Hi gang, Iâm Winged and this is explicitly a sneeze kink blog! You have been given fair warning. Please do not interact unless you are 18+, itâs for all of our benefits!
Feel free to DM me about writing or fics or fandoms or just to say hi! Also I feel like people here are pretty respectful for the most part, but please do not DM me out of the blue with stuff thatâs immediately sexual in a personal or self-referential way, thatâs weird and uncomfortable.
The main tags I use consistently are âask wingedâ whenever I respond to an ask and âwinged.txtâ for my snzarios/on topic text posts. My OCs also have their own tags ("jude and arthur,â âavery tag,â âspace triad tag.â)
Fic masterlist is below the cut!
Original Characters
Arthur and Jude
* fake it - newcomer to the theater industry Jude catches a cold in the week leading up to opening night. His scene partner/on-screen love/off-screen crush Arthur is kind about it.
* til you make it - a direct sequel to âfake it.â Opening night approaches and the cold continues to make its way through the cast, now hitting Arthur. Jude is forced to accept some caretaking.
* no pain, no gain - Jude (still on the tail end of his cold) sleeps on Arthur's couch post-opening-night-celebration, which is great except he is also very allergic to Arthur's cat. Jude also has a Big Gay Revelation.
* the way you keep the world at bay for me - oneshot from Arthur's pov, set several months in the future when he and Jude are dating. Arthur has a miserable cold but rallies to get brunch with Jude for Jude's birthday.
Avery
* ostinato - a broody mercenary with a neutral evil god living in his head deals with a magical hangover and a cold.
* andante - Avery is running a surveillance mission, but even though it's been hours, he's still suffering the effects of an ill-fated trip to an apothecary.
Ryll & Kassidy
* in a strange land - lady knight with a cold arrives at the capital.
Space Poly Triad
* comfort in spades - a military secretary (who's in a poly relationship with his employer and his employer's wife) catches a cold and feels very guilty that he's disrupting things.
* safe to shore - Arkady helps Aral relax after a long and stressful series of days.
Fanfiction (alphabetical by fandom)
Avatar: the Last Airbender
* Zuko snippet - a scene from an ongoing (incomplete) fic in which Zuko suffers from allergies at a fancy event that he is required to participate in as Fire Lord (don't worry he's in his late 20s).
* soothe - the completed version of the above! Featuring bonus Suki and Sokka.
Avengers / Clintasha
* ask answered - Clint comes to check on a sick Natasha.
* better to leave it unsaid - Natasha catches a cold. Maria Hill checks in on her.
Hannibal
* sniffles over coffee (drabble) - Will is falling ill yet shows up for his therapy appointment anyway.
Jujutsu Kaisen
* stubborn (part 2) - Megumi catches a cold. Maki beats him up. There's a game of capture the flag.
* ask answered - Nobara has a fever. Maki looks after her.
* perfero: I endure - Yuta is overworked and catching a cold and just wants to get back home to his boyfriend.
* decompression - Nanami/Gojo/Geto - Geto and Gojo just want to help Nanami relax after a stressful mission.
Our Flag Means Death
* when you are close to me, I shiver - Ed's gotten sick plenty of times before, but no one has ever cared for him like Stede.
* my hands shake off the cold sea as I reach for your chin - Ed has an allergic reaction to someone's perfume when he and Stede are ashore getting drinks. Stede (who has the kink) gets Very Distracted.
* close enough to touch - more kink!Stede with Ed using his own allergies as a bit of foreplay.
* meow - Stede discovers that Ed is allergic to cats.
* sleepy blackbonnet snippet - Ed tries not to wake a sleeping Stede.
The Pitt
* untitled langdon & santos snippet with bonus garcia
* built a kingdom fierce and fortified -- Santos sickfic
Red, White & Royal Blue
* I guess you're in london today - 56k word RP with sickhaze!
* the great state of texas - Henry is allergic to Texas.
* ask answered - Henry hears Alex sneeze for the first time.
* ask answered - Henry and Alex cuddle while Alex has a cold.
* ask answered - Alex hears Henry sneeze for the first time.
* ask answered - Henry and Alex share a cold.
* ask answered - Henry plays a bad round of polo. Alex is suspicious.
* lights, camera... - Henry and Alex attend a movie premiere while Henry is getting over a cold.
* ask answered - Alex loses his voice.
* ask answered - Henry suffers from allergies on a road trip.
* ask answered - Alex gets sick and tries to cancel his plans with Henry.
* request - Henry has never taken a true sick day before.
Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows (both show- and book-compliant)
* ask answered - an allergic Jesper stakes out a casino.
* asks answered (2 parts) - Jesper shows up for a Crows meeting with a cold and is told to go home. Nina and Wylan stop by to check on him.
* Jesper drabble - Jesper is allergic to something.
The Witcher
* you're the words that I promise I don't mean - set after the events of season 1, an ill and injured Geralt stumbles into a tavern where Jaskier is performing. Despite lingering hurt feelings, Jaskier decides to take care of him.
* Radovid/Jaskier drabble - Radovid is allergic to something in the gardens.
* Jaskier drabble - Jaskier has a fever on a hot day.
* I guess that's love, I can't pretend - Jaskier catches cold while court barding in Redania. His new boyfriend Prince Radovid is worried.
Witch Hat Atelier
* smudge - Olruggio is allergic to the brushbuddy.
* more orufrey - [musician AU] concert pianist Olruggio has to perform while ill. Qifrey is there to support and take care of him.
* summer cold / qifrey
* allergies + afternoon nap + nose kisses / qifrey
Iâm simply going feral at the thought of this prompt. You are incredible at writing!
your wish is my command! here's allergies + afternoon nap + nose kisses for mister qifrey. (no manga spoilers, which was HARD for me to do with this one, but I'm trying to avoid them in the fics I post on here)
(1.6k!)
--
Qifrey stifled a ticklish cough into his fist and curled up tighter on the couch, reminding himself for the umpteenth time that rubbing his eye would only make it worse, no matter how good it would feel.
This happened, on occasion; something would bloom out on the Downs in the summertime, a plant that he'd never been able to identify, because it was only a period of a week or two that he would suffer like this, and it wasn't even every year.
But whatever was different about this year â more rain? less rain? a mild start to the summer? random happenstance? â he was certainly feeling it. His symptoms had begun about a week ago, starting with a mild itchiness in his throat and eye and progressing over the last few days to a full-blown allergic reaction. He'd even finally caved and taken some of Olruggio's allergy tonic, but he must have waited too long, because it was barely putting a dent in his symptoms.
His only relief was in sleep, which he wasn't getting much of either, with the sinus pressure and congestion and general miserable itchiness. His eye and ears itched, even the roof of his mouth and back of his throat itched.
"I don't know how you put up with this every summer," he'd said to Olruggio this morning as they'd cleaned up from breakfast, swiping gently at the base of his tender nose with a napkin. He knew he was whining, but as long as it was just to Olruggio and not in front of the girls, he figured he could allow himself that tiny degree of self-indulgence. "The inside of my head feels like it's made of bees."
"Made of bees?" Olruggio had echoed him with the slightest degree of teasing, and Qifrey had huffed a sigh of irritation
"You know what I mean." He could feel his nose beginning to twitch in irritation, but by then his arms were immersed up to the elbows in suds and dishwater, so he turned his head away from Olruggio and tried to stifle the sneezes he could feel coming. His allergy sneezes were itchy and hard to satisfyingly stifle, always feeling like they were ready to tumble out and over each other like eager puppies.
"htt'TSIEU! ttxsHIEU! HKT'schu!"
"Bless."
Not quite yet, Qifrey wanted to say, but his breath was already shivering into the beginnings of another pair of sneezes.
"httkchuu! chhSHIEU!"
"âŠand again."
"Thangk you," Qifrey sniffled, then ground his nose against the fabric of his upper arm to try and tame the itch that was still prickling around the rims of his nostrils. It felt like someone was tracing them with a feather. The mental image was ticklish enough that it was all he could do to try and hold his breath to stifle a sixth and final sneeze. "HKKTshh!"
"To be fair, I don't usually get it quite as bad as you," Olruggio said.
"You do if you spend enough time outside," Qifrey reminded him, and Olruggio made a face.
"I guess."
Qifrey must have looked rough, exhausted and pink-nosed and puffy-eyed, because Olruggio stayed close as the morning went on, coming up with excuses to be in the kitchen or in the main room (wherever Qifrey was). Qifrey appreciated the quiet support, because he was certainly flagging as the day went on, and it was helpful to have another witch around for the girls to ask questions to. Still, it was hard to keep from nodding off over lunch, even when Tetia and Richeh began to gently quarrel over whose turn it was to help Qifrey prepare dinner that evening.
"Girls," Olruggio said sharply when their quiet bickering began to spill over into something more sustained. Qifrey tried to blink himself back to wakefulness, covering a yawn with one hand, as Olruggio continued, "Why don't we go outside and give Master Qifrey some peace and quiet for the afternoon?"
Oh he definitely was looking bad, if the girls' quick acquiescence was anything to judge by. Agott returned to her room to study, as always, but the other three trailed after Olruggio like little ducklings, calling bits of kindness like "get some rest!" and "feel better soon!" back to Qifrey. It was quite touching, actually, and he made a note to thank Olruggio for his thoughtfulness later after the girls had gone to bed.
He napped as well as could be expected; the quiet in the atelier helped, and the couch was incredibly comfortable (he understood why Olruggio napped here so frequently), but he was still plagued with itchiness and congestion. When he did sleep, he dreamed fitfully, weighed down by images of deep, dark water and skeletal trees reaching towards the horizon.
But he also dreamed of Olly â which was not new, unfortunately; the other man crept into his subconscious with some frequency, particularly when he was already exhausted or otherwise ill-at-ease, and his guard was down.
Sometimes the Olly of his dreams was upset with him, or accusatory, or hurt deeply by the careful distance that Qifrey kept between them. Qifrey knew that the real-life Olruggio felt those things too, even though he was too kind and reserved to express them, so those dreams always stung. At the end of the day, Qifrey deserved his ire.
But the ones that truly cut him to the quick were the ones in which they were happy together. The ones where Qifrey let Olruggio touch him, where they could hold each other, where Olruggio could brush away the tears that Qifrey wept in the solitude of his rooms at night. Those were the ones that hurt the most when he woke, that gave him a yearning ache so deep in his core that he felt like he couldn't move for limping.
