you give me fever

30s — fever/illness kink blog; -18 DNI

[hot-with-fever]

(gif credit: @frailshivers )

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

NSFW content in the link. You have been warned. (Minors DNI and all that)

This is where my url comes from. Not written by me, but has been read by me approximately 1000 times.

Summary: Two snzfuckers are in various states of having/sharing colds, and are both greatly enjoying it.

[snzsnchillz]

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Temperature play should be about fevers and thermometers, not ice and wax.

[undercover-horn-blog]

Can barely believe I’m writing this, but my husband and I have started roleplaying caretaking scenarios with his OCs!! 🥹🥵 I always play the sick character so I can be more passive (since it’s a little weird to be acting out how HIS character would behave, if you know what I mean). We usually do it before we go to sleep at night. The scene basically ends with the characters falling asleep, and then we’ll break character, kiss each other good night and actually go to sleep.

I don’t know. It’s just so cute and makes me so happy? Plus it’s hot?! I adore his characters, and then to be “interacting” with them when he acts them out…?? So fun! And depending on which set I choose, we act out different dynamics, like really sweet or more casual or slightly teasing caretaking! 🥰

It’s honestly the best. I’m so thankful for how he, like, engages with my oddities haha

[undercover-horn-blog]

Update: We have now incorporated both fake and induced sneezing into these scenarios. Also… we no longer go to straight to sleep afterwards. 😈

@hot-with-fever Thought you might like to know haha

[hot-with-fever]

🤣😄👏 You are living the dream 😁 Thanks for the update, and many congratulations on your ridiculously enviable setup and relationship 😆😀

Again, I am so happy for you! 😊

[mimikusu]

I've been ungodly horny the past couple of weeks for something that involves mirrors, sex and a cold... and I finally decided to do something with it. I've been contemplating whether to post it here, because it's so shamefully graphic. But in the end, I couldn't resist. I put it under the cut, because I don't want to be banned and I care for my dear ace followers who can not be bothered with this! I love you and you're valid. 💕

So... queer NSFW under the cut. It was nice to draw some t!ts for a change. Hope you don't mind.

[coldsandfluff]

Still mulling over that streamer fic I talked about, but for now, here, have a one-shot little thing entirely inspired by a dream I had of a woman sneezing while riding on a bicycle with a man. Thank you, dreams!

Also, I tried to play with an omniscient POV that weaves from one character to the other, hopefully it's not too weird or annoying. I just really wanted to get a glimpse of both of their experience for this one.

Riding the storm (F/M)

It was at the top of the Ferris wheel that he noticed.

She’d tried to will the shivers away since the start of their date, to wrestle her body into stillness, but the late-autumn air had weaved its way deep within her bones with an icy touch. Up there, above the Halloween fair bathed in orange fairy lights, away from the warmth of the crowd and imposing rides blunting the wind, the night was frigid. Sharp, with an end-of-season bitterness.

When she trembled against his arm, he shrugged off his jacket and set it over her shoulders. She protested—wouldn’t he freeze?—and he only shook his head. He didn’t admit it, but he was overheating. Burning from the excitement of a first date with the gorgeous girl he’d been crushing on ever since she’d joined his friends’ group. Her intoxicating presence fogged his thoughts as if he were drunk.

“You’re not catching a cold on my watch,” he mumbled instead, freeing her long, black hair from the collar with careful fingers. She smiled, the blush high on her cheeks deepening. Her nose had turned winter-rose from the cold, and it made his heart flutter and ache at the same time.

She knew something was wrong. Not the date, which was going amazingly well. The chemistry bubbled between them as if they’d always known each other, their banter sparking bursts of laughter. No, it was the ache under her skin. The pressure behind her eyes. The fatigue weighing her limbs down as if underwater. She didn’t want the date to end, so she fed herself caramel popcorn for energy, sipped on warm apple cider to soothe her scratchy throat, and tried to ignore the chill blooming in her sinuses.

Then the rain came like the crack of a whip. They sprinted to her car for cover, but the old Buick refused to start. He looked under the hood; couldn’t find anything. Who was he kidding? He was majoring in politics, not mechanics.

“I came on my e-bike,” he said, apologetic, as if it were his fault that the clouds were pouring themselves out of the sky. His place was only ten minutes away. They could dry off and call a friend who knew more about cars than they did. Avoid the tow-truck fees neither of them could afford.

She sat sideways on the middle bar, and he climbed behind her. His tall figure enveloped her as he grabbed the handles. He hoped it would shield her from some of the rain, keep her warm.

Cars sloshed by them with river-sounds. Streetlight fractured across pooling water, illuminating the path in chaotic bursts. She shivered again, hair soaked flat. He wished the bike could go faster.

At a light, her back suddenly pressed up against him. A tiny gasp escaped her lips, and she folded forward. Instinctively, he braced her with an arm around her stomach. Her whole body shook with a sneeze that she caught in the crook of her elbow.

“EhhH—SHIEeeww!”

When she straightened, she felt the warm air of his chuckle against her cheek. His deep, gravelly voice murmured a “bless you” so close to her ear that it sent delicious shivers up her spine, rivaling the chills from her illness.

They rolled forward when the light turned green. He kept his hand loose at her ribs now, answering every sway of the bike with a counterweight, steering one-handed without making a ceremony of it. He heard the next breath building before she did, the subtle swell under his palm, the pause, the faint, desperate search for air.

Her head tipped, mouth parting on a sigh that blurred into the sneeze. “Hh—TSshiieww—” She barely caught it in her elbow before the others overtook her. Her shoulders shook, breath snagging on the edge of relief. “Eh… ii—hh—SHHhieeew!” “Hhh—TSshiieww… Eh… IIhh—SHHiieeew!”

He caught her, keeping her steady on the bike. His cheek moved against her temple as he blessed her again, concern and surprise edging his tone. She wasn’t one to sneeze often, especially not in fits. She thanked him and sniffled, a small, polite sound that told on her anyway.

At the next traffic light, he let his gut feeling overtake him. He slipped his free hand from her ribs to her forehead. His palm cradled her brow for a moment, shifting to her cheek, searching. Her skin was warm, not rain-cold. Too warm.

She melted into his touch, enveloped in his body as she perched precariously on the bike. She’d never felt like this before. Cared for. Protected. When he murmured, “We gotta get you out of the rain,” his husky voice against her hair, her whole body weakened and warmed. A soft, calming heat, the kind that comes from letting go. He’d catch her. He’d figure it out. She could finally rest.

And he did. He got her inside, and in a warm shower that steamed the chill from her bones. When she came out in his hoodie, sleeves swallowing her hands, when he towel-dried her hair and pressed medicine into her palm, when he laid her down on the couch and told her to rest, that’s when she knew.

He was the one.

And when he watched her sleep with the TV barely a murmur, her nose pink and her cheeks flushed, but her features eased at last, he realized he’d never felt like this before either. The feeling in his chest wasn’t a flutter, it was a vow. It ached when she shifted, a wanting to keep her safe and well that felt simple and absolute.

She was the one.

And he wanted to be there for her. Always.

[blooming-trees]

Y'all. I come bearing part 1 (of, according to my plan, 6) of the infamous contagion chain-fic beginning with a character watching a sneezer from a bus window. 😏 I, uh, hope you'll like it. 😳 😆 It's all female sneezers, contagion galore (well, duh!), and there will be mess in places. Also people sneezing on each other, stuff like that.

Do not reblog to non-snz blogs, please.

