Back & Blessed

Mouse - mid-30s - she/her/hers - lesbian 🏳️‍🌈 *Kink blog* 18+ ONLY - Minors DNI No age/range = instant block Formerly Snezus-Christ but I forgot my email

[snezus-christ-risen]

Fic List

I wanted to consolidate my writing somewhere. I hope to expand this list over time as I write new stories and transplant some of my favorites from my old tumblr and the blue hell site!

Agatha All Along, Agents of SHIELD, Avengers, Brooklyn 99, Game of Thrones, Ghostbusters (the gay one), Encanto, The Umbrella Academy, and The Wolf Among Us

Master list below the cut:

Agatha All Along

Insult to Injury (Agatha, F)

As They Seem (Agatha, F)

Holiday “Drabbles”

Christmas Eve (Rio, F)

Interlude (Rio & Agatha, F)

New Year’s Eve (Pt. 1 / Pt. 2) (Rio & Agatha)

Resolution (Prologue) (Pt. 1) (Pt. 2) (Rio & Agatha)

Hide and Seek (Rio, F)

The List (Agatha, F)

Agents of SHIELD

Bless You (Bobbi)

Avengers

Salud (Natasha, F)

First (Real Vacation in Years) (Clint, M)

First (Ride on a SHIELD Jet) (Natasha, F)

Broad City

Oneshot (Ilana, F)

Brooklyn 99

Drabble 1 (Jake, M)

Drabble 2 (Almost Jake & Rosa, M/F)

Game of Thrones

Drabble 1 (Jaime, M)

Ghostbusters (2016)

First (Time Patty Loses a Bet) (Holtzmann, F)

Encanto

Stubborn Things (Bruno, M)

Apertivos

Intermezzo

Plato Fuerte

Postres (WIP)

The Umbrella Academy

Random one shot (Klaus, M)

The Wolf Among Us

Fall Festival (Bigby, M)

[snezus-christ-risen]

I love when someone is just rubbing and rubbing and rubbing at their nose before they sneeze. It’s one thing knowing that their nose is itchy enough to make them sneeze, but to see them trying to manage it physically leading up to that point makes it that much sexier imo.

[stormcloud-sf]

Feral over the idea of a 50s housewife with a miserable cold getting ready to pull the casserole out the oven, but she has to pause and use those oven mitts to catch some sneezes first.

[germaphobicsneezer]

And to add on top, the warmth from the oven creates a temperature change that tickles her nose. So now she has to get the casserole out as soon as possible if she doesn’t want to end up sneezing on it.

[silversinfinity]

A stoic, pretty-faced someone who always maintains a sharp appearance, having a sneezing fit so intense it leaves them winded and flushed and with dark, messy streaks of eyeliner/mascara running down their face

[girlsn0t]

imagining cold sneezes so fatigued that there’s no vocalization or far-spraying pressure behind it, it becomes just a nose blow with slightly more force and less predictability <3

[sleepysoftsnz]

Facesitting but with the sitter riding the other person’s nose while the other person sneezes into their cunt

[snzstuff02]

Women with long hair holding their hair back while sneezing instead of covering. That’s it

[invisiblefig]

characters A & B both work together in the same office, but they broke up last week & things have been…tense.

A has the kink. & today B decides to come into work with quite literally the sneeziest cold they’ve ever seen. A has never heard B sound so awful.

little does A know, B is playing up every single shaky breath, every hitch, every desperate sneeze. Painfully drawing them out, making them as loud and unrestrained as possible, just so they can look over at A’s desk & watch them squirming in their chair all day. they both know how aroused A is & there’s absolutely nothing that can be done about it.

bonus points if B is feeling especially devious & pathetically asks their coworker for tissues within earshot. :D

[heleniumx]

yours - [ᴛʜᴇ x-ꜰɪʟᴇꜱ] (f)

Summary: A short & sweet little ficlet inspired by this A/B cold scenario 💕 in which S/cully catches the cold M/ulder has just recovered from, and is wholeheartedly and justifiably grumpy about it. Domestic fluff ahead - you've been warned. Notes: Takes place sometime in S7 when things are certainly a little more ~cozy~ between the two of them and it's not just couches that they've shared. Word Count: 1.1k

The first thing Mulder hears when he lets himself into Scully’s apartment with his spare key and steps inside is a sneeze —

“Huhh’ESSCHhiiuew!”

