The summary blog post! Here's just a little about me, what I like and my content:
Obviously this is a snzblr blog, so vanillas and minors stay away. Please do not follow or interact if you are under 18!
Been around the community for years, but not as active anymore as life gets busy. Into colds, mess, contagion, the works, BDSM, 18+ NSFW and SFW content, all genders and consenting sexualities welcome.
RP requests and contact is cool, just please be appropriate and be a chill human. Please don't send naked pics.
I do not enjoy allergies, RPF or many live-action fandoms. If I RP, I prefer to do it with OCs, but some exceptions do apply.
My Content:
Snzfics:
Curious - S/PN snzfic, m/m a tad 18+, but very filthy snz-wise! Mess, contagion, nonconsensual contagion/infection, inducing w feathers… basically Sam is sick and Castiel wants to see Dean down with a nasty cold, so he goes invisble and uses his feathers to… well, you get the idea. Based off a fic that I once read that lives in my brain rent free.
Bowser and Luigi Ficlet - SFW, someone has a cold…
The Road Trip - m/m, NSFW. A half-elf prince comes down with a cold and sneezes over his snzfucker bodyguard-slash-driver. Technically consensual contagion, lots of mess and inducing.
The Common Cold Research Center - f, cold. What it says on the tin.
The Powder - sorta consensual, sorta not, but all fictional m/m, one guy gives his snzfucker boyfriend a gift a scientifically made cold.
Disclaimer! I know nothing about any sports of any kind, least of all hockey. I will attempt to make it believable but any mistakes are a product of my ignorance.
“-And if Rozanov could keep his hands on the stick rather than on his face, the Raiders have a good chance of advancing in the fight for the cup”
Drawn by the commentator’s jab at his boyfriend, Shane tore his attention away from his meal prepping stations and turned towards the game he had admittedly been watching with only a small portion of his attention. He knew Ilya was never one to be bashful, so to cover his (second, after his ass- his brain added) most valuable asset mid game was a sign that something was off. Had he been hiding some sort of injury from Shane, or worse his team members, hiding behind his gloves to avoid letting the camera see a wince? The cameras panned away from the center, bringing attention to Marleau as he advanced with the puck towards the opposing goalie, though Shane barely noticed the play over his worries. Immediately Shane reached for his phone and texted the Russian.
“Are you ok?”
He didn’t expect an answer immediately but the lack of response did nothing to quell his concerns as the camera zoomed in on a tense, distant expression that passed through Ilya’s face that dispersed soon enough, giving through to frustration, but not before the commentators had the opportunity to mock him for his apparent distraction. At this Shane abandoned his meal prepping and migrated to the couch, worried he might miss something glaringly concerning about Ilya. He still seemed to be skating with his usual force, but Shane knew Ilya better than to assume he couldn’t be hiding something deeper.
As the second period ran to a close and the players exited the ice, Shane turned a worried glance to his phone. Logically, he knew it might be unlikely that Ilya would even see the message knowing he only had a handful of minutes till he had to skate back out. He didn’t need to worry for long however, as soon after the game cut to commercial, a three-dotted bubble appeared in their chat.
“Da,” Ilya replied. “Am fine. Nose is… How you say? Scratching?”
“You mean itchy?”
Normally, seeing the usually stoic player flub a word in English would bring a smile to Shane’s face, but the topic at hand made him unusually nervous.
“Yes, that. Been sneezing all day, headcold is annoying.”
Shane stared at the screen, a sudden, familiar heat blooming low in his chest,
He flushed at the thought of Ilya, usually an unstoppable force on the ice struggling with such a small crack in his facade.
“Oh be careful on the ice then, don’t want you to get worse.” Shane replied, though secretly he wished his condition would improve for selfish reasons first.
“You worry to much.” Ilya replied, but before Shane could craft anything approaching a clever retort, intermission was over and the teams were called to return to the ice.
Shane sank deeper into the couch cushions as the third period officially got underway, his focus completely narrowed down to number eighty-one. The heat that had sparked in his chest during their brief text exchange only intensified now that he knew exactly what to look for. Ilya was out there playing high-stakes playoff hockey while silently battling a miserable head cold.
It didn't take long for the cracks in Ilya's armor to show.
During his first shift, the camera tracked Ilya as he raced down the boards to fight for a loose puck. He won the battle with a vicious shove, but as he turned to pass it back to the blue line, he suddenly stiffened. Mid-stride, his head snapped down into his shoulder twice in rapid succession. Even through the grainy television feed, Shane recognized the violent, full-body jerk of a suppressed sneeze. The momentary lapse in his rhythm cost him; an opposing defenseman easily intercepted his pass, and Ilya let out a visible, frustrated snarl, his jaw hanging open as he forced a heavy, congested breath through his mouth.
Shane swallowed hard, his throat dry as he watched Ilya skate back to the bench. His hand inevitably reached for his boxers, cupping the bulge that had silently been growing as he watched. Ilya constantly worked to portray himself as a paragon of strength, and in this moment of weakness, the contrast was utterly intoxicating.
Once on the bench, Ilya immediately ripped off his helmet and gloves. Instead of leaning back to rest, he buried his face in a white trainer's towel, blowing his nose with a harsh, unbothered roughness. When he pulled the towel away, the camera caught a tight close-up of his face. His cheekbones were sharply flushed, a feverish, beautiful pink that stood out starkly against his sweat-dampened hair and the white ice behind him. His eyes looked glossy, heavy-lidded, and clearly irritated by the bright arena lights.
Shane wouldn’t have been able to control himself if he had tried, he had never seen Rozanov look more gorgeous. He reached into his pants and released the pressure that the waistband was placing on his achingly hard dick, taking the precum that had started beading at the tip and spreading it all over his penis. He couldn’t help but imagine that it was Ilya’s snot as he twisted around the head and he had never felt more ecstasy running through his veins.
On his next shift, things got messier. Positioned right in front of the opposing goalie to screen his vision, Ilya was a wall of muscle. But as the whistle blew to halt play, Ilya didn't have a towel. Shane watched, a sudden thrill spiking in his stomach, as Ilya lifted his heavily padded forearm and messily wiped the back of his wrist right across his nose, trying to clear the inevitable snot before his next sprint. Shane’s hand quickened around his member, chasing the peak of his arousal desperately. Ilya looked completely drained of his usual prickly pride, operating entirely on pure, stubborn adrenaline and a rising temper fueled by his own physical misery.
He was a lethal, terrifying athlete, but right now, he was also just a sick, feverish mess who was going to be completely exhausted the second his skates hit the locker room floor.
The commentators praised his "gritty, physical play" and noted how aggressive he seemed tonight, but Shane knew the truth. Ilya wasn't just mad at the opposing team, he was furious at his own congested sinuses, leaking snot onto his face and disrupting his concentration as his body tried to sneeze out the virus that had lodged itself in him. Shane leaned back against the pillows, a heavy, restless anticipation settling deep in his core as he watched Ilya's chest rise and fall in hitchy stuttered breaths as he lost what little control he had left over his body. Both of them were building up their release, and as the camera chose that inopportune moment to zoom in on the raiders’ captain, Ilya’s nose finally succumbed to the tickle that had been erratically building in his sinuses and, making eye contact with the camera, he released a loud uncovered sneeze straight onto the ice, unable to bring his arms up fast enough once he realised he wasn’t going to be able to shake the itch. At the sight of this Shane finally lost control of the coil that had steadily been building in his abdomen while watching Ilya lose control and he came harder than he had in months, shooting ropes of cum over his stomach and his hips.
The announcers commented on Rozanov’s unhygienic practices, but Shane was too far in the afterglow of his release to even notice. He reached for his phone.
“I have to see you. Tonight.”
He sent the text, then got up to clean himself off. He wasn’t sure what he’d say or do when Ilya came over, but he knew he couldn’t wait longer than absolutely necessary to see him. His phone buzzed on the coffee table.
A thought that is plaguing (ha) my mind, WARNING THIS IS FOR THE GROSS NASTY CLUB so if you’re not into mess or contagion then avert your eyes
Thinking about some like sci-fi or fantasy or alt realty where there’s a cold like affliction but it purposefully is like more contagious and compels the person to be more contagious. Like sneezing becomes much more messy, and catches them off guard more so it’s harder to cover. It’s like a borderline sentient virus in the way that its primary instinct is to make someone suffer and pass on that suffering.
Idk the thought of someone with a cold in a pharmacy aisle sneezing like five times and not being able to catch any of them while it being just aggressively messy to clean up is taking over my mind.
Sci-fi/fantasy idea. A lake or pond that hosts a cold-like virus. If you drink this water you are guaranteed to catch it. Don't go swimming in it either!
Ooooh love this! Imagine a mischevious character who uses the lake/pond to get their enemies sick. Or a couple of kinksters who move near the lake/pond for guaranteed fun lol.