Comments/tags make the muse happy and when the muse is happy the words flow more easily, so if you like it do let me know every detail that you like, lmao!! Okay, here we go! 😁

A Clusterfuck Of A Cold (f, cold, CONTAGION, MESS)

One of Hanna’s favourite pastimes is people-watching, and she’s partaking in this activity while she’s sitting on the bus waiting for it to depart. A train has just rolled into the station and passengers step off, many of them heading for one of the three buses waiting over here. Hanna has already settled in, cozied up in her seat with her jacket as a comfy cocoon. It’s about an hour’s bus ride to get home, and the bus is so far pretty empty. Hopefully she’ll get to have her seat to herself, without anyone sitting next to her. She doesn’t like people sitting too close in general, but cold and flu season is in full swing and people are always dragging their colds around in public. Hanna happens to think it’s very hot to watch attractive strangers sneezing, but only as long as she’s on a safe distance from catching anything; her germaphobic tendencies may not seem to be compatible with her sneeze kink, but somehow the two exist in her brain simultaneously.

She looks at the crowd, a blur of faces, all ages, all genders, all walks of life. A trio of college-aged girls checking something on one of their phones. A woman in her mid-40s with a rather self-important energy about her, but she has a face like an angel and Hanna’s gaze lingers on her while she stops and takes out her phone from her pocket, answers a call, and just stands there, right in the way of everyone else. Hanna rolls her eyes; yeah, that self-importance was clearly not just her imagination.

Then she spots a woman walking from the train platform towards the buses, her shoulders slumped. Age-wise she looks to be on the threshold of thirty, maybe twenty-nine, maybe thirty-one, but definitely not much further in either direction. Her style is best described as ‘wintery bohemian’; loose, long, asymmetrical layers, cardigan, a knitted hat, an oversized scarf, high boots, a long dress… her hair is long and cut in a deliberately shaggy kind of way, and she wears a lot of necklaces and bracelets. But much as she has been dedicated to perfecting her style, that’s not what catches Hanna’s interest. No, what really draws her in is the compelling redness of this woman’s nose. It’s so red it’s almost like a stop signal, or perhaps a warning. Don’t come close, contagious cold on the move.

Hanna smiles to herself, enjoying the sight immensely as she imagines how many sneezes must have slipped out of that nose today for it to be so inflamed. The train that she stepped off must be teeming with her cold, how many others will catch what she has just by riding in the same carriage? How many times had she sneezed just during the train ride? Even though she gets excited thinking about these things, Hanna still hopes Bohemian Girl isn’t going to board her bus; she doubts there’s anywhere in such a small, enclosed space that’s far enough from her to be safe from catching that misery.

Her nostrils, Hanna can see all the way from her safe position behind the bus window, are chapped, and they’re flaring wide, as if there is a very stubborn tickle in there. She rubs her nose with the heel of her hand, really grinds it against the disaster area that her nose currently is, but it seems to only exacerbate the problem.

Oh yeah, she definitely looks like she’s about to sneeze, and Hanna keeps observing, drinking in every detail of her delicious pre-sneeze face.

Bohemian Girl gives up trying to rub the tickle out of her nose, and just lets her hand fall back to her side. Her eyes close, her mouth falls open and she tilts her head back a little bit before snapping forward, unleashing several sneezes, uncovered, straight into the crowd. Hanna can’t really hear what they sound like, but the sun has decided to be of service and comes out from behind the grey clouds, illuminating the spectacle from behind, and although she can’t hear what they sound like, Hanna can see how wet they are. Incredibly wet. Most of the first one engulfs Self-Important Lady, who immediately looks disgusted, so she must have felt the spray hitting her. She turns and says something, and Hanna doubts it’s anything remotely similar to ‘have a nice day’, or even ‘bless you’.

Bohemian Girl either doesn’t hear or is just too deeply immersed in her sneezy need to care, because she doesn’t even look at the other woman during the few seconds between the first sneeze and the rest of the attack about to hit.

The second and third hit College Trio, but they’re not quite as close so they might not feel the sneezes; they are busy looking at something on one of their phones. Hanna can see tiny droplets settling in their hair and on their jackets and bags, but they don’t seem to notice. They’re still laughing at something on the phone. 

After this fierce triple, Bohemian Girl wipes her nose with the palm of her hand, but if she thought that was it, she’s immediately proven wrong. The sneezy look returns to her face as she – thank God, Hanna thinks – heads towards the car park rather than the buses. Her breath is visibly hitching as she walks, and suddenly she releases a fourth and fifth sneeze, not breaking her stride. The fourth just hangs in the air, a cloud of potential illness for anyone walking through it before it’s settled, but it doesn’t hit anyone directly. The fifth sneeze on the other hand comes just as an unfortunate woman passes her, heading towards the train. It’s a striking woman in her late 30 or early 40s with light blonde hair that reaches a bit past her shoulders, glasses, and a stylish coat. Bohemian Girl’s nose surrenders to its assailing itch just as they pass each other, and she doesn’t attempt to cover this sneeze any more this time than before. Blonde Lady gets hit right in the face with the virus-laden spray, and she stops mid-step with a look of shock on her face. She turns to look at the provider of her upcoming cold, and as she turns, Hanna isn’t sure – the angle isn’t great –  but she thinks she can see droplets glistening on Blonde Lady’s glasses.

Before she can see if Blonde Lady takes them off to wipe them, or even wipe her face, the bus begins to move, and that look of shock is the last thing she sees in Blonde Lady’s face. She hasn’t even reached disgust or anger yet by the time the bus turns onto the road, making sure Hanna won’t ever know how the scene played out. That poor woman is definitely going to catch that monstruous cold, though. There is no way she’ll be able to fight off that direct hit.

Hanna is beyond grateful that she wasn’t in the spray zone for any of it.

***

Late in the evening the following day, it’s very clear that the poor woman Hanna saw indeed caught the cold she was showered with.

Félicie LeClair’s nose is tickling, it won’t stop tickling, and it’s starting to run as well.

She was fairly certain she wouldn’t escape that cold, but she did hold out hope nevertheless, a hope that’s declining with each sniffle. She is getting ready for bed when that tickle, after teasing her all day, intensifies. Leaning into the sleeve of her PJ top, she sneezes once.

Then a second time.

“Uh-oh,” Olivia says, looking up from the book she’s reading. She and Olivia have been a couple for several years now, and Olivia knows just as well as Félicie that whenever she sneezes in pairs, she is coming down with, or already has, a cold. “Sounds like you did end up catching that girl’s cold yesterday.”

“I’m not surprised,” Félicie sighs and climbs into bed. Olivia leans in for a kiss, and Félicie leans the other way, evading the affection. “I don’t want to pass it on to you, Liv.”

Olivia shrugs.

“Alright, fine.”

Then she puts her book on the bedside table, climbs up on top of the blonde and pins her arms to the mattress.

“I’m not going to sleep until I get my goodnight kiss,” she says, pressing her lips against Félicie’s. “You don’t get to keep your cooties from me like that, baby.”

Félicie smiles, but it’s a tired smile.

“I have a feeling you’re going to regret that, honey.”

“Nonsense,” Olivia brushes it off, kisses Félicie on the mouth one more time, then kisses her nose once for good measure, then she returns to her own side of the bed.

Félicie ducks into her elbow and sneezes again. Another double. She gives Olivia a pointed look.

Olivia shakes her head.

“Nope, I don’t regret kissing my girl.”