— that comes from the direction of the living room. It’s loud enough that he thinks she may well have not heard the door open, and is almost immediately followed by a second one, desperately smothered into what sounds like several tissues at once.

“—huhp'tTSCHieew! …nguhh..”  

Judging by the weary, nasal little groan that follows, Mulder suspects he has caught only the tail end of what was likely a much longer sequence. The couch faces away from his vantage point in her front entryway, its high back concealing everything but an uneven pile of blankets at one end, beneath which he further suspects must be one very miserable Dana Scully indeed.

“Gesundheit,” Mulder calls out by way of announcing himself. He closes the door behind him and sets the keys on the entry table. 

“That key is for emergencies,” the blanket pile grumbles. There's a rustling of fabric and Scully’s head pops up over the edge of the couch, looking flushed and rumpled and not at all pleased to see him. He can’t blame her, really.

Four days ago, it had been Mulder who was marooned on his couch beneath the two blankets he owns, his bones aching and his head throbbing — while Scully plied him with soup, decongestants, and an endless supply of Kleenex. She had checked his temperature, bullied him into drinking both water and orange juice, and stayed until he fell asleep.

She had also, he recalls with a fresh wave of guilt, sat beside him while he coughed, sneezed, and thoroughly contaminated every breathable molecule of air and surface within a ten-foot radius.

By Friday morning – the first day he’d begun to feel remotely human again – Scully had looked pale and drawn, and had proceeded to sniffle her way through the day while operating on increasingly terse, hoarse assertions that she was perfectly fine each and every time he had dared to ask. By lunchtime her voice had acquired a soft, telltale huskiness, and by the end of the day she looked about ready to drop.

Mulder doesn’t know how she does it, but he has long suspected Scully schedules her illnesses – or at least holds them at bay through some inexplicable act of physiological disciplinary will – for weekends and federal holidays, when she can both suffer and convalesce in private.

The same cold that had laid him out for most of the previous week must have been circling her for days, biding its time until the weekend — because sure enough, it’s now Saturday afternoon, and Scully appears to have been wholly struck. 

"I tried calling you twice,” Mulder replies, “but you didn’t answer.” He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of the couch, keeping it easily accessible should she require another layer anytime soon. He glances across the room at her desk, where the light on her answering machine is blinking red. “It could have easily been an emergency."

“I was sleeping,” she scowls, retreating further beneath her blankets again.

Now that he has rounded the couch, Mulder can properly survey what remains of his always-so-put-together partner. Only her face is visible among the nest of blankets Scully has made for herself – her hair mussed from sleep, her nose rubbed a vivid, tender pink, and her lips set in a chapped little pout. She looks, to Mulder’s private and considerable delight, unbearably dear, and in that moment he wants nothing more than to kiss that pout away. Still, he knows better than to try. Not yet, anyway.

The coffee table is littered with the evidence of a battle valiantly fought and lost – a bottle of Tylenol, two types of vitamin supplements, a box of tissues, and a half-empty roll of cough drops. A medical journal is being used as a coaster for a nearly-finished glass of orange juice and an empty mug of tea.

Scully eyes him warily as he surveys the scene.

“Go away, Bulder," she sniffles thickly.

Mulder does just the opposite, plopping down on the couch next to her and causing the cushions – and Scully along with them – to dip towards him. She makes a sound not unlike a disgruntled kitten as he presses the back of his hand to her forehead and tries to pull away, but she’s too thoroughly cocooned to get very far.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs, brushing her hair back from her forehead with his fingertips. “You must feel about as bad as you look.”

Scully fixes him with a dark, wounded glare, and Mulder immediately winces. 