He knew that he was dreaming this time, floating in a sort of half-awake twilight, when Olruggio came to sit on the couch by his feet.
"How are you feelin'?"
Dream-Qifrey scrubbed the side of his hand briefly under his nose, squinting, and sighed. "All right, I suppose," he said. "How are the girls?"
"Fine. Workin' hard." Olruggio reached up and brushed a bit of Qifrey's hair back from his face. "You've been fussin' with your eye again."
"Have not," Qifrey protested, but he knew it was a lie, and he knew that the swelling and redness would tell on him all the same.
Olruggio frowned. "Sorry the tonic hasn't done much."
"Not your fault," Qifrey sighed, and coughed into the back of his wrist. "I'm just ready for this to be done with."
"'M sure." Olruggio leaned in, and Qifrey thought he was going to touch his hair again, or remove his glasses, but he surprised him by cupping the back of his neck in his hand and pressing the most delicate of kisses to the tip of his nose.
It tickled, and Qifrey lurched back, rubbing fiercely at his nose to try and fight back the sneezes that he could feel beginning to build. The last thing he wanted to do was to sneeze on Olruggio. "What was that for?"
"You looked like you needed t'be kissed," Olruggio said quietly, and he leaned in again.
But Qifrey had to sneeze, badly, and he held up one hand to fend Olruggio off while bending his other arm and directing the sneezes towards his elbow.
â and then he woke, and he still had to sneeze, so he repeated the motions he'd felt himself make in his dream and just managed to get his arm raised in time.
"hkk'TSIEW! ktxshuu!"
They just barely scratched the itch, and he was still stuck there, panting faintly, until the urge backed off just enough to leave him sniffly and frustrated and without relief. He groaned and flopped back against the pillows.
"And again."
It was Olruggio's voice, and it made Qifrey jump, as if the other man could see the contents of the dream that Qifrey had just been shaken from. He quickly looked away with the excuse of looking for his handkerchief.
"Thank you. How are the girls?"
"Fine. Workin' hard," Olruggio said from the door, unknowingly echoing Qifrey's dream. It made Qifrey flush, and he quickly buried his face in his handkerchief to hide it. He heard Olruggio cross the room, moving away from him towards the kitchen. "D'you need anything?"
Another flicker of memory from his dream, of Olruggio leaning in to kiss him, and Qifrey gritted his teeth against the image. "No, I'm fine, thank you." He lowered his handkerchief and palmed at his cheek, which at some point had become damp. Was his eye watering again? "And thank you for looking after the girls, I've enjoyed the extra rest."
"Course."
Ah, damn, he'd been crying, hadn't he, while he slept? How mortifying. Qifrey sniffled again and cleared his throat, trying to wrestle back composure. "Give me a moment to freshen up and I'll join you."
"No need, I'll bring the girls back inside," Olruggio said. "You'd best stay inside too until you're done with all the sneezin' and such."
He sounded so firm that Qifrey couldn't help but duck his head to hide a smile. "All right, if you insist."
Qifrey watched until after Olruggio as he left the atelier, clutching absently at his own chest as if he could hold his agonizing inner wound together with his fingers alone. But it was familiar, the deep, stabbing pain that made his teeth ache, and he swallowed back the bile like always, sealed it all away, and then began to make himself presentable again.
getting sick from being in the rain is cool, it's Fun to Imagine... Now already being sick/just starting to get sick and getting caught in the rain... It's Sexy. It's Real. It Can Happen To You. Sick Fuck Who Enjoys Insult to Injury -----> me . pile that misery on baby, flip that fuckin umbrella inside out have a gust of wind break it or blow it down the street
Part One | Part Two
contains: sneezing, common cold, romantic caretaking, physical injury/whump, depictions of fantasy natural disaster, allusions to fantasy war, m/m (still very sappy in this part; sometimes we simply must)
đđđđđđđđđđđ
That night, after a fruitless, frustrating few hours of learning nothing, Ivan climbed the creaking stairs to the inn for the first time.
Heâd set out empty of expectations, but still felt his nerves whirring with the dissatisfaction of unanswered questions even as he unlaced his scant leather armor with a sigh of relief and laid it atop the stout chest in the corner of this rented room.
Freed from every stiff, protective layer, he glanced around this warm and unfamiliar place. He got the sense that this was a simple space to whomever had created it as he began to sniff around its amenities, many of which heâd passed months on end, in multiple seasons of his life, without. In his prowling, he came upon a small but scrappy-looking iron stove with a long arm tethering it to the ceiling and, across from that, a smooth, stone basin, filled halfway with clear, still water. He stopped in front of it and peered into it like a wishing well. A single drop escaped the brass tap perched above, falling to the surface with a soft plink. Ivan wasted no timeâhe bent over the basin and plunged his hands into the cool water, splashing a few indulgent handfuls over his face, feeling revived enough to utter a near-indecent gasp for no one but himself as he came up for air. Running his palms over the contours of his face, he felt the bandage looped around his right thumb scrub roughly against his cheek and paused, still dripping, to stare for a moment at his own hand.
He thought about removing the bandage, but didnât. Certain it looked as hideous as it felt under there and unprepared to face or answer for it, instead he reached out and gripped the metal lever in front of him (with his left hand) and yanked it upright. The tap rushed to life and the surface of the water climbed higher up the curved sides of the basinâso clear he could see every speck in the polished stone that held it even through the agitation of the stream. He pulled the handle back down and the tap shut off with a squeak. He shrugged privately to himself, half-drying his face on the hem of his shirt as he padded over to the glass paneled door beyondâleft ajar, hemmed with little braided wards whose beads clacked together softly as the salt air sifted through.
Roving the city these past few hours, Ivan had found people friendly and forthcoming, well beyond what heâd expectedâa side-effect heâd noticed during blackouts in the technologically-younger cities of this kind that heâd travelled to in the past. The lights would go out and, suddenly, people would start to loosen up. Theyâd begin to share food with their neighbors they used to avoid. Theyâd titter in the ears of near-strangers all the things theyâd never say in the light. Despite their discomfort or because of it.
There was a bashfulness to it here: the townsfolk had begun to accept this new routine of gathering outside their homes, lighting candles or torches or planting makeshift spells inside of globes where heatless, flameless lights driven by the sun and sea once hummed to life on their own as soon as the sun went down. They sat upon their darkened doorsteps, sheepishly strumming stringed instruments like it wasnât quite allowed, sharing meals in the open air at more than an armâs length away. They laughed together at the mundane and disastrous with the relief and quiet uncertainty of people who werenât used to connecting in this way. It was sweet and easy to get swept up in as an expert in making the most of a terrible situation, as a shepherd of saying too much at the improper volume in the dark.
Still, no one could tell him what was happening to the outermost island or why. They struggled to even speculate what reason someone might have for laying a curse upon that land, and could not decide whether it was intended to punish them, as well. But it was. It was punishing them. Ivan felt a swell of pride, watching these strangers shyly revel in expectations lost, but noticed, too, the way they shuffled uneasily, swimming against the sinking knowledge of what would happen next if the sun did not shine soon over this solar city. Here was a place where science and nature had held hands in a perfect, unbroken circuit for many yearsâŠstarting to stutter. So far, the storms had not harmed the people on this side of the seaâgive or take the loss of electric light and few inches of creeping coastlineâbut the looming threat of what would happen if the lights stayed out hung acrid in the air, heavier than the smoke sailing skyward from the now-nightly campfires that burned in the town square.
Ivan slid the door open the rest of the way (with his left hand) and slipped out, soundlessly, into the crisp, reviving night.
Stepping out onto an earthy balcony overlooking the sea in all its vastness, he could see the dayâs fog had lifted enough to grant a clearer view of the misty horizon and the imperfect torchlight dotting the strata of the darkened city below. While the clouds had not settled in the city, they still hung heavily above it, keeping a tight seal on any starlight, keeping the moon all to themselves.
âI canât make sense of it Ivan.â
He found Amaranth sat with his knees drawn up loosely, forearms resting lightly atop, gazing out across the dark ocean with a steady, unbroken stare.
âIt does not behave like magic, but it must be. This storm.â Amaranth cleared his throat softly behind a curled fist, his brow tensing as he did. There was a rasp creeping in at the very base of his voice, a kind of brittleness that this did nothing to repair. âI have never seen anything like it, orâŠâ he murmured darkly, eyes still transfixed on the cursed island, now hardly a speck on the horizon. â... if I have, it was only once before. When I was too young to understand.â
Ivan slid down the wall to sit next to him on the deck. Settling close enough that he could feel the heat held between them where their knees nearly touched.
âIf there is still an island to speak of,â Amaranth mused, eyes narrowed, breath quickening. âIf there is any life left on the other side of this storm, I canââ tâ hh!â
His voice thinned out at the end, light as air in the instant before he pinched his nose with haste, stifling a sneeze between thumb and forefinger. It was a shuddering implosion that seemed to rattle every one of his bones just a little, yet suppressed so expertly, it hardly made a sound. Ivan could see the tendons in Amaranth's free hand flex with the effort, then relax, fingers settling loosely around his own knee again as he regained control with a cautious half-exhale.Â
â--I cannot see it,â Amaranth finished breathlessly, releasing some and then all of that unspent tension in a sigh. Too soon, Ivan could tell, but when the second sneeze did not come, he replied:
âI didnât know you were so worried.â
Amaranth turned to look at him then.
Cheekier, Ivan added, âThere will be no life left on this balcony if you sit out here much longer, worrying yourself to death.â
A flicker of a sly smile started on Amaranthâs lips, an earnest admission on the tip of his tongue, but both were carried off on a quick gasp as his breath caught in his chest. âIâ ahââ
Ivan watched his brow furrow and his lungs empty irritably, chased by a sharp gasp, then another, each hitching his shoulders a little higher. Watched a few waves of dark hair spill over his shoulder in a slow cascade as he tipped his head back imploringly, the ends brushing over his collarbone with the agitated rise and fall of his chest. His shoulders started to sink again, impatiently, the longer it tortured him, until a final, desperate heave of an inhale drove it out of him at last: he curled in on himself and sneezed again, into the crook of his arm this time and still holding most of it in, but a tiny, miserable âhdtââuhhâŠ!â still escaped despite his best intentions, muffled by the folds of his cloak.
