[sickficluvr]

intro

hi! :-]

i mostly reblog illness/sneezing kink and general, non-kink sickfic things

other things i like (non-kink): caretaking, whump, hurt-comfort, fluff, vomiting/emeto

writing(?) sideblog: @sleepyill

—

a non-exhaustive list of fandoms i'm into:

- t/rigun 1998 - l/otr trilogy - x/mfc (have yet to watch) - a/tla - f/ma/b (have yet to watch) - the h/obbit trilogy - s/tar w/ars sequel trilogy - h/owl's m/oving c/astle - s/py x f/amily - w/itch h/at a/telier - lots of g/hibli films *there are more, but these are some off the top off my head

about me:

- i'm in the UTC+8 timezone - i'm reserved and a little shy, but am open to asks or messages about snz, shared interests or bonding over anything else ^_^ - i'm not open to talking explicitly abt my kink or flirting in dms. i'm not looking for a relationship.

note: will update this from time to time

[sickficluvr]

wait has "freak like me" disappeared from ao3??? :C was one of my favourite fics

!!!! ;o; i'm so honoured that it's one of ur favs, thank you ❣️😭 i deleted the fic a few months ago, i didn't think anyone would realise it was gone :') didn't expect so many ppl to read it and idek how that happened like i never mentioned it anywhere. it was my first time writing something like that and i don't think i wrote it well ;_;

i'll put a link to a google drive folder in my ao3 bio and you can download the fic from there heheh. i'll edit and bump this ask again when i do

[totallynotafetishblog]

Ink Blot

Just rewatched F/ullmetal A/lchemist: Brotherhood, so here's Roy and Riza both trying to hide their colds from each other at the office🥰

3k, set immediately post-series. Minor mess mentions.

*****

Riza Hawkeye was the perfect sharpshooter. Her discipline, precision, and control allowed for near-flawless aim, while her calm and collected demeanor ensured that she could get in, get the job done, and get out without hesitation.

As Riza awoke with her head in a fog and aching limbs, she prayed her skills would not be needed today.

Since joining the military, Riza couldn't recall having a real break. Not that she wanted one, particularly. For every national issue the military addressed, it seemed like two more popped up like the ugly heads of a Hydra. Governing a nation is—or should be—an ongoing exercise in betterment, and as long as Colonel Mustang had his eyes on the highest office in Amestris, Riza would work dutifully by his side to improve the lives of Amestrians. For anyone else, losing one's sight in a battle against a Homunculus who swallowed God and somehow coming out victorious would be a cause for celebration. A vacation, maybe. For Roy, it only kindled his desire to rebuild Amestris on a foundation of justice, carving out the violence and hatred seated deep in the country's core.

As soon as Roy and Riza were discharged from the hospital (and even before), they were back to work. With Grumman taking on the role of Führer, the Eastern Command Center was sorely lacking leadership, and Roy was the obvious candidate for the role. Roy and Riza had now been back in the office for three days, and Riza was starting to wonder if she had perhaps rushed her recovery. Her head was pounding as she entered the Command Center. Her throat burned. Her eyelids drooped. Riza felt, in no uncertain terms, like a pile of hot garbage.

Upon dragging herself into the Colonel's office, Riza noted that despite how sluggish she felt, she was as punctual as ever and had arrived before her superior. She took a seat at her desk and sighed at the mountain of paperwork in front of her; it would be another long day.

As the minutes ticked by, Riza wavered between relief that Mustang hadn't arrived yet to see her sorry state and concern as to his whereabouts. Had he gotten into a fight on the way to work? Had he been kidnapped by a Bradley loyalist? Did he accidentally light himself on fire?

Her hypothetical concerns were interrupted by a persistent itch deep in her sinuses. She pinched the bridge of her nose to try to quell the sensation, but the relentless tickle refused to leave. It only grew and grew, demanding her attention, until she had no choice but to release a double into her cupped hand. "hksShh! hih'KSshiew!"

Riza grabbed a handkerchief from her pocket to clean her hand and dab at the moisture above her upper lip. Before she could fully regain her composure, she heard the familiar sound of military-issue boots approaching in the hallway, followed by the turning of the doorknob. Riza shot up out of her chair and stood at attention.

"Sir!" she barked, a slight rasp creeping into her voice.

Colonel Roy Mustang entered and dismissed Riza with the nonchalant wave of his hand. "Lieutenant."