“That...came out wrong," he explains, offering her a sheepish little smile. He doesn’t add what he really thinks, which is that even feverish and scarlet-nosed and glowering at him from the depths of her blanket fortress, she looks more beautiful than anyone has any right to when in a state of abject misery.

Scully draws in a breath – presumably to tell him precisely where he can put his spare key and his bedside manner – but it catches suddenly, her eyelids fluttering shut as she shakes her head urgently, turning away as much as she can. Mulder hastily withdraws his hand and reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table, but she is already ducking into the blankets and burying her face in the soft folds, muffling another pair of helplessly congested sneezes.

“—Hihh-'ihh....?! —hiih'mpttTSCHhh! ...hehh’EtTSHHiieu!”

"Bless you," he replies, offering her a tiny, sympathetic smile he knows she can't see.

Scully sniffles miserably and doesn't immediately emerge, uttering a muffled little grunt of acknowledgement from inside the blanket. It’s unclear to Mulder whether it’s a sound of appreciation or disdain, and he waits patiently for her to resurface. After a few long seconds she does, looking considerably more flushed, but readily accepting the wad of tissues he’s holding out for her without comment. She blows her nose with all of them, then tucks them into the open top of a second, empty box of tissues nestled between her and the side of the couch.

Mulder glances at the makeshift wastebasket and smiles. She’s nothing if not resourceful.

Scully gives him a tired look and sinks back against the cushions, tugging one of the blankets back up beneath her chin. Mulder lifts his arm so she can settle closer, and after a brief moment of hesitation, she relents and curls against him, her head finding the familiar place beneath his chin. She yawns, and it ends in a sigh that becomes a shiver, and he draws her a little closer, keeping the tissue box within easy reach of them both.

 “How’s that cold of yours?” Mulder asks carefully. He knows better than to ask how she’s feeling outright, knowing the answer will be that she is fine, regardless of the truth behind it.

“It’s not my cold,” Scully mumbles grumpily against his chest, nesting even closer. “It’s yours.”

Mulder smiles and presses an apologetic kiss to the top of her head, feeling absurdly grateful that, for the first time in days, his nose is clear enough to breathe in the familiar scent of her shampoo.

“Sorry, Scully,” he chuckles into her hair. “No takebacks.”

[blooming-trees]

cw: contagion

The lady is a ten but she's a walking petri dish.

[sleepysoftsnz]

ADHD dumbass forgetting to eat all day and then wondering why they’re so tired and dizzy. And they have a cold on top of it all.

[snezus-christ-risen]

Someone bursting into tears at the mere mention that they don’t seem to be feeling well. They’ve been trying to hide it for so long that the tender acknowledgment from a loved one is all it takes to unlock the flood of emotions they’ve been suppressing all day.

[bloodyassboots]

Misunderstanding trope but its A misunderstanding Kink!B when they absentmindedly mention that A's sniffling is distracting them

This of course leads to A doing their best to be quieter through unproductive sniffles and unsatisfying stifles and only getting more frustrated when B continues to watch them

Meanwhile B who had thought they had A's sneezing patterns down to a tee is suddenly wondering after the sudden shift, both worried and disipoined by the development

(eventually they will figure out the misunderstanding with B telling A about their desires*tm, of course leading to very sneezy sex)

[blooming-trees]

I'm really trying to get back into writing, so... here, have another little oneshot I fought my way through today, lol. It's my older lesbian professor OCs, this one takes place this year, and it's Clarissa's lover Leah who's sick, and Clarissa doing some TLC to the best of her ability. cw: mentions of other diseases, including plague (yeah. lol)

Tea With Honey (female, cold, F/F)

Professor Leah Sharp, normally a fire tornado of a woman, was uncharacteristically subdued during her morning lecture about the Salem witch trials. Her voice was raspy with the campus cold, the wings of her nose pink and she had stopped to turn away and sneeze heavily into the sleeve of her knitted burnt-orange cardigan a total of five times in twenty minutes.

