Intro post!! You may call me Tickly, she/her. This is a kink blog, so minors please leave - anyone underage or whose age I canât verify will be blocked as a precaution!
This is a sideblog and as such I wonât follow back or like, but if Iâve ever reblogged from / replied to / sent an ask to you, we can be mutuals in spirit <3
Will post mostly snzarios and sometimes fic, occasionally some art if youâre all well behaved đ
Please send me asks about my ocs, snzarios, whatever you like. I much enjoy being enabled for my pervert behaviour. 𩷠DMs also welcomed but please donât ask me for RP / exchanges if I donât know you!
Iâm a big big fan of hitching, holdbacks, swh, stuck sneezes⌠I like to make âem work for it. >:)
Personally not a fan of mess, but I wonât judge if you are :)
Tags list:
#just a tickle - original content by yours truly! can include asks and reblogs if iâve made a notable addition to the op.
#good stu-huhff - general reblogs, other peopleâs work, treasures for the hoard <3
#itâs funny because itch-hew - stuff i reblog because itâs relatable or makes me laugh (really an excuse for me to subject you all to this terrible pun i was proud of LOL)
#bless you forever - âfavâ tag
And possibly more to come⌠consider this a WIP post. Consider this wide world malleable and everything gossamer, like a billow of pollen on a warm summer wind⌠gosh, youâre not allergic, are you? ;)
I'm so into apologetic sneezes. Like the excuse me, pardon, sorry something really tickles in my nose, so sorry I really can't help it. It just gets to me. It's so hot and so adorable at the same time, it drives me nuts.
Two ladies getting it on and Lady 1 is almost there when she needs to sneeze but the pleasure is distracting her enough that the sneeze won't come and the sneeze is distracting her enough that she can't come
Tw: snz ofc, very vocal and moany sounding hitches, possible quality loss from having to downsize the file
stark contrast to my last post, but I remembered a request to post some ragweed sneezes a while back so here's a recording I did a few weeks back I think? Bit different sounding than my normal sneezes - ragweed really brings out the big and intense sneezes for me sorry if thats not yalls jam lol
inducing someone, tickling around in their nose, and suddenly you find a spot that works so well it genuinely surprises them. previously, they were mostly just indulging you, entertaining your fantasies, but not really confident they would sneeze, let alone that you'd be able to make them sneeze consistently.
well well well, look who's left stunned, on autopilot as you tickle sneeze after desperate sneeze out of them, constantly breaking off in their own confused rambles attempting to express their confusion to hitch up and up and-oh, bless you again.
Summary: Sneezy secret agent gets paired up with another employee for âcross-departmental education.â Omicron canât imagine a worse assignment.
PART 1 - PART 2 (coming soon!)
Iâm back with more Omicron Verse, starring disaster career man Omicron! Compared to his debut, this is more of a slice-of-life story that focuses on character dynamics. It also features a â¨new character⨠Iâve been excited about. I hope you all like him too! đĽ°
These are original characters, all in their twenties and thirties! This story takes place directly after Best Laid Plans. If youâd rather not read that one, hereâs a summary!
Omicron is a secret agent
For his first big mission, he infected himself with an engineered cold virus designed to make him sneeze a lotÂ
Anita is the scientist / doctor who created this virus
Delta is a senior agent and was Omicronâs direct supervisor on the previous mission
Thank you for reading either story, if you choose to!
(Warnings: Unrealistic science, Mess Liteâ˘, mention of arousal in passing, mild humiliation [character embarrassed by sneezing])
-
Agent Omicron straightened his tie, his wingtip oxfords clacking on the tile as he swept through the agencyâs halls with his head held high. Almost a month since The Case â the one that got him commendations as one-to-watch in his division â and he still hadnât lost the skip in his step. People knew his face when he entered a room, whispered about him when he wasnât around, and even the division director gave him her personal congratulations.
It wouldnât be long before they issued him his next big assignment. Hopefully something high profile, where he could drive a cool car and parachute out of a helicopter or something. Heâd do it all on his own with no training wheels, safety nets, or meddling superior officers. It was insufferable to have Agent Delta going around to all the seniors gushing about how âhis rookieâ really powered through despite being âbedridden with feverâ and âsneezing himself silly.â Ugh.
Even more humiliating than that was Omicronâs battle scar â it was subtle, but his nose was forever changed. He sneezed more often, at times for no reason other than his nerves decided to itch. At random he was overcome with the uncharacteristically huge sneezes heâd weathered time and again during the case. He had no control over them, and usually no idea when they would strike. Because of this he held sneezes back more often than he indulged, but this just left a pestering tickle in his nose all afternoon that eventually drove him to insanity.
Case in point, such a tickle was tormenting him right now.