"Late start this morning?" She analyzed his face and movements, searching for any signs of injury. Though she found no cuts or bruises, the bags under his eyes and unnatural pallidness of his skin suggested that something was off.

Roy averted her gaze. "Yeah, I overslept. I had some trouble sleeping last night."

"Something on your mind?"

"I suppose a lot of things. I want to handle the restoration of Ishval appropriately. Major Miles from Briggs will be coming in next week to discuss what his team is working on so we can collaborate. And speaking of Ishval…" Roy grabbed a piece of paper from his desk. "This is the materials requisition form for the first phase of our project. Can you make a copy of this?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'll be in the archives office for most of the day doing more research if you need me." Roy turned to leave.

"After I make the copy, do you want me to join you?"

"No," Roy answered too quickly. "No, that won't be necessary. After you bring me the copy, you can continue working through our backlog of paperwork—" He gestured to the stack on her desk. "—and if by some miracle you finish that, you can start the proposal for an Ishvalan irrigation system."

Riza nodded, grateful that she would have some solitude today, but finding Roy's behavior somewhat suspect. She would get to the bottom of what was going on sooner or later. In the meantime, she had plenty of work to do.

Roy exited, and Riza took to carefully typing up a copy of the requisition. Normally, such a task would only take her a few minutes, but today, she found herself checking over each line a dozen times for errors as she fought through increasingly blurry vision and a budding headache. After what felt like an hour, Riza pulled the almost-completed form from her typewriter and grabbed a fountain pen to check the last few boxes and sign off on the form. She pressed the tip of the pen into the paper, only to be interrupted by the return of that irksome itch in her nose.

Not again, she thought.

Attempting to keep the pen steady, she turned her head to the side and held a knuckle from her free hand under her nose. Breath hitching, she inhaled, then exhaled just as shakily, warm air from her nose caressing her fingers. "hih…ih…"

Riza Hawkeye was not one to back down from a fight, but she could tell this battle was already lost. Letting the sneeze overtake her, she curled into her fist, spraying her hand and coat sleeve. "hiihSShhiew!"

Sniffling, she withdrew her hand from her face and returned her focus to the requisition form. Her eyes widened in horror as she noticed that despite her efforts to keep the pen in control, an unseemly ink blot marred one box. Though the form was still legible, she scolded herself for her lapse in professionalism. Ordinarily, she would have retyped the form, but so much time had passed since the Colonel initially asked for a copy that she figured it was better to turn in something, imperfect as it may be.

Sighing, Riza snatched the form from her desk and set off toward archives. She found a perky secretary with her hair in a bun seated outside the office.

"Good morning," Riza said. "I have something to deliver to Colonel Mustang. Is he here?"

"Yes!" the secretary replied with a grin. "Though… he asked not to be disturbed unless it was urgent."

"I'm his Lieutenant. He asked me to bring him a copy of this form."

"Ah, well…" The secretary hesitated.

Riza was unperturbed. "I'm going in. If he has a problem with that, I will answer to him. You've done your job."

She strode into the archives office and shut the door behind her. As it latched with a thud, Roy Mustang popped up from behind a filing cabinet. "Lieutenant!" He seemed frazzled by her sudden arrival. "Did you…" He coughed once into his fist, cleared his throat, and tried again. "Did you need something?"

Riza held out the form, hiding the smudged ink with her thumb. "I have the copy of the requisition."

"Oh. Thank you." As he took the form, she held her breath, hoping he would say nothing about the poor quality. "You can get back to your paperwork. I'll be here if you have any issues."

"Yes, sir."

When she returned to her desk, Riza began to tackle the seemingly endless pile of work in front of her. She had only filed two forms when that obnoxious tickle returned to torment her nose. Having learned her lesson, she dropped everything she was holding and frantically dug in her pocket for her handkerchief as her chest heaved. She pulled out the handkerchief in the nick of time and pitched forward. "hih'kshh! ishhh! Hih'KSHhhiew!"

As Riza blew her nose wetly, the door flew open, and Colonel Mustang entered the room. She hastily shoved the handkerchief back in her pocket and sat up straight.

"Lieutenant," the Colonel said, "please make another copy of the requisition form."

Riza's gaze fell to her lap. "Yes, sir. Was the last copy not up to standard?"

When Roy didn't respond immediately, she glanced up and was surprised to see that the Colonel's face had blanched. "Er, no, it's… I just need another."

Was he trying to protect her feelings? She was well aware of the ink blot, and if there had been other errors she had missed in her groggy state, she needed to know. "Colonel, please tell me if my work was unsatisfactory so that I can adjust accordingly."

