just gotten up. “Yeah,” he says, and then it’s quiet for a few moments until the floor creaks with his return. “I didn’t mean to wake ya.” He says, voice more rasped then it usually is when he wakes up, nuzzling back into Qifrey. He falls back asleep quickly, but he tosses and turns uncharacteristically. It eats at Qifrey, keeps him awake.
It’s likely sometime after sunrise when Olruggio starts to stir again. He never really settled, and at some point Qifrey stopped trying to help him for fear of waking him up, so his limbs are knotted in the quilts. He doesn’t seem to notice, blinking slowly at Qifrey. “Good morning,” he tries, with a smile. Olruggio doesn’t say anything, just buries his head back against Qifrey’s chest and takes a slow, congested breath through his nose. Qifrey’s heart hurts.
They stay like that for a while. Qifrey doesn’t want to move him, but his nose starts to itch at some point, and despite his fight he ends up jostling him with a sharp movement. “h’TShh-! ‘tSZhih!”
Olly startles up, probably having been half asleep. Qifrey wants to apologize, but his nose isn’t satisfied, so he holds a placating hand and shields his mouth against his other one as he sneezes once again. Finally, he falls back against the pillow, pushing Olruggio back against his chest with a gentle hand. Olruggio doesn’t say anything for a long while, and when he does speak it's rough and painful sounding.
“I think we’ll both be stuck in here for awhile,” he says, and there’s nothing saying he’s mad at Qifrey for it but he can’t help but feel so guilty, especially when Olruggio’s so busy. “Somebody’s got to tell the girls.” Qifrey hums, allows himself the pleasure of running one brief hand through Olruggio’s messed up hair.
“I’ll do it.” He says, without making any move to get up. “I think I may be better off than you are, now.” Olruggio huffs at that. He doesn’t want to move, feeling kind of like Olruggio is a cat that won’t come back if he moves even the slightest bit. But he can hear birds, faintly, and the floor above him is starting to creak with life as his girls start to stir. No matter what he wants, he can’t leave them entirely alone.
So he gets up, and Olruggio watches him leave with droopy eyes, and he smiles at the girls as they trickle in, passing off his own stuffiness as just a bit of allergies. When he serves their bowls, he finds himself suddenly famished, so he ends up scarfing down a bowl in the kitchen while they eat in the other room. Their quiet chatter is so warm, but the light in the kitchen spills out from the windows. His head aches. He has to bid his girls farewell, instructing them to learn on their own for a second day, and return to his room with an orange and paring knife.
Olruggio makes no move to sit up from where he’s sprawled out in his absence, so he sits himself at the edge of the bed. “Are they doing alright?” He mumbles into the bedsheets. “Of course,” he replies, choosing not to tease him for his worrying this time. “They’re a bit concerned, though.” Olruggio hums. “Too smart for their own good.”
Qifrey has to stifle his laugh. “I brought you food,” he says, holding up the orange even though Olruggio can’t see it. Fruit doesn’t count as a meal, really, but Olruggio tends to get upset stomachs when he doesn’t feel well, so he’s hoping it's good enough. Olly groans into the mattress, but he eventually shifts around until he’s sort of sitting up. His face looks pinched, and it isn’t long before he’s muffling a heavy sneeze into his elbow. “ h’rRSZhh-iuh!”
“Bless you,” Qifrey says, and Olruggio makes a lazy flapping motion with his free hand before gasping again. “ ‘rRSCHhh’iuh!”
“Bless you,” Qifrey says again, because he can’t help it. Olruggio’s face is flushed when he comes up, expression still pinched looking. He grumbles something inaudible. Qifrey hands him slices of fruit as a peace offering. Olruggio takes it with a steady hand, holds it hesitatingly near his mouth before starting to eat. Qifrey feeds him slices until he eats them all.
