SillySnzer

Longtime snzblr lurker, lover of mess and stifles (and messy stifles!) He/him Early 20s

[sillysnzer]

Vocaroo is a quick and easy way to share voice messages over the interwebs.

My first wav! Cold sneezes

I’m Silly Snzer, M in my 20s, taken, been lurking here for a HOT minute, have enjoyed snz content for many years, and have decided I want to contribute!

Anywho, here’s a few cold sneezes over a day’s period, most natural but one induced with the tissue method and the stifle was induced by squeezing the bridge of my sensitive cold-filled nose.

Enjoy!

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

for me, nothing hits quite like someone who's sick but like...still in a good mood? like either ignoring it or admitting they're not well but still pleasant to be around. like they sneeze and someone asks if they're ok and they just roll their eyes and say "yeah i just have a stupid fuckin cold" 🫠😳👁️👄👁️🤩

[coldexposure]

I’m going feral thinking about someone absolutely dousing their clothes in perfume, and their allergic partner has to politely ask them to remove one article at a time until they’re fully naked. While having a sneezing fit, of course.

[coldexposure]

“Your dress is-Itchiew! is makihh! Isch! Heh… itsch! Making me sdneeze.”

“Poor baby, I’d better take it off, then.”

“Yeh?..Yes, please.”

“Is that better?”

“I still… still have to… heh ITCH’chiew!”

“Hmm, I’d better take off my slip, too, I think.”

“Ih! Ish! Heh…tISH! If you’d be so kind.”

“How about now?”

“Sombething’s still… still… hurrISHew. Excuse mbe. Still setting mbe off. Perhuh! Perhaps you should tak- ITsch! IHshew! ahem. Take your bra off, too?”

“There, was that it?”

“Ndo, it- tsh! it still ih? Itch- ih! itches!”

“Is it my panties?”

“Muh-ish! Heh-itch! Tish! ITSCHieu! sndff. Must be.”

[sillysnzer]

I know we’re all partial to a sneezing fit, but consider this: someone whose nose is just irritated enough to force a sneeze out of them once every 5 minutes, relentlessly, all day. They cannot let their guard down because the next sneeze is always on the horizon, even if they can’t quite feel the tickle yet. It’s all they can think about, and there is never full relief, because they know it won’t be over in a matter of minutes, or even hours. Their nose gets so full, but blowing offers only temporary relief.

[sillysnzer]

A hearty sneeze followed by a blushing chuckle and a sheepish “forgive me”

[vanillasnz]

thinking about someone stopping mid-set at the gym to muffle a sneeze into the towel that was sitting on their lap, both revealing a massive boner/wet spot and getting mess all over what was meant to clean the equipment 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

[sf-libet]

love referring to sneezes like an object that can be collected.

like "oh, come on, let them out, i know you have so many sneezes in your nose, honey..."

"here, cmon, let's get all those sneezes out of your nose and into this tissue."

"ohh-hhaAH-! that's t-hiH-ckling my nose sso much... I've got...hhH-! soo many sn-hh-eezes in my n-nose right now..."

like the idea of it as a physical, tangible thing that's gotta come out eventually. when something tickles your nose it creates a certain number of sneezes that have to be released.

a pile of tissues around a person, each with a certain number of sneezes caught in them.

[waterfallofspace]

sighs after stifles that are damn near erotic <3

[sillysnzer]

Visit Original Link

from a while ago! I will be uploading from the vault this weekend

[sillysnzer]

Really, Grubhub???

[aliasnz]

idk i just like it when someone has an absolutely contained stifle, but they still lift their wrist, inner elbow, or tissue and cover anyways ^^ <3

[sillysnzer]

Someone who is so congested that when they blow their nose it just vibrates their sinuses and makes them so fucking itchy

[sillysnzer]

I posted sort of the opposite of this before, but let us consider: S/hane H/ollander being unabashed in letting out his loud/powerful sneezes, because “it’s just something people’s bodies do automatically!”, but he would not be caught dead visibly tending to an itchy/runny/terribly congested nose, because that is impolite and would draw attention to himself

[airborneglitter]

A Brief Respite

Long time, no post! Remember this old fic of mine, about an office worker with quite spectacular spring allergies? I decided to follow the poor bastard home, to see what would happen after the incident at the office.