A deep red rose in Mustang's cheeks. "We don't need to discuss it further! Just make another copy. That is an order, Lieutenant."

Riza's eyes narrowed. She had no problem following fair and logical commands, but she didn't take well to having orders barked at her without justification.

Roy didn't wait for a response, and left Hawkeye alone once again in the office. She meticulously copied the form again, painstakingly double-checking every detail between sniffles and sneezes. She simply left the form on the Colonel's desk when she finished; if he wanted it, he would have to come get it.

The rest of the day was tedious and lonely. The Colonel stayed holed up in the archives office even through lunch, and Riza found herself struggling to sort through the paperwork all on her own. As her symptoms worsened throughout the afternoon, it became almost impossible to read any files. Her eyes were bleary, her nose was dripping, and her throat was on fire. She wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep.

As evening approached and she was putting the finishing touches on one last file, there was a soft knock at the door. "Lieutenant?" Mustang's muffled voice came from the hallway.

Though her body protested, Riza rose to open the door. "Colonel. I left the new copy of the requisition form on your desk, and I made a dent in the paperwork backlog."

"Thank you. I just wanted to let you know I'm heading out."

Riza nodded. "I'm finishing up too. I'll leave in a few minutes."

"Well, goodnight, Lieutenant." Roy turned on his heel.

"Sorry, Colonel. There was one thing I wanted to speak with you about before you go." Stopping in his tracks, Roy spun back around, face-to-face with the Lieutenant. Riza couldn't meet his eyes. "I wanted to apologize for my substandard work today. I have to admit that I may not have fully recovered from my injuries before returning to the office, and I haven't been feeling well. I know that came through in my work."

Roy was silent for a beat. And then another. When he still hadn't responded, Riza looked up to see his slack-jawed, watery-eyed expression as his chest rose and fell. Roy tented his hands over his face and snapped forward with a volley of powerful, wet sneezes. "hih'JSHhoo! ikSHHhoo! hih-ih-HIH'KSHhooo!" Roy groaned, realizing his charade was up, and wiped a finger inelegantly under his nose. "I could make the same apology to you, Lieutenant. To be honest, I didn't notice a difference in the quality of your work. I've barely been able to keep upright today. I think we picked something up on the train from Central."

Riza wasn't sure whether to be relieved that the Colonel wasn't judging her for her poor performance, angry that he had hid his ailment (though she, of course, had done the same), or worried about his health. She settled on confusion. "Why did you ask me to recopy the requisition form? It wasn't because of the ink blot?"

Roy rubbed a hand on the back of his neck sheepishly. "Ah, I barely got a chance to look at the form. You see…"

Roy recounted his eventful morning.

***

Being a State Alchemist came with perks. Money, fame, power… and, for better or worse, responsibility. Roy often felt the weight of the nation on his shoulders, and today, that weight was compounded by soreness and fatigue. He couldn't take a day off when there was so much rebuilding to do, but… his bed was very tempting that morning. As he donned his uniform for the day, he sat down on the edge of his bed to pull his socks on, struggling to keep his eyes open. He indulged himself by allowing his eyes to drift shut for a few seconds. When he opened them, he was sprawled out on the bed and twenty minutes had passed.

"Shit!"

Roy raced to the office, well-aware he was already late. He tried to keep his cool when Hawkeye questioned him about it, but he knew he had to find a way to distance himself from her, because if she dug much deeper, she would undoubtedly realize he was sick and tell him to go home. The archives office provided the perfect excuse: he did, in fact, need to read through some old files on Ishval, and locking himself away meant he would be free of the Lieutenant's discerning gaze.

Roy splayed out several reports on Ishvalan architecture on the floor and sat down in the middle of them. While his legs were grateful for the opportunity to rest, his sinuses were less impressed by their current situation. Tossing the musty files to the ground had kicked up quite a bit of dust, irritating Roy's already sensitive nose. He inhaled deliberately; there was no use delaying the inevitable. He had locked himself away to dwell alone in his sick misery without feeling judged, so he might as well get some relief.

As Roy breathed in, the itch spiraled deeper and deeper until it became unbearable. His breath quivered, his face contorted, and he snapped forward, sneezing uncovered toward his lap. "hih-Hih'KSshhoo! jSHhhioo!" Spray danced in the air. With a sigh, he leaned his head back against a filing cabinet, hoping to take a minute to recover from the powerful expulsions that just tore through him.