Hey! You're a really great writer, your prompts are so fire ~~ can we get some more contagion scenarios?
thanks! and sure! and this really is way longer than i intended it to get and its very long and messy but here you go:
character A has the kind of cold people go to the doctor for. they come in to work/lecture/whatever with an entire box of tissues under one arm, breathing through their mouth, nostrils so raw theyre peeling, bags under their eyes, clearly feeling like death warmed over. they’ve had this bug for a few days, and to their credit they haven’t missed anything important as it’s progressed from a twinge in the back of their throat to now, but it’s gotten to the point where they can’t do anything even if they try. theyre wearing a coat and scarf indoors, they’re constantly sniffling and sneezing and coughing and blowing their nose, and they look like they’re about to fall asleep right where they’re sitting.
a half an hour passes. they’re trying to be quiet, they really, really are, but they’re so sick. it pulls on character B’s heartstrings. they didn’t think this bug would get this bad.
“I…snxxt, guh. I’b cadchig a bid of a code,” they say when B gets up and comes over to them. their voice is wrecked, too, more from the constant sneezing and the clogging of their sinuses than the tiny cough they’re starting to develop. as they stand there, A takes another tissue and tries fruitlessly to clear some of the thick congestion from their head, soaking the tissue and still leaving them hopelessly stuffed.
“It looks like you’ve already caught one,” says character B. A coughs. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
“I’b fide,” they insist.
“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like you’re about to keel over.”
character A goes to respond and sneezes into a tissue wad instead, then tries again to blow their nose as quietly as possible. they heave a sigh through their cracked lips and agree instead.
B didn’t realize how much A was stifling their sneezes trying to be quiet. now that they’re outside, it’s clear that A is exhausted, that they’ve been up all night with this virus, which B is almost certain is the one that’s been going around; A could have picked it up any number of places. A themselves is kind of at the end of their rope, but the sneezes keep coming, and they just kind of heave out, like their body is trying to get rid of as much germ-ridden snot as possible. they’re so tired that although they might have a hitch or two to prepare, they don’t always cover it all the way.
“You really can’t seem to catch a break with this, can you?” B says.
“Whad?”
“Your cold.”
“Oh…” they press their current tissue wad around their nostrils and give an absolutely miserable-sounding nose blow, then clear their throat and sniffle, stuffing the used tissues into their pocket with the others. “…yeah, I’b…huhhh…” their nostrils flare, their eyelids flutter, and they heave the sneezes out before they have time to cover it: “…huhuh…huSHOOOooo…hushHHhhuh…huh…hehSHOOo…” B feels some of the spray hit their arm as A sniffles wetly and digs another couple tissues out of the box. “snxxt…I’b really nodd feelig well.”
the response is listless for them. they sniffle again. A would pull their scarf up against the cold wind, but they know it won’t be long until it’s buried in another handful of tissues. “I can tell,” B says. “You should really call in for a couple days. I think you’ve got something really nasty.” And you don’t want to make this any worse, they think, looking at the wads of soaked tissues stuffed in both their pockets.
another wet sniffle. “I’ll be feelig bedder domborrow. I jusd deed do lay downd for a bid, I thig…”
A wastes no time getting into bed when they get to their apartment. they change into something comfortable and collapse onto the mattress with the tissue box, and B can tell they really were up all night just from the overflowing wastebasket next to their bed and how the pillows are arranged to prop them up. A doesn’t seem to care much about B being there, but they’re also close to being asleep by the time B finds a thermometer to put in their mouth. when it beeps, they lean in to get it, and the movement tickles A’s already sore and sensitive nose.