Two days later she will, when those sneezy germs have fully taken over her own body and she sneezes in fits so rapid she can hardly get a breath between, but for the time being she means what she says.

Félicie rubs her nose and sneezes again.

Twice.

***

Arriving the next morning at the pharmacy where she works, Félicie puts on the lab coat and begins to muddle through her tasks, sneezing frequently into the crook of her arm, wet, tired sneezes that are audibly full of contagion. There’s a constant itch in her nose, an itch that keeps turning into desperate, uncontrollable sneezes, coming with very little to no warning at all. She would very much prefer to stay home, but she can’t get anyone to cover her shift.

Sydney, her colleague, tries to keep the whole store between them (while trying to make it seem like a coincidence), and Félicie can’t even blame her. Unlike the woman who forced this cold on Félicie, she tries her very best to keep it to herself. She sneezes into her elbow or a tissue (if she has access to one in the critical moment), she sanitizes her hands often, but God, she’s so sneezy, sooner or late one of these outbursts is bound to take her by surprise and come out uncovered.

Usually she takes care of the transactions, but today she tries to keep as low a profile as she can, trying her best to avoid direct interactions with both customers and her colleague. She restocks shelves and moves signs and fills in order forms… but most of all she feels miserable as her head fills with congestion and her nose keeps running, the sneezes keep coming, always in twos, wetter and wetter, and she can’t deny them. 

She’s restocking the shelves with cold and flu medicine, feeling like a parody. How is the pharmacist supposed to give credible advice how to get an invading cold under control when she herself is so full of cold that it’s streaming out of her? Pathetic. She’s trying to inform customers about the best options for a stuffy and runny nose while she keeps sniffling and mouth-breathing herself. The sceptical looks that the customers give her are warranted, but they still buy the stuff.

After trying to be believable with two customers in the cold and flu aisle, she just slips away from that section so she won’t have to have any more of those humiliating conversations. She can’t even take herself seriously, advising people on how to nip their colds in the bud while trying to keep her own nose from dripping too obviously.

But moving to a different spot doesn’t change the fact that she feels awful. The prickling sensation in her nose hits her full force again and she presses her face into the crook of her arm, sneezing wetly. She has sneezed into her sleeve so many times now that the fabric is soaked through, not just the lab coat but the thin sweater she’s wearing underneath as well.

“Huhh-ptSSCHH! Snrrff… uhhNGTSCHUH!”

“Bless you,” Sydney sighs from her relatively safe spot behind the counter. “Do you want to go home? It doesn’t seem to be much of a rush today, I’m sure I can manage on my own.”

Félicie thinks so too, and she’s tempted to take her up on the offer, as much for Sydney’s sake as her own (not to mention the customers). But there’s a problem; Sydney is still technically not authorised to run the pharmacy on her own, and they can both get in trouble if Félicie agrees. So she declines, but reluctantly.

And then she sneezes again, twice in a row, coughs a little, and then sneezes twice more. Somehow her nose tickles even more than before she sneezed.

She has never had a cold this sneezy before; normally she doesn’t sneeze much with a cold at all. Always in doubles, yes, but rarely more than four sets of those, tops, on the sneeziest day. This is the second day (and it only really started last night), and she must have sneezed twice that number in just one hour. Her nose feels hot to the touch and its inside is burning, the sensation can’t even be described as a tickle anymore. She doesn’t have allergies normally, but this reminds her of that time Olivia bought a new perfume and Félicie turned out to be massively allergic to it. It was the only time she’d ever had an allergic reaction to anything and she had sneezed so much she was out of breath, snot and tears streaming down her flushed face, and Olivia staring at her in a mix of guilt, horror and sympathy. Unlike then, she isn’t sneezing in rapid fits this time, but the burning sensation that won’t let up is very similar to that experience.

When she goes to the bathroom to blow her nose and try to clean herself up a little, she is shocked at her appearance. She looks like those commercial posters they put up to advertise their cold and flu meds. Watery eyes behind glasses that are slightly fogged up from several muffled sneezes and forceful noseblows. Her nose a brilliant ruby red shade, perpetually damp right underneath her elongated, red-rubbed nostrils. It doesn’t matter if she dabs it off with a tissue, it only takes a few seconds for it to look the same. At least it isn’t running down her upper lip, but it isn’t exactly presentable. She is breathing through her mouth for most part, as her nose is so stuffed up.

As she looks at her reflection, dismayed, the wings of her nose quiver when another prickle rushes through it. She is so tired of sneezing and tries to fight it back, but her body has a will of its own and her breath starts to hitch, nostrils flaring, eyes closing… eventually she admits defeat and clasps a paper towel against her nose and mouth, herself unaware that she’s a split second too late to fully cover the first sneeze. A few droplets escapes, not much at all, but since she is still turned towards the paper towel dispenser, some of those contagious droplets land on the first paper towel. Félice doesn’t notice, she is too busy blowing her nose, and when she is finished, she doesn’t wash her hands with soap, she rubs some alco gel into them instead. Lots of it, in fact. And she also wipes off the door handle with disinfectant wipes when she leaves. It is all done in a well-meaning way; she doesn’t want to touch the faucet or soap dispenser, trying to spare Sydney from touching the same things Félice has touched, but even if the faucet and sink were clean, and her hands sanitized and the door handle wiped, next time Sydney goes to the bathroom she will wash her hands with the soap, then wipe them with the paper towels. And the first paper towel she’d touch has been sneezed on. Félice hasn’t realised, but her germs are already out and about and ready to wreak havoc in a new host.

Sydney has placed herself at a reasonably safe distance when Félice comes back, once again trying to act like it was pure coincidence, and Félice gives her a wide berth and goes back to the shelves further down the store. Painkillers and antacids.

Her nose is burning, a deep-seated irritation that she can’t do anything to placate, and she’s in a perpetual sneezy haze, but she’s determined to fight until the end; her cold-ridden nose will have to wrestle her willpower for each and every sneeze.

“HuhhEMPSSHH! Uhh-EASSSHHUH! Oh by God… uhhh… huh-MMMPh-SSSHuh! MMMGGTSSHH!”

Her willpower has no authority over her nose anymore. The more she sneezes, the more she needs to sneeze. And she can’t stop it. It’s very much like that perfume-provoked allergy attack, actually. Only this time it’s viruses.

At this point she keeps alternating between arms to cover with, trying not to spray every sneeze into her right sleeve, but all that leads to is that both her sleeves are soaked through. She considers changing to a clean lab coat – there are a few spare ones in the back room – but what good would that do? Her sweater sleeves will still be drenched, and she’s going to soak the new lab coat through with just a few pairs of these sneezes.

She sniffles thickly, and goes back to putting stuff on the shelves.

The burning in her nose doesn’t let up.

***

When the woman approaches her, Félicie is trying to think of remedies for sneezing specifically (and coming up short), and doesn’t notice her at first. So the woman reaches out and gently touches Félice’s arm to get her attention.

Her hand rests on Félice’s right elbow, and the sneezy pharmacist feels a pang of panic when she feels the touch right where the fabric has been thoroughly sneezed and snotted on all day, but then she realises that the woman can’t feel it. And she can’t feel it because she’s wearing a pair of leather gloves. Félice relaxes, but quickly puts some distance between them.

“Vitamin D, please,” the woman says with a warm smile, “where have you hidden that?”

“Right over there,” Félicie says and points. “See?”

“Ah yes, thank you.”

This is as long as Félicie’s nose can behave, and she has to duck into the crook of her arm – away from the customer – and sneeze again.