Heâd been in meetings throughout the day, so Omicron tamed it with frequent rubs and firm pressure. Heâd rather deal with a flushed, fidgety nose than a disruptive one; being known as âthe agent that sneezes constantlyâ would absolutely destroy any credibility heâd cobbled together from his impressive mission performance.Â
Impatient, his nostrils flared and coaxed him to sniff on reflex. It shivered back out of him with a dreading moan.
â..hohh..â Omicron jammed his finger to his septum, bartering with himself as he increased his walking speed. Relax, he ordered. Iâll sneeze in a second, just let me-Â
He stopped, mind briefly blanking as the tickle wrestled control with fitful jerks of his breath. âhh!uh.. HH!uhh..â Omicron forced eyes open just long enough to confirm there was no one in the hallway before-
â-KZSSCHoo!!â He bent double, finger still beneath his nose, and straightened up with a dazed sniffle. It popped like confetti in his nose, a burst of ticklish sparks. His eyes welled shut, and down again he went. â-hckâKZSCHiew!â
Whatever linked his propensity for arousal to his nose had faded along with the virus; he no longer had to worry about getting boners from sneezing too much. Small mercies.
He stayed facing the floor, eyes closed, concentrating. One moment the sneeze loomed, and the next it retreated. It felt like a feathered pendulum swinging in his nasal cavity, momentary and stimulating but just infrequent enough to leave him in limbo. He no longer had the misfortune of manifesting a sneeze simply by thinking about it, but he did have occasional luck imagining himself to completion if he was perched right on the edge.
The sneeze was close enough that he could see it, picture the way the pendulum swung in his mindâs eye. Focus on the way it grazed his twitching nerves. He imagined the feathers longer, wispier, dragging languidly over shuddering, pink walls and each time his breath caught the pendulum moved slower, slower, until it stopped with the plumage resting against him. He breeeeeeeeathed deeply, welcoming a cresting gasp, picturing the down as it fluttered against membranes suddenly clenching with hunger, and oh-
âheHDâIZZSSHH!!OOOhhh, fidnally...â
âBless ya!â
Omicron did not scream, but a little sound strangled out of him as he spun around and instinctively dropped into a defensive stance. The stranger was built like a brick house, tall and broad-shouldered with a hulking frame to suit him. Despite his size, his soft physique suggested he didnât do physical training. He was also clutching a mop.Â
The man startled backward in surprise.
âOh, sorry!â he yelped in a deep, rumbling drawl. âDidnât mean to scare ya!â
A custodian, Omicron realized. The man wore the agencyâs standard janitorial uniform and he had an ID on a badge reel clipped to one of his belt loops. It lacked a name or division designation, possessing only a personnel number, but that wasnât unusual. He had an unkempt look about him: unshaven stubble, untidy haircut, an unbelievable number of wrinkles in his clothing.Â
Omicron brushed his hands down the front of his pressed suit and smoothed his hair back into place. âYou didnât scare me. I just didnât expect you to be there.â
The custodianâs brows crunched in confusion. â.. Ainât that what scarinâ somebody is?â
â.. No,â Omicron replied, but he couldnât actually think of a rebuttal so he cut his losses. âNevermind, pardon me, I have somewhere to be..â
Before he could take a step, the man jumped into motion and dove into the cart next to him. âOh, hold on a minute!â
It would be rude to leave now, so Omicron stiffly waited. For someone who did this for a living and presumably stocked the cart himself, the man seemed to have a hard time locating whatever he was looking for. Omicron tapped his foot, arms crossed, watching the other mumble to himself. With a defeated huff, the stranger finally snatched a rag from a stack on the bottom shelf.
âSorry I donât got any tissues, best I can do.â He brandished it to Omicron. âHere ya go!â
Omicron held up a hand. âNo, thank you.â
The manâs brows pinched together again, and when Omicron turned to go, he asked, âAre ya sure?â
Omicron glanced back, gritted his teeth, and replied in a perfectly cordial voice: âYes, very.â
Still, the man looked unconvinced and said in a blithe timbre, âWell, I just thought ya might want it on account of your nose runninâ.â
.. What?Â
Omicron whipped a hand up to his face and with burning mortification felt how wet his nostrils were. And his upper lip. And his suit, when he looked down to see the damp streaks painted there. Heâd sneezed on himself, gotten startled, and then was so distracted by the conversation he didnât notice what heâd done.
He snatched the cloth from the manâs hands, muttered something about being late to a meeting, and left. He didnât sprint, but it was a near thing.
---
Anita, naturally, had no sympathy for him. She still hadnât stopped laughing.