Ivan nudged Amaranth's thigh playfully with his own. âBless you...â he hummed like a condolence. âCome inside. You are making yourself sick, thinking about these things.â
Amaranth lowered his arm and sighedâlamentous, concedingâthen turned to Ivan again, tipping his head back against the wall with a look of pure surrender. âI have missed you terribly,â he murmured with an apologetic half-smile.
There was a repentant sort of gleam in his eye as he said this. It was the face of someone who had just watched themselves knock over something fragile, a fraction of a second too late to catch it before it reached the floor with shattering finality. Felt the flash of disappointment at the avoidable loss, already moving to dutifully sweep up the mess amidst the shame of knowing that it was all their fault.
It was the same. Amaranth looked at him, eyes lidded with weariness and longing, and he paused. Hesitant, like he must now admit to doing something clumsy.
âCertainly, I am coming down with something,â he confessed with a guilty smirk. âAnd Iâd rather you not join me in that.â
Somehow, the obvious plainly stated, still came as a surprise. It was written all over his face; Ivan could tell the man was getting sick at close-to-first glance and, still, how could this be? That he could be vulnerable to such a thing. That he would be vulnerable enough to name it now.
Ivan scoffed.
âPlease.â He shifted closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he laid a hand on Amaranthâs thigh. âIt would make me far sicker to spend another night away from you than it would to catch your cold.â He felt a bit of heat rise to the hollows of his cheeks as he said it. How far heâd fallen from the man brawling on a passenger ferry just a few short hours ago. Without waiting for a response, he withdrew his hand and sat up with a teasing smirk. âIf I make you some tea, will you drink it?â
Amaranthâs eyes drifted closed with a wry, wisp of a laugh that ruffled the evenness of his voice as he said, âHave I been such a terrible patient?â
Ivan hummed, thinking about it. âHow could I know?â You never get sick. Or have hidden it so well every time but once that even someone drinking in your every move still didnât notice. Ivan cocked his head and arched an eyebrow, faking stern, but unable to keep the fond grin from breaking through as he concluded, âYouâre a bit slippery, though, so I donât doubt it." He rocked back on his heels and nodded pointedly in the direction of the open door. "Come on, then."
oh god i started writing this and completely forgot you wanted the musician au, whoops...so here's just a regular canon drabble (...1.5k words) for the prompt "summer cold" (no manga spoilers).
--
"Will Master Qifrey be okay?"
Olruggio looked up from his notebook. It was a beautiful morning, warm and clear with a bright blue sky overhead, so he'd taken the girls outside to do their work. Coco was hovering before him, her primer clutched in both hands. He scratched at his beard with the end of his pen.
"He'll be all right, 's just a summer cold."
"But he never gets sick." Coco settled on the grass in front of him.
Olruggio thought for a moment about correcting her â he'd seen Qifrey sick plenty of times over the years; he just didn't get sick as often as Olruggio did â but decided against it. "He just needs some rest, and he'll be good 's new."
"Should we not take him to the doctor in Kalhn?"
He shook his head. "Qifrey hates the doctor more than just about anythin'. If his fever hasn't gone down in a day or so, we'll talk about it again, but he'd 'ave to be pretty sick before he'd let us take 'im anywhere."
Coco's mouth trembled a little bit as she looked down at her lap. Olruggio narrowed his eyes slightly. None of the other girls were taking Qifrey's absence as hard as Coco was, but then again, they'd all been under his tutelage for longer and had seen him ill before. And perhaps, Olruggio thought, remembering the tarnished shades of Coco's backstory, this wasn't about Qifrey at all.
"Coco," he said gently, getting her attention. "I promise you Qifrey'll be fine. He's tough, and he knows he's got to get better so he can get back to teachin' you lot again."
That made her smile a little bit, which eased the knot in his chest. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, and brushed the heel of her hand beneath her eye. "I'm just worried about him."
"Look, I've got to go get something inside anyway, so I'll check on 'im for you, deal?"
A bit more of a smile from Coco, this time tinged with relief. "Deal. Thank you, Master Olly."
Olruggio got to his feet and brushed the bits of grass from his robes. Agott was watching them from not too far away, and when Coco's back was to him, he pointed to Agott, then to Coco, and angled his head a bit in suggestion. Agott caught his gaze and nodded, and the last thing Olruggio saw before he went inside was Agott heading over to check on Coco.
It was quiet in the atelier â something that Olruggio did not often get to experience. His tower tended to be fairly peaceful, but the main space always had something going on, even when the girls were working. But they were all out taking advantage of the nice day, and instead of Qifrey cheerfully humming away in the kitchen, he was shut away in his chambers in hopes of keeping the rest of them from getting sick. Olruggio snagged a waterskin from the kitchen and made his way back to Qifrey's room.
He had planned to just poke his head in and confirm that he was still breathing, not wanting to disrupt any potential sleep he might be getting, but as he approached the door he could hear the other man coughing within. He raised his hand and knocked twice on the wood.
"'s me."
"OllyâŠcome in."
Qifrey's voice was weak and hoarse, and Olruggio took a steeling breath before letting himself in.
Qifrey's chambers were usually fairly tidy beyond the odd stack of books and papers on his desk and dresser, but today the place was a mess. The curtains were tugged shut, miring the place in a shadowy gloom, and the bedsheets and pillows were disheveled and half on the floor. His nightstand was empty but for a couple of crumpled handkerchiefs.
"Disheveled" was also too kind of a word to describe the room's only inhabitant, who was sitting up against stacked pillows and tucked into a nest of blankets. Qifrey's hair was flat and untidy, and he looked wan and damp with sweat. Most surprisingly, he wasn't wearing his glasses, which gave Olruggio a clear look at how fever-bright his eye was.
He looked naked and vulnerable like this, and ill, and Olruggio was glad at once that the girls hadn't seen him. He closed the door carefully behind himself.
"Have you taken any tranquilleaf yet today?"
Qifrey shook his head and coughed into his fist. It was a chesty, breathless sound with a gasp on the tail end of it, and Olruggio sighed.
"You look like your fever's up again. Here." He handed Qifrey the waterskin, who took it and drank from it gratefully.
"Thank you, Olly," he rasped once he'd drank his fill. "I'm sorry. I'll take some shortly."
"You'd better. The girls're worrying about you."
Something like pain creased Qifrey's expression, and he looked down at the bedsheets. "Please tell them I'll be all right."
"Don't make me a liar."
Qifrey looked as if he was about to speak again, but something brief and irritated flickered across his expression, and he angled his body away from Olruggio to sneeze into the elbow of his nightshirt. "htt'shieu, ITSCH'oo! TXHshieu!"
"Bless," Olruggio rumbled. "If you keep holding 'em in like that you're going to give yourself quite the 'eadache."
"Already there, I'm afraid," Qifrey breathed. He found a handkerchief somewhere in the tangle of blankets and wiped delicately at his nose with a sniffle.
"'s that why it's so dark in 'ere? Looks like a tomb."
Qifrey nodded miserably. On instinct, Olruggio reached out to press the back of his hand to Qifrey's forehead, wanting to check the degree of his fever, but Qifrey deflected the touch and gently pushed him away.
"I don't want to get you ill."
"You know I'll end up gettin' it anyway," Olruggio grumbled, and he stepped away from the bed to conceal the flash of hurt that he could feel on his features. Qifrey was always like this when he was ill. Why wouldn't he just let Olruggio look after him? Always mothering the girls and Olruggio and never letting anyone do the same to him.
"That's because you don't let yourself rest," Qifrey said, an infuriating echo of an argument they'd been having for a decade or more.
The irony of it was the last straw. Olruggio rounded on him. "You're in some position to be sayin' that," he said heatedly. "Look at you in 'ere, no food, no water, no medicine, just sufferin' in the dark like you think that's all you deserve." He took a step back towards the bed, something like pleading slipping into his tone. "C'mon, Qifrey. You've got the girls to be lookin' after now, which you can't do if you don't look after yourself first."
It was probably playing dirty, mentioning the girls again, but if that was what it took, Olruggio was not above it. He did still feel a little bit of guilt when Qifrey looked away, his eye overbright even for being feverish.
"I know," Qifrey said quietly, his voice breaking a little as he blinked away what looked to be the beginnings of tears. "I'm sorry."
Olruggio squeezed his eyes shut and dug the heel of his hand into his forehead with a sigh. "Stop apologizin' and just take the damn tranquilleaf."
"If I -- hhpardon me -- ISCHieu! hkk'TSIEW!"
Olruggio opened his eyes to see Qifrey bent forward over his lap, handkerchief clutched in tented hands, blinking blearily. "Bless you."
A watery sniffle from Qifrey. "Thank you, Olly."
Olruggio could tell by his tone that he wasn't just thanking him for the blessing, and he looked away, embarrassment beginning to heat the back of his neck. "Yeah yeah. How about that tranquilleaf, then."
"Would you...mind fetching it for me? It's on the dresser."
There was a mug on the dresser that Olruggio had assumed was long-cold tea. He brought it to Qifrey's bedside. "D'you want me to warm it up?"
Qifrey shook his head with the shadow of a smile. "No, thank you."
Their fingertips brushed briefly when Olruggio handed off the mug, a split second of contact that sent warmth tingling up his arm. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his robes. "I'm stayin' until I see you drink some of that."
Qifrey started to laugh, which proved to be a mistake as his lungs seized in a harsh and congested coughing fit. Both of them winced.
"I suppose I should," Qifrey rasped once he'd recovered. He took a sip from the mug and sighed. Olruggio hoped that the tranquilleaf would start to work quickly on his cough in particular. "But I think I would like to rest some more, if that's all right."
Olruggio eyed the mug and then met Qifrey's gaze with firm steadiness. "All right. But I'll know if you don't finish drinkin' that. Don't make me drag you to the hospital in Kalhn."
Qifrey made a face. "I'll finish it, I promise. Thank you, again."