“…huSHHOooo…”
they heave a splattering of snot onto B’s upper arm and chest, with some spray hitting their face. the thermometer is reading 101.2. A fumbles for the tissues as gunk starts to leak from their nostrils despite their sniffling. “Ib…Ib sorry, id jusd caughd be off guh–huh, huharEESSsshh…” another one, this one half caught in the tissues, half onto B’s face. A sniffles thickly and goes for the tissue box again.
between the confirmation of a fever and the spray, followed by another stuffy and exhausted apology from A as they lean miserably back on the pillows, B knows there’s a chance they’re going to catch this. if A caught this from like, god, a doorknob or something, getting sprayed directly pretty much guarantees it, but damn if B isn’t going to fight it every step of the way; A looks horrible, like genuinely-terribly-ill awful. this isn’t something they would want to catch.
that night, B has successfully put A is in a cold medicine induced coma in bed, and they’re definitely going to have to call in sick another day; their cough is getting worse now, they still have a fever, and although the meds have loosened up their congestion enough to get a few hours of sleep B is skeptical of their ability to do much of anything. meanwhile, B is getting the first tickles of a sore throat; that’s faster than they thought the virus would start affecting them, but it’s also clearly a bad virus.
they decide they need to leave A’s germ den and go home, and, after checking on A one last time, start off in the cold, which is worse than when they got there; by the time they get home, their nose is streaming, and they rip open a fresh box of tissues and start chugging tea and orange juice, but their throat worsens within a matter of hours. by midnight they’re having their first drippy sniffles. they fall into bed, deciding to sleep it off.
they wake up with it definitely setting up shop feeling thick and heavy in their sinuses, which means they’re definitely catching something. B considers; if A is laid up sick with this bug and B is clearly starting to come down with it (their head hurts, their throat aches, and their nose is starting to go pink from tissue abuse), maybe it would be best to stay quarantined at home. keep anybody else from getting sick. sure, it was just a cold, but it’s cold outside, and their bed is so warm…
but they decide to go out and go to class/work. they stuff their pockets with tissues from the box and head off, and by noon, B is really not feeling so hot. they can tell for sure that they’re catching whatever A has by just how bad all the symptoms are and how fast they start to hit: their throat is so irritatingly scratchy and achy it feels like sandpaper, they’re having to sniffle every few seconds to keep everything in, and overall they just feel bleh, head aching, exhausted. A is absent, thankfully; yesterday probably brought them to their senses about how sick they actually are, and that cough was really not sounding great. meanwhile, B is stuck reusing old tissues from what they grabbed this morning, and is starting to sound miserably stuffed. they can see why A brought a full box with them.
character C notices their constant sniffling and nose blowing, and goes over to check on them during a lull in the day. their nose is turning bright red, they’re breathing through their mouth, and although they don’t look at sound as bad as A did, they certainly look like they’re one bad night from getting there.
C asks if they’re okay.
“Well, to be hondest,” they say, their voice starting to get a clogged, nasally sound to it, “I’b notd feeling very weh…hehh…” the hitches come hard and fast, and the sneeze rockets up their throat and through their sinuses before they can stop it: “hehTISHOO!”
the spray goes directly into C’s face and rains down around them. B groans and mops their nose with a wad of damp kleenax. “Oh by god, Ib so sorry,” they say, “A was really nodd feelig well yesderday, I thing they mighd have gibben be their code…”
Hello everyone!! I had the absolute PLEASURE of doing a collab with the wonderful @hachiibun who did the visuals for my very first wav here on Tumblr! I plan on making a few more like this, so gen/shin wlw enjoyers, drink your juice! All voices are done by yours truly!
uh oh. i got caught in the rain in just my little croptop and got soaked through, even my tissues and handkerchief are sodden! i hope these sneezes don't mean i'm catching a cold...
I have sneezed my way out of my cold, but here’s me a few days ago, super congested, trying desperately to sneeze. I ended up using my topsy tail, and got a bit of relief! 🤧🤧🤧
You know the drill. She has a terrible head cold and blowing through tissue after tissue. Her sneezes are thick and wet. Down to the last tissue and after three or four stifles, it’s reduced to a shredded damp pile of pulp in her hand.
But another sneeze is working down from the sinus into her left nostril… what to do?