âItâs not that funny,â he grumbled, picking at his cafeteria sandwich. They sometimes shared their lunch hour in her office when their days were slow. Omicron wondered why he even bothered talking to her, when this is the kind of treatment he could expect.Â
âItâs pretty funny,â she insisted, and only grinned wider when he glared. âHonestly you needed an ego check. Watching you strut around with that smug look on your face was getting annoying.â
Omicronâs eyes narrowed. âWhat do you mean, smug?â
âYou know.â Anita pantomimed, tilting her chin and raising her eyebrows with a smirk: an expression that dripped with imperious pride. Arguing would only encourage her, so Omicron tore a bite off his sandwich instead. Anita went back to her leftover stir fry, still smirking. âNow, who did you say this guy was?â
âSomeone in Division 8, I think,â Omicron mumbled into a napkin. âHe was in a custodian uniform. Tall...â
ââŚDark and handsome?â Anita waggled her eyebrows.Â
Omicron furrowed his. âDisheveled. I havenât seen him around before. He sounded like he was from out of town.â
Anita ahhhhâd in recognition. âYou met EJ! Heâs such a sweetheart, he makes my teeth ache.â
âYou know him?â
âSure,â she said. âI gave him his physical on his first day. That was a few months ago now.â
Great, Omicron mused sourly. What a terrible first impression he must have of me.
Unbidden, a prickle niggled him somewhere far back in his sinuses. He fought the impulse to roll his eyes. Instead he swiped a finger beneath his nostrils and felt them flare with mischief. He rubbed harder, chastising.
âStay away from him,â Anita said, pointing accusingly with her fork. âYouâre too mean.â
âWhat?!â Omicron squawked. âI am not mean.â
âOh yes you are. All the interns are scared of you.â
âDonât exaggerate.âÂ
He shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth, balled up the paper it came in, and then froze. The tickle was back, barging in as if it had been waiting for the moment heâd be most indisposed to receive it. His nose tingled ominously, wrinkling at the bridge. Held prisoner, Omicron could do nothing but breathe through his nose as he rushed to chew. His eyes glassed over. His nostrils pulsed irritably. It felt like the tip of a finger grazing back and forth, teasing and slow, no no noâ
Omicron sniffed sharply, loudly, abruptly smothering the sensation. Swallowing was a success. He may have avoided disaster, but a warm flush blitzed through him when he sighed out a reflexive huhh.. on his exhale. Blinking hard and scrubbing beneath his nose with his wrist, he caught sight of Anita. Her gaze lingered, then slanted toward sympathy. He eyed her suspiciously.
âWhat now?â
âYour nose doing okay?â
âNot this again,â he groaned with one last knuckling rub. âItâs fine. Iâm fine. Everything is fine.â
She heaved a long, dramatic sigh. âI wish youâd let me tinker with it. Iâm sure I could mix a new solution to dull the lingering sensitivity. Or some nerve therapyââ
Omicron barked a singular HA! as he stood to slip on his jacket. âNot a chance. Iâd rather deal with the consequences than let you anywhere near my nose again.âÂ
He ignored her pout, straightening his lapel and cuffs with exacting precision before tossing his trash. Mightâve escaped with his dignity intact, if that feather-soft tickle hadnât wiggled enticingly. His nostrils immediately flew wide, jaw falling open, expression going weak. Omicron was helpless to stop it. He snapped a step forward.
ââhdâTSSshhâHOO!â
He stood wet-eyed in the aftermath, watching the glitter of spray disappear in the air. Dammit. He yanked out the custodial rag heâd been bestowed earlier and wiped his nose.
âBless you, Mr. Iâm Fine,â came Anitaâs cheery contribution.Â
He flipped her off on his way out.
---
Another week went by.Â
While waiting for his next assignment, Omicron tried to forget about his faux pas. It was silly to be so hung up on some random guy witnessing an unfortunate sneeze, but it needled him when his mind was idle. Maybe he would have forgotten eventually if not for everyoneâs favorite saboteur: serendipity.
He was in the campus gym, red-faced and spangled with sweat as he did battle with the rowing machine, when he caught sight of someone familiar pushing through the entrance doors. Their eyes met and the visitor smiled with the force of a thousand watt bulb. Omicron sighed with bone-deep resignation.