And if you thought the first fic was horny... well. I can confidently say that this is, hands-down, THE most indulgent, unapologetically horny thing I've ever written. I treated it as a kind of challenge, basically I wanted to see what it would take for me to be properly turned-on by my own writing. I've done similar experiments in the past, but practise makes perfect. (◕‿◕✿)

Anyway. You know the drill. No plot, only symptoms. A couple of mentions of mess, but nothing too graphic. Ridiculously long build-up, followed by ridiculous amounts of sneezing. Nose action-heavy to a pornographic degree.

Enjoy!

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

The commute home is a nightmare. Not quite rush hour, the train car is still crowded enough for him to feel deeply self-concious about his near-constant sniffling and the stifled sneezes that he only barely manages to keep in check. It's equal parts humiliating and exhausting, pinching his nose closed for the tenth time in as many minutes and turning a would-be disastrous sneeze into a pathetic, wet little squeak. Like a drowning mouse, he thinks, bitterly, as he tries his best to wipe the resulting overflow with his already damp fingers. The stifled sneezes do less than nothing to soothe the burning urge in between his eyes, that hot, clinging, allergic itch that serves as a constant reminder that spring has sprung and he has at least two more months of this to look forward to.

"Heh'dnxgh!-uh."

He can't wait to get home. Once safely indoors, there are only two things on his agenda: taking his allergy meds, and getting in the shower.

- - -

By some miracle, he manages to make it home without accidentally sneezing on a fellow commuter. Front door barely shut behind him, he shudders out of his coat and makes a beeline for the bathroom. Stepping in front of the sink, he reluctantly looks at himself in the bathroom mirror. Certainly not a sight to instil confidence. It's worse than he had feared.

The culprit is there on full display, of course, front and center of his tired, bleary-eyed, slightly puffy face. For the past - god, what might it be? Eight hours now, at least? - he has known all too well what it feels like, but it's only now that he's had the chance to actually survey the damage, as it were.

He winces at the sight, but his expression quickly morphes into something less sharp, less intentional. Feeling the dreaded sensation pull at his facial muscles once more, he stubbornly fights to keep his eyes open as his mouth relaxes open and his eyelids droop.

"Huhh..."

The last thing he sees before his eyes fall involuntary shut is the star of this terrible show he has found himself in. His nose. Huge on his face. High in the air from his head tilting back, his nostrils take center stage. Scarlet ovals flared wide open, pulsing impatiently -

"Hh...! Huh...! H'DJSHNXGHiew!"

He sneezes uncovered, straight down toward the sink. Something between a bark and a wet snarl, the sound distinctly angry. He can feel the spray land on his hands that are gripping the sink.

"HEH'DJSCH! HIH'DDJSH! HEH, HEHH, -H'TJJSCHew!"

Horrible, awful, disgusting.

(Bliss.)

Leaning over the sink, shaking his head groggily, twin strings of drool and snot, thin as spider silk, slide from his nose and mouth into the drain. He sniffles, or tries to, and his nose gives a whistling squelch instead. He opens his eyes again, looks up. His gaze flickers across the mirror for a moment, as though searching in there for something other than his own reflection. His eyes soon revert back, however. Drawn by the sheer spectacle.

Fuck, but he looks a mess. His normally immaculate hair is standing every which way, his eyes are puffy pink slits, his lips chapped, his nose painful-looking, so red and inflamed it looks like he's taken a punch to it. He knows that, technically, it can't actually have swollen to twice its normal size, but it certainly feels like it. His nose isn't exactly small to begin with, and with all the rough treatment it's been put through lately... well. It definitely isn't pretty.

Hand not entirely steady, he reaches up against better judgement and touches the tip of his nose. Bright red bulb, shiny with inflammation, too warm to the touch. Itch immediately stirrs inside it, spidering up and down his nasal passages, making his eyes water.

