I was in the middle of something when my phone lit up. I momentarily hovered over decline, but then decided to answer the call from the guy I’d been on one date with a week or two ago.
“Hello?”
No greeting. No words. Just a sudden, unfiltered, “Hashewww!” Perfectly timed. Right in my ear.
I laughed immediately. “Thank you for calling me just for that.”
He chuckled, sheepishly.
“Bless you!” I said. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he replied, sniffing once, like an afterthought. “I’m good. What are you up to?”
And then the conversation just… continued. Mundane. Normal. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there thinking that I almost didn’t pick up. Which somehow makes it even better.
Will we go on another date? If he keeps making phone calls like this 😂
Two people hugging or cuddling, but one of them needs to sneeze and instead of turning away they press their couple closer so they can sneeze in the air behind them. Bonus points if the other person is a fetishist and hearing the sneeze right next to their ear makes them go weak in the knees
The rain is relentless, hammering the roof until it sounds like the whole world might wash away. You’re curled on the sofa with a book when the front door bangs open.
Colin steps inside, dripping from his hair down to his boots, his jacket plastered to his broad shoulders. He gives you a sheepish grin, shoving the door shut behind him with a grunt.
“Dublin doesn’t like to let a man go without a fight,” he mutters, voice rougher than usual as he hangs his soaked jacket by the fire. His nose is already red at the bridge, and he rubs it absently before shaking out his curls — sending water spraying across the floorboards.
He tries to brush it off at first — striding toward you with that familiar cocky swagger, even as another rough sniffle escapes him — but then…
His breath hitches mid-step. His shoulders tense, nostrils flaring once before he barely manages to turn aside in time—
“Hh-! Hhh’kxt! Khtchh!”
The sneezes burst out sharp and desperate against his forearm, leaving him blinking back watery eyes afterward.
“Just… just a bit of rain,” he rasps after clearing his throat roughly, failing miserably at sounding unfazed. A droplet from his sopping curls trails down past flushed cheekbones as his sea-glass eyes lock onto yours again — equal parts embarrassed and annoyingly charming despite being half-drowned in stormwater, with snotty crumpled tissues already stuffed into every pocket. Because of course he’d try pretending otherwise until now.
You furrow your brow and murmur, “Bless you, baby… you’re soaked to the bone.”
His mouth quirks up in a wry grin as he tries to shake off the remnants of the sneezing fit, though the redness in his nose stays. He gives a half-shrug, feigning nonchalance even as he tries to keep his voice steady in response to your concerned frown — and his own pounding heart.
“Eh, just a bit of Irish weather, love,” he scoffs. “Nothing a rough-and-tumble lad like me can’t handle.”
You can’t help but giggle in spite of yourself.
His grin softens just a little at the sound of your laughter, though it doesn’t quite mask the way his breath stutters again or how his voice thickens around the edges when he speaks next.
“See? Even half-drowned and snotty, I can still make you laugh. That’s talent, that is.” He reaches for you, fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from your face—until another tickle seizes him mid-tease. He barely manages to twist away in time—
“Hhh-! Khtschh!” before scrubbing at his nose with an irritated sniff. “…Bloody hell.”
You give him a tender smile. “Mm, bless you. Should we get you into a warm bath?”
He nods stiffly, still trying to play off the fact that he’s clearly coming down with a cold as if it’s just a minor inconvenience. Like the rain. Or the wind. Or whatever other Irish nonsense he’d usually spout to prove he’s fine. But you can see it — in the way his shoulders slump, in the sigh he lets out as he rakes a hand through his wet hair.
“Yeah, alright,” he concedes gruffly. “A bath and some dry clothes would be bloody appreciated. And maybe a hot whiskey with it.”
You smirk. “Now you’re talking. I’ll meet you in there.”
Despite the grumpy front he’s still putting on, you swear you catch a hint of relief across his rugged features. He nods again, sighing as he watches you turn away.