“Bless you,” the woman says, not looking particularly worried about catching the cold that Félicie keeps ejecting into her lab coat’s sleeves, and walks away to get her purchase.

Félicie doesn’t keep track of her, but she does catch a glimpse of her by accident when the woman is at the counter ready to pay, and she winces when she sees the woman taking her gloves off to be able to pull a bill out of her wallet. It’s not that she does it that makes Félicie wince, it’s how she does it. Because she pulls the first glove off with her teeth, then remove the second with her now ungloved hand. But the glove she just bit down on, albeit only slightly, is the one on the hand she touched Félicie’s sneezed-on arm with.

When the woman heads towards the exit, she walks by Félicie again on her way out, and the pharmacist is overcome by the urge to sneeze again just as she walks by.

“Bless you, that’s a nasty cold you’ve got,” the woman says, completely unaware that she has just introduced that very cold into her own body.

“Thank you,” Félicie sighs.

The woman gets a rather self-satisfied look on her face.

“Vitamin D,” she says smugly. “Works wonders, I haven’t been sick in ten years, not since my children were in middle school.”

“I’ll think about that from now on,” Félicie says, but adding in her thoughts

Your ten-year-streak is definitely over now, ma’am. Give it a day or two, and you’ll probably be as much of a mess as I am.

Of course, she doesn’t say anything like that. But part of her would really like to see the look on this woman’s face when she realises that her precious Vitamin D has let her down for the first time in a decade. She won’t look so smug then.

***

It’s only about ten minutes later that the first fully uncovered sneeze escapes her, and it’s at a rather unfortunate moment. At least she’s not sneezing directly at someone, but she’s trying to stock the highest shelf with some rarely-used items and she’s reaching above her head with both hands when the urge to sneeze hits her. It’s so strong, there is no negotiating with it, and if she moves her arms or even her head in any direction she is probably going to knock the whole thing down on the floor instead.

It's not that she’s making a conscious decision; her body just automatically does what makes the most sense from a self-preserving perspective, and she sneezes straight ahead, right onto the shelf she’s at face-level with. And of course that’s not the only shelf that gets hit; some of the spray rains down on the shelves beneath it, too. Virtually the whole section of painkillers is now a potential biohazard.

But the items she’s balancing above her stay in place, and she finally manages to get the last ones up there, so that’s a win at least.

I don’t recommend buying painkillers from us for the next couple of days, she thinks, but of course OTC painkillers are the most sold items they have, so these will be going out soon – and her cold with them. God, she wishes she could have stayed home. 

She rubs her nose against the cuff of her lab coat and then has to press her face against it and sneeze when even this casual touch sets her off again.

“NGTSSHH! Huhhh-uh-EMPTSSHH!”

“Fél,” Sydney calls from the counter, “can you take over here for a minute?”

That’s code for ‘bathroom break’, and Félicie nods, then respectfully waits until Sydney has disappeared before she walks over there. There are only two customers in the pharmacy at this point, two young women in their early 20s, and they are browsing the hygiene products. Very few customers want any attention when they’re in that aisle, so Félicie pretends she hasn’t noticed them.

Just as she hopes she won’t have to actually ring up any customer before Sydney is back, a woman steps inside, hurriedly. She is in her early 30s, with dark hair in a messy bob cut, full lips – natural, not fillers – hazel eyes and clear features. Her nose is slender but perhaps slightly larger than average, and it’s quite upturned (the word that comes into Félicie’s head is perky; it’s a perky nose). Félicie has always wished for a nose like hers. Not that her own is ugly… well, at least not when it isn’t as red as Rudolph’s and dribbling snot… but this customer has the perfect nose in her opinion. Though to be fair, at this point, any nose that isn’t as full of sneezes as her own is a perfect nose.

The customer makes a beeline for the painkillers and grabs one from the shelf directly in the line of fire when Félicie’s nose exploded a little while ago, then she walks straight up to the counter.

You behave now, the pharmacist silently orders her nose, but she can already feel an all too familiar buzzing, tingling sensation in her sinuses.

The customer seems to either be in too much hurry to notice or simply not caring about Félicie’s very sneezy, very contagious appearance, she just hands over the painkillers to be scanned, and takes out some money from her pocket.

Félicie tells her the price, the woman hands over a bill, and Félicie is just going to hand her the change and the receipt, so close to being home free, when she sneezes. She has the change and receipt in her right hand, so she leans to her left and into her left sleeve, eyes fluttering shut as she tries to sneeze as softly as she possibly can.

“PTSSSHHuhh! MMTSSSHHHew!”

The sneezes are wet, so, so wet, but they’re contained in the crook of her arm, the usual double, muffled, germs contained as best she can. Maybe this customer will have a chance of avoiding the cold even if she bought painkillers from the contaminated shelf.

Félicie lowers her arm and turns back to the customer with an apologetic smile, reaching out to hand her the change and receipt, but before she can even react, a devious and previously unthinkable third sneeze bursts out of her, unexpected and thus uncovered, a biohazardous expulsion with an impressive reach.

“HAEESSSSHHH!”

In short, Félicie just replicated the exact action that gave her this cold in the first place, onto another unassuming person.

“Oh my God I am so, so sorry,” she says, stumbling on her words trying to apologise over and over.

The customer looks disgusted at the result of this historical moment, but still chooses to be gracious, although Félicie wouldn’t have blamed her for a second if she had decided to verbally flog her.

Instead, this woman accepts the tissues that Félicie, still apologising, offers her so she can at least wipe her face, and even makes an attempt to joke about it.

“I see, that’s how you ensure your customers return to buy more meds, is it?”

It’s evident that she feels awkward, but so does Félicie, so they both decide to try making light of this.

Félicie makes a rather good imitation of a genuine smile.

“I’m afraid it may seem that way today, I am really, really sorry.”

“Yeah… well… it wasn’t on purpose. I hope you get well soon.”

“And I hope you don’t catch it.”

They both laugh awkwardly and the customer leaves. Félicie has never felt more like an idiot in her entire life and it doesn’t matter if no one can cover her shift tomorrow. She is not coming in to work tomorrow, and that’s final.

Sydney comes back out, looking pale.

“You okay?” Félicie asks.

“Cramps just started,” Sydney groans and walks past Félicie, now preoccupied with something other than evading her co-worker’s germs. Félicie doesn’t realise where Sydney is going until she sees her at the section for pain relief, grabbing a box of Ibuprofen. Félicie looks on as Sydney opens it on the spot and dry-swallows two pills. Then she walks back to the counter and scans it, dropping a bill in the cash register. At this point Félicie has moved out of her way, but she hasn’t warned Sydney about the uncovered sneeze that went all over the counter.

What a clusterfuck of a cold this is, Félicie thinks.

Then she sneezes again.

At least this time it’s into her sleeve. And it’s the regular, hallmark Félicie head cold pattern with two in a row.

No stray third this time.

[lambys-world]

Rotating a professor with a sick fetish and a hopelessly sick student.

They're having a virtual meeting, and the student looks much rougher than usual.

Where their hair is usually vivaciously curly, it lies lifeless and unwashed. Their lips are chapped so severely that the professor can see it, even with the poor quality of the student's laptop webcam. Their nose is bright red and rubbed raw. Used tissues surround them in their bed, and they have a blanket wrapped around them. They usually dress well, but now, they appear to only be in a thick hoodie, just the barest hint of thigh at the bottom of their camera.