Olruggio flapped his hand at him in dismissal and took his leave. At least he'd be able to tell the girls with some degree of honesty that Qifrey was taken care of.
qifrey surprises olly with a fancy bottle of wine. Olly drinks too much, sneezes a lot, and it plays out in two different ways. not much plot stuff this is witch hat kitchen horny yearning after hours, mostly self-indulgent character study
heh.. didnât think Iâd be back with more so soon but well here we are ^_^ ok let me dish for a second. its pretty much impossible for me to imagine one singular night passing in the atelier where these fools arenât wrought with incredibly sickening sexual/emotional tension!!!! this is witch hat kitchen horny yearning after hoursâŠ.. i couldnât stop thinking of olruggio having a sensitivity to wine that he under no circumstances lets dissuade him frm drinking it ^_^Â
then my head said⊠would it be better if qifrey (with the kink) was forced to bear witness to this, or if olly (with the kink) was forced to struggle?? Well. i wrote both to try to find out! you can choose your own sneeze-venture here and let me know which one of them you think S fetish looks better onâŠ.. thanks to you geniuses who paved the paths before me writing fetpov. truly life changing stuff I owe you everything
âBeen holdinâ out on me, âave you, Qifrey?â Ollyâs voice lifts Qifrey up and blankets him with warmth as he settles onto the rug before him with a deep, contented sigh. The hour is late, and after a long stretch of late nights and lonesome dinners (to be expected during busy commission season), Qifrey feels starved for Olruggioâs evening company, grateful to have him here and eager to keep him for as long as he can manage to do so, means lying within reason.
Qifrey smiles, âPerhaps I have! I stumbled across it on my last trip to Kalhn with the girls, but I suppose I was waiting for some time that felt appropriate to surprise you!â Olruggioâs burned the candle at both ends this week on a tight deadline to finish and deliver a new contraption to a client. As of several clock marks ago when he returned from his delivery journey, heâs finished, and heâs home, and thatâs a cause for celebration if there ever was to be one - for Qifrey, at least. After supper was eaten and the girls had scattered to their rooms for the evening, he presented Olruggio with a fine wooden box, laughing away all the protest that arose before he even removed the lid. Olruggio is not particularly choosy when it comes to his alcohol; bottom shelf Silvernectar would have done just the trick, but this bottle caught Qifreyâs eye (and something deep in the back of his throat) on his venture to secure Olruggioâs typical fare.
Olruggio picks up the bottle and examines it briefly, eyebrows stitching together a knot as he twists it in his hands. The bottle is covered in hundreds of tiny delicately gilded stars, spilling down the neck and over the shoulders of the bottle, wrapping it in light. Olruggio doesnât ask what it cost, not that Qifrey would tell him if he did. Qifrey studies him as he studies the bottle, appreciating the lean expanse of his legs as they spread apart underneath his skirt, the silky flop of his hair as Ollyâs head lolls in his direction. âThisâs a bit highbrow for my tastes, love, but I suspect you know thaâ already.âÂ
âHm!â he smiles again, of course he knows, love, with a chuckle this time. âWell, I do hope youâll enjoy it anyway!âÂ
âBy the stars, Qifrey⊠Iâll enjoy it.. only if youâll be âaven some with me, though,â Olly says, though Qifrey was planning to all along. He procures a waiting pair of loop chalices from one hidden palm of his hand, the bottle is opened with little fanfare - a golden stopper, Qifrey? yâcant be serious - and theyâre sharing their first sips together, equally delighted by the pleasant sweetness and gentle burn of the drink. Despite his rather delicate tolerance, Olruggio imbibes at a rate triple that of Qifrey, and a bright red flush quickly colors his cheeks to show for it. Qifrey, as if his focus could possibly be drawn elsewhere, notes that Olruggioâs not even managed through a full glass before he starts to sound distinctly congested, and as soon as he starts a second he begins to lose his composure completely.Â
With little warning, Olruggio draws his sleeve and pitches forward with a grating, ââhHRRâUSHhhuih!â Heâs not timely enough to catch the brunt of the sneeze; instead the dying firelight behind him bathes the aerosol release in a soft orange glow, a billion tiny dying stars glittering across his wrist. My... how radiant, is all Qifrey can think.
âguh, âscuse me,â Ollyâs congested baritone strikes a chord that thrums a warm, pulsing heat all the way through Qifrey, settling down with a twitch between his legs. It feels like heâs being electrified, equal parts throbbing and aching and numb. He clears his throat before speaking in a vain effort to even out his voice-Â
âBless you, Olly!â It still comes out breathy and stilted, breaking over Olruggioâs name.Â
âThankây, Qifrey,â Olruggio sighs, lifting his palm to his nose and swiping it sideways - obscenely, even more so as his name comes out of his mouth - snorting before lifting his glass to his lips and finally doing away with whatâs left of his second glass. Qifrey wishes he could unsee the glistening streak it left on the back of his hand, wishes he could unharden the tightness swelling in his breeches, wishes he could unwind the knot tightening in his abdomen.Â
âSâmetimes this fancy stuff gets tâme,â Olruggio says, chased by a heavy liquid sniffle that threatens to undo Qifrey entirely. His composure is winding the same downward slope as Olruggioâs, it seems.Â
Qifreyâs only had one glass and he already feels tipsy. Though he might normally be able to drink his friend under the table, tonight he feels flushed and dizzy, lightheaded. Heâs certain that drinking more is very unlikely to help anything at all, but he feels an urge to refresh his glass, to keep going until the raging wildfire can be blamed on something else, something innocuous, something simple, like the wine, like the radiating heat of the fireplace. Not like Olruggio hitching again, not like Olruggio fanning a hand in front of his face, not like Olruggio cradling his left elbow with his right hand and sneezing into it with a force only mildly blunted by the fabric.Â
âhhHâHâIDDJJSHHIiuu!! hhHâREhsCHUuihh!â
Olly is so close- heâs begun to lean forward without even realizing it, rapt in attention as the manâs lips part over another inhale. He pauses as the inhale crests, and pitches forward into his sleeve again as it breaks.Â
âhhh..hHHâMPHSShieww!â This fit affords no visual display, all tucked away into the worn linen of Olruggioâs shirtsleeve, but Qifrey feels viscerally aware of their productivity all the same.Â
Olruggio draws his head back with a groan and a thick sniff; the firelight glints over the dampness concentrating above his cupidâs bow, the mustache hairs underneath his nostrils slickened with the residual mess. âHeh.. Bless me, sinceây ainât gonna,â Olruggio jeers, sniffling again, dragging the frilled cuff of his sleeve along the underside of his glowing nostrils, taking a moment to seesaw it back and forth.Â
Dear heavens. Qifreyâs blood reaches a boil underneath his skin. What should constitute a normal response to this? Heâs been silent for too long, apparently. Heâs uncertain if heâs still even breathing. Heâs seen Olruggio sneeze many times before, unavoidable intertwined as their years have been, and the effect has always been a largely similar wrench in his gut, but thereâs something about the way his inhibitions are dissolving, his guard is slipping, something about how beautiful he looks as the fire paints him orange and red, that propels Qifreyâs arousal forward exponentially and painfully. Maybe thereâs something else about how desperately he wants all of the things he cannot have. He doesnât know how much more he can take.Â
His voice pitches up as his far too delayed reply arrives: âSorry- ahem,â he tries to laugh but just ends up choking on the words as they come out. âBless you, Olly!â Olruggio levels Qifrey with a calculated look, but presses no matter in favor of attending to his nose.Â
âAre you alright, my friend? Not catching cold, I hope,â he says, forcing another laugh and lying through his teeth in his best attempt to sound detached from the outcome of the question. Thereâs a much more selfish, much less generous version of Qifrey who does, in fact, hope desperately for Olly to catch cold, for Olly to fall victim to some ultimately harmless ailment, to get to be the one to nurse him back to health. How cruel.
âOh, no, mâfi-ihhh-iâNIDDSCHH!iuuh..â He pitches forward again and the room glitters again, spray kissing his knees and dusting the rug as it dissolves in the space between them. He paws at his nose and Qifrey feels an acute pang of guilt for watching. For enjoying it so much. âMâfiiiiine... This fancy stuff jus' sorta gets tâme sometimes,â he says with a laugh that is also a huff, a noble and ultimately futile effort to catch his breath. "Doesnât bother me though. Kinda feels good, actually.â
An admission like that is enough to turn Qifrey to stone. If his breath hadnât left him fully before, it surely has now. His shock must be evident, but Olruggio does seem rather occupied with his nose, now pushing it around in irritated circles with the palm of his hand as he leans back, stretching himself across the mantle like the brushbuddy sprawls over a freshly drawn seal. Olly is always a sentimental drunk, but heâs so rarely this self-indulgent that Qifrey briefly wonders if heâs just imagining the whole thing. Could it be some sort of cruel trick, a smoke sculpture? An apparition in the shape of his oldest (his only) friend, set out to wrest from him every last dreg of his meager self-control?Â
âCould use a-hhâ hHâIDDâdjsSHhhuh!..ahh-a kerchief if yâve got one, though,â he says, snuffling into his hand all the while, turning back into it with another âHhhâRRSSchHuhhh!! eiiiIDJJSCHHhh..!â as if to emphasize his need.Â
Qifreyâs molten insides concentrate into a heady throb between his thighs, solidifying his apparently imminent ruin. He does indeed have one, and he holds it out to Olruggio with a wry smile, composure hanging on by a bare, bare thread.
"Here, please, take it..." Olruggio does, immediately bringing it to his nose and blowing into it, hard and wet.Â
Their domestic routine is wash, rinse, repeat for a reason; Qifreyâs got no choice but to keep it that way, no choice but to force the hand and play it regardless of a fixed inability to win. If he were going to walk away, give it all up, quit playing altogether, heâd have done so years ago. By now, the ache is comfortably familiar, a proxy for pleasure in the only twisted sense his conscience will allow for.
The bottle is barely half empty, but as Olruggio crumbles into another fit that breaks a record five, Qifrey considers cutting him off. For which of their sakes exactly, heâs not entirely sure.
"Olly, I-I donât..quite know that you should drink any more of this...â His voice wavers as the words come out, his body betraying his own disbelief.
âAre y'kiddin? Y'got this special for me and yâthink Iâd leave âalf a bottle to waste? Just means you're the one who's gohho--ottaâhHRRISchhuuuu!.. gottaâ pick up the slack.. hESSHhhuu!â
Theyâre directed into the handkerchief, but loosely, and Olruggio sends more stars flying across the room. Heavens. Great fucking heavens. Olly sniffles loudly, and blows his nose with a pathetic, incredible, beautiful groan.Â
Qifrey buzzes with an intensifying static electricity as Olruggio rises from his place on the floor, tops off his glass, and joins Qifrey on the couch. Being so near to Olly, so near to olly like this, is a heady rush, moreso than that of any drink. Qifrey's afraid of how much damage just one more glass could do. The guilt of it all is a wellspring in the back of his mind, flowing ever-eternal.Â
At least Olly seems to be enjoying himself. Stars, he must be out to drive Qifrey wild. Olruggio takes a long sip and levels Qifrey again. The effect is shockingly instant, and before his eyes, Olruggio is scrambling for the handkerchief, missing the mark by a mile.