Right. No time to waste.

Blinking hard and scrunching his nose to buy himself some time, he hurriedly reaches into the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror and pulls out his antihistamine nasal spray.

Bracing himself, he gingerly inserts the nozzle tip into his left nostril, but his nose is already on such high alert that he doesn't have time to press down and release the spray to where it might, hypothetically, do some good. For the second time today, he sneezes full force without so much as a second's warning, a clipped double sneeze that echoes off the tiles in his bathroom. He opens his eyes and meets his own gaze in the mirror again. A look says more than a thousand curse words.

Next try he actually manages to push some spray up there, but again his nose rebels on him, violently evicting the medicine with a sharp "Eh'TDSHHjsh!" before he can contain it.

For fuck's sake.

Attempt number three. This time he pinches his nostrils closed before he can take another breath, squeezing tight as the repressed reaction shakes his diaphragm with strangled little "hdT-!, htTT-!, hdtT-!"-sounding sneezes. The action leaves him dizzy and his eardrums pop, but this time around the medicine stays put. He can't wait for it to start working. Even just the slightest bit of relief would be a massive improvement compared to his current situation. Sensing a small break in the ongoing fit, he lets go of his nose just long enough to push a second dose into his right nostril, then promptly squeezes it shut again. His nostrils twitch in his grip, the sharp menthol-y sting of the medication prickling horribly.

"heh'dt-! eh'dtj-! 'ttdjNXGH!"

Finally daring to loosen his grip of his nose, he looks at his reflection once more and cringes at the sight. Why couldn't he just have... moderate hayfever? Itchy eyes, runny nose, some sneezing here and there. Annoying, sure, inconvenient, absolutely, but not... not this. Not this embarrassing, crippling, dramatic spectacle of an allergy. A nose that demands him to drop everything to deal with its constant temper tantrums at having to breathe a little spring air. Speaking of breathing, his nostrils have begun to twitch again with little fluttering hitches. It's not that his nose has started to tickle again - it never stopped tickling in the first place - but rather that the ever-present irritation spreads and grows in intensity, its crawling, bristling needles of sensation blooming all throughout his nose, hijacking all other mental and physical functions. His breath stutters, his eyes overflow, his face twitches and contorts into all sorts of ridiculous expressions while his hands fan limply at the air in front of his face. For all he knows, the only thing this accomplishes is to waft even more pollen into his nose, but the action is reflexive, barely conscious. His chest heaves and expands, head rearing back, upper lip curling, baring teeth. His nose itches. God, it itches so bad. He wishes he could reach his fingers up there and just scratch, wildly rake his nails across the inside of his nasal passages with complete abandon. It's as if someone has packed his nostrils full to the brim with a mixture of dust, pepper and chili powder, or a million tiny feathers, or the world's most potent itching powder, or...

Or pollen. That hateful, inescapable stuff that seems to coat every surface outside in a powdery film. Just now, when walking up to the house, he had seen it floating on the surface of the rain puddles in his driveway, like watercolor splotches of pale yellow. So much of it. Everywhere. Sticking to everything. His coat, his hair, his eyelashes. Grass. Birch. Oak. Hazel. Riding on the breeze, infiltrating his every breath.

"hihuh... h'hih, hih, huhh...!"

Reddened eyelids drift to half-mast, his gaze goes unfocused, then crossed-eyed. His nostrils spasm fitfully, seeming to flare wider with each consecutive breath until they're gaping open, perfectly circular, frozen in limbo. His head is thrown back, chest straining against his shirt, his lungs full to capacity, his face a cartoonish caricature of an allergy sufferer on the cusp of a truly devastating sneezing fit.

"huhh...! hhHHUH...!"

He can't think for itch. For a brief moment, his entire face seems to consist of itch, his nose its red-hot singularity. Stinging, burning, all-consuming. A crisis of itch.

"-AAHH...!!"