The professor stumbles through their notes about the student's paper, altogether halting each time the student sneezes and having to compose themself as well as bless the student.

The sneezes are progressively messier and, half the time, uncovered. The professor feels faint watching the student pull their elbow from their face with strings of snot attaching them, the sound of the culprit sneeze still ringing like a siren in their ears.

It all comes to a head when the student releases a particularly loud, productive sneeze, snot slinging onto the camera. The student moans after the sneeze, and the professor stares, cut off mid sentence, at the disrupted camera view.

Driven mad, they consider reaching below their desk before remembering that the student can still see them, even if they can't see the student.

"Sorry," the student says as they wipe their camera with their sleeve, their voice nasally. "I've been like this all week."

All the professor can imagine is being there, bathing the student, washing their hair, feeding them, taking their temperature, making them sneeze more, helping them go to the bathroom—

"So what was the note about prepositions?"

At that, the professor continues giving their feedback. They ignore the persistent throb between their legs, unaware of the mirrored pulsing need of their student.

[blooming-trees]

cw: contagion, mess

I don't know where the image came from, but I got an image in my head of a person sitting on a bus or train at the station, watching people get on or off another bus or train. And in the crowd of people, they spot one very attractive stranger who clearly has a miserable cold; in fact, the first thing they even notice is how red this person's nose is. As they watch, the stranger sneezes several times, completely uncovered, in the middle of the crowd. Our voyeur can clearly see the copious amounts of spray and how it gets on several other people around the red-nosed stranger. The sneezer wipes their nose with their hand, which they will doubtlessly touch a lot of stuff with in a minute.

The person on the bus/train doesn't have to worry about catching anything from their vantage point, but they just saw several others who definitely just caught that cold.

(now I'm honestly thinking about writing something on that... another contagion chain story maybe... 😏😅)

[lambys-world]

Thinking about deliberate contagion, as always—this time a little and their caregiver.

Caregiver, gets sick. Tries to avoid Baby, so Baby won't get sick. Baby won't leave them alone, seemingly clingier than ever. Caregiver tries to put Baby's paci in to deter them from kissing, but Baby takes it out to make out with Caregiver. When Caregiver pulls back to sneeze, Baby doesn't let them pull away, catching it with their mouth open. Caregiver starts to say something, likely a frantic apology, but Baby just kisses them again, climbing into their lap.

When Baby wakes up sniffling, Caregiver tuts, but they take care of their little one nonetheless.

[peach-plumb-pear2]

Uno reverse card

Baby who grew up being treated with disdain or ignored when sick... They've taken it upon themselves to have a stiff upper lip or hide when they feel sick even if all they want is Mama. Catching a cold and hiding it, as if Mama does not know what is going on when they slip in the bathroom to cough or blow their nose. Breaking down when Mama sounds annoyed when asking if they're sick.

Through their sobs and sniffles they're surprised to find Mama holding a tissue up to their nose and sternly, lovingly telling them to blow. Mama's cool hand on their forehead and soft clucks. A warm blanket Mama crocheted wrapped around them. They sneeze and Mama laughs gently, bringing a fresh tissue to their nose. Soon Baby's head is swimming, the emotional relief overwhelming and a wave of pleasure at getting Mama's comfort and attention washing over them. Mama wants to take care of Baby, no matter what

[ineedmysickfix]

I am a walking sicknario machine rn lol

I was on vacation for almost a week and spent so much of it either driving or walking with little sleep inbetween (plus house chores bc it was a staycation lol) and I dove right back into work today and I can’t tell if I’m getting sick or not

I had a sore throat last night and this morning but I can chalk it up to me talking and yelling a lot this week, my body is achy which I can chalk up to being in a car and walking most of the day, I’m starting to feel colder than I usually am which ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ maybe bc I live in constant foggy conditions (which I’m used to which is odd lol)

Anyways I’m gonna chug some NyQuil and sleep early and see what happens

[ineedmysickfix]

yeaaaa I’m probably sick lol here’s a list of tropey things I did:

Wake up later than I usually do, didn’t wear my glasses even tho I usually wear them 24/7, soup so much soup, eyeballed liquid medicine, begrudgingly take my dog out for her walks, said dog being worried over me and cuddling me to help, slept a lotttt, my voice is shot and I have a work meeting in a few hours so I’ll be very clockable as sick lol

[hot-with-fever]

omg “clockable as sick” is a fear of mine and yet in scenarios it’s so hottt 🥵🤒😷🤧

[hot-with-fever]

Ok so I am mainly in it for fevers BUT today I had a vision (which could, but does not require, mess and/or contagion).

Imagine someone being away on holiday. Staying at a hotel with a buffet. They have to eat there, so even though they start to feel they’re coming down with something, they go anyway.

As they’ve filled their tray with things and are moving between places, they suddenly feel a tickle in their nose. But they’re holding onto the (now quite heavy) tray, and they’ve nowhere to put it.

They have to sneeze. But they can’t put the tray down. Which means that the sneeze will be uncovered.

What on earth do they do? The spray will be all over their plate, glass, cutlery, and hands. And anything else nearby. They might try to turn to the side, but then they risk hitting something (or someone) else with the spray.

They might try to stifle, which would only hurt their poor sinuses. And in either case it might cause mess, and wouldn’t that be incredibly embarrassing among so many strangers, who would undoubtedly look. Especially if in the moment of the sneeze, something fell off the tray and made a huge clanging sound. Heads would turn. And they would see the poor sickie who’s utterly unable to contain their germs to themselves. How many poor unsuspecting other hotel guests will come down with the same illness in the days to come?

Make of this what you will

[feverfangs]

A Little Tied Up at the Moment 🤧🫡🎀 [N§FW 🔞]

[snzsnchillz]

got possessed by horniness and also remembered how to write sneezes into a fic lol. 

modern au ofmd (only because there were no thermometers in ye old pirate times, rip), technically steddyhands I suppose but it's more like Ed has two boyfriends who don't like each other lol, sex (it's like described and a major element), mess (mildly described), contagion (implied, there's no way Stede doesn't get sick later, Ed dotes on him I'm sure), canon typical swearing 

Izzy is sick and Ed needs to check his temp, too bad Izzy can't breathe through his nose. Guess they'll have to do it the other way.

as usual, thank you to @sunflowersniffles for being an amazing editor!

They’ve been trying to take Izzy’s temperature for nearly forty-five minutes. He can’t breathe through his nose, he can’t hold his breath because it sets off a coughing fit, he sneezes too frequently, and when he tried to hold the sneezes in he nearly bit through the thermometer.

“Just leave id, Edward,” Izzy groans from his nest of blankets on the couch, cursing how his congestion has dulled his consonants and reduced his voice to even more of a reedy rasp. 

Ed is furiously digging through their emergency box. It’s normally well organized, with a place for everything, unless Ed gets in it. And with Izzy sick for the last few days Ed’s been in it a lot. 

“Gotta know your temp, Izzy,” Ed mutters. He finished fishing around and has started removing everything, spreading it over the table in a way that Izzy knows Ed won't be cleaning up. “Supposed to be keeping an eye on it.”

He glances over his shoulder at Izzy. “Won’t go out if it’s too high.”

Izzy coughs wetly into his blankets. “Just go, Ed. I’mb find.”

Ed looks like he very much wants to take Izzy up on the offer, but then he frowns, brows pinching in thought. “Nah, ‘s my fault you’re sick…” Then he triumphantly holds up a box containing their analogue rectal thermometer.