He directs one over his shoulder, âhHRRSHIuhhh!â still patting around his person with little success. Being beside Olruggio means that Qifrey feels each and every sneeze as it tears through him, the secondhand impact muted through the cushions of the couch. The aftershock ripples through Qifrey all the same like a stone skipped across a lake; beat, beat, beat, beat. Heâs painfully erect, stock still, scared to death of how close they are to touching. Heâll burst into flames. The static builds into complete white-hot noise and a fuzzy, aching need encompasses him from the inside out.
He pitches over his lap with another, âEIIDDSHHhuuH!â realizing the handkerchief is lying on the mantle where he left, accidentally abandoned in favor of a refilled glass. He grabs for it in the hazy aftermath, sinking back into the couch with a groan that could only be categorized as profane.Â
âQifrey, y-yâhhforgot tâbless me agaiiinâŠâ Reaching through oblivion, Ollyâs hand closes around his knee and squeezes hard. The static clears as Olruggio pitches forward with a sneeze so needy, so wet, so radiant, thereâs him and thereâs only him - hhh...hHHZiSSHHUhh! - Qifrey holds in a breath that stills every part of him. The ache reaches an unbearable pinnacle, a bright flush of pressure, a pounding in his heart, his head, his cock.Â
âhHDJzSSHhuuhh!â His hand tightens around his knee, tandem pressure applied with the force of the sneeze, enough to rock Qifrey forward along with him. Ollyâs hand is so warm, so dangerously, dangerously close. It's too much. He'll finish. Untouched. Right here. Stranger things have surely happened. Thereâs nowhere for him to go and the privacy of their home suddenly feels suffocating.Â
Does he know what he's doing? Does he know how mad he's driving Qifrey? Thereâs no way heâs that oblivious to Qifreyâs intense and unmistakable bodily reaction, drunk or not. Qifrey still hasnât moved or spoken, Olruggioâs hand on his leg being the only external stimuli his body is able to process. He chances a glance at Olruggio, a blessing on his parted lips, but he can only freeze as Olruggioâs eyes are already waiting to meet his, a lopsided, boyish grin spread across his lovely face. Beat, beat, beat, beat.Â
âOh- Olly, I-â he falters over the words and canât help feeling like heâs been caught red-handed in some act of obscenity. âBless you..?â it comes out like a question, though he doesnât really mean for it to. He supposes itâs apologetic enough, if not the least bit surreptitious. There's little he's ever able to hide from Olruggio, though not for a desperate and ceaseless lack of trying. He knocks back whatâs left of his drink, but it tastes acrid as it slides down his throat.Â
âThank yâvery much, Qifrey. Was startinâ tâget a mite worried there for my eternal soul..â Olruggio sniffles, resort to snorting when itâs not enough to do the trick. He folds the handkerchief in half and renders it useless with a heavy blow, though none of itâs enough to quite clear his head. Qifrey can hear the congestion coating his every word, his name, and heâs so close that he can feel Ollyâs hot breath coast over his shoulder. Every part of him is taut, stretched thin like an elastic band, and heâs really, truly about to snap.Â
Thereâs no hope for a clean getaway. The damage has been done.Â
âOlly, Iâm terribly sorry that the wine.. gave you so much trouble.â God, he feels so awkward. His neck is blistering, hot and dry with shame and guilt and longing and loathing. Heâs bound to be leaking through his pants now; the words just wonât come. âListen, I know thereâs um.. Thereâs still a bit left, but I- I think I must really be getting to bed now.â He doesnât even bother with an excuse, fat lot of good it'd do him, just tries to hide his erection the best he possibly can as he hurries out from under Ollyâs grip and off the couch.Â
Olruggio takes the opportunity to lie back and stretch the length of the couch as soon as Qifrey leaves, already pulling down the blanket that rests over the back, preparing to sleep it off. Heâs so damn smug. The grin hasnât left his face. He knows. He knows. Whatever.Â
âSâalright, Qifrey, go on, gânightâŠâ the words drip out stuffy and saccharine. âGuess Iâll just have tâfinish it up on me own.. Thanks for the drink anyways. I enjoyed it.â Olly holds up his glass to Qifrey, a mock cheers that he mirrors with a wooden smile and nod - Goodnight, my friend - before he turns disappears up the steps.Â
Qifrey neednât even rely on the memory; he finishes himself off to the echo of Olruggioâs sneezing, somehow reaching him from all the way downstairs. If Qifrey had to guess, heâs making them louder on purpose. Bastard. Love. Stars, itâll likely be sometime before he tries to surprise Olruggio again. The devil you know, and all that.Â
qifrey surprises olly with a fancy bottle of wine. Olly drinks too much, sneezes a lot, and it plays out in two different ways. not much plot stuff this is witch hat kitchen horny yearning after hours, mostly self-indulgent character study
(2/2 qifrey pov)
contains: 18+ !! nothing super.. specific or detailed but nsfw vibes, masturbation, sneezing, wine sensitivity, fet!character pov
heh.. didnât think Iâd be back with more so soon but well here we are ^_^ ok let me dish for a second. its pretty much impossible for me to imagine one singular night passing in the atelier where these fools arenât wrought with incredibly sickening sexual/emotional tension!!!! i couldnât stop thinking of olruggio having a sensitivity to wine that he under no circumstances lets dissuade him frm drinking it ^_^Â
then my head said⊠would it be better if qifrey (with the kink) was forced to bear witness to this, or if olly (with the kink) was forced to struggle?? Well. i wrote both to try to find out! you can choose your own sneeze-venture here and let me know which one of them you think S fetish looks better onâŠ.. thanks to you geniuses who paved the path before me writing fetpov. truly life changing stuff n I owe you everything. xo
Once heâs seen the last of Qifreyâs apprentices up the stairs to bed (sleep tight, Tetia! he calls up after her) Olruggio slinks back into the quiet kitchen of the slumbering atelier. Heâs been away for a handful of nights to install and deliver a contraption to a client, but returned earlier this afternoon. Now that heâs home, free of responsibility if only for the very moment, Olruggio is in search of drink and the easy companionship of his oldest friend, an after-supper mission heâs oft known to embark on. Olruggio pauses in the doorway for a moment, watching Qifrey as he flits down the length of the counter, tidying up the small mess of leftovers and putting order to whatever he needs for the next morningâs meal. He clears his throat, trying and failing miserably to project an air of nonchalance.Â
âSoooooâŠ. didâya bring me thaâ wine I asked for?â He brings one hand up to sheepishly scratch at the back of his head as he pushes his weight against the doorframe.Â
Qifrey startles at the sudden interruption, but softens quickly, warming at the sight of him.Â
âAh, Olly! Indeed I did! Give me but a second- Iâm almost done with the washing up.âÂ
His word holds true as he finishes up quickly, swiveling around to face Olly with his hands clasped together and a charming smile lighting up his face only moments later. Olruggio loves when he gets giddy like this; so eager to share whatever he possibly can. He endlessly adores being on the receiving end of Qifreyâs generosity, loath to admit it though he might usually be. Qifrey strides to the pantry door and pulls down a thick black bag from one of the taller shelves inside. He clears his throat as he holds out the bag to Olruggio, mirroring the manâs sheepish expression from minutes before. Olruggio takes the bag from him hesitantly, all but glaring as he pulls a fine wooden box out of the bag. He stiffly slides the lid off of the box and blanches first at the velvet lined interior, a rich, deep purple, and again at the golden bottle lying inside.Â
âIâm sorry, itâs not-âÂ
Olruggio protests before Qifrey has a chance to finish. âWhatâve you goneâan got this for, Qifrey?! All I asked for was a bottle of Silvernectar!â he exclaims, wide-eyed, almost incredulous.Â
â.. quite what you asked forâŠâ Qifrey finishes, even and amused, the slightest bit wry.
It is a Silvernectar elixir after all, Qifrey informs him, but its age is twice that of anything Olly wouldâve reached for himself - itâs some sort of special honeytree hollow stock, limited edition, likes of that. Gah, Qifrey. Death oâme. The bottle is covered in hundreds of tiny delicately gilded stars, spilling down the neck and over the shoulders of the bottle, wrapping it in light. He doesnât want to know, not in the slightest, how much Qifrey spent on this and he sure as hell doesnât ask. Olruggio couldnât drink it at all if he knew.
â..But, it caught my eye last time I traveled to Kalhn with Coco. I suppose it just made me think of you. And tonight seems as good a night as any to celebrate!âÂ
The busier Olruggioâs schedule is, the more doting Qifrey tends to become, filling in the gaps in his sleeping and eating schedules and overriding Olruggioâs general neglect of his health by plying him with special treats targeted to whatever ailments spring up to trouble him. Headache, uneasy stomach, restless sleep; Qifreyâs got an elaborate concoction for it all. Olly never asks and Qifrey certainly never tells just how it is he always seems to know. Regardless, itâs become custom that a busy week in the workshop makes for a rather spoiled Olruggio and heâs long since given up protesting, relishing now the buttery feelings it greases his heart with. Qifreyâll do as he pleases, Olruggio knows that much.Â
âAhem- I do hope you enjoy it!âÂ
âWell, by the stars, Qifrey⊠Iâll only enjoy it if youâll be âaven some with me,â he scratches at the hair on his chin and a boyish grin stretches wide across his face, the butterflies in his belly charmed into a stir.Â
âOf course, my friend,â Qifrey says, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, and leaning close, a fleeting gesture as he wraps behind him to the other side of the kitchen. Olruggioâs breath starts at the touch, involuntarily, instinctively. He doesnât flinch away, itâs the opposite, in fact; he turns into it, and feels the absence as profoundly as he feels the primitive need to feel it over and over and over again when Qifreyâs hand is gone as quickly as it came. Hm. âIâll meet you by the fire - let me fetch us some glasses,â Qifrey says, turning on his heel and leaving Olruggio hovering in the doorframe.