The recovery was cut short, however, as he heard the sound of the creaking door. Roy jumped to his feet. "Lieutenant!" Had she heard him sneezing outside? Would she attempt to relieve him of duty? He had to act natural. "Did you…" Damn, his voice was too raspy. Clearing his throat as subtly as possible, he continued, "Did you need something?"

"I have the copy of the requisition," she said, offering him the form.

"Oh. Thank you." Roy approached her and took the paper, trying to keep his movements natural and his speech level. He felt rather like a drunk person feigning sobriety. "You can get back to your paperwork. I'll be here if you have any issues."

"Yes, sir."

As Hawkeye shut the door behind her, Roy let out a breath. Phew. She doesn't seem to suspect anything.

Roy perused the form from the Lieutenant, making sure all the right boxes were checked. "Mhm, looks good," he mumbled to himself, followed by, "Oh. Oh no. HIH'JKSHHhioo!"

Roy sneezed squarely in the middle of the paper. Where droplets of spray had hit it, the ink was already starting to run. "Shit, shit, shit." He held a gloved hand behind the paper and snapped, intending to create just enough of a flame to dry the wet spots on the page. Instead, the whole sheet ignited and crumbled to ash at his feet.

Colonel Mustang, the Flame Alchemist, a man renowned for his pinpoint accuracy, stared in silence at the charred remains on the floor. "Hm. Fuck."

***

When the Colonel finished relaying the incident with the form, all Riza could do was shake her head while suppressing a smile. "That was why you needed an extra copy?" she asked.

Mustang hung his head. "Yes."

Riza suddenly stood at attention, her fierce eyes aimed dead ahead and her posture impossibly straight. "Sir! Neither of us are fit to work, and our illness will continue preventing us from completing our tasks unless we take time to heal. I am requesting to put in a sick day for tomorrow."

A smile toyed at Roy's lips. Lieutenant Hawkeye almost never took time off. She must have been feeling as awful as he was. "Granted, Lieutenant. Please get some rest tomorrow."

"And sir! I am also requesting that you take a sick day tomorrow."

Roy was taken aback. "Lieutenant! I have been entrusted with overseeing the Eastern Command Center. I can't take a day off just because I… I f-ih-eel… ih-hih… hih-ih-HIKSHhhioo! Ugh… Just because I feel a little…" He sniffled. "…sick."

Hawkeye held her ground. "Sir, if you come in tomorrow, I will too." As if to emphasize how bad an idea this was, she cupped a hand over her nose, and her head bobbed down with a rapid fit. "ikshh! h'Kshhuh! ih'KSshhiew!" She blew her nose to punctuate her point.

"Lieutenant…" Roy sighed. "Fine. Request granted. We should both take a sick day tomorrow. Is that all?"

"I have one final request." Maybe it was a budding fever talking, but Riza was feeling bold. "I am concerned that you will not take care of yourself properly if you're home alone tomorrow. As your adjutant, it is my responsibility to assist you so that you can operate at your best and most efficient." Riza stared Roy straight in the eye. "As such, I am requesting that you come back to my apartment to recover. Sir."

It was an absurd request, and an obvious transgression of the military's rules about fraternization between superiors and subordinates. But maybe for one night, just until he felt better… Roy imagined Riza bringing him tea, wrapping him in a blanket, maybe even laying a gentle hand on his forehead to check for feverish heat…

"Request granted, Lieutenant. Let's go home."

[emeraldthread-deactivated201810]

Someone who gets through winter with only a sweatshirt suited to fall weather no matter how cold it is. They make it through the entire winter season without so much as a sniffle, brag to their friends about how they never get sick while everyone else is miserable.

Then they come down with a horrible cold right in the middle of summer.

[daenerys-targaryen]

let’s talk about the early stages of hyperfixation where you can literally feel your brain getting doses of serotonin because of a show or a movie or a person or a character and mentally you’re like ‘ooooh no’ but it’s like a blackhole you can’t run or escape from so you just gotta ride it out knowing full well the next few months maybe even years are going to be spent mindlessly obsessing over this thing

[wildindigo111]

snzblr can u reblog and tell me what ur 2026 fandoms have been

[cherrycherrytree]

someone getting their partner chicken noodle soup with fun pasta shapes to try and cheer them up while they’re miserably sick with a cold

[brandnewcouch]

i love pathetic little coughs and sniffles. when someone is nowhere near sick enough to stay home, just a little congested and hoarse, but they can’t suppress the sickly little sounds that make it obvious they’re a bit under the weather 🥺

[snzkoi-deactivated3743004-deact]

it’s so cute when someone’s sick and running a fever and all of a sudden they get really emotional about something and start crying but they don’t even fully know what it’s about. so they’ve got all of this nonsense happening and they’re trying to explain to the person they’re with that they really don’t care that much about whatever they’re crying about, promise, and they’re not actually sure why it’s happening either, sorry!