A beat. His body is so ready, so desperate to sneeze that it actually starts the process, producing a half-strangled "AH'DJh-...!" at the back of his throat, but then... it doesn't follow through!? His voice manages a pathetic, whispered "...tsheww"-sound, a toothless imitation of the release he was promised. His entire nose aches with disappointment. Fat, itchy tears spill down his face, adding their salt to the metallic taste in his mouth. Groaning, he grinds the lower part of his palm up against his nose, then again, and again, working the bulbous tip back and forth with aggressive fervor, attempting to ease the itch inside by rubbing his nostrils together. It barely makes a difference, and the screaming tickle high up in his sinuses threatens to drive him mad. He snatches a handful of tissues from the box on the sink and blows for all he is worth, immediately soaking the paper all the way through. Another handful, same result, but the blowing seems to be helping at least a fraction. Gasping and cursing, he buries his nose in a third wad of tissues, massaging the bridge of his nose through the paper all the while, giving a final, resounding blow... one that sets his nasal passages vibrating at just the wrong frequency. The resulting tickle goes off inside his head like a fire bomb:

"AHDTJSHCH-HIH!! -ADTJSCHIH!! -ATJCHIH!! - - - h'ddtjTTJSCHSCHHIIH!-djshIH!dschIH!tjshIH! dtjSHIH! ddtjiSSCHIEW! 'DTJSHIH! -dtsh!-djish!-ddtsch!-tsh!-ttsh!-djshdshtjsh'TTSCHH!!"

Bliss. Torture. Bliss. Torture. The faint flicker of relief each sneeze grants him feels so good, even as the unbearable itch reignites immediately after. Goosebumps break out on his arms and his whole body tingles with sensory overload as he keeps sneezing and sneezing and snh... huhh-

"HUH'D---tjshih!-ttjsh!-dtjsh!-ttgsh!tsh!ttsh!dsh!ddjsh!---"

He hates the rapid-fire sneezes the most. They make him feel so out of control, not to mention dizzy from the lack of air. Each frantic, breathless double-triple-quadrouple-quintuple bursting out of him only seems to aggrivate his nose further, triggering an endless chain reaction of allergic frenzy.

"---DDJSHih!-TDJJIH!-ATTJIH!-TJSHIH! AH'TSH!DJSH!DDJSH!DSHTJSH'TSH'GKSH!!"

He has to stop -

"---GTDJ'XSH! HZDJSH! ---DTSH!DTSH!TTJSH! Huh.... huh, huh, huhh...!"

He can't stop.

"AAH'GDJSHIEW! AH-AH-ACKDJSHHEW! ---JJSHU! NXJSHUH! TJSHIEW!"

It's never-ending. That dreadful, squirming, crawling sensation of panicked nerve-endings writhing inside the tight confines of his swollen sinuses. Like a nest of angered ants, swarming and biting.

"AH'KGDJSHHIW!"

But maybe it's...

"GH'DTSCHEWW!-TCHEW!"

...finally starting to...?

"HP'TDSCHUH-TSCHUH!-tCHEW!"

Tingling lips parted, pouring eyes blindly shut, pulsing nose pointing at the ceiling -

"HAH'TDDJSCHHIEWW!!"

Bent over the sink, nose buried deep in his... fifth? six? handful of tissues, one hand gripping the side of the sink for support. Panting. Lightheaded. Exhausted. He tries to sniffle but is so brutally congested at this point that he barely makes a sound, his nose only manages a kind of wet squeak as he wipes it. Like a fucking clown nose, he thinks mirthlessly. Big, red, and making ridiculous noises.

"Guh..."

Please, that must be it, right? He has been sneezing non-stop for at least five minutes straight. His nose is so stuffed-up at this point that it feels physically heavy on his face, pulsating dully and aching with pressure. His abdominal muscles are sore, his throat raw, his eyes stinging, but his nasal passages don't feel like they are actively on fire anymore? Ever so carefully, he wrinkles his nose, scrunching his nostrils first to the left, then to the right. Waiting, breath withheld. It still tickles, of course. That feather-light buzzing tingle won't go away for at least another two months (god help him), but at least for the moment it seems his sinuses are no longer in absolute panic mode.