Olruggio takes the cue and plods to the kitchen with the wine in tow. He feels like heâs floating, wondering if every night he spends with Qifrey is meant to burn him up more than the last. The space between them has begun to feel cavernous as of late, but Qifrey always seems to loop him back in, if only to hold him just at armâs length. He supposes he could live to never close the distance and it would be alright, as long as it meant he got to be this close at all. But hell, does it smart, knowing that thereâs so little he can do to bridge the expanse. Heâs brought both box and bottle along with him and sits them on the far right edge of the couch while he takes the middle, forcing his own hand along with Qifreyâs. Itâs easier to keep the distance when the girls are around, some proxy for his stilted affections, but he can never manage to keep the walls high enough when itâs dark and late and he and Qifrey are burning beside one another. Sometimes he doesnât even try to make it easy to do so.Â
Qifrey follows behind him not long after heâs settled in, two loop chalices dangling from his middle and pointer fingers. He takes the seat available to Ollyâs left and Olruggio bites the inside of his cheek as Qifrey condenses himself into the corner of the couch.Â
Olruggio gingerly picks up the bottle and runs his fingers over the indentations, observing the distorted portrait of his visage reflected back to him a hundred miniscule times over from inside each one as the glint of the firelight passes over them. Something heavy sticks in the back of his throat as he swallows. Wine is a weak point of his, in more ways than one.Â
âIâm afraid Iâll have to insist on your gettinâ the first pour, Qifrey,â Olruggio teases, trying to coax out the rising knot before it can fully take root. In lieu of a cork thereâs a shiny metal stopper, and Olruggio twists it gently to open the bottle, filling first Qifreyâs loop chalice with a pour of the celebratory liquid, then his own. He swirls it around, inhaling the notes before he takes his first sip. Heâs no snob and heâs certainly no connoisseur, but for Qifreyâs sake heâs decided to savor this.Â
He clinks his loop against Qifreyâs - cheers to another job well done, Olly! - and they lift the glasses to their lips in synchronicity. The first sip is rich and earthy, a heady sweetness coats Olruggioâs tongue and the walls of his throat as it washes down. Of course, itâs delicious. He takes another sip, swilling it over his tongue and swallowing roundly and slowly before telling Qifrey as much.Â
âWell done, Qifrey! A treat indeedâŠâ Olly lauds, saccharine. He doesnât even altogether mean to be, but once his first wall falls, the others are generally quick to follow. He clears his throat gently and lets his eyes meet Qifreyâs fully.Â
âHm, yes⊠I agree!â Qifrey laughs - quietly, full and delighted, and a blush settles in hot over Olruggioâs cheeks. âIâm glad you like it, Olly.â Olruggio decides he wonât be the first to look away, and indeed, Qifrey is the first to fold, turning his eyes towards the cup in his hands. Olruggio clears his throat again, accidentally, instinctively, and whets his frayed nerve endings with another generous swig.Â
Olruggio knows he is taking up far too much space on the couch. He sinks in a little further on a foolâs errand to take up more, spreading his legs apart until one knee bumps against Qifreyâs. Itâs not a shock to his system until Qifrey moves his leg away; again he feels a void gape open where the contact is lost. It makes his head spin, his stomach churn, though heâd have a difficult time putting words to why itâs so upsetting. Heâs a loser at his own game yet again, it seems. The heat borne from such close proximity to Qifrey is nauseating, more intoxicating than the wine. His fortifications are crumbling quickly and he has to divert course lest he take a path thatâs sure to ruin tonight, maybe even a few after. Heâs not long for the night if he doesnât make it off the couch soon. A move to sit on the rug is, though not incredibly surreptitious, effective enough to tamp down some of that unchecked heat. Nowhere to go but down. He turns his attention to his own glass now and tends quickly to what remains.Â
Olruggio thrusts his loop in Qifreyâs direction, hoping to be topped off, when he feels a delicate itch bloom across the bridge of his nose, flaring his nostrils with urgency. He redirects his head into the crook of his elbow and sneezes harshly, unrestrainedly, hardly enough forewarning to do anything else.Â
âhHRRâUSHhhuih!hh! -âscuse me,â he says with a softness thatâs seemingly more distinct in the wake of the rough expulsion. He stifles the next one into silent submission, grinding his nose hard against the worn linen of his sleeve. Oh? Two? Heâs in for it now.Â
âGoodness, bless you, Olly!âÂ
Oh, hell - Olruggio hazards a sniff and itâs liqiud - damn, damn; he nods a silent thanks to Qifrey without looking him in the eyes, unable to risk any sort of that earlier contact as a sick heat begins to pool in his belly, dripping slowly down to his groin. Fucking hell, he feels it in his fingers and his toes and the tip of his dick. Heâs suddenly incredibly lightheaded, itâs the heat and the embarrassment and the drink all at once and itâs too much-
So he holds his glass back out to Qifrey, and gets his refill without interruption this time. He clears his throat again and tries to ignore that the blush has begun to bleed down his neck. Tries not to keep sniffling, tortured by the moisture he feels persisting in his sinus cavities.Â
Olruggio hasnât even started drinking from the fresh glass before he feels the need to sneeze return, much less delicate and much more insistent. This time, though, it comes with enough notice for him to batten down the hatches: two hands would be ideal, but he employs the use of the one heâs got free, bringing thumb and forefinger up to roughly pinch at the appendage. Olruggio takes care to angle himself away from Qifrey now, only tight, shaking shoulders visible as he snaps toward his lap with a nearly silent stifle and a not⊠as silent breathy exhale.Â
âHHâTâ!tuhhâŠ
hHâPTâ!tuhh..â and another..Â
âNâKT!uhhâŠâ andddd another. He strains with the effort of it, and heâs met with the packed resistance of congestion as he pitifully inhales in the aftermath.Â
âOh, bless you again!â Qifreyâs voice is soft, lilting up at the end with a hint of concern. Fucking blasted fuck, something shrivels up and dies inside of Olruggio, reborn in an unrelenting current of arousal that splits him down the middle. Doesnât he know heâd just as soon sneeze properly if he wanted to be blessed? Olruggio longs to say as much, as if he could say the words out loud, as if theyâd deter Qifrey in the first place. As if what he wants is even for him to stop; the attention curdles his stomach like spoiled milk, lingers thick and latent between his legs.Â
âAre you alright, Olly? Not catching cold, I hope!â He says it so casually, so tenderly; the simple words out of his mouth are enough to send Olruggioâs heart plummeting into his stomach. He recalls the last time he caught cold - Qifreyâs cool hand ghosting his forehead, the taste of rocklodge ginger, tender ministrations and a heady desire to close the space, seeking, seeking⊠Gracious, itâs a good thing his backâs turned. The thought alone renders him painfully hard and heâs not sure how good a job he can do of hiding it in this state.
Blast it, is he drunk already? Some brew, he thinks. He gives into a timid sniffle, but it does little to clear the lingering itch or the nasal congestion beginning to fill up his head. He feels Qifreyâs eyes burning holes into the back of his head, and the sensation of being watched as he unravels sends a blistering curl of heat down through his belly again.Â
âNohp, mâfine Qifrey,â Olruggio turns back around, one wrist returned to scrub at his nose, the other set to patting down his person in search of a handkerchief, without which the process of his coming undone is sure to magnify exponentially. âSâmtimes the fancier stuff eh⊠sorta gets to me,â he says, and the blush now feels more like a rash, itching and spreading as the shame pulses hard through his every vein.
Of course, the more apt truth is that every kind sort of gets to him, but heâs usually able to time his drinks in order to coax the histamine response into a few manageably stifled sneezes, a touch of congestion. That, and he goes to great lengths to relegate himself, drunk and alone, to the worst of it once Qifreyâs gone to sleep, all for the sake of avoiding the commentary being spurred on at this exact moment. Itâs not too often that Qifrey drinks alongside him, after all. Olruggio aches for a modicum of control, he aches for Qifrey to investigate something else.Â
Qifrey, eternally conscientious of Olly's struggles as he is, produces a handkerchief from somewhere on his person and passes it to Olly. Heâs making some lighthearted barb about Ollyâs inability to tolerate the finer things in life being chronic, but it hangs in the air as another tentative sip ignites a desperate itch that sends Olruggio hurriedly ducking into the folds of the fabric.Â
âhhâHiâDDântch! KâNXGtâchuhh!â Theyâre coming too quickly for him to stifle now, and he resents the apparent lack of authority he possesses over his bodily functions.
âBless you, Olly, my goodness! So⊠itâs.. the wine?â he asks, and Olruggio feels a fresh swell in his pants from the outburst and the resulting concern that positively saturates Qifreyâs voice.Â
âhMPPâchhuh!â He pinches off another sneeze before assuring Qifrey that everythingâs alright. âYeah, yeah, but mâfine, mâfine - IâŠ, I-â his voice is thick with congestion, consonants blunted, and itâs getting hard for him to hear himself keep talking. He turns again, this time to make reluctant use of the handkerchief. He doesnât dare blow his nose, but he pinches and dabs at it in a futile effort to wick away the moisture that still threatens to escape.Â
âMâsorry Qifrey.. I promise ya mâenjoyin it..â And itâs true that he is, in wretched ways he could only dream of explaining to him. A watery sniff punctuates the end of his sentence, lending it less credibility.Â
âOh, Olly, I donât care about the wine⊠the last thing I want is for you to feel unwell at all-â
âAhhh, itâs alriighhttt,â he drawls, nothing like a little false bravado for Olruggio of the torch. High time he start shoring up his defenses. Heâs felt unwell from the second he saw that damned box. â...sâjust a little⊠hem.. jusâ a little sneezinâ,â he says, the word feeling incredibly like an obscenity as it leaves his lips. A glutton for punishment if there ever was one, when the mood strikes him. âLook, weâve almost finished the bottle, anyhow.âÂ
He knew better, he really did, and he always does, but heâll sleep so much better after the raw ache of shame later licks him clean. After he comes into his hand, alone, desperately conjuring image after image of what Qifreyâs would feel like instead. Of Qifreyâs silken voice, ardent in his ear, instructing him to let go, there you go Olly, Iâve got you, let it out for me, darling. Oh, to forever be the locus of his concern -Â
He tents the handkerchief in his hands and folds into it, turning fully away from Qifrey this time. Heâs wracked with a fit of sneezes - all stifled into utter silence and Qifrey still has the nerve to bless. Heâs too far gone now for it to make any difference, so he chances the softest blow his nose can manage.Â
âBless you, I- Iâm not so sure you should have any more of this?â Qifrey says, like itâs a question, asking Olruggio if heâs ready to stop moreso than heâs telling him to. âItâs really alright if we donât-âÂ
âEase up, Qifrey! One more glass wonât hurtâŠâ the ragged congestion weighs down the beginnings and the ends of his words and seems to dull his point. Â
Olruggio has little doubt that it could hurt, would hurt, will hurt, does hurt, to keep unstitching himself at the seams, an ever-bleeding wound for Qifrey to attend to. The problem is that he needs it so desperately, that he wants nothing more than for it to burn, to sting, to throttle the breath from his lungs and rend him anew. So he keeps drinking until the bottle is empty, keeps sneezing until he can no longer stifle them, until all his composure is nothing more than a relic of the distant past, until the sweltering pressure of his erection is entirely untenable. He stumbles a little up the stairs to his tower after he and Qifrey part ways at the stairs - Bless you, Olly, do please, get some rest! - and before he knows it, heâs finished into the cradle of a square of linen from the mere memory of a blessing.