âAh, just the man I wanted to see!â Agent Delta crowed in greeting, already walking toward him.Â
âHello, sir,â Omicron grunted as he pulled his next rep. Delta came to stand politely nearby, hands laced behind his back and rocking on the balls of his feet. After a span of silence, Omicron prompted, â... Do you need something?â
âYes, but Iâll wait until you finish,â Delta said with a gesture toward the rowing machine. âTake your time. Iâm in no hurry.â
Omicronâs eyebrow twitched; a bead of sweat skated down between his eyes, pearling over the rim of one nostril that flared in offended reply. He wrinkled his nose and strained through another rep.Â
âI would hate to waste your time, sir.â
âNot a waste at all! This is a refreshing change of scenery for me after too many hours at a computer screen.â
âIâm in the middle of a set so this may take a while, sir.â
âOh, I really donât mind.â
Omicron cut a glare toward Deltaâs warm, guileless smile â then disguised it with a scrub of his nose against his shoulder, out of breath as he bore down on the foot pedals. âSir, please. I insist.â
Deltaâs smile widened with a hint of fondness that made Omicronâs next pull especially forceful. âWell, if you insist then I suppose I should cut to the chase: I have your next assignment for you.â
Omicron nearly broke form. He scrambled to ease the handle back to its housing so he didnât whip the chain, then sprang up with legs jelly-weak from reps. Delta darted forward to anchor a hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady as his knees shook. Now flushed from more than just exercise, Omicron tried to arrange himself into a professional-looking stance despite his heaving chest and trembling limbs.Â
âReady to receive orders.â
âI can see that,â Delta chuckled, giving him a single pat before stepping back. âI thought you might be excited.â
Being called âexcitedâ sobered Omicron immediately. âIs it another undercover mission?â
âNo, actuallyââ
âOh, really?â Undercover work was Omicronâs bread and butter, but maybe the head officers wanted him to widen his skillset. âThen.. asset extraction?â
Omicron imagined himself repelling into a high-security venue, gloved hands handling a highly classified and sensitive item worth millions of dollars for its contents or value. Another drop of sweat skimmed down his nose, lingering until he twitched. He lifted a finger to rub beneath nostrils blotched pink from his workout.
Delta shook his head. âNo, itâs notââ
But Omicron was already picturing a pristine, expensive office featuring a hand-crafted mahogany desk he would soon be bugging to high hell for surveillance. âIâve had experience with infiltration simulations. Would this mission require threat containment? Neutralization?â
â... Omicron, may I tell you what it is you will be doing?â
Omicron blinked, then somewhat sheepishly fell again into a proper parade-rest as he fought down a grin. It must be something important and challenging if he hadnât guessed it yet. Not even the ominous tingle in his nose could ruin this. He thumbed the tip absently, chasing the feeling further back.Â
Delta watched him do it, and his gaze softened.
âI will be honest,â he said. âI suspect this assignment will not be what you expected, but I ask that you keep an open mind. Can you do that for me?âÂ
This conversation, let alone the assignment, wasnât going the way Omicron expected. Instantly his instincts prickled, as did the impatient flicker of finicky nerves deep inside his nose. He sniffed, cleared his throat, nodded with more confidence than he felt.
âOf course, sir.â
Delta clapped his hands together. âExcellent! Then I am very pleased to tell you that youâll be spending the next eight weeks in the trial run of our brand new Everyday Impact Initiative!â
Omicron stared. Blinked. â... Pardon?â
Needing no further encouragement, Delta launched into a spirited explanation of the Everyday Impact Initiative (or E-Impact, for those who wanted to cringe hard enough to hurt). A fresh and bold take on cross-departmental collaboration, the initiative was created to pair employees from different divisions so they could learn more about one anotherâs day-to-day work. The goal? To build empathy and improve corporate flow. Delta was using his tone to dress up the bad news, gilding it with words like integration and synergy and bonding.
Somehow it was worse than anything Omicron might have imagined. He could not have conceived of more creative or cruel torture. As if to voice agreement, his nose fizzed irritably. Omicron felt the urge assembling, stacking its pieces slowly but with unshakable conviction; a hard blink and whipcrack shake of his head destabilized it. Not gone, but delayed.
âWhat do you think?â Delta finally asked when he finished his sales pitch.
âI hate it, sir,â he replied, and then added belatedly: âWith all due respect.â
Delta wilted. âOmicron, come now. You promised you would give it a chance.âÂ
Snapshots spun through Omicronâs mind, each more unpleasant than the last: making pointless small-talk with a stranger; trying to explain the complexity of his work to someone who would ask annoying questions about it; watching this person as they demonstrated knowledge of their own profession, essential to the company but absolutely useless to Omicron; pretending to care about said knowledge for the sake of the initiative and his own job performance; and a split-second, shaky thought he resented, What if Iâm bad at this?
He snatched and stowed that worry where it wouldnât see the light of day. Cordiality masked his rising desperation. âSir, there m-..â The tickle heâd been wrestling with testily spiked. â-muhhst be a more eff.. effective uuhsse of my t-time.â
There would be ramifications now to holding it back, but Omicron wedged his fist under his nose and endured, teeth-gritted and determined to get through this conversation without interruption. Delta, with infuriating sympathy, fished out a fresh handkerchief from his inner jacket pocket to offer him. Omicron pointedly ignored it.