((so i wrote a snz/messfucker Menelaus x Helen snzfic. I once again wrote this fic with my dick, i'm not editing shit. here ya go. Usual MESSFUCKER/ CONTAGION
Humans weren’t perfect; no one was, no one was inherently evil or righteous or well, supposedly. However, mankind couldn’t help but pedestalize people, and Menelaus was no exception when his dearest Helen existed. Many people compared her to the goddess Aphrodite when they spoke of the woman’s beauty. Hell, the men who arrived to be her suitors had to agree to fight and raise an army if anything were to happen to her, even if they weren’t going to marry her. Many people considered Menelaus lucky to have such a perfectly beautiful woman in his possession. From her gorgeous mid-toned skin to her wavy, sandy-blond hair that looked breathtaking in the morning light, to her radiant green eyes that sparkled whenever she got excited. Soft, subtle pink lips that men wished their wives had. Everything about her was perfect!
Menelaus was a lucky man, truly lucky to wake up to that pretty face every morning.
But perfection was truly in the eyes of the beholder, and sometimes that didn’t mean conventional.
When Menelaus woke up to Helen beside him once again, he brushed his fingers through the loose strands of her hair that she had attempted to braid before bed last night. He smiled sleepily, though when some of his palm registered an unusual warmth, he frowned. ‘She never usually runs this warm,’ he thought and pressed the full palm against her cheek. ‘Definately warm a touch warm’
Before he could do much else, the woman started to stir. She nuzzled against his hand and shimmied closer to his body.
Her voice was gravely and groggy as she spoke.
“Hm? Kff! Morning.” Maybe she was fine, maybe there were just too many blankets on her?
Menelaus adjusted himself and pulled his wife to him and kissed her forehead.
“G’morning, my love.” He pushed down his worries for the moment; it seemed like nothing; it had to be nothing.
They did their usual routine of spending some of their morning in bed, cuddled up with one another, enjoying the peace. Until they remembered they had responsibilities. As they got ready, Menelaus noticed a few things. The soft sniffles that sounded pretty wet, the muffled coughs, and how Helen would pinch her nose and pitch forward in little fits. Was she catching a cold? No way, not his perfect, precious wife.
At breakfast, she was much quieter than usual; she gave short replies or just nodded. When Menelaus had to leave to handle a military meeting with a few other groups, he offered to take Helen with for once she declined. ‘Odd, she usually loves going on these meetings with me’
“I have a few things I need to atted to here sndf, remember the shipmbents, dear?” She reminded him, of course; how could he forget? Though he couldn’t help but be hooked on the muddled stuffiness in her voice, that pathetic little sniffle did nothing to clear it.
“Yes yes, thats right. Are you alright, love?” Menelaus finally asked as he picked up a himation to wear. He watched as Helen straightened her posture and quickly nodded.
“Yes, I’mb alright.” She walked over and helped him put on the cloak and brushed back strands of Menelaus’s thick, ginger hair. A kind smile spread across her face.
“I’ve already asked one of the servants to make something for you to eat on the way. Don’t need you in a foul mood all day, do we?” Menelaus chuckled and shook his head.
“Guess not, gods, you know me all too well; what would I do without you?” He gave her one last kiss, this time on the lips, before he left.
He spent most of his day bored out of his mind and half annoyed-only half because of the food- he hated meetings. At times he couldn’t help but worry about Helen, especially when the other men around brought her up. She didn’t sound well. He hoped deep down it had truly been nothing; he couldn’t help but wish he could spend his whole day with her, at least then he could watch over her. Still, he shook that from his mind; she wasn’t helpless; she was strong, perfect; she could handle herself.
Besides, he’d rather spend a whole day fretting over her than be in this stupid meeting; it was the same old same old. They could at least not be boring! There was no amount of money you could pay Meneleus to spend the night there either.
The ride home wasn’t any different; with the days getting shorter during the winter, it was no surprise when he came back in the dark.
He all but kicked down the door to the palace; as soon as he was inside, he announced his presence.
“I’m home!”
Many of the servants greeted him kindly as they busied themselves with their tasks. As he passed by the dining area, he expected to see Helen monitoring the servants while they set the table. When she wasn’t there he decided to ask.
“Where is Helen?” One of the young servants paused and looked at him shyly, and stammered.
“In the- in the weaving room si-sir” Menelaus furrowed his brows. Helen sure loved her crafting, but she also liked making sure the table was set right-she was particular about it- let alone not being around to greet him when he arrived home.
As he turned to head towards the upper palace, another servant mentioned something.
“She hasn’t been herself at all today.”
So he hadn’t just imagined it.
He made it up to her weaving room and gave a slight knock before he entered. This time he got greeted by what most called the opposite of perfection, the opposite of godly, the opposite of beauty.
There Helen sat with a blanket around her tense shoulders, her nose reddened, eyes glassy and dark with a distracted look. Her hair tousled and face flushed, and boy, the sound she made.
“Eh!? Heh! Heh! EsschHHeeuhww!” Her body jerked forwards, shoulders hiked up as she sneezed into a blanket-covered hand. From where Menelaus stood, he could see a thin line of snot connect and drip down from her nose in the candlelight. A warmth crept across his cheeks but he quickly shoved that aside. He leaned against the threshold of the door coolly as he spoke up.
“Bless you, dearest.” He had to bite back a laugh when the woman jumped at the sound of his voice and turned around swiftly. She quickly tried to fix herself up, those soft wet sniffles from earlier sounded much more productive this time around.
“Oh! You’re hombe, I must’ve lost track of tibe” Of course, no matter how much divine beauty people believed she possessed, Helen couldn’t hide being some semblance of human, demigoddess or not.
She sounded exhausted, much more than the usual tiredness of dealing with new shipments and having meetings of her own and delegating the servants. Then her shoulders tensed again and she uttered a breathy “eh ehh excuse behh bme”
As Menelaus drew closer to place a gentle hand on her shoulders, she clenched her mouth, scrunched her nose and pitched forwards in a repetitive fit. These were much smaller and sounded a little painful.
“HpPT! NgkKKGxtt! HHEH-! HmpPP'kngt! HmpPP'kngt HHEH-! HmpPP'kngt!” It looked like the fit wasn’t going to end, and the poor woman struggled to even get a real breath in between. When Helen did manage to catch a slight break, she gasped for air and groaned. It took a moment for Menelaus to get it together himself. His larger hand rubbed soothing circles as he asked.
“Are you sure you’re alright? You sound truly dreadful. That had to’ve hurt.” Helen tried to compose herself; she nodded and attempted to lean away from her husband and stand up from her chair.
“I-i’mb fide, Laus, I-I prob- I probmiiihhh. Oh dnuhh dno!” This time, however, she stifled once, and the rest managed to struggle their way out.
“pPT! NgkKKGxtt! heh! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! hhGNSHHhuhw!” These sneezes managed to rock her whole body, threw her off balance a little, to the point Menelaus had to hold her and pull her to his side. These weren’t dainty, soft sneezes; they were rather impressive, and something about this made Menelaus’s heart both melt and pound furiously against his chest.
There was one thing for certain: he was right; she wasn’t well.
“Alright, you’re heading to bed.” He concluded aloud before Helen could protest; he swept her off her feet. Oh, how charming. As he headed for the door, Helen finally found her voice. A little hoarse and very congested-sounding, but it was still hers.
“Wait! I’mb finde Laus! Please, guh snddff ugh I can have dinner with you at the table.” Menelaus looked down at her and shook his head.
“I will have the servants bring some food and medicine to our room. I’m not leaving you alone for long…mmm maybe draw up a bath, how does that sound?” He caught the slight bewildered expression on her face for a moment, but continued to carry her to bed. After he flagged down a servant and gave them his orders and finally made it to their bedroom. He placed Helen carefully on their bed and began to swap his outfit for something more comfortable. He picked up a handkerchief from the wardrobe and handed it to Helen wordlessly. She muttered a soft apology and blew her nose, or well, a measly half-hearted ‘attempt’. It didn’t sound like any had budged; it didn’t sound like she tried, despite how full her sinuses sounded from the incessant sniffling.
Unceremoniously, Menelaus flopped onto the bed with a heavy sigh and crawled over towards Helen and held her to his chest.
“Oh, how I missed you.” Helen let out a stuffy laugh and nuzzled into him; she kept the handkerchief close to her face like she was trying to hide.
“You’ve only been gone for the day; you act as if you’ve been sent on a voyage.” She playfully teased; Menelaus dramatically whined at her.
“It felt like it; they kept droning on and on and on. We get it, we all get it your dick is big and so is your army.” That got a full-body laugh from her, something Menelaus always loved. He loved when Helen was completely unrestrained, and that was something he wanted right now.