“Sorry,” she croaked after the fifth sneeze, and took a sip of the coffee she had brought, wincing as the warm but bitter liquid filled her throat. It wasn’t the temperature; it was the coffee itself that hurt her sore throat. Leah knew that in this stage of the cold, pretty much everything would hurt her throat. The only possible exception she could at all imagine was tea with lots of honey. But she had none of that.

“Just know that I blame you guys,” she continued, not unkindly, and her students laughed, some of them a bit awkwardly. It was likely that she had caught this from a student, or even a colleague, it seemed like everyone was coughing and wheezing at the moment.

Well. Everyone but the resident iron lady, Clarissa Ashfield, the English Department’s strictest professor who specialised in Victorian Literature and scaring undergrads to tears with a single raised eyebrow. Clarissa never got sick. She moved through the halls like she belonged to a superior kind of human, more machine than woman, or at least that was what the campus legend said about her.

And Leah was her greatest enemy. At least in public.

Behind the scenes, however, they had a secret love affair that would shock everyone at the university if it ever came out.

“Alright, let’s go back to Salem… imagine the panic that spread, a disease in its own right… huhh-ESSCHHHew! ‘scuse me, a plague of superstition yes, but that’s not all it was…”

***

After wrapping up her lecture, at this point with almost no voice left at all, Leah shuffled to her office. Her head was pounding, her whole body felt sore, and she was pretty sure she was running a temperature. Her throat felt like it was on fire and there were embers from that fire spreading to her nose.

She dropped down in her chair and sneezed heavily into the crook of her arm again, because of course she had forgotten to bring any tissues.

That’s when there was a knock on her door.

She opened her mouth to say ‘come in’, but nothing happened. The only noise that came out was a high-pitched squeak that reminded her of a random noise her cat made sometimes. She cleared her throat and tried again, with marginally better result.

“Cobe id…”  

The door opened and Clarissa Ashfield stepped inside, quickly locking it behind her. She looked as regal as ever, with her silver hair in a perfect French twist and her tailored grey suit flawless and wrinkle-free. Leah's cardigan looked like a disaster zone in comparison.

“Good morning, my dear. I heard you caught the campus plague,” Clarissa said softly and put a steaming cup down on Leah’s cluttered desk. Porcelain, not paper. “Earl Grey with lemon and honey. I assumed you needed it.”

“Oh God Clare, thag you…” Leah croaked. “By throat is od fire.”

“I know,” Clarissa said sympathetically and stroked a wild strand of hair out of her face.

“How would you kdow? You dever get sick,” Leah replied, attempting a joke although there was some seriousness mixed in. She had worked at the university for nine years, had a, first exclusively erotic but lately increasingly tender, relationship with Clarissa for six months, and had never seen the elegant English professor with as much as a case of the sniffles.

Clarissa put an unopened travel pack of Kleenex in front of Leah, who gratefully pulled out two sheets of paper and blew her nose with emphasis.

“Oh, so you think I’ve never been sick, do you?”

“Well, I’ve never seen it, so it can’t be very often.”

Clarissa rolled her eyes and shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Oh Leah, you have no idea. When I was in my thirties, I was sick constantly. And I mean constantly, back-to-back colds, sinus infections, stomach bugs, strep throat, bronchitis, pneumonia, laryngitis, ear infections, even chickenpox… oh, and then there was that time when I had the bubonic plague…”

Leah stared at her, then she started laughing so hard the laughter turned into wheezy, raspy coughing.

“Now you’re just pulling my leg! You did not have the black death, Clarissa!” She squeaked the words out through her raw throat, but despite Leah’s disbelief, Clarissa’s expression didn’t change.

“Yes, I did. Yersinia pestis. I caught it in the 90s when I was in Arizona. The bacteria still exists in some places and apparently, I crossed paths with an infected flea somehow. I spent that semester’s finals week in isolation with a cannula in my arm and fever delirium. I think it was after that ordeal that my immune defence finally decided it was time to start doing its job. After that, I think I’ve had three colds total over the past twenty years. A far more acceptable behaviour of my body, if I may say so.”

“The fucking plague… you truly are an enigma wrapped in a riddle, Clarissa Ashfield,” Leah managed in a half-squeak, half-whisper, as Clarissa put her hand on her forehead. Her palm was wonderfully cool against Leah’s hot skin.