With a sigh, Delta said, âThis is a great opportunity for you. I understand you are eager to return afield, but itâs important for you to decompress between assignments.â
âB-Beenâd twoooh w-weeeh-hh-H!â
His voice went weak and heady. Air jumped down his throat, inflating his lungs like a crank. His nostrils pulsed, signalling him with impunity even as he tried abrading them into submission. Deltaâs gaze got only more intolerably concerned.
âTwo weeks is not nearly enough time for recovery.â
Omicronâs gathering scowl changed its mind halfway there and melted into something hazy and helpless. He whirled to the side, shifting his hand to hover just in front of his nose and mouth as he bent at the waist.
â-ehâCHZZSShu!â Perfunctory, exclamatory, and as Omicron straightened up he discovered it wasnât enough. The tentative throb of relief roared into another need. He lurched down a second time. â-aAHDâDZSSHHOO!â He started to rise and then groaned when he felt his breath snag yet again. Shaking his head, he turned further from Delta andâ âhehHTSshoo!â
Softer, but Omicron stayed obediently still until the tickle truly dissolved. An experimental sniffle came out thick, and he grimaced at the state of the hand that had shielded most of the spray. Bitterly, he turned back and accepted Deltaâs stupid handkerchief.Â
The older man focused politely on the wall of the gym to give him a sense of privacy. âBless you.â
Still a bit stuffed up, Omicron spoke up from behind the handkerchief. âSir, if I mbay be direct, what recovery are you expecting from mbe?â
Deltaâs gaze returned and landed squarely on Omicronâs nose, which made the shorter man bristle up before the other could say a word. He sniffled and balled the handkerchief up in his hand.
âThe sdneezing? Seriously, sir?â
âNot just that,â Delta countered patiently. âItâs important to establish good habits around rest early in your career because your work will only get more challenging. Also in observing your performance afield, I see room for growth.â
That last remark landed like a dagger in Omicronâs chest. Perhaps Delta could tell, because he stepped closer and squeezed his juniorâs arm companionably.
âYou were exceptional,â he reassured. Then his smile softened with a tilt of his head. âBut I think you would benefit from some⌠interpersonal experience.â
âWhat does that evend mbean?â Omicron mumbled, sullen and spiraling. He could feel himself making an improper face, something sad and despicably lost. It was almost a mercy when that tickle sprouted again, like a weed that just kept coming back. His expression twinged, nose twitching and lips parting as he hovered the handkerchief close.
âIt means I want you to make some friends, Omicron,â Delta said, as if that was the simplest thing in the world.Â
Omicronâs eyes fluttered open in surprise, and then collapsed under the weight of what was growing in him. He hitched delicately in little h-h-h! staccatos before tucking into the handkerchief. âihh-..iihâMMPHhsh!â
âBless!â chirped Delta.
Omicron wasnât done, but he refused to let this conversation go uncontested. He kept the handkerchief pinned to his nose and blundered through a breathy, âI hhaave fr-.. frihh.. hihâKSSHoo!.. friends!â
âBless, then this initiative will be a wonderful opportunity for you to make another one,â Delta said with that infuriating smile. As Omicron teetered on a third with nostrils wide and jaw open, it gave Delta a window of opportunity. He started inching back toward the exit. âIâll email you the details, yes?â
Omicron shook his head, too tickled by his nose to speak. He sniffled to hurry it along and get himself out of limbo. It shimmered inside his head, catching light like a wavering mirror. âhh-.. hd-!â
âYouâll start the program Monday, bright and early.â Delta was within armâs reach of the door. âTry to have some fun, alright?â He ducked halfway into the hall, tossing a jaunty wave over his shoulder. âAnd bless you!â
Gone. That bastard. Omicron was caught between a seething frustration and a grudging respect for Deltaâs smooth escape. But beneath all that festered a buzzy, defeated anxiety. Regardless of his feelings, if the top brass wanted him enrolled in this inane initiative heâd just have to do it.
And Omicron didnât do anything by half. Forget eight weeks.Â
Heâd ace this in one.
---
Omicron was pissed, but he was also a professional.Â
On Monday he arrived at the rendezvous point ten minutes early dressed crisply in an ironed suit, shined shoes, and hair coiffed just so. He positioned himself strategically behind the atriumâs leftmost pillar to stake-out the corridors with the highest traffic. Every unfamiliar face was clocked and logged, weighed against what he managed to memorize after frantically clicking through the employee directory last night when he couldnât sleep.
Deltaâs email about what today would bring was woefully sparse, lacking even the name of the person Omicron was meant to meet in the spirit of âorganic introductions.â All it contained was a bunch of corporate drivel about the initiative and a vague itinerary outlining the next eight weeks. He and his âpartnerâ had to spend a minimum of four hours a week together, teaching one another about their respective roles. Today, however, was just the meet & greet.Â
Casual. Unstructured. Nonessential. The worst kind of activity.