Dinner went without a hitch- well, not literally, but still no complaints there.
The bath was where things got interesting. Menelaus sat on the upper steps in the water of the large bathing pool with Helen sat between his legs on the one below him. They helped each other wash up, enjoying the warmth of the water permeating their sore bodies.
Every now and then Helen would go into a stifled fit and apologize; the steam made things much looser, but Helen wasn’t keen on letting much out.
Suddenly her hitching went from erratic to a defeated sigh; frustration painted her face. She rubbed gently at her nose and slumped a little. Finally, Menelaus asked,
“Why do you hold them back? It's clear you’re not feeling well; that obviously can’t be good for you.” Helen blushed hard and shrugged; her fingers fiddled around with her hair.
“I know I’m not exactly very…pretty like this; the least I can do is keep it to myself. I don’t want you to get this.” Menelaus blinked for a moment before he gently commanded her.
“Face me.” Helen hesitated, then turned to face her husband, but she didn’t look at him; she kept her head down. Helen wasn’t exactly a shy woman usually, and it broke Menelaus a little to see her shrink in on herself. He brought his hands to her face and tilted it up, and he smiled.
“You’re beautiful, and you’re mine.” Helen shook her head.
“I’mb a bmess, I sound awful, I-” Menelaus pulled her into a kiss before she could continue. He could taste the cold on her tongue, but he didn’t care; honestly, he’d do anything if that meant he could be cuddled up with her. He kept one hand on her waist, the other on her face. He felt her breath flutter and quicken in short hiccups against his lips. A little whine escaped before they pulled apart- but not very far- and Helen brought up a hand to fan at her face. Eyes squinted, lips parted, her whole face slack, nostrils flared and dripped down to her upper lip. It was almost erotic the way she looked so unraveled and consumed by the urge to sneeze. However, when it went away, the defeated face she made was almost enough to make Menelaus lose it himself.
“Ugh dnot again, so-sorry.” Menelaus shook his head and rubbed his thumb against her cheek sweetly.
“No apologies needed, please. You can’t help it; being sick happens, besides you look precious like this to me.” Helen looked at him like she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t have much energy to argue. She melted into his frame and admitted it.
“I feel awful sddrck I cadn’t get bmy sdeezes out dnow.” Menelaus hummed softly and thought about it for half a second before he brought his hand to Helen’s nose.
“What are you doing?” She asked, as soon as the calloused pads of his fingers touched the tip of her nose he felt her take in a breath.
“Helping” he said simply. He rubbed up and down on the tip, then on her septum. Wetness gathered on his fingers as her nostrils flared widely. Helen grabbed his wrist and, between hitches, barely got out his name.
“Bmmheeeh heh bmedelahhh hhgh!” But she didn’t move his hand; she tilted her head a little and leaned into it. Menelaus’s voice was warm and quiet at he shushed her.
“Shhhh let it out, my love, let me help you.” Her whines intermeshed with her hitches, her shoulders jerked, and her nose twitched. A deep gasp finally escaped, and she lurched forwards.
“Heh! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! hhGNSHHhuhw!” Menelaus’s hand and wrist quickly became soaked; he could feel the warm snot drizzling down. Just seeing it made his own face flush hard and the moan Helen let out definately did him in.
“Gggnuuugh. That’s bmuch better, gods I bmade such a bmess, I’b sorry.” When Menelaus snapped out of it he just ran his hand under the water for a bit.
“Its alright, you needed it.” He then brought his hand back up to help clean off the mess he had caused. When he got a look at her, seeing her nose running from both red, angry nostrils, he finally relaxed it was like he fell in love all over again.
“Stars above, you’re gorgeous.” He muttered.
After a while, they got out of the bath and went back to their bedroom, where Helen was cuddled up to Menelaus’s chest, snugly.
They had managed to find a few handkerchiefs, which they piled nearby on the bed, and they quickly became useful. Helen brought up a hand to rub at her nose; you could hear the squishing of congestion.
“Ugh dnot agaihhd.” Her words wavered; immediately, Menelaus felt something pulse and his heart pound against his ribs. It got even worse when she weakly asked, “ceeh cad you duh do that thih thig againd?” through her hitches.
“Uh-of-of course.” Menelaus all but jumped at the opportunity! He had to steady his hand as he brought it to her face; this time they brushed in a feather-light touch against her nostrils. They twitched and flared while she gasped desperately, “thehh there yes rih right thehh there!”
He kept his finger there with a little more pressure as he traced the rims. He couldn’t believe she was truly this sensitive! He had to bite his lower lip to keep the soft growl from coming out.
“hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! Hehg heh! Eh! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw!” Spray coated his hand, and mess ejected and splattered onto his palm while strands of it leaked down her face. But her eyes still stayed hazy, and her chest heaved.
“Dnuhh dnot duh duhh dode! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw!” Her sneezes were rough and seemed to need a lot to fuel them. Snot covered Menelaus’s fingers and ran down the back of his hand as he kept going. He circled Helen’s angry red, sensitive nostril and used his other arm to hold her through it.
“hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! ESschhEUhhww!” Spray darkened and dampened the fabric of her sleep gown and made it cling to her chest. With one final- “hHEG’nngsSSHHWw!” a large rivulet of snot poured out from both nostrils. She moaned in relief and slouched into Menelaus again.
“Thagk you, thats betteh heh!” A last-minute tickle resurfaced and she swiftly turned into her husband’s chest and muffled the oncoming sneeze into him.
“hhhHRRSSHHHhhhiih!” Now he was truly red in the face; the warm wetness definitely had seeped through the top and it spread from the center out. When Helen pulled away, a large, thick string of mess was still attached to both of them.
“Fugk i made such a bmess” She whined. Menelaus nodded, his mouth dry as he tried to respond
“Ye-yeah a bit” What he didn’t expect was for Helen to lean into his ear and tell him through thick, soupy sniffles. “I see snddrck sdrck this feels good sdgh guh for the both of us.” He was too embarrassed to admit it out loud, which was confirmation enough. Her eyes narrowed in a playful seriousness.
“If I dodn’t have to hide frobe you, you wodt hide frob bme.” She stated. Menelaus agreed and pulled her into another kiss. He groaned as snot smeared against his upper lip, and this time he was the one pleading breathlessly.
“Let me take care of you please; let me have you, hold nothing back!”
“Okay, you will have bme.”
Menelaus started to kiss from her lips up to her nose, she shivered against him and grabbed onto his top.
“Tiih tigkles” She warns, he kept going, placing light kisses on the underside of her nose. As her head reared back, Menelaus practically chased after it while he encouraged her.
“C’mon, give it to me, let me have it. mmgnh I know you feel awful so give it to me.” Helen whimpered, whined, and her gasps got higher in pitch as she built up till she snapped forwards and sent a fit right to his face.
“hHEG’nnsSSHHWw oh guhh gods! hHEG’nnsSSHHWw hHEG’nnsSSHHWw! EG’nnsSSHHWw! Hehh heh eh! EG’nnsSSHHWw! HuhG’nnsSSHHWw!” It was like getting hit by ocean spray; it soaked through his mustache and went down his neck. Any mess that didn’t make it to his face ended up on her chest and left her cleavage glistening. Out of reflex, Menelaus’s tongue swiped at her nose and got a small taste of that awful cold she had filling her head. Adoration glazed over his brown eyes when he looked at her. Truly the best thing he had seen.
Through heavy panting, Helen laughed a little and kissed him shortly.
“You seemb to be really edjoyig this~” She teased. Menelaus nodded and kissed back as he brushed a lock of Helen’s hair out of the way.
“I can’t help that my wife is the most gorgeous being to me, even if you are making a mess of yourself.”
“Ugh bmy dnose is sore ad still full.”
“Anything I can do about that?” He asked, Helen then looked at his lips then back at him then away, a shared shyness filled the space when they both realized what the solution was.
“You-you don’t have to, i-i just….your lips felt good…” She backpedaled.
“I don’t- I don’t mind at all” It felt so silly to be this shy about something.
Helen nodded and leaned her head back again. Menelaus only took a second before he pressed his lips to her nose and let his tongue slip out and lick carefully at her septum. A drawn-out, relieved moan came from Helen, and she grabbed onto his shirt.
“Yes like-like that, feels good.”
Her nostrils continued to flare against his warm, wet tongue as it slid up and down and ventured to her nostrils. Helen pressed in and whimpered out needily.
“Ih id-idside plehh please.” So he did; he pushed his tongue inside, which earned him another moan of encouragement and the taste of her tongue fresh on his tongue. He flicked it, let his tongue swirl and lick at the pulsing insides. It was almost addicting the way things tasted, so wet! She hitched against his mouth with not much time to warn him when his tongue caressed at a certain spot.