series tags: canon-compliant, no explicit spoilers but be careful if you arenât caught up to chapter 93
sf tags: character with kink, common cold, fever, handkerchiefs, bless you complex
other tags: voyeurism, praise kink, jealousy/possessiveness, desperate pining, doctor stuff, in-universe sociopolitical issues mentioned, unreliable narrator lol
notes: shout out to all the horny people saying qifrey seems like heâd have some crossed wires aka giving me permission to bestow my fetish upon him <3
â”ââ§â”â§ââ”
Word spreads fast among witch society, especially in the Great Hall. The isolation and strict rules make them all bored and restless, which in turn makes them eager to exchange new information with disproportionate immediacy. The more mundane, the better.
This weekâs symposium should be rich with opportunities for gossip, given the volume of attendees from across several continents eager to chatter about their collaborative efforts and innovations, not unlike a worse, restrictive version of Silver Eve held entirely underwater. But rather than anything relevant or consequential to the world of magic and all of its ongoing, upcoming changes, the hottest news gripping every witch under the sea is that Olruggio has caught a cold.Â
Which is really none of their business.
All it takes is an offhand mention at the start of the welcome banquet, an offhanded apology to one of his patrons and a warning not to get too close, and everyone heâs ever met is suddenly very interested in how Olruggio is feeling and how hard he must be working and whether they can get him anything for his throat or sinuses. Theyâd love that, wouldnât they, thinks Qifrey each time Olruggio declines. Residents of the Hall are always trying their damndest to take a bite out of him.
Itâs hard to watch even on a good day. Olruggio canât seem to help engaging patiently, which means his trips and conversations take forever unless someone gives him an out. Heâs lucky to take a few steps before some client or admirer approaches him to talk about some non-urgent personal trivia. Qifrey would go insane. Heâs already going insane from his spot on the periphery, extenuating circumstances aside.Â
âJust a few days,â Olruggio is telling somebody who asks how long heâs been sick. He bows his head to cough into his fist, looking tired from so much of everyone patting and pulling and making him shout against his sore throat just to hear him shrink from their compliments and make small talk. âSomethinâ going around, I think. Assumed I could fight it off âtil after all this, butâŠâ
Olruggio pauses. From too far away, Qifrey braces himself and watches Olruggio squint against the most devastating symptom of all.Â
âRGXZSHHHhuhâŠâ
Because despite all of his suffering, Olruggio sounds so, so lovely when he does that.
As the stranger at the table begins to dote on Olruggio with concern and commentary, Qifrey struggles with forbidden arousal and the sad sympathetic fondness heâs used to feeling whenever Olruggio has to work through a cold. Itâs all too much for him to feel at once, in public, out of his element when he canât do a thing to help either of them.
âHGZTSHU!â
While Qifrey has contended with knowing he wouldnât be able to interact with Olruggioâs sneezing every time, heâs still taken by the sight of him nearby: Olruggio with his arm bent and posture twisted, bashfully unable to control the means of which his cold displays itself. Nobody around him seems to mind at all; in fact, the person heâs talking to only moves closer to touch his arm and bless him again.
âYou poor thing,â theyâre saying as Olruggio, still bent away to the side, sniffles against his wrist. Did he even bring a handkerchief? Or has he already run out of clean ones? âSounds like you could do with a good nightâs sleep. And a hot drink made with⊠with, oh, whatâs it called? The medical spire has those little herbs on hand sometimes, the white and green onesâŠ?â
Itâs millflower, and Qifrey has been serving its tea to Olruggio all week.
âDunno. Iâll give it a mention if I stop by,â is Olruggioâs hoarse response, comparatively mellow and polite. âYouâd do well to pick some up for yourself.â
âOh, no, I have plenty! You know, we wouldnât mind bringing some down to your rooms. Youâre staying at the castle with your apprentices tonight, arenât you?â
âThey arenât technically my apprentices. My friend, QifreyâŠâ
Qifrey takes his cue to tune the conversation out. He canât handle hearing Olruggio talk about him while sounding stuffy and sweet like that, especially not to one of the many witches in the vicinity who would just love to devour him whole. Itâs too much for Qifrey to think about, even privately, so itâs best he hears as little as possible.
He surfs through the blurry clusters of his peers standing in his path to the nearest open doorway, placidly excusing himself with an occasional modest wave at those he does remember. Only a moment goes by before heâs nearly escaped, and Qifrey is one step away before he receives an irresistible summons.
âOi! Qifrey!â Olruggio is using what must be the last of his voice, just to call out to him. âQuit avoiding us, will you?â
How ridiculous to think heâd ever be able to sneak away from Olruggio.
Once Qifrey makes eye contact and smiles to confirm heâll make his way back, Olruggio returns a satisfied nod and then bends down to cough. Even drained and subdued, his commanding friendliness manages to soar right into Qifreyâs center.
Olruggio is still getting his voice back when Qifrey gets there, not because itâs gone on for long but because heâd only been a couple tables away. Strange how even a pinch of despair can make such little space seem like treacherous expanses of land.
âHere, Olly.â The handkerchief Qifrey pulls from his pocket is still warm from his own body heat. He passes it to Olruggio before greeting his not-companion. âHello. I donât believe weâve met.â
âNo, but Iâve heard plenty about you!â Unlike Olruggio, this personâs friendliness is shrill. Qifrey is careful not to wince as he takes a seat. âYou live somewhere in the countryside, donât you? Youâre a teacher?â
An easy question that prompts a natural smile. âFor a few years now. Iâve got four apprentices at the moment.â
âYes, yes, Olruggio was telling me youâre very good with them.â
Itâs not easy to concentrate with Olruggio making these little squeaky snuffling sounds and breathing through his mouth between them. Qifrey is about to fluster him in return with a comment about his kind words, but he devolves from distracted to speechless when Olruggio turns his way and sneezes clumsily beneath his sleeve.
âHAHâGZSHHiU!â
âBless you,â Qifrey says with an immediate hand on Olruggioâs shoulder, steadying and reassuring, smoothing out a shiver as he recovers. âMy goodness, Olly, your poor throat.â
The handkerchief is belatedly put to use as a shield and then as a mop, with Olruggio only straightening up once the thing has nearly gone translucent.
âI know, I know,â he mutters with a gruff swipe of cloth against the skin under his nose. ââS fine. Scuse me.â
âColdâs got you good, hasnât it, dear?â says his acquaintance, as though theyâre stuck on the topic. How embarrassing, how sexy, how awful, terrible, delightful. Against Qifreyâs recommendation, Olruggio evades having to keep talking about it by calling over a server to top off his chalice with wine.
As the evening continues, Qifrey watches Olruggioâs symptoms progress upward in an inevitable quest to settle right in the middle of his face. Thatâs how it always goes for him, with chills and a sore throat leading to the congestion setting in for a day or so, and then all of the sneezing starts and compromises them both.
It looks like heâll be in the thick of it tomorrow, when everything overlaps miserably. Qifrey wonât have a choice but to ride through it with him, collapsing within himself over and over, unable to desensitise himself to Olruggio no matter how much of him he experiences. Heâs not sure if itâs worse that theyâre together this time, or if heâd be better off not having to watch the swarm of strangers putting their hands all over Olruggio and asking him for a dance.
At Olruggioâs request, the two of them leave early. He never finishes his second glass of wine, complaining about it being a waste when heâs unable to taste it, but Qifrey sees it already starting to make his bright eyes heavy and his clever mind slow. It still takes quite a while for the two of them to escape the ballroom as he apologetically says his hellos and goodbyes.
They take the long way through the corridors to their rooms, and the comparatively fresh air, humid and salty as it is, perks Olruggio up enough to keep pace as he sobers up.
His company helps, but Qifrey canât keep the dread from building in his chest as the reality of the week starts to set. Heâd rather spend the night anywhere but the Great Hall, but thereâs no getting around the schedule this time. Dust will gather and chores will pile up at home while he grits through the loneliness and lack of privacy that comes with an unpredictable environment full of people he vaguely knows and doesnât particularly care for. From the first step through the windowway, he itches to turn right back around to the quiet of his own home, where heâs not surrounded by things that donât make sense.
At least the girls donât mind it here, so long as theyâre together. Solace finds him when he and Olruggio step into the far end of the guest wing and pass by the set of rooms theyâd dropped them off in earlier that afternoon.
âPretty sure this is me,â Olruggio says with his thumb jutting toward the door just across from Coco and Agottâs. He points at the corner room next to it, then tosses a smooth, heavy key for Qifrey to catch. âAnd that oneâs you, if youâd like it.â
âOh.â Usually they keep those suites reserved, even when nobodyâs staying in them. âDid you arrange this?â
âYup. Nice ân private.â
I love you, thinks Qifrey, but out loud he says, âThatâs very thoughtful, Olly, thank you.â
âYeah well,â replies Olruggio in a hurry, bristling, hand on his neck, âfigured itâd be easier to sync up if we shared a wall.â
Qifrey doesnât ask him how he managed it. More than likely, he had some sort of connection through work.
âThe girls have a key too, just in case.â Olruggio busies himself with unlocking his own door, then freezes in place just before he turns the key. Qifrey tenses along with him, watching as Olruggio twists and leans away from him with a tremendous shudder. âHAHDTSHHiU!â
His body language is so urgent that it reads as protective, like heâs trying with all his might to keep his suffering to himself. But Olruggioâs heart radiates from his sleeve, always earnest whether he likes it or not.