It’s meant to be for emergencies. Like they ran out of batteries for the oral thermometer and one of them is delirious with a possibly brain melting fever kind of emergencies. Not Ed playing at being a good boyfriend so he can go out with a clear conscience. 

It was also meant for sexy times.

Izzy doesn’t feel sexy. He feels chilled and achy and like he wants to drink half a bottle of cold syrup and pass out on the couch so he doesn’t have to think about Ed leaving him alone to go on a date with Stede Fucking Bonnett.

Izzy narrows his eyes and slouches further down into his nest. “Fug off.” Then he sneezes for good measure.

"Come on Izzy, pants down, let's do this.” Ed’s on the verge of whining, bouncing a little as he checks the time on his phone. “Stede’s almost here.”

He pockets the mobile and sits on the couch. With cool, gentle fingertips he brushes some hair gently off Izzy’s forehead, grazing over his heated skin. It makes Izzy shiver.

“Please? Won’t be able to have any fun if I’m thinking about how your brain’s roasting.”

“Good,” mutters Izzy, but then Ed pats his lap and looks at him and Izzy finds himself dropping sideways without a single thought. 

Ed rubs his back a few times before adjusting him, positioning Izzy how he wants him across his lap, so that his ass is over Ed’s good knee. He rucks Izzy’s blankets around until he has a clear view of Izzy’s pj bottoms. “Not so bad, Iz,” he admonishes as he slips the bottoms down.

The air, cool only to feverish Izzy, hits his bare skin and has him shivering again. He makes a noncommittal but unhappy little noise as he presses his face into his folded arms. Maybe he can suffocate himself. Ed shushes him and then he hears the cap of their emergency lube being popped open. 

The only warning he gets is Ed spreading his cheeks and then a cold lubed finger is pressing at his hole. Izzy’s hips jerk forward and he whines.

“Sorry, mate, little cold, huh,” Ed chuckles. 

Izzy huffs and settles himself. Ed presses at him again and Izzy only twitches a little this time. It’s cold, yeah, but he’s also sensitive, fever hot skin prickling where Ed touches. He tries to hold still, but the urge to pull away from the sensations is strong.

“Quit wiggling, Izzy,” Ed sighs, finger circling around the tight ring of muscle.

He can’t describe it. It feels weird and different and too much, like Ed’s finger is bigger than usual or maybe like he’s using more than one finger or something that maybe isn’t a finger at all. “It.. ugh.. just… it feels… fuhh.. Fuck… hehh’eshngx! huhh-etchh!”

Izzy fumbles for the box of tissues to mop up the mess. It distracts him enough that Ed can slip his finger inside, rotating it all around to get him nice and wet.

“Feels hot inside,” Ed says, maybe talking to himself, Izzy’s not sure. He drops the used tissues on the floor as Ed shakes the thermometer down.

It’s like someone slid an ice cube up his ass and Izzy pulls away again, breath catching.

“Fuck, Izzy, calm down,” Ed growls, holding his hips firmly. “You’ve taken bigger without this much trouble.” He sounds frustrated, but when Izzy snarls a muffled ‘fuck you’ into the couch cushions he starts slowly kneading Izzy’s meager buttcheeks and making quiet noises. 

“You’re okay,” he says. “Just cranky cause you don’t feel well.” Then he twirls the thermometer, pumping it in and out of Izzy’s sensitive hole. 

Izzy whines and wiggles. “Ed… Edward… it’s not a fucking sex game.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun,” Ed chuckles and drops a finger to rub at Izzy’s perineum. 

Despite how sick he is, Izzy feels himself start to harden and he groans, pressing his face harder into the couch. His hips stutter against Ed’s leg, dick trapped by the waistband of his pjs.

He can practically hear Ed smirking.

“Okay, this stays in for five minutes.” Ed shifts around until he can pull his phone out and press the timer. Then he keeps up a steady pace of fucking Izzy with the thermometer. 

Izzy quickly loses track of time. His focus narrows down to his hips trying to match Ed’s rhythm and concentrating on taking slow breaths through his mouth. His breath catches once and Ed slips the thermometer in deeper.

“Careful Izzy, wouldn’t wanna sneeze and break it,” Ed warns, going deep enough to hit the spot that sends a jolt straight to Izzy’s dick.

He whimpers and rubs his nose against the couch cushion to quell the itch, pleasure blooming in his chest when Ed whispers ‘good boy’.

There’s a faint buzzing and Ed stops moving the thermometer.

“‘S done?” Izzy asks, blurry and wishing it wouldn’t stop.

“Not yet, couple of minutes.” Ed picks up the movement again, a little faster this time and twirling on both the out and in stroke. “That was just Stede, he’s coming up.”

The words don’t really register, not with the way Izzy’s world currently consists of his ass and his nose, until the door to their apartment clicks open.

“Hey all!” 

Stede’s rather shrill voice rings out and slams Izzy back to a rather unpleasant reality.

“Fuck!” He jerks, hips slamming into Ed’s leg, which only makes the feeling in his dick more instense. “What the fuck, Ed?”

Ed moves the hand that’s been massaging his buttcheeks up until it rests against the back of his neck, effectively holding him down. His other hand doesn’t break the pace of sliding in and out of him, like it’s no big deal.

“Izzy’s got a bit of a cold, gotta get a temp reading and then we can go,” Ed calmly explains.

“Ah,” says Stede and Izzy is both grateful that he’s facing away from the man and somewhat disappointed that he’s missing the no doubt gobsmacked look on his face.

There’s a few moments of silence before Ed squeezes the back of his neck gently. “Just another minute, Iz. Doing alright?”

“Fuck. You.” Izzy spits, making sure to over-enunciate. 

“He seems rather testy,” observes Stede. “Is he really so unwell to warrant… all this?”

“Oh yeah, Izzy couldn’t breathe the other way,” Ed explains, twirling the thermometer almost out of Izzy’s hole before plunging back in.

“Oh,” says Stede. “That’s… maybe we shouldn’t go?”

Ed shakes his head. “Nah, he’s not that sick,” he says quickly. “Probably couldn’t get a stiffy if he was.” He then leaves the thermometer tucked deeply in Izzy’s ass so he can slide his hand between Izzy’s thighs, fingers stroking over the firm length. 

“Edward!” Izzy gasps and wiggles. He means for it to be admonishing, can feel the prickly heat of embarrassment growing, but it comes out of more of a needy moan. “Wouldn’t be fucking hard if you weren’t playing with my fucking ass!”

“Hmm,” hums Stede, as though Ed just told him a mildly interesting fact. “I suppose not. I think you’ll really enjoy this restaurant, Ed. They have a wonderful seasonal tasting menu.”

“Sounds great, Stede.”

Before there can be more discussion about their exciting dinner plans the alarm goes off. Ed pulls the thermometer free leaving Izzy feeling empty, hips stuttering against Ed’s thigh without enough stimulation, but still chasing completion.

Ed doesn’t bother to pull Izzy’s bottoms back up. He doesn’t even bother draping the blanket over him as he tries to read the little numbers on the tube. He does, however, keep his hand on Izzy’s neck, preventing him from moving. 

“Huh.” Ed’s thumb makes slow circles at the top of Izzy’s spine. “Kinda warm.”

“Here, let me look, darling,” Stede says, stepping closer and leaning in. “Oh that’s… hmm.”

Izzy goes back to trying to suffocate himself, since he barely seems to be here anyway.

“Doesn’t the.. the way.. this…” Stede stumbles over not saying ‘rectal temperature.’