“I’bm guhh guhh GoddaEG’nnsSSHHWw!! EG’nnsSSHHWw! Ehh! Heh! HEHG’nnsSSHHWw!” Snot poured onto his tongue heavily, and he swallowed without a second thought. He had been doomed since the first kiss that morning.
“Duuh dodnt stuhh stop’b pleh please, please put iih it id!” Helen begged; well, when your queen begs you so pathetically, and looks at you like you’re the only one she could ever need, you do as she says.
He lets his tongue slither back in just a bit deeper this time.
“Yes yes yehh yes! I-i’mb guhh guhdduuhh guddssdeezeeehEG’nnsSSHHWw! Nguuuhgh fuhh fugk EG’nnsSSHHWw!”
Well at least he wouldn't have to go to any meetings for a while.
((this is a VERY self indulgent modern au Ody//Dio//pen snzfic))
((If you don't like mess, contagion, especially mess in mouth....this isn't for you. Also a bit smutty))
Odysseus pulled out from the front and sighed as he helped Penelope off of Diomedes.
“Fuck that was fun,” He groaned while he stretched and started to climb off the bed.
He handed Penelope a scrunchie from the nightstand as she started to braid up her hair.
In an out-of-breath voice, she agreed.
“Yeah, it-it was, I didn’t dig my nails in too badly, did I, Seus?” Odysseus chuckled and took a swig of water from the water bottle they kept nearby.
“The day I complain about it is the day I’ve been cloned.” Penelope looked back at Diomedes after she heard congested wet sniffles and a defeated sigh. Her eyes softened, and she helped him pull his zip-up hoodie on as he pulled up his sweats.
“Oh Dio, baby, how’re you feeling?” He rubbed a knuckle roughly against the underside of his already reddened nostrils and snorted.
“sssdrrrghck guh well m’dnot ady worse thad before.” Odysseus laughed a little as he pushed his own hair back with a headband and smirked.
“You sure sound like it, nose running like a faucet, had you dripping both ways~” Diomedes blushed hard and grumbled.
“Oh, fuck you, couldn’t help it.” Now Odysseus was really laughing.
“Fucking, you didn’t help the first time, I don’t think you’d survive round 2.” Right as he finished that sentence, Diomedes’s breath caught, and his eyes went unfocused. The other two watched curiously and wondered if it’d finally happen. Alas, with a gasp, sigh, and a few coughs, the tickle practically ditched him at the last second and left him more stuffed up and annoyed.
“Fuuuuugk! ssndck koff koff” Odysseus grabbed a t-shirt and tossed it to Penelope as he teased his boyfriend.
“Damn, and you guys say I get pathetic.” Penelope threw a pillow at him as she crawled over to Diomedes,
“Be nice to him, Seus, he doesn’t feel good.” She cupped Diomede’s face in her hands as she put herself in his lap. Diomedes melted into her touch, her sweet, soft, gentle touch. She tilted his head back a little and frowned.
“Oh, your poor nose is so red and angry, got teased the whole time too, didn’t you?” His nostrils flared a little, letting her see how stuffy he was, not to mention the snot he had been snorting back. He couldn’t look her in the eyes or admit to it out loud; he didn’t need to.
He could see it and feel it with how her thumbs caressed his cheeks affectionately, yet there was a glint in her eyes that read mischievous.
“Seus, dear, why don’t we help our sweetboy…wind down for bed, hmm? I don’t think he’ll be able to sleep if he’s all stuffed up and sneezy.” Odysseus caught on and grinned; he practically jumped onto the bed beside Diomedes. Odysseys placed himself behind Diomedes with his chest to the taller man’s back and pressed him closer to Penelope, who kissed him shortly before she promised. “I’ll be gentle, I promise. I’m not mean like Seus is.”
Well, he knew that Odysseus was a big sadist, not that he really minded.
Penelope started with kisses from his lips up to filtrum, then on his septum, that an immediate reaction. His nostrils flared, and his breath caught a little as a tickle started up again. This time, it didn’t back down when she trailed her kisses to each nostril. As he built up his hands found their place on her waist, and they squeezed lightly with each breath. His lips trembled as he could feel the tickle grow stronger and stronger till he gasped and launched towards Penelope’s chest.
He sprayed down her face, neck, and chest with the fit.
“HHEH-IsschHHIhwww! HHEH-IsschHHIhwww! Heh! Eh! Ehg! HHEH-IsschHHIhwww!” He looked up with brief relief now that he could finally sneeze. He had been getting teased the whole time. Sex always did that to him when he had a cold, so much for fucking it out of him.
Then he felt something wet and warm pressed to his septum that made him whine and hitch needily.
“Fuck, finally getting that cold out, and it tastes so good.” He watched as Penelope pulled her tongue back into her mouth for a moment before she pressed her lips back to his nostrils. It had him whining ‘fugk’ for a whole other reason now.
Her tongue swirled and flicked around the inner rims and reignited the buzzing tickle inside. He could barely warn her through his urgent hitching.
“I’b guhh guddahh guddhuhh! Hehh! Hegggh! EtttSSHHusshh! EtttSSHHusshh! eeH!essschHHHEuuhhw!” Snot dripped down from both nostrils this time, some ended up on Penelope’s tongue and lips, while the rest oozed down Diomedes’s face.
“Gods its so good, that’s my good boy, see, isn’t that better?” She praised, Diomedes could feel Odysseus’s hand rub in soft circles along his back as his gruff, sex rasped voice rang in his ears.
“Doing so well there, Dio, hmm i wonder.” Suddenly, one of Odysseus’s hands had ended up in Diomedes’s hair and gently tugged to keep his head in control while his other hand found the bridge of his nose. Penelope giggled and guided Odysseus’s hand teasingly down their boyfriend’s nose.
“Why don’t you give Odysseus a taste, Dio dear~ He’s been patient.” The teasing brush against his bridge sent the tickle down fast, but it wasn’t enough. It kept coming in strong, then dying out.
“Oh cuhh cobe od hehh! Ugh, Ody, please!” He begged in a whiny, stuffy voice. Odysseus hummed in amusement.
“Poor thing’s already begging, and I haven’t done much to him, you must be desperate~.” The pads of Odysseus’s fingers were a feather-light touch that drove the dark-skinned man crazy. His hitches sounded like hiccups while his nose streamed down his face. Then the feeling of Odysseus’s hands disappeared as Penelope gently pushed them away. Her voice laced with fake pity as she took over.
“Seus baby, I told you to be nice to him; his nose has been through enough.” Odysseus playfully rolled his eyes.
“But he’s so precious like this.” Penelope shook her head, sighed, and decided to mess with Diomedes just a little more.
“Can you tell me what you want, baby?” She wanted to hear it, Odysseus did to, they wanted to hear him say it. Between soft but deep hitches, Diomedes tried to answer her.
“Tehh hehh huhh! Tongue” But that wasn’t enough. Penelope pretended to look confused and said.
“Hm? What was that, darling? I need you to speak up.” He tried again.
“Your tongue please, I-i wahh wadt your tehh tuhh hehh! Tongue!”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so, baby!” Without missing a beat, Penelope’s tongue went back into his nose. It pushed through, swirled, and lapped the tender, messy insides. His grip and whole body tensed as all he could do was hitch out “yeh yes yes yesyes! Hehh fugck!” His gasp grew more drawn out and vocal, his chest heaved as his nose leaked.
“HHEH-IsschHHIhwww! HHEH-IsschHHIhwww! Guh hehh HHEH-IsschHHIhwww! Fugk yeehh HHEH-IsschHHIhwww Pleeh please duhh dodn’t stuhh stob” Penelope pressed on one nostril and used her tongue on the other between swallows and groans as she desperately leaned in like she wasn’t going to let him part even a centimeter from her.
“NGKssHHHhuhw!” Snot poured out of the open nostril and in a heavy succession, which Penelope quickly sucked on before doing the same to the other side, but this time she gathered the mess onto her hand and called out to Odysseus. He peered over, and she told him to open his mouth and held out her hand. He leaned over Diomedes’s shoulder and dragged his tongue along his girlfriend’s hand.
Oh, they were so gonna get sick.
With the final fit, Penelope pulled Diomedes to her chest this time, his nose pressed between her tits as she gave her final command.
“Go on, blow.” And he sure did, thick mess bubbled and poured out into her cleavage. When he finished, he sat up and gave a test sniff, and sighed. Voice deep with sleep and a sore throat.
“Ugh, that's better”
D/S snz
Brat who is known for having horrid pollen allergies decides to push any and every button their dom has while they're at a play party.
So of course the dom finally decides to do something about it.
Ties up the brat with their hands in front of them and putting a bouquet of flowers in their hands not far from the brat's nose.