She reaches for the soaking wet remnants of a tissue, brings it up to her nose, head goes back and immediately sneezes hard with a huge honk right into what remains. There’s no time and the force is too great. She just lets out a full honking l, snot filled blow into the torn tissue. It fails!
Snot has gurgled up the sides of the tissue and her nostrils, soaking her nose thoroughly in green goop.
…oh no! another sneeze is on the way… She has no choice - drops the tissue and just sneezes hard into her hand, letting loose a full blow as soon as she stifles between her two fingers and thumb.
… then the mad dash to the bathroom to clean the mess before another sneeze takes hold. “Hey Out of the way - Sdotty bess bakig way - ahhhh ahhh chhhhhoooompppph - too late Sdiff Sdiff “.
“Hi, darli’g… umb… *sndrff!* I uh, *grmm!* I hope you’ve beed havi’g a good day. *snff!*
hh’I just wadted… to, ub… … *hsddrff* Oh, I just wadted- hihHH?? uUD’TSCHhiuh!!’tTDSCHHh-!! *snngk!* … Ugh, I… wadted to ask how… h-how you’re feeli’g, cuz- ihH-? aAAESSCHHIOO-!!!
… Sorry. *gsdf* Uh, I thigk I’ve cobe dowd with sobethi’g… dot dice. A’d… I just wadted to ward you. *sdrff* Id case. Sorry. But, it was great seei’g you… *sddrff* hoo… *sdrf!*
Ub, yeah. Have sobe vitabid C, if- if you cahh’d-AAASSCHHhioo!!! *sddrfh! ahemm!* ‘Scuse be, wow.
Ah. *sngk!* Sorry. Ub. Call be whed you get this. Bye.”
a request for anon for a cozy cold aesthetic sneezing fit (made using chhinkni since the anon said that was fine and also i'm too bust to catch a cold right now!)
For the messy ideas post, what about someone with a messy cold who runs out of tissues and instead of getting up for a another box uses their blanket as a tissue and their pillow as a scratching post for their oh so tickly nose-
Aw poor thing snuffling wetly in their bed, wriggling their nose around before rubbing it against their pillow. They're surrounded by over used tissues and blankets up to their chin from chills. Its awful their nose is dreadfully full and there's no more tissues left and every time they think about getting out of bed their body shudders and aches.
But its only a moment before that horrid tickle comes back, well it never left, its been lying in wait just to ambush them. With barely a few seconds, they yank the blanket to their face and let out a sneeze they know just from the heavy rush of snot from their nose is going to make a mess of this blanket.
But its oh so soft, cradles their poor aching cold filled nose just right, and they've got no time as another sneeze wrenches their body forwards sending another gush of snot from both quivering nostrils. they feel the section of blanket becoming damp but its more absorbent than anything else they've got.
And there's no time for debate as one last sneeze heaves them forwards again. A full splatter of their cold filling the pocket of soft material in hand, oh well might as well blow their nose.
someone snniffling and snorting all day to try and keep their runny nose in check.
the sound is getting thicker and thicker sounding, almost soupy
until their nose is utterly full and it finally demands compensation.
the sneeze that happens is the messiest thing ever, its everywhere and the its not just one sneeze so their nose is forcing all the snot out with desperation
noseblows that come immediately after a sneeze in hopes of getting a productive blow in from the brief loosening of congestion that comes with a sneeze
a glistening philtrum from a persistent runny nose
a nose that runs thick. snot creeping out the entrance of the nostril but not thin enough to completely run out past the entrance
the squelchy crunch and clicking of a runny nose being rubbed only to cover their fingers in a cool sheen from whatever was in their nose leaking out
noseblows that are deep and bassy with how productive they are, leaving the tissue or handkerchief visibly fuller and plumper with snot
sneezes that heave snot out, not strong enough to have it spray out the nose, having globs hang off their nose that threaten to fall off with every sneeze
snot that pours out of a nose in waves with each sneeze running warm and plenty over an upper lip
wet sneezes into cupped hands/pinched fingers that seep through gaps between fingers
Consider the concept of a casual, pants-free society in which people get colds in the dick/pussy.