Izzy smirks against the cushion.

“- this particular method,” Stede says, seeming to settle on that while also vaguely waving his hands over the whole scene. “Isn’t it usually higher? Then, um, the usual way?”

Ed purses his lips. “Eh, not that much higher.” He sighs, setting aside the thermometer to stroke Izzy’s bottom. “Maybe I got him too worked up.”

“Well, our reservations aren’t for over an hour,” Stede says. “Why don’t we calm him down and try again?”

“Suppose it could work… could try it,” Ed nods.

“Either of you think to ask me?” Izzy hisses.

“Think it just has to be done, Izzy,” Ed says and then pats his bottom. “Come on, up you go.”

Izzy sways as Ed pushes him into a sitting position. All the congestion in his head readjusts itself and his breath stutters. “hehh.. hehhuhh.. heshh’ngxx! hetch’snng!” He shudders, another sneeze teetering on the edge before fading away, leaving him blurry eyed and itchy.

“He certainly looks sick,” Stede states, face pinched. He glances around for a box of tissues and then hands them to Izzy.

Izzy snuffles into them, trying and failing to blow his nose in any meaningful way. He gives Stede a withering glare and Stede wrinkles his nose even more.

The attempt at nose blowing leaves him panting, resting back against the couch. His erection had flagged only slightly and Izzy's thankful it's still covered by his pile of blankets. 

“Okay, Izzy, let’s get you unwrapped. What do you think, Stede? Maybe he’s too bundled up.” Ed begins to pull layers away, swatting at Izzy’s hands when he tries to pull them back. 

“You’re too warm, gotta cool you down.” He takes all the blankets and then kneels and pulls Izzy’s pj bottoms off entirely, letting the whole mess of fabric drop onto the floor. He paws at Izzy’s shirt, deems it ‘too sweaty’, and wrestles it off him too.

“For fuck’s sake, Edward,” Izzy groans. He tries to cover himself, trembling at the loss of cover, but the urge to sneeze prickles hotly as he chooses instead to grab a wad of tissues for his nose. “hehh’shh.. ehh-ptchh… hehh.. heh'tchh!” His dick bobs in time with the sharp set of three sneezes.

Ed shushes him again. “We’ll take care of that and then see how you’re doing.” He glances up at Stede, who nods, before he wraps his hand around Izzy’s dick.

He strokes slowly and Izzy groans, trying to wipe up the mess coming out of his nose. Ed’s decent at handjobs, and Izzy tries to lose himself in the steady pumping, resolutely ignoring Stede standing there watching and keeping an eye on the time.

It feels good, but it’s not actually getting him anywhere. He tries moving his hips, but the only thing that does is remind him that his ass is empty.

“It’s not working.” Ed sounds more distressed than Izzy feels. 

“I’m sure there's something more than just a handjob, Ed,” Stede says, gently and like maybe he’s had a similar conversation with Ed before.

One of Izzy’s hands finds Ed’s thigh and then reaches farther, searching between his legs. He’s hard, just like Izzy suspected. Probably saving it for Stede on the chauffeured drive to the restaurant, but fuck Ed, he’s the reason Izzy is hard and naked on the sofa, asshole greased and loose, instead of passed out on Nyquil right now.

“Fuck me,” Izzy wheezes. He wriggles out of Ed’s loose hold. “Feel empty.” He normally wouldn’t admit to anything like that, but the fever and frustration and, fuck it, absolute embarassment at the situation has loosened his tongue.

Ed flushes, glancing at Stede before looking away. Izzy supposes that it’s probably one thing to explain that you sometimes fuck the guy you live with and another to actually fuck him in front of your new boyfriend.

“Yeah, man, if that’s what you need,” Ed shugs, looking more casual than Izzy knows he feels, and starts stripping off clothes. “Stede?”

“Hmm?” Stede blinks, looking up from where he was staring at Ed’s chest. “Oh, umm, we have forty minutes before we need to leave.”

Probably not what Ed was going to ask, but Stede sits primly on a nearby chair. “I have some emails to respond to, so don’t mind me.”

Ed nods. “Fucking wild, man,” he mutters shaking his head in wonder. Then he uncaps the lube and gives his dick a few quick tugs. He settles deeply into the couch, legs spread. It was always the best position to accommodate Ed’s knee. 

Izzy squints at Stede, but the man really does seem to be engrossed in his phone. He faces away from Ed and lowers himself, gasping when Ed’s hands come up to guide him onto Ed’s waiting dick.

Even though Izzy’s prepped it’s almost too much. The stretch, the slow slide, Ed’s cool hands on his hot flanks, squeezing gently so that Izzy doesn’t drop too fast. He moans and shivers and then coughs when he’s finally fully seated.  

Ed’s hands roam up his body until they reach his chest and then begin to rub, letting the friction of his palms pebble Izzy’s nipples.

Izzy’s breath hitches and he grinds down. Ed cants his hips up and they find a rhythm. 

“Feels good, so hot Izzy,” Ed mumbles, hips rolling but honestly letting Izzy do most of the work. Not that Izzy minds. He clenches around Ed and sinks down deep, his own hand only lightly fisting his dick.

Izzy relaxes into it, losing himself until a sharp prick of irritation flares high in his nose. His breath hitches and he bends forwards with three small, stuffy, ineffective sneezes. “ehh’kch.. hehh’ptchu.. ehht'chhh… ugh…”

It shakes him, sending little shivers through his body, and he has to wipe his nose against the back of his hand because the tissues are out of reach.

Ed enjoys the sneezes though, moaning softly as Izzy jerks on his dick with each sneeze. “God, fuck, gonna fuck you every time you’re sick, mate.”

Izzy starts rocking again, fingers skimming over his dick. It’s too sensitive, everything’s too sensitive and he can’t find that point that will pull him over, can’t chase it without being interrupted by his nose.

He whines as his nose begins to itch again. “Hehh’ptchu… ugh,” he groans. It’s not enough. “ehh-cch!” 

Ed’s hips stutter. “Getting close, Izzy… couple more like that, can’t hold on…” He’s gasping, hands squeezing his chest.

If Ed comes before him he’ll never get to come himself. Izzy opens his eyes to squint at the ceiling light, hoping it’ll trigger a strong sneeze. He almost thinks it might when the light is suddenly blocked out.

His eyes take a moment to focus on Stede hovering about him. He’s taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his fancy shirt sleeves. He reaches out and drags a finger over the leaking tip of Izzy’s dick. “You need to concentrate on this,” he says. “Finish up and then Ed and I can go. And you can stay here and rest.”

Izzy would almost think it was a kindness except for the haughty look in Stede’s eyes. 

Stede brushes the head more firmly and Izzy squirms, both wanting to thrust against him and pull away. He moves his fingers away before Izzy can decide to rub against them. “I have a better idea about how to take care of you.”

Izzy sniffs derisively, or at least tries to. “I’m sure you can help me feel better.”

“It seems,” says Stede, peering at Izzy like he’s a bug under glass, “that your nose is distracting you.” He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket. It has fine piping along the edge and Stede twists one corner into a sort of point. Then he wriggles it up one of Izzy’s nostrils. 

Izzy pulls back, twisting away from the sensation but Stede grabs him by the hair and holds him firm, tilting his head back so he has even better access. “What the fuck…” 

He feels pinned between them, helpless in the face of their desires. Ed fucking faster under him, Stede twisting the cloth higher up his nose. He can’t even touch his dick, he needs both hands on Ed’s thighs to keep his balance.