For a bit the sub tries to stifle but the itch is so intense
A few other doms at first offer to catch their snzs or clean them up but their dom says "oh no don't help them, this is their punishment. They got themselves into this"
Soon the sub's snzs are turning desperate, their eyes are all watery and nose is running down their face and onto their chest while they stammer out apologies. And The Dom is acting like they don't hear them (revealing in their cries and pleads)
Maybe they start talking about how everyone can see them like this, how everyone can hear them building up, calling the sub 'so dramatic' during a rather intense and hitchy snz
maybe the dom lets afew other doms take turns teasing the poor sub's red, irritated nose and they all comment on how messy they're being
Hnnnghhh thiiiiisssss... but also, what if the brat was coming down with a cold and denying they were sick so they could go to the party and tge dom does this as their punishment??? Hnngngggghhhhhh
Ya'll know damn well I hate doing this, but i'm in a bit of a shit situation in terms of my finances being taken. I'm just trying to make it through the month till my next disability check drops in.
$5 or even just a reblog is great ^-^
Okay, so I made a little makeup mod with some #mess, if anyone is interested? (For Sims 4, all packages!) I have male adult and female adult versions. (Male is the same,with minor tweaks for face shape.)
i am such a slut for cold denial, especially when the sickies partner KNOWS they have a cold. (partner with the kink who is obsessed with the sickies sneezes) maybe the partner noticed them sneezing differently, maybe the sickie doesn't usually cover their sneezes unless their feeling sick and said partner notices that, maybe the sickie doesn't usually blow their nose but they are now. the possibilities are endless. i also love a good kink-having caretaker/partner telling the sickie "yeah? well if you're not sick then just sneeze without covering, or just blow your nose into my shirt for me" if that would be something they would do regularly to indulge the partners kink. i also LOVEEE sickie blowing their nose into the partners shirt, or even just allergic sneezer doing that. UGHHH i need to be both of the people in these scenario ASAP, with all the wildfire smoke where i am (Northern USA) i've been so sneezy and sensitive so i may make a WAV later perchance. anyways thats it, send post
A glimpse into Terry's past, and a quick glimpse at his present.
----
Story Notes | Oneshot set in my Rookverse continuity. Connecting some characters together. You can meet the dubious treasure hunter Mad Marn in my multichapter fic "Adventure, Wherever It calls". You can meet my polycule Clive, Terry and Merle in the fic "In Good Company".
Or you can skip all of that and just enjoy this oneshot of a sad, sad wet dog of a man getting bullied.
NSFW 18+ 🍆
Content | holdbacks, femdom, sub!m, messy sneeze (no graphic descriptions) stifles, polycouple, sex favorable ace representation, implied spicy content, really this is like a prologue to a much more explicit idea I have working up that involves those three in a tent, praise kink, the author's thinly disguised fetishes (as is expected)
They were five weeks into the heat of the desert when Mad Marn realized they were headed in the wrong direction.
Because of course they were.
She crouched over a map, the tent oppressively hot despite the sun having finally set over the horizon. Despite her line of work as a dubious go-getter for rich losers, she always hated camping out. Roughing it. Terrible.
Taking a sip of coffee, she re-read her geographical notes. Despite her best efforts to bargain for the best map, they still managed to overshoot the supposed location of the supposed damned tomb.
There were plenty of times when she'd accidentally led her men to the wrong location. Bum maps, bad hearsay. Nothing was guaranteed in her line of work. It's why rich idiots hired her crew in the first place. No matter how badly some aristocrat wanted some supposedly magical ruby, they were loath to actually break out a tent and get it themselves. Of course, she'd be out of work if they did.
She sat, nursing the butt-end of a cigarette, trying to make her limited supply of smokes last for who knows how long. She turned the map upside down, cursing, and turned it right side up. Nothing made sense.
"Ma'am? The crew is waiting…"
Dynamite expert Pierce stood at attention, her shaved head having grown out to a teddy-bear length after weeks in the desert. She looked washed out and sweaty. Granted, everyone was sweaty.
"I got nothing to tell 'em." Marnie killed the cigarette, crushing it against the table.
Pierce coughed. It was a wrenching, painful one.
"—You gotta tell 'em something, Ma'am. Word is going around that we're lost." Pierce's voice was strangled and stuffy. Whatever wretched illness that'd been hopping from one mercenary to the next had finally found her.
Mad Marn sighed. Pierce was right. When the crew started having enough time on their hands to wonder about being lost, that's when they got out of line. That's when she had to put the fear of the gods into them. It was a pain in the ass, really. But it had to be done.
The desert winds raged against the rickety walls of the hangar. Her men stood at attention as she slowly walked down their ranks. They were dirty and banged up from survival. Some are sick and feverish. A flurry of irritating coughs and sniffles echoes through the hangar, a symphony of illness.
She lit a fresh cigarette.
"You all look like shit," Marnie announced, her hands clasped behind her back. "Sad, pathetic. If I had half a mind, I'd leave the lot of you for the buzzards."
She gave one particularly woozy-looking mercenary a sharp look.
"But, I am, as always, merciful. And I do believe I've found the right path to—"
"HIh-FSHHHIEW!!"
A sneeze exploded from somewhere in the crowd. It was wolfish and itchy. It was also instantly recognizable. The perpetrator's voice lived in it.
"Terry!" She yelled.
The crowd parted instantly, revealing the sniffling culprit. Upon discovery, he straightened his posture and put his arms behind his back, standing at stiff attention.
"Tinfoil Terry…you look as fresh as a carcass."
The mercenary was the shortest in her crew, a chewed-up coyote of a man. One ear with a chunk bitten off from a match in some godforsaken fighting ring, a wild desperation in his eyes. He held his dubious nickname for being the one member in her crew who always ended up in the worst predicaments. Terry was as crumpled as a piece of tinfoil.
Terry was the weakest of her crew, and yet the one man she could never quite get rid of.
"You feeling alright?" She asked, eyeing him.
He nodded curtly.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"You know. There's been a bit of a plague going around the crew recently. Even Pierce caught it. Plagues are spread by rats, you know."
Terry's brows furrowed, confused.
"Tell me, Terry. Are you the plague rat who gave everyone the sniffles?"
"-No? No Ma'am!" Terry's steely demeanor broke into panic. "I'm not even sick, I swear!"
Mad Marn knew toying with Terry was cruel. But she knew the others needed to know their place. Terry was just a casualty. As usual.
She grabbed his chin in a rough pinch, tipping his head upwards, examining him. He was ugly on the best of days, but the fever made him worse.
"Mm. Not sick, huh? You sound really congested to me. Are you my rat?"
His eyes watered. Marnie could tell he was ready to explode again at any moment. His nose was a dead giveaway. Nostrils dilated open, tickled by the cold he no doubt carried and passed on.
"N-no Ma'am—snff—I'mb-snff" His chest swelled. His words warbled at the edge of a sneeze. "—feeligfin'ed-"
"Sorry, didn't catch that. Speak up." Keeping his chin tight in her grasp, she dragged a thumb across his raw septum, wiping at a dribble of mess leaking from his nose. He stretched his upper lip at the light touch. He seemed desperate for the contact, anything to scratch at his nose. She was merciful to oblige him.
"I'm-I'm.. feelig—hhhheeh—"
A sharp intake of breath hissed between his clenched teeth, and he quickly curled his lips together. Trying to bottle up the inevitable. Eyes squeezed shut, he held his breath for a moment, then breathed out a shaky "—euuhh.."
He looked relieved not to give in to the reflex. Despite the wants and needs of his body, he obeyed orders. Sniffling fitfully, he seemed almost proud of the accomplishment.
"You're Feelig Fide?" She mocked his stuffy voice. "You don't look Fide to me."
Taking a drag from her cig, she exhaled directly at Terry's face. The acrid smoke stung him, he scrunched up his face, nose flaring, angry and red as his sinuses tickled at the irritating smoke. His chest hitched up, up, up…
Marn quickly pinched the round bulb of his nose between her fingertips, just as the sneeze crested.
"HIHP-BBHHPTTT!!!"
It was a terribly loud, spraying excuse of a stifle. Spittle trailed down his lips as she released his burning nose from her fingers, wiping the mess against the front of his jacket.
"Look at you. Can barely hold a damn sneeze in. How you're still alive I'll never know."
"S-sorry..ma'amb.." Terry flushed, humiliated, and bleary-eyed.
She put her hands on either one of his shoulders and spun him around, facing the rest of the crew.
"Plague rat here got you all sick. Plague rat stays quarantined in the shed out back for the rest of our cursed tenure here. Got that?"
Terry hung his head as the rest of the crew nodded, unable to look Terry in the eye. Pierce escorted Terry away, coughing and sniffling as she went. Mad Marn was satisfied, her ever-disloyal crew of mercenaries properly threatened.