“And you are a feverish mess, Leanne Sharp,” Clarissa replied. “Drink your tea, and then you should go home. Get some proper rest.”

“I’d love to, but I have essays to grahh-grade… hehh...”

Leah’s breath caught in her throat, and she snatched a clean tissue from the pack that her lover had provided her with.

“Huhh-EISSSCHHHew! Oh God…”

“Bless you. Give them to me. I’ll grade them for you.”

“What does a Victorian literature expert know about the Salem witch trials?” Leah asked in her wavering, almost-gone voice and blew her nose again.

“More than I would like,” Clarissa said with a sigh. “My ancestors were there, Leah. Though I regret to inform you, they were not on the right side of history.”

Leah was a bit too feverish (not to mention her throat hurt too much) to interrogate Clarissa on her family link to the history that Leah so vividly taught, so she settled for a more practical approach – accepting the offer.

“Please don’t grade as harshly as you would your own students,” she said. “Mine would be suspicious.”

“I’ll give as much lenience as my conscience will allow.”

“None at all then, thank you so much for scaring my students,” Leah said, but this time she was grinning. It was a tired grin, but nevertheless full of genuine amusement.

“You’re welcome,” Clarissa said in a deadpan tone, but the hand she placed on Leah’s forehead again was gentle, her touch full of the tenderness she couldn’t show in public. When she spoke again, her voice was soft.

“Drink your tea, Leah. And then go straight home. I’ll take care of your grading, and if it’s that important to you, I’ll grade generously.”

“Th-thank… thank you-uhhh…huhh-ISSSCHHew!”

“Bless you, my darling. Oh, that sounded like it hurt.”

“Ugh,” Leah replied, which was the only confirmation Clarissa needed.

She leaned in closer and placed a gentle kiss on Leah’s forehead as she slowly ran her slender fingers through the younger woman’s hair again.

“I’m coming over with some soup later.”

“You?” Leah squeaked. “Making soup?”

“I’ll pretend I’m not insulted by the insinuation that I can’t cook,” Clarissa chuckled. “You’ll see later. If you can taste anything in the first place.”

“Doubtful,” Leah admitted and blew her nose forcefully. “But I promise to praise your cooking skills anyway.”

“You better,” Clarissa said, took the pile of essays on Leah’s desk and put them into her leather satchel. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Thank you,” Leah wheezed. “You’re so sweet.”

Clarissa stiffened for a moment on her way to the door.

“You may be the only person in the world who thinks so.”

“Well, be that as it may. I’m sure you know by now that I’m quite persistent in my opinions.”

Clarissa laughed out loud this time.

“That, you are.”

When the door had closed behind her, Leah sipped the tea and closed her eyes as its smooth sweetness slid down her inflamed throat. She hadn’t said the words she wanted to say, because she wasn’t sure if that would be the thing that would scare off the ice queen professor for good and didn’t want to take the chance, but now she whispered them into the silence that Clarissa had left behind.

“I love you.”

[head-colds]

magic user ungracefully plummeting through the air when a sneeze unexpectedly tosses them inward and disrupts the spell they’re using to fly. they catch themself and try to ignore the reaction of the one flying with them after they sync back up to their side

[heleniumx]

The sound of B sneezing is the first thing A hears when they open the door and step inside.

It's A's first day back at work after a few days off, having just gotten over the same cold that B woke up with that morning.

"How's that cold of yours?" A asks, setting down their keys and shrugging off their jacket. They offer B a sympathetic smile as they approach the blanket nest B has made for themselves on the couch, knowing firsthand how awful they must feel.

At least B doesn't have to feel the guilt that they're feeling, A thinks.

"It's not mine," B grumbles from behind a handful of tissues. "...s'yours."

[common-crisis]

Someone pale and collapsing in the middle of a mission and their partner automatically assumes they've been injured. So they're running their hands all over them, trying to find the wound and...

there's no wound. No blood. But they ARE running an insane fever???