The meds must finally be starting to take effect. Either that, or his body is simply too exhausted to keep firing on all cylinders like that. Whatever the reason, he'll take any respite he can get.

At least now, he's able to keep his eyes open for long enough to find his way to the shower. He can't wait to get under the hot water and finally rinse all of that p... p-pollen off...

Don't think about it.

Of course he's still covered in the stuff. It's on his shirt collar. His sleeves. His hair. His face.

"Hh..."

No. He flat-out refuses.

"Huh... hh... "

Shirt, trousers, socks, underwear. In a mad scramble, he's shed them all and dropped them on the bathroom floor. Then he's in the shower, nearly slipping on the floor tiles in his haste to get in there before his nose can take him hostage yet again. Faceing the shower head, he doesn't even care that the water is freezing at first. If anything, the cold spray feels good and soothing against his flushed, itchy face.

"Hhuh --- djsh!"

The sneeze is weak, half-hearted, spray meeting spray, barely audible over the sound of the shower.

He might as well not have sneezed at all, the way his nose doesn't even register this sisyphean attempt to scratch at the itchiness inside.

Wincing deeply, he jams an outstretched forefinger up against his sore septum and starts to rub his nose again. Lightly at first, but soon he is applying more pressure, crushing his nose upwards, shortening the sloped bridge into a mass of crinkles. Finger sawing away, back and forth beneath his nostrils, pushing their inflamed insides together and grinding them against each other. The itch is a throbbing heat all throughout his nose, but searing sharpness has been replaced with a duller, more muted sort of irritation now, one that doesn't threaten to make him sneeze every two seconds. Instead, he's stood there scrubbing away at his face, not wanting to stop despite how tender and sore his nose is becoming. It feels so good to rub, to finally be able to scratch the itch that's been plaguing him for hours and actually feel it have a soothing effect rather than make it worse. A sigh of relief, then an almost sensual whimper escapes him, as he switches the position of his hand and starts pulling his nose up and down with his fingers wrapped around either side of it.

"Nnh... fuck..."

The squelching sounds are disgusting, and he couldn't care less. Eyes blissfully shut, fingers working away, loosened congestion mixing with the shower water and running down his lips.

All day he has been so. fucking. itchy. From the second he woke up and started off his morning by sneezing violently six times in a row into his pillow. All throughout his workday which ended with a disastrous sneezing fit and an humiliating early exit. Nine hours of this. Non-stop. Of the histamine-drenched nerves in his nose, eyes, ears and palate screaming bloody murder.

And now it's letting up.

One final, sensous pull on his nose, from brow to tip. He lets go of his grip just as the last remnant of a tickle sparks back to life in the raw depths of his sinuses. A pinprick stab of sensation, one big, quick gasp, and he is thrown forward with possibly the most satisfying sneeze he has ever experienced in his twenty-odd years of suffering from hayfever.

”AHH --- ! 'AATTDJSHOOohh!-ohhhh god.”

And so, for one, long, blissful moment there in the shower, his nose feels completely clear, calm, and unaffected by the raging springtime outside.

It may be temporary, but he'll enjoy it while it lasts.

[noseynoses]

out of interesting things to write i just want a hottie with a stuffed up nose to sniffle for me till im so horny i cant think straight (bonus points if they wipe it on my clothes)

[veelovessnz]

This literally came to me in a dream and I woke up with my brain screaming at me “Write that down, write that down!”

But

I imagine K/ip stifles a lot. Sometimes out of habit, others out of necessity—he works at a smoothie shop, and very few people would appreciate having his germs inside of their drink, so even though he covers diligently, muffling the sound is that safest option. Stifling just happens to carry on into his personal life too, on occasion.

Now enter S/cott H/unter, who absolutely adores K/ip: His eyes, hair, smile, laugh, everything. It’s almost as if some outer force crafted this man, his man, with the purpose of possessing every single trait S/cott has ever admired, almost too real to be true.