Omicron brushed beneath his nostrils when they twitched for attention, so accustomed to them acting up he barely thought about it. His sniff, sharp and dismissing, echoed in the rotunda alongside the clack of shoes and passing murmurs between colleagues. He waited and waited, and when the allotted time passed without incident, Omicron dared to dream that his prospective partner was a no show.
Then someone rounded the corner.Â
Unlike others passing through, this man lingered with an aura of uncertainty. He was tall. Dishelved. Wearing a custodial uniform, and scanning the atrium with the telegraphed hope that someone else would lock eyes with him.
A memory trickled like ice down Omicronâs spine. Itâs that janitor, he thought. The one who saw me sneeze all over myself.Â
Anita called him EJ, and it was obvious from the manâs body language that he was here to meet someone; Omicron didnât need to guess who that might be. That was just his luck. He pinched the bridge of his nose, bracing against the indignity of either extreme: greeting this man, or slipping away like a coward.
Iâm not a coward, came the next thought, a kneejerk reply. This is a tactical retreat. An opportunity to regroup and prepare an introduction that will amend a substandard first impression.Â
Omicron peeked around the pillar to clock the position of the threat and triangulate the best route to safety at the same moment EJ glanced in his direction.Â
Their eyes met.
Before Omicron could do anything â hide, fake a call on his phone, pretend to be looking at literally anyone else â EJ perked up in recognition. He lifted his hand in a tentative wave, then waggled it with more confidence when Omicron didnât look away.Â
Oh god, Omicron thought, rooted to the ground and watching EJ beeline straight for him. He remembers me.
âHey!â Same rich timbre. Same twanging accent. Same crooked smile. âItâs you! How ya been?â
There was nothing for it. Exiting would look worse than just facing the situation. So Omicron stepped smoothly out from behind the pillar as if heâd planned the entrance, clasped his hands at the small of his back, and wrinkled his nose with a willful prayer for it to please behave.
âFine,â he said. âAnd you?â
âDoinâ good!â EJ offered a hand. Calloused, thick at the palms, dry skin around the knuckles. Omicron shook it with appropriate strength for the appropriate length of time as EJ smiled down at him. âIâm EJ, by the way.â
âI know,â Omicron replied thoughtlessly, and then felt a pang of panic. It would be strange to admit he asked around because he was curious. He scrambled for a convenient lie but could only find the truth. âWeâre Initiative partners.â
Omicron anticipated an array of responses, but none of them were the thump of a hand over EJâs heart as he sagged in relief.Â
âWhew, I was hopinâ youâd say that!â He crowed it with such sincerity, Omicron found it immediately suspect. âIâm glad Iâm doinâ this with somebody I already met! Well, sorta. Didnât get to talk much last time.â
The reminder of âlast timeâ landed with a splat in Omicronâs stomach and a tingle in his nose. He sniffed, louder than he wanted but not as strong as he needed to banish what was brewing. His nostrils quivered. His jaw tightened.Â
âI had somewhere to be,â he muttered, then turned stiffly toward a corridor and began to walk. âWe should find a suitable place to talk.â
âOh.. uh, sure,â EJ replied. He caught up in two long strides. âWhat should I call you, though?â
Omicron briefly closed his eyes, exasperated with himself. Through clenched teeth he gave his answer: âOmicron.â
---
Finding a space to chat was fraught.Â
Common areas felt too exposed, meeting rooms were too formal, their own offices seemed too personal. All the while, Omicron contended with his nose. He tried not to make it overt, but it seemed hellbent on ruining his day as it toyed with the idea of either clogging up or dumping a load of congestion straight onto his shirt. His fresh packet of tissues (a necessity nowadays) felt like an iron weight in his pocket.
EJ had trailed alongside Omicron quietly as they walked circles around the agency complex until finally suggesting they could sit outside â which is how they ended up at a spiderweb-strewn wooden garden table in the park plaza outside the west entrance. Omicron sat primly, legs crossed, clutching a tissue for quick access. He latched his gaze onto a potted plant clearly doing its best despite the circumstances of weather and sporadic watering. Omicron could relate.