Still lost in the damn desert though. With nothing but the moon to guide them.
———
The moon was still out when Merle awoke. It was a gloriously clear summer night. She had to commend herself (as she usually did) for picking the best time to go for a bit of camping with her lovely friends. As nice a stay as a hotel was, the majesty of a good night roughing it was needed. She sleepily undid her curlers,
and her hair net,
and her face mask,
and her nose strip and…
Okay, okay. Just because she was roughing it didn't mean she'd abandon her nightly routine. She scaled mountains in the past while still maintaining a healthy skincare routine. It's more than possible to do both. She was fabulous and enjoyed the great outdoors.
There was a brief stirring from Clive, who was dead-asleep. He was still naked, legs tangled in the sheets. She smiled warmly at him, tucking one of his wavy curls behind an ear. The darling had quite a night. She didn't expect him to be up any time soon.
"Hehff'SHHHHIEW!!"
Merle jumped, startled by Terry sneezing outside. Pulling a thin silk robe over her shoulders, she left the tent.
Her dear Terry was sitting at the edge of the river, washing his face in the cool water. His auburn hair was wet and slightly wild-looking.
"Bless you, darling." Merle sat next to him, dipping her feet in the river. Bliss. "Still a bit tickly from last night?"
Terry looked sheepish at the observation. He shrugged and gave his nose a quick swipe. Despite having known Terry for nearly half a year now, he was still so shy around her. Like a stray dog just learning to trust again.
Clive had told Merle that Terry had a rough past, though the details to her were still unknown. She never pressed Terry about it, but whatever life he lived before was slowly being corroded. He grew softer each day, less hunched and less jumpy.
They sat together in silence for a bit. Still dreamy from the night of passion. Merle knew when Terry was in a wistful mood, and she respected his quiet. Leaning her head against his, they listened to the frogs singing.
Eventually, Terry spoke.
"Hey, Merle.."
"Yes, dear?"
"…Nothing.." His voice sounded heady and nasal. Soft. "—I just feel lucky right now. That's all."
There was a weight to what he said. A melancholia. Merle furrowed her brow and gently cupped his face in her hand. He leaned into the warm contact before taking her hand in his. He held her between his rough palms, reverently.
"A guy like me doesn't get lucky often. Ever."
"A guy like you? Terrance. You are an absolute catch! You're kind to animals, great around a garden, an absolute wildcat in bed-"
"Merle!" Terry flushed bright red, unused to the compliments.
"Don't you dare stop me now Mr. Penton! You're thoughtful, sweet, beautiful—"
"Okay, now you're fucking with me." He frowned, "I don't know a lot, but I do know I'm not handsome.."
"I didn't say you were handsome. I said you are beautiful." Merle pressed a kiss to his scarred knuckles. "Anyone can be handsome. Not everyone is beautiful."
Terry sniffled. He looked away from Merle, eyes getting misty.
"And. Confidentially." Merle leaned in, close. "I've had to kiss a lot of actors in my day. Occupational hazard. And trust me, you outshine them all."
"Fuck Off."
"I won't fuck off! I'm deadly serious. I'm always serious, as you know."
She could see his light eyes drift to her lips, he swallowed thickly.
She didn't wait for him to ask. Merle leaned in for a kiss, one that started slow and gentle, then heated as he pulled her close.
Merle, despite making a career out of pretending (what is acting but well-done lies?), was always truthful when it came to matters of the heart. She was not flattering Terry. He really did kiss well. There was a naive desperation to them, as if a part of him knew he might never get the chance to kiss again. He flushed easily, face hot against hers as she straddled him.
Traditional sex was never something she could fully enjoy. All the main bits were boring at best. But everything surrounding it was great fun.
"W-wait a minute.." Terry gasped. Merle leaned back, pushing the hair out of her eyes.
"What is it, dear? Getting a bit excited? We can rouse Clive to jump in if you need him. Or I could just—"
"No, I just—hhh-feelig a sneeze coming on—" His voice caught on a hitch.
Oh. Ah.
Merle smiled, overwhelmingly fond. Terry's nose always gave him away. Nostrils ticking open, he made to pinch them shut. But Merle grabbed his hands and pinned them to the ground.
"Now now. You know that's terrible for your ears." She cooed.
Terry sniveled and hitched between her legs, eyes bleary in concentration.
"Come on then, give us a nice big one."
"Hhh—heeeh.."
"There we are. Ahh! Ahh!!" She coached, gently. Merle loved how flustered he got from teasing. His breath stuttered, and he nearly lost it before another sharp gasp pushed him over the precipice.
"HHss'SHHIEW!!"
It rushed out of him, dizzying with relief. She felt his body seize with it. Curiously, her stomach flutter at the sound, and she wondered if Clive's own proclivities were starting to rub off on her. He did have exquisite tastes in things.
"Good boy. Marvelous." She purred.
Terry looked up at her, eyes wide and face flushed from the praise. He practically glowed with it, and she felt his body respond to it. Perhaps he, too, discovered something new about himself tonight.
(Sick anon) This is me being a total freak, but I love that Al’s nose is slightly upturned… it’d give us a good view of his nostrils. I feel like they’d be on the longer side, and fairly easy to see into.
(Bonus graphic cold description below)
I had the worst feeling today, mid-cold: feeling my nose running on the inside, dripping down the wall of a single nostril… it was so tickly and itchy and horrible. Plus I’ve been sneezing and blowing it all day long, so my nose is already ultra sensitive. Maybe that’ll spark some headcanon ideas for you! Torture that man 😇
YESSSS! This bitch is also SEVEN FEET TALL, any average person (and even plenty of other demons) would be looking up at him anyway! You’d be able to see every time his nose starts dripping and twitching not to mention how easy it’d be to get caught in the spray of his sneezes-
A vampire bites a priest with a cold and has to live with the consequences. 🦇 🎃
Hey everyone. its vampire sneezing. That's it. That's the fic. you're welcome. Unbeta'd, written in a fever of h0rniness. Kind of gross.
18+ (SFW)
CW | horror movie level violence, mentions of blood, no egregious descriptions of gore. Shared psychic sneezing, general spooky vampire vibes, eternal colds, empathy sneezing, some slight SWH elements, monster snz, are you into priests? I'm not really, but I do like vampire priests I guess, happy halloween everyone
Special thanks to @shamefilledsnzblog, who shared a tumblr post that filled me with such wanton lust that I vomited this into my word processor.
Prowling cemeteries at night wasn't something the seminary prepared him for. But after serving the small community of Cat's Cradle, Reverend Nathaniel Lark knew better than to question the concerns of a worried mother knocking on his door at 11:00 pm.
He swore it was the trees—Cat's Cradle was a mountain town surrounded by an ancient forest. Tales of ghosts and monsters flourished in the dark, and it wasn't his place to disprove or deny the concerns of his parish. Their belief was real, and that was enough for him. So he peered down every haunted well, climbed up every ominous staircase, and looked under every bed. He hadn't planned on becoming an official boogeyman hunter, but he preferred it over listening to his pompous, bigoted peers back home. He took up the collar to bring comfort to others, and if bringing comfort meant going out into the dark with a crucifix and a jar of garlic in the middle of the night, he was going to do it.
"Igheh'Hhh—Hihff'Shhiew!!"
He unfolded a new bundle of tissues, already exhausting a box. The miserable cold that spent its time passing from townsfolk to townsfolk in the winter had finally caught up to him just as spring finally came around. He practically sneezed his way through the last mass. It was a proper head cold, one he hoped would dry up in a week. Thankfully, most of his colds were short-lived.
"Heeh-hh—ohdearmbe—hehh'IGHHFFF!!!"
That one bent him in half. His back twinged in pain, and for a moment, he stayed bowed, lower half of his face buried in a handkerchief. The airy sneeze rang out in the graveyard, the only sound of life amongst the dead.
Wincing, he slowly, carefully straightened out again. The grand age of forty-five had done his spine no favors. Or his knees. Or his neck, for that matter. Funny, the things one took for granted. Working backs and knees. Graveyards had a way of making him meditative on his own mortality, as graveyards should. They were places for contemplation. To honor and grieve loved ones. They were places where memories were buried forever.
They were not supposed to be dug up again, least of all by the local priest. But the kindly baker told him she'd seen a vampire take its residence in what should have been her auntie's final resting place, and he wasn't going to argue with her. If a flock of sheep bleated at a wolf in the woods, the shepherd would be foolish not to go and chase it away.
He still felt foolish placing the jar of garlic on top of the grave. He felt even more foolish when he nearly jumped out of his skin in fright when the caretaker yelled at him.
"What the hell are you doing?" The old man stood at the stoop of the funeral house, weathered face lit by the glow of his outdated lantern.