And how does the saying go? The greatest from of admiration is imitation.

So one day, during an after game press conference, S/cott gets the ominous signs of a sneeze. He shortens his breaths, scrubs furiously at his nose, and really, really, tries to hold back, but is ultimately fighting the inevitable. With a blossoming tickle in his nose, and a slight fear of interrupting the journalist speaking to him (What was she saying, anyways? S/cott was a bit too preoccupied at the moment to properly hear), he weighed in his options. The likelihood of him holding back was low— believe him, he’s tried and almost always fails—and it’s not like he can just up and leave the room, so what the hell is he supposed to do?

Then his thoughts circle back to K/ip, as they, naturally, always do.

He thinks back on his boyfriend’s impossibly adorable sneezes, the ones S/cott constantly reprimands him for doing because ‘There’s no way those don’t hurt,’ and, okay, he guesses he can be hypocritical just this once because it’s an emergency and-

By the time his mind is made up, it’s almost too late.

He directs an itchy sounding stifle away from the microphone, excusing himself while barely being able to keep the giddiness out of his voice because holy shit, he did it, S/cott H/unter, known for his dramatically harsh sneezes hadn’t just blown off the ears of every person near him and had just stifled for the first time. It worked, it worked, it worked—

For about five seconds.

Because the tickle comes back with a goddamn vengeance. It comes back so quick, in fact, he doesn’t even realize he needs to sneeze until it comes TEARING out of him in a desperate fashion. It soaks through his sleeve, mists hand, leaves remnants the table, and makes the entire room jump out of their seats. Journalists don’t know whether to bless or gawk at him. His teammates are staring with a mixture of disbelief, amusement, and sympathy. The one to his left moves the microphone away from S/cott and closer to himself, jumping in to field the question himself. The one to his right clamps a hand over S/cott’s shoulder, and though the gesture is supposed to feel comforting, the intention behind is lost once S/cott belatedly realizes he’s being laughed at. And, it would be a bit funny, he admits,had he not been the punchline. He can only send a weak glare before the fit continues.

By the time he’s finished, it’s almost dead silent. The people already sympathizing with him were downright worried, and even those who found the scene most humorous are left wondering if their captain had come down with a horrible case of the flu, because usually his fits were never so long or extreme. He excuses himself again, and winces at how congested he sounds, his voice making several people wince. Refusing to blow his nose in front of anyone, especially not with thousands of people watching him both in person and virtually, S/cott remains stuffed up for the remainder of the conference until his team is called to leave. He all but runs away from the table, leaving his teammates with questioning stares.

Still a bit breathless, a mix of the giant fit and humiliation, he sits down in the locker room after grabbing the remainder of his items, shooting a quick text to K/ip.

‘Nope. Don’t know how the hell you do it, but that’s never happening again.’

Because of the time difference, K/ip doesn’t see the message until early morning, when he’s about to open the shop for the day.

‘What???’

He also doesn’t quite understand the message itself, until the game, including the post-conference, is displayed at The Kingfisher that same night.

Oh, K/ip thinks belatedly, he gets it now.

‘Bless you, a lot, sweetheart. And don’t do that again! It works better when I do it.’

Scott hearts the message and laughs at it, laughs at the shared secret only they know. God, he really did love that man.

[silentsneezes]

thinking about sh/ane calling with h/ayden about team logistics or an upcoming game

and il/ya is eager for his attention, planting open mouthed kisses over his skin and slipping fingers beneath his shirt

sh/ane keeps pushing him off (playfully), doing his best to stay focused on the call (especially if they’re talking about hockey stratedy)

il/ya leaves to another room and sh/ane brielfy thinks he’ll be able to finish the call without further distraction…. until he hears a sneeze from their bedroom. and another, and another.

when il/ya returns, he has a twisted up tissue bobbing in and out of his nose, his expression utterly desperate. he snaps forwards with two back to back sneezes and sh/ane’s mouth goes dry

he mumbles a halfhearted excuse about his mom calling him and hangs up.

il/ya: 1

sh/ane: 0