EJ sat with both elbows resting on the tabletop and cleared his throat to break the silence. âSo.. what department are ya in?â
âField Intelligence,â Omicron replied with a sniff, brisk and controlled. His gaze stayed on the plant, arms crossed tightly across his chest. âI presume youâre in Division 8?â
âUm⌠I think?âÂ
â... Thatâs maintenance and facilities.â
âOh!â There was the sound of creaking wood, EJ shifting in his chair. âY-Yeah, thatâs right. Iâm still learninâ all the different names. What kinda stuff do ya do in field intelligence?â
This was a subject Omicron had confidence in, and he jumped toward it like a drowning man hoping nobody would notice he couldnât swim. âA variety of covert operations, including surveillance, infiltration, asset handling, extraction, information gathering, and so forth.â Unable to help himself, he added, âI specialize in undercover work.âÂ
When there was no immediate reply, Omicron chanced a glance at EJ. The man was leaning in, brows lifted, eyes glimmering alongside an almost boyish smile. âWow.. youâre like, a secret agent? Thatâs so cool.â
Heat spilled across the back of Omicronâs neck. Those words made him want to simultaneously sit up straighter and hide behind his hands. He sniffed thickly, passed his tissue beneath restless nostrils, and spoke to the plant.Â
âYou could say that.â
âDo ya got any spy gadgets?â EJ asked. âLike, a grappling gun? Mech suits? Or a pen with a little camera in it or somethin?â
Mech suits? Omicron wondered. Is he being serious? Even so, he had to fight down a twitch at the corner of his mouth when he replied, âThatâs classified information.â
âRight, that makes sense, sorry..â EJ deflated for a moment, then rallied. âOh, then what about spy cars? Spy motorcycles? Spy⌠planes? Ever been in one of those?â
The twitch migrated from Omicronâs lips to his nose, crawling up inside and coaxing his chest to jump when his breath snagged. He squinted at the plant, white-knuckling his tissue. âCl-lahhssified..â
âThose still count as gadgets, I guess. Probably also canât tell me if ya got like.. a cute spy dog sidekick that follows ya around and finds clues or fights bad guys, huh?â
Here Omicron flicked his eyes to EJ and didnât bother replying â partially because the answer was self-evident, but mostly because he was silently strong-arming a sneeze into submission. EJ sighed, slumping back in his chair with a wistful stare at the sky.Â
âMan, they ainât kiddinâ when they call you guys secret agents.â
It was such an unexpected remark that something equally unexpected bubbled up from Omicronâs chest: he laughed. The sound stumbled out of him awkwardly, unpracticed, and the next inhale was a wavering gasp. His expression fell apart, eyes squeezing shut, nose wrinkling up. He couldnât do anything but flinch away from the table.
ââhâHIDZssch!â It sprang from him before he could cover it. He blinked just in time to see spray glittering in the sunlight. Growling under his breath, his elbow jerked up as the next one filled his nose. â.. shhit-..ihh-TZSShâuh!â
âBless ya!â
Omicron turned away from the table entirely to fumble another tissue out of his packet and hasten it to his nose before the next one bent him over his lap with a mortifyingly exclamatory, â-HIHâCHIZZSSSHOoo!â
âYhhes,â Omicron breathed back, eyelids fluttering shut when the tickleâs tide receded and rolled right back in stronger than before. His inhale was deep, slow, poured into him until he felt too full. His head tilted back, and then he wrenched over himself with even more vigor.
â..hhhhhH-... hehâHEZZSCHHOOOO!!.. mmgh..â
He surfaced from his tissues sniffling, wiping and rubbing and trying like hell to cast out an itch that wasnât done with him yet. His nose twitched under the abuse, besieged inside and out. Omicron peeled open teary eyes to see EJ staring at him with puppy-dog eyebrows.Â
âYa sure youâre alright?â he asked. âWe can go inside if the airâs gettinâ to ya.â
Omicron bit his tongue to ward away the flare of his temper. This was how it went nowadays. Heâd start sneezing and the world watched him like a sideshow waiting to be fixed, diagnosed, or consoled. Itâs why he strangled his sneezes into compliance whenever possible and had a mental blueprint of the office bathrooms with the least amount of traffic.
âItâs ndot allergies,â he grumbled stuffily, using his tissues like both a breakwater and a privacy curtain. âAâd Iâmb ndot sick. Iâmb just.. like this.â
He waited for the fallout: an inevitable flurry of followup questions; a doubtful side-eye accompanied by a pointed scoot of EJâs chair; even the pedantic lecture heâd heard a few times already from nosy passersby informing him that it could be nonallergic rhinitis, have you seen a doctor for that? He girded himself for the burden of fielding all that while still wrestling with a wrathful tickle he wanted so badly to leave him alone.
But all EJ did was say, âGotcha.â
Omicron paused, stymied. Even his sneeze hovered on pause as he glanced up at EJ through a haze. The man was watching him without pity, without disgust, without curiosity, without anything but attentiveness and something kind in his eyes. It felt absurdly vulnerable as Omicronâs eyes creased shut while holding contact with EJâs, but the reflex superseded ego, thought, emotion, everything save for the bone-deep wish to purge this tickle from his nose. His entire body bowed to the need, held in its thrall until finally it crashed out of him with a roar.