[totallynotafetishblog]

how to write stuffy talk

i just saw that tissue box where they wrote “better” as “betterd” and it enraged me so much that i dug up this post on stuffy talk that’s been in my drafts for a year

strap in if you want a crash course on writing Scientifically Accurate Stuffy Talk!!

Keep reading

[bless-you-dear]

Me: Aw this character is so adorable! I love them.

Inner me: But what if they had a terrible cold.

[ilovesickboys]

that thing where someone puts their face over a bowl of hot water to clear their sinuses... hot

[snzagaba]

My snz fetish brain every night:

[wildindigo111]

cold, warm, hot - witch hat atelier - qifrey

a/n: sickfic, about 1k words, orufrey, as much h/c as those guys will allow,

Sunlight naturally illuminates the kitchen so well that there’s no need to use one of the contraptions Olruggio has set up. The sudden exposure to the brightness sends a shockwave of pain ricochetting through him. He’s over a clock mark late to prepare breakfast, Qifrey realizes upon walking into the smell of eggs simmering over the stove. Placidly, he lets his lashes rest against his cheek and clasps his hands together to find his center of gravity. 

“Girls, you should’ve woken me,” he chastises mildly. 

“That wouldn’t make for much of a surprise,” Richeh’s voice comes, her back pointed towards him as she slides chunks of cured meat into the cast iron pan. 

Tetia’s bright curls bounce in his peripherals as he glances down. “By the looks of you, I’d say you should’ve slept in more.”

“Oh no, no.” He takes a step back, waving his hands dismissively. Did he look that bad? Usually she saved such comments for Olruggio. “I’m more than rested.”

If only his body could be so convinced. Agott slides a plate in front of him. 

Neither the steady intake of honeytree laden tea nor ginger he’d self-imposed the day prior had been enough to nip Qifrey’s cold in the bud—he’d realized as much when he’d awoken plastered to a tangle of linens by his own cold sweat. Panic from the uncomfortably familiar sensations of being cold and wet threatens him from the other side of his carefully crafted wall. In a sense, it’s a blessing to not have to search for such a thing.

Ever festering stress makes for a fine breeding ground for these viruses and try as he might, he’s never seemed to be able to get away with a simple sore throat or sniffle. He can handle being sick. He’s used to it all—the distinctive searing pressure that crosses his sinuses to his temples, the deep-seated chills that make him wonder if his bones themselves had frozen over, the shards of broken glass encrusted into the lining of his throat, the endless shifting between a runny nose and a blocked one. All of that is easy. Everything else, comparatively, well, the implications he’d rather not consider. 

“Master Qifrey,” Coco starts, “Does it taste alright?”

He jolts when he realizes he’s only eaten half of the prepared egg melt. Now four pairs of eyes are upon him. “It’s perfect,” he assures her with a pleasant smile. Each swallow of his breakfast raises his discomfort, but he lets out a satisfied hum as they watch. In the warmest voice he can manage, he affirms, “And the fact that all of you worked so well together only adds to it. Excuse me for taking my time partaking.”

His next bite is deliberately larger. If only he could really appreciate the taste, though perhaps it’s for the best that he can’t.

Tetia comes to his rescue in carrying the morning conversation and manages to rope Coco into her latest idea for a spell. All of the chatter allows coverage for him to sniffle and occasionally swipe at his nose with the cloth napkin.

“Tell you what,” he says, rising to collect their plates once they’ve all finished. “Since you’ve been so kind as to do all of this fine cooking, I’ll handle the cleaning so you can return to your primers.”

“Are you sure?” Coco asks, cocking her head like she’s nervous about something. “Shouldn’t we—” 

“Go on.”

It’s then he sees how much of a mess they’d made in the process. 

***

“Mornin’, Qifrey.” 

He nearly fumbles the bowl he’d been cleaning. It would’ve been a shame if he’d dropped it, especially given that it would be the last thing he needed to put away. His hands are shaking so terribly that he’s sure drawing a decent spell would take tenfold its required concentration. And he’d need all of that to get through this brief exchange. 