Stede hits a point inside his nose that burns in a terribly perfect kind of way. “hehh’ESHH” It’s wet and open mouth and comes out too fast to even try to turn away from spraying Stede, even if he wanted to. 

“Not quite there,” Stede sighs, sounding bored and like maybe Izzy is being difficult on purpose, and adjusts the angle of Izzy's head. He wiggles the handkerchief corner, tickling some deeply buried point halfway up Izzy’s nose.

“HEH'TCHH! EHH'itshh! Hehh'EHHGNX!” These are even wetter, congestion being forced out of the depths of Izzy’s sinuses. Like a dam breaking it flows out, tickling another sneeze out of him. “hehh.. ehh.. ehh’itshh!”

Stede swipes at the mess under Izzy’s nose and then starts into the other nostril.

Ed trembles beneath him. “Whatever the fuck you two are doing keep it up.” 

Izzy can feel Ed swelling, his hands solidly gripping and no longer kneading. He’s not even sure if he wants to come himself now, the pure relief of having his nose cleared out might be enough.

Stede hits a similar spot in the other nostril and Izzy pitches forward with the force of the sneeze. “HRR’EHHTCHH!” He can see that he’s made a few good sized wet spots on Stede’s shirt. Stede hauls him back up, tilting his head even farther back. 

“One more should do it,” he says and somehow manages to get even deeper.

A sharp and almost painful intensity rocks Izzy forward and he’s sure he would have toppled over if it weren’t for Stede’s hands bracing him, cupping Ed’s hands as they cup Izzy’s chest.

He can feel his body shaking, gasping as his nose clears out. Feels, more than hears, Ed moaning, feels the hot power of his orgasm, hotter than even his fever-baked insides. 

Izzy looks down at his dick, there’s a sluggish stream dripping from the tip and he’s gradually softening. He doesn’t remember coming, it must have melted together with the sneeze. 

Ed pushes at him to get off and Izzy does, moving clumsily and dropping onto the couch in a heap. 

“Here, darling.”

Izzy watches as Stede hands Ed a towel to clean himself up with. Then Stede turns to him with a handful of tissues. He raises Izzy’s head up by the back of his neck and instructs him to blow his nose. Izzy’s too dazed to refuse, he’s not sure if he’s even able to speak.

Something touches his ass and Izzy whines, pulling away. 

Ed shushes him and holds him still while he cleans him, wiping away most of the mess. Then he slips the thermometer back into his now extra tender hole, holding it so it doesn’t slide right out. Like his temperature is going to be less after all that.

“I don’t think his temperature is going to be less after that, Ed,” says Stede, all gentle and fond. “I’m going to clean up a bit, Izzy didn’t cover those sneezes very well I’m afraid.” 

When he’s out of the room Izzy manages to swat weakly at Ed’s hands. “Get the fuck away from my ass.”

“Still gotta check your temp, man,” Ed gives him a pointed look.

Izzy returns the look and then takes a deep breath through his nose. “I can fucking breathe now, Edward.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” 

Ed pulls away, dragging the thermometer out slowly. Izzy shivers as it leaves him and then struggles to sit up. Ed pulls at him, gets him sprawled in a slightly better position, and then frowns. 

“You look wrecked, man.” He combs some of Izzy’s disheveled hair back into place and then cleans his dick up a little with the towel Stede brought him. “So…”

Izzy groans. “Just… hand me the cold medicine and go on your date.”

[sickhaze]

thinking about: the romanticisation of fevers.

like how we as a general society so frequently use fever as a metaphor for romantic/sexual passion.

[undercover-horn-blog]

Small random thing that has turned me on lately: A woman who tracks her basal body temperature to understand her cycle (either trying to have a baby or trying not to have a baby lol). Because of this, she ALWAYS knows when she has a fever. She can even look back through her chart and track all of her illnesses throughout the last year. She hates colds all the more because they “mess up her chart”.

Maybe one night she isn’t feeling well but not sure whether she’s really getting sick. The next morning her partner is like: “How are you, babe?” She groans. “Worse than last night, I think.” He tosses her the thermometer with a grin and a wink. “Well, good thing you check for a fever every single morning anyway!”

[unusualinterest]

I've seen polls go around about loving contagion in fiction and being a germaphobe in real life, but for me, the thing I notice is that I'm very afraid of/worry a lot about getting someone else sick.

With that in mind, I want to see where others fit into that. Do you stress a lot about whether you're going to get other people sick, or do you give people a normal level of consideration without worrying too much about it?

Do you love fictional contagion/illness & are you afraid of getting someone else sick?

I love contagion/illness, and I worry a lot about getting others sick

I love contagion/illness and I worry a normal/average amount

I dislike contagion/illness and I worry a lot about getting others sick

I dislike contagion/illness and I worry a normal/average amount

Other/see results

Voting ended onApr 21, 2025

[poetryandsniffles]

Inspired by Thomas from my Pick Three Words #11...

Sneezy at Work

You are printing something on the office printer. At least, you were trying to print something, but there's some sort of paper jam. You've crouched down, pulled open the printer cabinet, and have one arm deep inside when you hear an incredibly liquid sniffle... right next to you.

"Jabbed agaihd?" they ask, their voice rough and stuffy.

Hurriedly, you withdraw your arm and glance over to see your coworker, also crouched down now, less than six inches from you.

They are clearly in the throes of the worst possible cold.

Their nose is red and damp around the nostrils. Their eyes are tired. Their mouth is parted both because they cannot breath through their nose and because...

Oh no.

They're going to sneeze.

You can tell before they can, and you try to find a polite way to stand back up, to distance yourself, but before you can move, the tickle culminates in a series of wet, germy sneezes.

"Ahp'tsschh! Tscchhh! Heh'GDZZZssshh!! Hap'TISSSHHUUUU!!"

The first two catch you full in the face, drenching your nose, cheeks, and lips with contagious spray.

Then, as if realizing they are sneezing openly, your coworker at last brings up their cupped hands to catch the remaining sneezes.

"*Snrrffff*... guh, I'hb so sorry."

You are speechless.

With your arm, you try to wipe some of the spray from your nose and mouth, then stand as you issue a weak, "Bless you" that does not sound sincere.

But they are not done.

With gasping, hitching breaths, they teeter, and, instead of steadying themselves on the printer, they fumble a hand toward your leg, and manage to tip forward and direct their ensuing sneezes... against your thighs.

"Hhh... hhhehhh... ahk'DSCHHH! TSCHHH! AHP'KISSHHUUU! Hhh-hh-heh'DZZSSHHHHUUUU!!"

There are two wet spots on your clothing now. One large, messy spot, consisting of thousands of germy, cold-filled droplets, and a slightly smaller spot a little higher up -- the evidence of your utter arousal.

You want to slide your hand to the back of their hand and jam their face back against your thighs... or a little higher up. You want to grab them by the hand, pull them into your office, shove them onto your desk, and fuck them senseless. You do neither.

"Bless... you," you manage, voice strained. "You... should go home and get some rest."

"I'hb fide, and besides, I doh'd have a *snrffff* rihde. I carpooled today. But baybe you should go hobe... you lookh flushed."

"...Let me drive you."

"Okay... if you're cerdihd."

It is not a wise offer. You might get three blocks before you pull over, tug them into the backseat, and straddle them while you play with their poor little sneezy nose.

But you can't take it back now. And as they stand to offer you a grateful smile, you see their runny, tickly nose start to twitch again....