â-AAAHDDZSSSCHHYOOO!!â
It echoed humiliatingly through the courtyard. Ambience stopped. Heads turned. A bird blundered out of a tree, startled cawing in its wake. Damp tissues cupped to his face, furiously blushing, Omicron scrambled for a fresh one. EJ slumped and let out a breath like heâd been waiting for it too.Â
âOof, bless ya!â
It was suddenly too much. Omicron stayed hunched, shoulders tense, glaring at his lap with his cheeks blazing. âThis is goiâg to happenâd a lot. You donâd have to say it every timeb.â
His words slipped out sharper than he meant them.Â
âOh,â EJ replied, which couldâve meant anything.
Omicron winced, his stomach twisting miserably. This was hardly the encore he wanted, after his commendation from his prior assignment. Heâd set out with the simple goal of correcting a poor first impression and now heâd gone and fumbled it beyond any possible repair. He was considering how much reputation he had left to lose and if it would be salvageable by excusing himself when he noticed EJ.
The man wore none of the expressions Omicron feared. There was no tension in his posture, no furrow in his brow. When Omicron played it back in his mind, he heard that âohâ not as a sound of offense, but recalibation.Â
EJ reinforced it with a nod. âOkay.âÂ
⌠Okay? Omicron echoed to himself. Thatâs it?Â
Apparently so, because EJ sank back in his chair with an easy slouch and looked up at the sky as he scooped up the conversation like theyâd never dropped it.Â
âSorry for jumpinâ to conclusions,â he said, scratching his stubbly jaw with one hand. âSome allergies can be all year round, so I just thought ya might have âem. Actually, ya know, I was kinda worried I might get allergic after movinâ here on account of all the different plantsââ
Carefully, unsure of how fragile the moment was and unwilling to accidentally break it, Omicron blew his nose. He kept his gaze zeroed on EJ, waiting for the moment the man flipped the spotlight back to him, but EJ just continued chattering all on his own.
ââdidnât have any allergies back home either, thank mercy.â He smiled then, like he was revisiting a happy memory. âGuess thatâs what beinâ raised a farm boy gets ya, huh? Strong immune system. Thatâs what Ma always says anyway.â
At this point, Omicron had cobbled himself back into composure. Shoving all his used tissues into his pockets was undignified, but heâd rather that than leave the evidence strewn across the table. He could feel how warm his nose was, no doubt glowing with irritation. His little steadying sniffles sounded cottony, betraying how swollen his nasal passages were, but his nose was no longer actively running. Nor was it tickling, thanks to those cataclysmically strong sneezes.
âYou lived here long?â EJ asked, his gaze and conversation drifting back to Omicron. The timing felt intentional.Â
And as Omicron cleared his throat and lifted his chin to answer, he didnât quite know how to feel about it.
/tbc!
Thank you so much for reading! đ Hope to see you again soon at Part 2 ^w^
Because spring is juuuust starting where I am, here's a thought I had. Is this anything??
A dryad who is helplessly allergic to their own pollen and dreads blooming time every year. They try so hard to hold back their sneezes so as to not disturb the bees and butterflies but sometimes the tickle simply becomes unbearable and when they finally sneeze (maybe because of a wisp of hair or a rustling leaf or even a butterfly who landed on their nose rather than a flower) it feels so good but then a cloud of pollen shakes loose and settles on them all over again and their nose is so sensitive already that the cycle starts all over again.
someone with a cat allergy being completely clamoured on by said animal. it makes them chuckle at first, and theyâre not quite sure where to put their hands because they know they shouldnât be touching it, but regardless it only takes a few minutes for their nose to start itching.
they scrunch it up and huff a little, a sharp exhale to try and nip the tickle in the bud, but with the cat in such close proximity to their face any attempt at this point they know will be futile.
sighing in defeat, they scoop the animal up by the armpits and extend it out to its owner.
âheyheyhey can you p-hhuuh-leeease take the cat becauseIhavetoâ!â
they arenât able to finish their sentence and instead suck in a sharp breath. With the cat still in their hands they have nothing to cover with, and thereâs a split moment of panic that flashes across their face as they try to figure out what theyâre going to do.
Thinking fast, they turn their head to the side and pitch into their shoulder. Itâs a desperate attempt to try and stifle a series of itchy sneezes by completely crushing their nose until the cats owner finally pulls the animal from their hands.
Without thinking twice their now free hands snap up to their face to cup a final sneeze. They sigh in relief as the small fit ends, but their mistake is realized just a moment too late as the cat dander on their fingers starts to make their nose tingle all over again.
A stuck sneeze, but not in the âI canât sneeze no matter whatâ way. A stuck sneeze as in âI keep sneezing and sneezing and this tickle in the back of my nose wonât move, no matter how much I poke or prod at it I canât get anything to make it go away, and itâs driving me fucking crazy.â A stubborn itch that nothing can resolve, that keeps triggering flurries of sneezes that donât let up once they start, because the nose canât stop until the tickle is gone but no matter what it will not move. That kind of stuck.