"Oh, hullo!" Rev. Nathaniel Lark smiled awkwardly, trying to make the act of digging up a grave look perfectly normal. "Just uh—snff—checking for…something."
The caretaker grumbled a string of colorful expletives and returned to the funeral home, slamming the doors behind him.
"Have a good evening!" Nathaniel lamely called after him. He always tried his best to end every interaction on a positive note. You never knew when a goodbye would be your last.
Nathanial was unsure if a jar of processed garlic with "a hint of rosemary" would have the same effect as an actual garland, but he didn't have any time to sew one together, and frankly, he didn't feel well enough to focus on crafting one. He took a small bottle of holy water and gave the top of the grave a generous sprinkle. Though he seriously doubted a vampire had exhumed the body in order to take up residence in its place, He hoped the process was convincing enough ward for the baker to feel comforted by it.
She was waiting for him in the parking lot, watching from the safety of an old truck. The baker still seemed worried as he approached, eyeing him suspiciously.
"You think that's enough to keep it away, father?" She asked.
He coughed lightly into the crook of an elbow, the cold had passed the point of scorching his throat, but the drip of it remained.
"—I don't see why it wouldn't, Mrs. Keller. From what I'm told, even jars of garlic are enough to keep evil spirits from harassing the dearly departed remains."
He wasn't told about any of this. But he wasn't lying. Lying was a sin. He was comforting someone, and there was nothing wrong with that. The look of relief on the baker's face was enough to make the harmless pantomime worth it.
"Thank you so much, Father! You'll get a whole month's worth of fresh bread, I guarantee it."
"It's the least I can do—Now, is there..any-anythihg—anythingelse-??"
A sudden tickle fluttered between his eyes, and he quickly pressed a knuckle to the underside of his nose. Guiltily, he begged for the conversation to be over, so he could get back to bed and sneeze out the rest of this cold.
Mrs. Keller took her time thinking of another investigation while Nathaniel tried to smile through the burn of an approaching sneeze.
"Mmm…I don't suppose you could check the graves tomorrow, just to make sure?"
"Hhhh!!—" He held his breath, eyebrows lifted dramatically as he clamped his nose between the tissues. "—HFFFHIEW!!"
"Oh! Bless you!" Mrs. Keller grinned, suddenly amused, "How funny, me blessing you. Feels a bit strange."
Nathaniel sighed into the tissues, still muzzy with a second sneeze brewing. He did his best to extricate himself from the ever-gregarious Mrs. Keller, finally leaving the dark graveyard parking lot for a long walk back home. It was a bit of an eerie walk, the kind where you were almost sure someone was following behind. Perhaps the superstitious nature of the town was starting to influence him.
At least he didn't live far away. For that, he was grateful. He was even more grateful when his landlord remembered to let the plumber in to fix the sink. But it was odd that the plumber showed up so late at night and didn't actually fix the sink. It still leaked when he trudged into the kitchen. He rolled his eyes at the puddles of water on the kitchen floor, snuffling thickly as he tried to mop them up.
Nathaniel knew he had many flaws, as all humans did. One of them was self-pity, something he tried to dip in only occasionally. But tonight, being sick as a dog and with a busted sink, he let himself wallow in it. Poor Reverend Nathaniel Larkin, crawling on his hands and knees mopping up puddles, nose as leaky as the broken sink.
Another puddle mopped, another one to go. Nathaniel's mouth slowly swung open as yet another sneeze tickled him. He would have had it too, if he hadn't wiped away a splatter of blood.
He bolted upright, eyes following the trail of blood to the couch. A man lounged there, leg crossed. He looked perfectly cordial despite the front of his shirt being covered in blood. He grinned crookedly up at Nathaniel. Teeth razor sharp, eyes glowing in the dark.
"Heads up. You might need a new landlord." The man said.
Nathaniel didn't say anything. He couldn't say anything. Only feel pure terror.
"He was kind of a boring guy. Talked too much, no real flavor to him." The man's eyes flashed.
"Worst of all, I'm still hungry."
Before Nathaniel could even think, the creature pounced on him.
His head slammed against the floorboards as he felt the fangs sink into his neck. Nathaniel yelled for help, flailed, and shoved at the monster on top of him. Strong hands (or were they claws?) held him fast, all he could do was scream.
But there was no pain. That was the odd thing. After the agony of the bite, there was nothing. He felt the blood and the cold skin of the creature's lips against his throat, but he didn't feel pain. His mind fogged over, and his vision went blurry, and if it wasn't for the fact that he was being fed on by a damn vampire, it was almost…good.
Really good.
In the cloud of sensation, Nathaniel felt a sudden inhale against the divot of his neck, where throat met chest. Then another sip of air, and a distinct sound of a sniffly nose. He thought for a moment he was sniffling, the cold chasing him to his death. But he felt the fangs unhook from his flesh, and he looked up to see that the vampire was rubbing at his nose against the heel of his hand. Panting, his glowing eyes hooded as it sucked in another gasp of air, nostrils fluttering open—
"What—heh—the-h-hell—HH—" The vampire's voice wavered as his lips curled up in a snarl. But he no longer looked ferocious. He looked confused, almost soft…
Sneezy.
"Ah—Ahh—HAHk'SHHH!!"
It exploded out of him, spluttering messily between sharp teeth. Body cringing forward, eyes closing despite his best efforts…
It was just enough time. Nathaniel used the moment to shove the vampire off of him and reached into his back pocket for the crucifix. The world swam before his eyes as he lurched forward with it, pressing the holy object to the vampire's back. He heard the creature cry out in pain, saw the smoke, the fire, and then nothing.
Reverend Nathaniel Larkin swooned, and his world went black.
———————-
It'd been a month since he got a crucifix to the back.
He sat at the empty bar, nursing a full glass of beer. Just for looks, of course. Human drink could never satisfy as much. It might as well have been air. He wasn't there for the drinks, he was there for the music. Soft guitars strummed effortlessly from the modest stage, and a handful of true devotees sat and enjoyed the gentle ballads. Every Saturday he'd go to sit and listen, music was the last true thing that made him feel alive.
The fucking scar itched. He thumbed at his back uselessly. What did it look like? Did it leave a mark? There was no way he could know.
"You gotta leave."
The bartender gave him a final warning. Nice guy. Knew about the whole vampire thing. Knew enough to let him in and leave him be, at least. Nodding, he slid off the barstool and skulked into the dark. One of the things they didn't tell you when you became a child of darkness was that you should always honor a few spaces. You couldn't run your whole immortal life. He had quite a few spots across the globe by this point, places he could rely on for shelter, at least briefly. Some were permanent, some less so.
For now, his less-permanent shelter was a trailer, the final home of his last meal. It was ratty, but it was dark, and it had a couch. And a tv. He could hardly complain about that. Flopping on the sofa, he kicked up his boots on the coffee table, and reached for the remote. He was almost at peace.
Almost.
He hissed, and pinched at the bridge of his nose as a sneeze sparked to life. He'd felt one coming on all damn night, a tickle that flowed and ebbed seemingly at random. He never thought he'd be bothered with sneezing again. He hadn't done it for hundreds of years. Up until the encounter with that priest, he'd almost forgotten what it felt like. At first, he thought it was a fluke, perhaps drinking the blood of a clergyman ignited an allergy he was unaware of. Whatever it was, he hadn't indulged in it since.
Until tonight. He woke up with his nose buzzing, and he'd almost been excited to try for one again. Almost. But every time he seemed to work up to one, it went away, leaving him stuffy and frustrated. Twice during the concert he nearly got an AH in, but the fucking Choo would die away. At one point, his ridiculous gasping made someone's head turn, drawing unwanted attention. He flushed with embarrassment, just thinking about it. He didn't know he could still blush either.
"Oh-come on.." He sniffed at the cold air, twiddling his wide nose against the palm of his hand. His breath snagged, and he felt a swell of anticipation in him as his chest rose, and rose, and rose—
"Ah—hh-hh—AHHH!!"
He tilted his head back, as if the sneeze was a thing to be caught in the air with his teeth, a thing just right out of reach.
Curiously, he could hear someone else hitching, too. Someone unseen in the dark. Someone close by, who didn't want to be seen, was struggling not to be heard.
"—AHt'CHHHHSH!!!" He launched forward with it, exaggerated. The sneeze scraped through his sinuses in a wonderfully relieving way, like a rake of nails down his itchy nose. He licked his lips, indulging in the strange little reflex he thought he had left behind ages ago.
"Hhh-INDG'T!!"
Someone else sneezed. Or rather, tried not to sneeze.
Someone else was in the dark with him. Unusual, not to see someone in the dark. Humans were easy to spot, animals too. The only thing that could hide from a vampire was another vampire.
He bolted from the couch and flicked on the light. Standing in the corner, with a finger hovering uselessly under his nose, was the priest from a month ago. Tall as ever, but this time without the silly white collar they all wore. In its place was a red scar wrapping around his neck, a permanent ring burned into his skin.