CW: veeeeery NSFW, contagion, mess, casual public sexuality in a world where that’s considered normal
Cum shoots across the floor, followed by a soft moan. “Bless you!” “Thanks. Sorry, I think I must be coming down with something.”
Someone grabs a tissue and blows their cold-filled cock/pussy. It’s bright red from being rubbed with tissues so many times. “Ugh…I’m so congested.”
Two people having a conversation, while one’s dick is twitching and throbbing as they try to hold back. Suddenly, it “sneezes” all over the other one, which stiffens instantly. “Oh god, I think you just gave me your cold…”
Inducing a few orgasms to help with the congestion.
Someone standing at a bus stop on a cold day, soaking wet, shivering through orgasm after orgasm as they nurse their freshly caught cold.
A cock/pussy dripping and sniffling so much that everyone realizes the person is sick no matter how much they may claim to be fine.
At work: “You’ve been coming all day, poor thing. We can all tell you’re sick. Go ahead and take the day off.”
A person with a cold giving a lecture and spraying all over the front row. “Seriously? Cover!” “My apologies.” They stuff a handkerchief between their legs just in time to catch the next orgasm.
A contagious person wearing a “mask” (underpants) as a courtesy. It’s absolutely soaked.
Someone having a fit of ten orgasms in the middle of the grocery store. They glance around them sheepishly. “Sorry. Once I start coming, I just can’t stop.”
A person lying in bed, sick and feverish, taking a much needed rest day. The blankets are wrapped around their shoulders and some nice, comforting porn is playing on the TV. They jerk off into tissue after tissue.
I have been inundated with Jayvik stuff on social media and just felt like I had to write something. This may be a multi-part AU fic of Jayce (graduate student of Piltover Academy) falling in love with a cold-ridden Viktor (also a graduate student of Piltover Academy) after fate brings them together as roommates.
Slight NSFW in this one! (Jayce gets a boner and does something ab it)
Also not sure why I'm calling it Vodka Cranberry, other than the song Vodka Cranberry by Conan Gray was stuck in my head while writing this, so there you go :)
It isn’t Jayce’s alarm that wakes him up that morning, nor the sun streaming through the windows of Jayce and Viktor’s shared dorm room.
No, it’s the sound of a wet, laboured, poorly stifled sneeze–
“hh...-hhih…HhiGXxngt-shhhh…! sNdFf!”
– with a congested sniffle on the tailend. Then, a few short, sputtery coughs, like Viktor’s lungs are trying to decide if they want to fully commit to clearing themselves out yet.
Apparently, they do, because the coughs grow stronger until he’s finally had the good sense to get up, hobble out of the room, and hide himself away in their ensuite bathroom.
The light clicks on. The coughs shiver off into little throat clearings, and then–
“hIIIiiSCHhZyIEW!!”
Sharp. Punctual. Louder. Viktor curses in Czech – Sakra, he is always muttering Sakra at Jayce whenever he leaves his socks laying around – and blows his nose.
Jayce rolls over in bed. He swallows. Takes a deep breath. The blankets over him are undisturbed, save for the growing tent around his hips.
And that’s weird, because he hasn’t woken up with a boner since he broke up with Mel – hasn’t even felt horny at all since her, really, but something about the sound of Viktor hitching in the bathroom is making him feel like he’s slowly losing touch with reality.
It’s the third sneeze – “hZ’hhCHhhh’ih!” – that makes him push himself out of bed, put on his flip flops, grab his towel from where he left it hanging on his bedpost, and rush off to the boy’s dormitory bathroom. He doesn’t even bother taking any soap (he can’t, anyway, with Viktor in their bathroom).