“Don’t take too long,” he warns, eyes lingering on the sway of your hips as you pad off. Still playing the part of the stubborn, rough-around-the-edges Irish bastard — but clearly grateful to get out of those soaked, shivering clothes.
When you join him in the bathroom, you notice the way his face is already contorting, clearly trying to fight off a sneeze. The hot water is running, steam filling the space as you set down two glasses of whiskey. The heat feels nice — but it also opens up his nasal passages more, making everything worse.
He sighs as he strips off his wet clothes. The cold has seeped into his bones. His nose twitches constantly, the steam doing nothing but adding fuel to the already unbearable tickle. You can see it in his face — the way his jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, breath hitching faintly as he struggles to hold it back.
“Damn rain,” he mutters, glaring at the tub. “Bloody hell…”
You strip off your own clothes and light the candles on the windowsill. The glow fills the room — warm, romantic, inviting. You step closer, pressing your body against his damp, chilled one. You don’t care about the moisture or the runny nose. You just want him warm.
He exhales sharply as your warmth envelopes him. His arms instinctively wrap around you. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, nose pressed right against your pulse point, breath hitching, nostrils flaring—
“Mmmh… you’re warm,” he murmurs, shivering. “And I feel like… I’ve been dunked in the Liffey.”
You chuckle. “The what?”
“The Liffey,” he repeats, voice muffled against your neck. “River in Dublin. Cold, miserable bog this time of year. I feel like I’ve been dunked in— Hhhh…!”
His words break off, his body going rigid. The steam, the heat, your skin — it’s all too much.
You perch on the edge of the bed, dipping your toe into the bath. His eyes follow the movement, and you catch the way he stares — breath catching again.
“You’re trying to torment me, aren’t you?” he growls. “First the rain, then the bath, now this…”
You hook a hand at his hip and tug him toward you. He stumbles slightly, hands catching the edge of the tub — then he’s standing between your legs.
“Damn it, woman,” he mutters, eyes dark with a hungry mixture of desire and frustration. “You’re trying to kill me.”
You smile. “Never, baby. I just want you to feel good.”
He groans softly, voice gravelly and thick. “Trust me. With you all but naked, sitting right there, I’m already feeling pretty damn good.”
Then he smirks again, low and teasing. “But I can tell you what would make me feel even better…”
You blink innocently. “What?”
He laughs — hoarse and rough. “Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean. You’ve got me all worked up already, darlin’, and now you’re just sitting there, biting that pretty lip of yours.”
You nod toward the tub. “Come in the bath with me, love.”
He pauses — breath hitching again — before muttering, “Fuck it.”
He steps into the bath with a sharp exhale, muscles relaxing under the heat. “Damn if you aren’t soft in all the right places.”
His arms slide around you, pulling you flush against him — but not before one final sneeze escapes—
voyeurism is the best kink to pair with snzfuckery bc you get turned on just by being able to WATCH people think they need to sneeze. seeing all the subtle shifts in their expression as they realize they can’t fight it off before finally finally succumbing to the itch
I’m at a convention with thousands of people right now. It’s overwhelming enough, and I’m one of maybe five people in the whole place still masking. Not surprising, but still wild in a crowd this size.
I’m determined to keep my mask on as much as possible, which became tricky this morning when my nose started to tickle. Sitting in the general session of a massive convention hall, I kept scrunching my nose and rubbing at it through the mask, but nothing helped. The tickle built and built until I couldn’t hold off a sneeze any longer.
khnntchhu! I managed to stifle it, quietly enough that it disappeared into the general roar of the room. But that was just the beginning. Until I could get outside to blow my nose, I was trapped in this loop of sniffling and near-silent sneezes. Through two whole sessions, I stifled so discreetly that no one even noticed.
Finally, at lunch, I escaped outside, blew my nose, and the tickle let up.
So silly how I find myself embarrassed about sneezing quietly into a mask while the man behind me let out two giant HA-shoos! into his elbow, got blessed by my colleague, and carried on. Why can’t I be more like this guy? 😂
dailybridgerton
jbbartram-illu
snowghoul