The priest grabbed him. Lifted him up by the jacket collar and shoved him into the wall. He'd been weak as a human. He wasn't weak anymore.
"Turn me back! TURN ME BACK NOW!" The priest spat. His nose ran, and his pupils glowed bright. "YOU DAMNED ME!"
"What the fuck are you blabbing about? I can't turn you back! What the hell do you think this is??" He struggled to pull the priest's hands (or were they claws?) off of him.
"You gave me this dark gift. I never wanted it. You…you ruined my life."
"I..I think you need to be a bit educated on this one." He grinned, trying to placate the newly turned spawn. "I was gonna drain you. Right? You'd be dead if I did. But you're not. You're a spawn now. Fresh as a daisy. And I'm your sire."
The priest sniffled. A dribble of mess trickled down his lip.
"You're… like my father now?"
"NO! Fuck no. Disgusting." He wrinkled his nose at the idea. "No, I'm like…your friend. You have my power now, and my thoughts. And I have yours. If I die, you die."
The priest's grip loosened, and he released him.
"Look, let's try this over. Hello there! My name's Quintus." He held out his hand for a shake. "You can call me Quint. What's yours?"
The ex-priest, now-vampire, glowered at him. He wiped his runny nose with a cluster of tissues.
"Nathaniel."
"Nice to meet you, Nate. Now, let's not tear each other's heads off tonight. Let's just talk. Can we talk?"
Nathaniel nodded. He understandably wasn't happy about it, but he was willing to hear Quintus out.
And he did hear him out. For an hour, they sat and talked. Quintus shared his own fractured knowledge of vampirism and how to live the life, and Nathaniel quietly moped and took it in. No doubt it would be years for him to really adjust, but Quintus wasn't about to let a spawn go on in the world, sad and clueless. He wasn't responsible for spawns, but he felt responsible for this one at least. There was something inherently sad and puppyish about the man that compelled him to charity. Besides, it didn't seem like he was willing to just leave Quintus alone. Whatever situation they found themselves in, they'd have to work it out together, since killing each other was not an option. For now.
"Excuse—mbe..hih-Igh—" Nathaniel reached into his pocket for another nest of tissues, eyebrows rising. "Th-this stupid cold—been'd taking forever to—hhhh"
Quintus felt the tickle crawl up and down Nathaniel's sinuses. It made his own nostrils pulse and his own breath wobble. Dread realization hit as his lips curled away from his fanged teeth in an itchy snarl.
"Ah-AHH'GHSHHOOH!!"
"HF'Fhieww!!"
They both sneezed in tandem. Quintus first. Nathaniel second. They both sniffled and looked at each other, surprised.
It was the first time in a long time Quintus felt real dread.
"You were sick when I bit you?"
"I was, yes. Horrible little cold-snff-snff-" Nathaniel dabbed at his runny nose. "I just don't understand. I thought I'd be over it by now. Sickness doesn't linger with me."
"As a human no." Quintus's glared. "But whatever you are when you are turned, you remain."
"…Are you suggesting I will have this cold…forever?"
"I don't..know. Maybe, maybe it'll last for a year, or a hundred years. Or it'll go away tomorrow..I don't know. What I do know is— I think we're sharing more than power. If you sneeze, I'll sneeze."
Nathaniel sniffed, looking sulky. He pinched his nose between a clean fold of tissues and gave it a loud blow. Quintus wrinkled his own nose at the sound, he could feel his sinuses shift from Nathaniel's exertion.
"Well. Snff—looks like someone will have the sniffles for a while then. Should have thought about that before you feasted on my neck." Nathaniel lowered the tissues, his septum a red, raw streak. Twitching his nose back and forth, his chest began to huff up and down, and a small, sarcastic smile spread over his parting lips as his nostrils ticked open. "Speakig-of..get ready..I think'g—this is gunna be a big—one…"
Quintus couldn't help it. Despite hundred's of years' worth of power, of sheer focus on survival, he couldn't stop the tickle crawling up and down his nose as Nathaniel's face crumbled. He pinched at his widening nostrils, trying to stop them from flaring.
In a last, pathetic effort, Quintos slapped a hand over his mouth. He could feel his sharp teeth parting open, desperate, helpless.
Oh fuck. Helplessness. That was something he hadn't felt in a long time…
"AH—AH—"
It terrified him.
"AH-AHKTCHH!!"
There was a time, long ago, when he knew how to stifle a sneeze. To properly bottle it up. Some murky part of his past where he was hiding, the last time he felt fear. He couldn't remember how to do it now. The sneeze sprayed wetly against his hand, his ears popping with the painful explosion.
"Hieh'FFHshh!!" Nathaniel smiled wryly as he blew at his nose and folded the tissue neatly on his lap. "Snff-Snfff. Gesundheit, Quint."
Quintus groaned and slowly lowered his hand and wiped the drool on his pants. That stuck-up, whiny, no-good, asshole Nathaniel was doing this on purpose. To think he almost pitied the guy! He wanted to punish him!
If they couldn't kill each other, they'd have to resort to annoying each other. For all eternity. And beyond. It was a fate worse than death.
A has been sick for a few days, being super sneezy. A has been careful to not get B sick. But while A is making dinner for them, they suddenly have to sneeze. Their hands are full, but A quickly turns away from the food. They release a big wet sneeze over their shoulder, as A opens their eyes they see B completely drenched behind them … B just wanted to hug A from behind
or
A has been stifling their sneezes in a kitchen towel while drying dishes with a different one. Hopefully A doesn’t mix them up
I was thinking abt A/lastor sneezing on V/ox and wrote a little scenario
I got the idea from a post on a vanilla blog, so thank you random anon who came up with a good snz idea
Cw mess, implied contagion
“Let me take your temperature.” Vox stood in front of Alastor, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, ears drooping and nose glaringly reddened from the cold he’d caught while staying with him.
The other sinner rolled his eyes. “There’s ndo ndeed for that. I dond’t feel that bad—snrff!” He lifted a hand to rub at his running nose, feeling a prickling irritation form in his nasal passages.
“Oh come on, I’m just checking. You sound like shit.” The internal sensors in his body allowed him to accurately measure the temperature of anything he touched. He raised a hand to Alastor’s forehead, but the deer demon leaned back, pushing him away.
“Keep your hands to yourself.” He sniffled again, his nose scrunching up to try to fight off the growing itch. One hand stayed against Vox’s chest, the other propping him up on the bed. The prickling in his sinuses wasn’t stopping, and keeping his definitely-not-partner away was quickly becoming more about not sneezing on him than about not wanting to be touched.
The other demon challenged him with a glare. He grabbed his arm, moving it out of his way, and put his palm against Alastor’s forehead just as the latter’s breath started to hitch. “W-hhait, I— H-heh— HHEHDTZ’zhue!” He snapped forward with a wet, vicious sneeze right in Vox’s face. He didn’t even try to sniffle after that—he knew his nose was so full of snot that it wouldn’t do anything, and he could feel another sneeze coming. This time, he pulled his arm free and summoned a handkerchief, burying his face into it. “Hihh… IYHD’TZZHHH! Hh’KZSHHF!”
Meanwhile, Vox simply looked at him with a deadpan frown, his screen misted with tiny, mucousy droplets. Luckily, he had the ability to fully turn his face into 2D pixels, so nothing got in his face. “Really?” he sighed, pulling his own handkerchief out of his pocket and wiping his screen.
Alastor was too busy blowing his nose to respond.
“Now I need to take a shower.” He headed into the bathroom, grumbling about how Alastor better take care of him if he gets sick, too. He opened the cabinet under the sink, taking out a bottle of screen cleaner and a microfiber cloth. After spritzing the cloth, he wiped his screen down again, cleaning any remaining streaks. He’d have to do it all again after he showered, but first, he had to make sure that Alastor was going to keep his ass in bed.
At least the other had finished cleaning himself up by the time Vox came back. “I tried to ward you,” he said without looking at him. Those few sneezes had taken a remarkable toll on his voice, coming out hoarse and cracked.
“Yeah, thanks. And you’re spending another night here. You can leave in the morning if you’re… less of a biohazard.” He turned and walked off again, going to find a box of tissues.
“Are you that desperate for mby compady?” Alastor tried to laugh, but it quickly devolved into coughing, rasping against his already aching throat. “I dond’t feel like goi’g adywhere, adyways,” he muttered. He was pretty sure the other couldn’t even hear him from the other end of the room.
Vox soon returned and set the tissues on the nightstand. “There. I’m gonna go scrub my fucking screen off and hope there’s any chance of me avoiding this shit. Oh, and you do have a fever.” His screen flashed a reading of 100.4°F.