As soon as he turns the water on and the warm rivulets start running down his muscled chest, he comes to realise a couple of things. The first: in the two weeks since he started rooming with Viktor after a fire burnt down one of the graduate student dormitories (no one was hurt, thank god, but some students had to concede to taking on a roommate to house the newly displaced students – Viktor being one of them), he hasn’t heard Viktor sneeze. Hasn’t heard Viktor say anything much at all, really, because Viktor is always in his lab with Dr. Heimerdinger, and if he is speaking to Jayce, it’s usually to ask him to pick up after himself, or turn off the light so he can sleep.
The second thing he realises: Viktor has a cold. Jayce finds his palm closing around his cock without really meaning to. He hasn’t seen Viktor in two days. He’s probably been spending nights in the lab, so Jayce wouldn’t have had any indication that his roommate was coming down with a cold. Would he have noticed? Would there have been any subtle change in Viktor – his voice, his behaviour? Maybe he would have noticed tissues poking out of his pocket, or him drinking more than usual, or swapping coffee for tea. Or maybe Viktor was the type to not know he was coming down with a cold until it was too late -- and that wouldn't surprise Jayce, because he's so focused on his work and studies that he hardly seems to have time for anything else, especially something as inconvenient as a cold.
It doesn’t really take long him to cum, though he struggles to find true pleasure in it, because while his mind is trying to replay the sound of Viktor’s hitchy little breaths from five minutes ago, he finds himself thinking about Mel and her soft skin. His mind is too at war with itself to relax, and he paints the inside of his palm only half-heartedly.
He stands in the shower for a while, hoping that if he passes the time in there, maybe Viktor will have sorted himself out and will have left for the day. But when he returns to the dorm room, Viktor is sitting on his bed with a thermometer in his mouth.
Jayce thinks his heart may stop in his chest.
“Good morn’igg, Jayce,” Viktor murmurs as he pulls the thermometer from between his lips. A strand of saliva, as delicate as a spider’s web, glints in the light, then breaks when the bridge grows too far. “Apologies if I – sdnfF! wogke you up this mor’digg.”
His voice is much deeper than it usually is, and hoarse. He must be on day two of his cold at least.
“It’s– it’s no problem,” Jayce replies, moving through the room. He stumbles into his desk from having to angle himself in such a way out of Viktor’s line of sight in case he gets another boner. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I am with cold,” he says, and Jayce finds it a little funny, because Viktor is clearly translating directly in his head. But he doesn’t get to muse on it before long. “Are you all right? You’re stand’igg oddly.”
“Yeah! Yeah. Just, uh, gonna get dressed and go to the dining hall.” He picks up a rumpled shirt to change into. This is the most words he and Viktor have exchanged since he moved in. “Do you… want to come with me?”
When he turns around, halfway out of his shirt, he sees Viktor’s tired eyes trail down his bare chest before he quickly averts them. “Ndo, I better stay here. I’b ndot feeling very hungry.” He rubs the bridge of his long nose, then sniffs again and shakes his head.
Jayce feels a little disappointed but shrugs it off. Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t eat with someone who coincidentally has insanely attractive sneezes. “No worries, um, I hope you feel–”
“Hh–uh! hh’NGXT! –GXxtshHh!” Viktor sneezes again, his hand clamped around his mouth and nose like vice, but he doesn’t pull his hand away from his face. Jayce suspects it’s because he made a mess trying to stifle which does horrible things to the bottom of his stomach. Viktor's eyes stay pinched shut like it all hurt very much.
Jayce quickly backs towards the door. One, to give Viktor some privacy to clean himself up, and two, so he doesn’t risk getting hard again. “Bless you! Feel better!” he chokes out as he escapes.
As soon as the door is shut, Jayce can hear some more nose blows behind it, but he doesn’t allow himself the privilege of listening any longer. He makes a beeline for the dining hall and hopes that they’re serving soup today.