“Olly,” he greets warmly as if even speaking his name hadn’t wreaked havoc on his throat. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

Does he ever? Olruggio gives him a guilty look. “Was up late. Did you save any for—“

Qifrey points at the plate that’d been set aside. 

“Courtesy of our dear apprentices.”

“Looks delicious.” He rubs his hands together.

“It is.”

Olruggio takes another bite of egg melt and gives a smile unfettered by fatigue. “You’ve taught ‘em well.”

Always so achingly sweet. Something twists painfully in his chest and he can’t help but cough. He quickly tries to pass it off as a chuckle, though it’d been so resonantly ugly he supposes it’s all for naught.

“You alright?”

“Hm? Ah.” He nods. “It was just nice to see them all working together. Even Agott was helping out.”

Now’s the time to make his retreat. Of course now his nose has chosen another path. He’d managed to keep this under control, but in Olruggio’s presence something always seems to have to give.

The next inhale he takes breaks into three distinctive parts “hih-hih-hehh—” and then— “nkxt’shh!” 

“Bless.”

Perhaps pinching his nose was stupid; Olruggio was looking right at him, after all. All he’s done is prolonged the fit. His pulse quickens.

“Thank you. hHih-! Oh, deeh-dear me—hh’IHshh’oo!—”

“And again.” 

“Excu-hhse me,” he manages, sniffling behind his sleeve as he searches for a handkerchief, fingers finding nothing as he gears up for another. “heh’CHSHhiu!”

His vision is bleary once again, his hand rests on the countertop for balance.

“Comin’ down with a cold, are you?” The accusation comes with a handkerchief hand-delivered by Olruggio of the torch himself. 

He’d hoped to avoid this entire situation altogether, but of course he couldn’t manage that. Qifrey accepts the cloth with thanks and dabs at his nose with it, ignoring that it, too, carries traces of his scent. Harder to overlook by many strides is the calloused palm that greets his forehead, warm-tipped at the fingers, but ultimately a distinct cold feeling at the hollow of his hand, revealing the fever he’d suspected. How he wants to lean into it, to put his hands on those shoulders. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he says, arching his back away from Olruggio, and averting his gaze from the concern pinching his brow. With nowhere to back into, he steps to the side. “Could I ask you to mind the girls?”

“I’m meant to…ah, well, it shouldn’t be any trouble, but Qifrey, shouldn’t you—”

“Olly, please, back up a bit. I’d hate for you to become ill too,” he chides. Even in this state, his words flow naturally. Years of practice, he supposes. “I’m sure it’s catching. I'll manage much better knowing they’re in your care.” 

“You’re burnin’ up.” 

“I’ll manage.”

The throbbing behind his eye is getting worse. Faster. More domineering. Is that his pulse? The headache that never seems to fully leave him? Both, probably. How awful.

Olruggio supports his weight from the side without his permission and begins guiding him to his room. Instead of fighting it, he falls in line, matching his careful pace, all the while, berating himself. It’s all he can do to not lose consciousness, to not give into the warmth only he could provide. He doesn’t ask for forgiveness this time, just lets himself be led to bed and thinks of the snugstone on his bedside table that’s never seen use. 

***

[sickficluvr]

once again my snz kink is persuading me to get into media i knew about years ago but kept procrastinating on checking out (me with everything i like... why do i do that... maybe i'm afraid of getting emotionally invested and feeling too much)

[hhhyacinthgreen]

Tbh my runny nose kink is at the same level and sometimes even drives me wilder than my snz kink. I think i just find it so captivating because sneezes can truly be random but runny noses not so much? Like they are almost always caused by chilly air or colds or allergies, like there is always a CAUSE.

and sneezes can be held back or stifled into silence. You can hide a sneeze. Runny noses are just out there for everyone to see. Nearly impossible to hide, just happening there in the middle of someone’s face. in order to make it go away you have to draw attention to it, you have to sniffle it back or find something to wipe it with. Sneezes happen and then they’re done; runny noses have to be dealt with. basically every runny nose is an emergency.

and a runny nose that triggers a sneeze? drives me absolutely feral. I mean that is just top tier. Well done.

[ethereousdelirious]

Me: *gets into a new fandom with vanilla friend*

Friend: Have you read any fic yet?

Me, hurriedly closing 63 incognito tabs of sickfic and whump: Nope!