âhaAHâYZSHHHhhuhâŠ! Ah, geezâŠâ
How?
How on earth could anyone not fall in love with him?
âBless you,â Qifrey says with a tempered smile, voice hushed, touching Olruggio only though his robes to guide him inside. âIâd like to get a look at your room, too, if you donât mind.â
Qifrey finishes up with the lock and opens the door. Heat branches from his ear in a diagonal line downward toward his middle as he listens to Olruggio sniffling behind him.
Someone has already brought their things in for them. A bag of miscellaneous supplies, likely for demonstration, has been set up near the desk by Olruggioâs window, across from the wardrobe and bed. Qifrey notices a petite, rounded gift box sitting atop the bedside table, displayed neatly without its top to showcase the assortment of sweets and remedies inside.
âHow nice,â says Qifrey as he picks up a bottle and turns it over in his hand. âSomeoneâs left you a get-well basket, Olly.â
âHm?â Even the little hum sounds sore as it resonates through his nose. Olruggio hangs up his cloak and looks to see whatâs the matter. âAh. No use lyinâ to me, Qifrey, I know it creeps you out.âÂ
âYou say that as though Iâm the one reacting strangely.â
âJust leave everything where it is. Iâll donate it or somethinâ when I get a chance.â
âAre you sure? This one is meant to help with sleep.â Qifrey sets another tincture aside, just herbs and water, nothing medicinal in a way that could get someone in trouble. âCould be worth a try, donât you think?â
âSounds more like you could use it, then. Iâve got a couple of things to touch up before tomorrow, soâŠâ
âYouâre joking.â
âBesides,â Olruggio adds, âthe guy who sent it will probably ask how I liked his gifts, and itâs best if he thinks I was too busy working to take a look through them.â
Jealousy prickles in Qifreyâs hands as they search through the basket for any sort of card or label. âHow do you know who it came from?â
âThereâs this one guy who always sends stuff like that. Tries to personalise it by askinâ around.â Olruggio begins to unpack the nightclothes heâs brought, voice weary and sighing with the effort of moving about. âHe sends things up to get me to thank him and then talks my ear off âtil I volunteer some advice, then he tries to put my name on his work like we collaborated. Rather heâd just send a letter, to be honest.â
âI see.â Qifrey only witnesses parts of Olruggioâs job from home, the parts that make sense for someone being paid to use his hands and mind to solve puzzles. He forgets how much of Olruggioâs work is social, figuring out games and having to dodge them without causing offense. âThat sounds a bit sinister, trying to trick you like that.â
âNah, just got a bit of a head on him is all. He means well.â Olruggio hangs up his cloak, then unloads a couple of handkerchiefs into the miniature washing barrel by the door. âWorks mostly for a noble family up north, but he was an apprentice himself barely two years ago. Hey, Iâm keepinâ this, by the way. Iâll wash it again after.â
âOh. Right.â Qifrey sees Olruggio holding the handkerchief he lent him earlier. It strikes him at the core, numb and hot, pleasant and paralysing, reminding him to stay on his toes and hold his mask in place. âIâd assumed you would. Youâre going to need it much more than I will.â
Heavens forbid Olruggio runs out of them and ends up a mess, inadvertently inviting someone else to help him out so intimately in a way that they wouldnât even appreciate.
âFor now, maybe.â He folds up Qifreyâs handkerchief and sets it on the table next to the manipulatorâs set of gifts. âNone of you lotâve got any inkling of self-preservation.â
âNo need for you to worry about me,â Qifrey says as a reminder to them both, then he sets the tincture back after all. âPlease do get some sleep if you can, though. Iâd feel a lot better seeing to it that you wonât be up at your desk all night.â
âWhatâs that?â Olruggio grins. âGonna tuck me in, Qifrey?â
âYes,â Qifrey answers, satisfied by the pink in Olruggioâs cheeks, âif I must.â
âGo,â grumbles Olruggio. âGet to your own quarters already, costinâ me a fortuneâŠâ
I love you, thinks Qifrey again, and he says nothing else this time. Like a tendril of smoke escaping the vent of a furnace, he peacefully waves himself out.
â”â⧠â.Ë âŸâ.Ë áŻâ
The first thing Qifrey learns when he finds Olruggio the next morning is that the walls had been soundproofed. He really does despise the Great Hall.
âOh, OllyâŠâ he says when they meet at the staircase near their breakfast spot, unable to sound anything but dismal as he soaks up the sight of his friend. âDid you even make it to bed at all?â
Olruggio hangs his head and rubs at the spot above his eyes, letting Qifrey stare at him as though he deserves to. The signs are all there; one glance at him would tell anyone heâs unwell, but the most miserable part is how put-together he looks otherwise. Neat hair, crisp clothes, clean skin, smelling like fancy soap and leather. It means heâs had to sacrifice even more rest for appearances alone. It also means he looks very classically and immediately handsome and sounds very terribly sick.
âI did try,â Olruggio promises, and then he says something unbelievable. âI even took out that sleep dropper you found, but it had me sneezing up a storm for a good hour afterward. You try to lie down properly after that.â
It takes all Qifrey has in him to keep from tumbling down the stairs. âIt what?â
âI think it was some sort of aromatherapy,â complains Olruggio. âPoint is, I had to give up eventually and take a head start on gettinâ ready instead. Good thing, too. Started up again when I was in the baths, but it was so early, nobody elseâd even come down yet.â
What is Qifrey supposed to say to that? Where has his bloody head gone? Thatâs right, down south is where, and he needs to pick it back up fast.
Olruggio sighs because the conversation is normal to him, and then he gestures at his own face. âOne to ten, Qifrey, how bad is it?â
Oh, donât make me answer thatâŠ
They stop at a landing between floors. Itâll be a while before they have this much quiet, empty space again.Â
âYou look like youâve been working very hard,â Qifrey answers automatically, numbly, as he comes back to himself. He feels his mouth smiling gently and decides itâs fine. This would be easier if Olruggio wasnât so cute. âAnd like you might have a fever coming on.â
Olruggio grabs Qifreyâs wrist when heâs halfway to checking his forehead. Qifrey feels Olruggioâs grip tighten as he wrenches to the side without letting go. âhhAHâEZSHuh!â
At least thereâs nobody else around to hear him out in the open like this.
âAnd thereâsâŠâ Olruggio relaxes his grip, takes his own hand back and bends deeper at the waist as he turns away fully. âGZZXSHhhuh! âŠhaATZSHHhhuh! âŠAnd thereâs that, still. Doubt itâll be stopping soon.â
âI know.â Qifrey pours the intensity of arousal into the natural sympathy in his voice as he watches Olruggio tend to himself with a handkerchief. âYou sound awful, Olly, bless you.â
âDamn it. Maybe itâll give some of the others more incentive to go easy on me,â says Olruggio quickly. Apparently heâs reached his sincerity threshold for the time being. That, or Qifreyâs attention is already making him shy. âIâm sure itâll be fine after some tea. Think the girlsâre up yet?â
They certainly are, and all four of them are waiting in the cafeteria with breakfast already gathered and arranged at a table large enough for six. No; a grouping of three smaller, circular tables pushed together into a triangle so they can all sit facing each other, just like at home. Theyâve even arranged the tableware in their usual spots.
Meetings and classes start soon, so they rush through an exchange of plans and commentary. Qifreyâs dear apprentices embarrass Olruggio by setting his place at the table with an entire pot of tea made only for him, and he thanks them before drinking most of it while it's still too hot. Tetia insults him compassionately, comparing the parts of him that look particularly terrible to the parts that are polished for the event. According to Richeh, itâs worse than if heâd let himself go entirely, and according to Coco, that isnât a very nice thing to say to a sick person. Agott asks to borrow whatever product heâs used in his hair.
Some of them share food, or they trade based on how they feel about the new recipes on their plates. Qifrey focused on cataloguing their preferences as they discover them, and the commotion of traveling witches bustling around them doesnât seem so noisy.
The meal ends too soon because it ends at all, and then itâs off to meeting number one.
Only witches who have passed test number four and reached a high volume of public service acts were called to attend. The reasoning behind its qualifiers could be anything from proof that one could be trusted with confidential information to a focus on high achievement and good standing. The room is small and in a high tower, lined with multi-seated desks all facing a drawing board up front.Â
Of course, someone calls to Olruggio as soon as he steps through the door, eager to invite him to sit at their table. Olruggio gets to decline because of his cold, promising that this person will thank him for it when they wake up tomorrow still able to breathe through their nose. Hearing that from him is so erotic that it borders on overstimulating, and Qifrey follows him to a section in the back, where he can sit with the wall on his right side and Olruggio on his left.
âIâm his Watchful Eye,â Olruggio tells whoever it was, as soon as they ask why heâs not as concerned about passing any illness onto Qifrey. âDunno if heâs got a choice in avoidinâ it like you do. Consider yourself lucky.â
Not everyone is so deterred by Olruggioâs warnings, unfortunately, or perhaps those who choose the seats surrounding him anyway have got perversions similar to Qifreyâs. Itâs not so implausible when the state of him is so obvious and obscene.
Stop looking at him like that, Qifrey demands of the other guests silently, ridiculously, just as much as he demands it of himself despite finding it impossible not to stare. He doubts heâll retain a thing from this morningâs session. Something about volcanic towns heâll never get to see, and the types of contraptions their villagers are requesting to keep one another comfortable and safe in the case of eruption. Itâs the kind of assignment Olruggio could design on his own, likely after talking to the villagers themselves as opposed to a third party team of witches with rewards on their minds.
But instead Olruggio is here, playing nice with them anyway, breathing through his mouth and making cute little clicking sounds by accident when he tries to swallow or clear his throat. His eyelids droop as he tries to stay awake, and every once in a while, he blinks particularly hard like somethingâs startled him. Soon enough heâs got a half-opened handkerchief in his lap, waiting as he squints forward with his expression vacant.
Like last night at the banquet, he doesnât have anywhere safe to turn. Unlike last night at the banquet, thereâs no real ambiance to decenter any of the noise heâs about to make. All he can do with the sneeze is try his best to smother it.
âMMPXTghâŠ!â Back up for air, then down again. âAAHâMMPTshhih!â
âBless you,â murmurs Qifrey amidst the others doing the same. Olruggio doesnât look at any of them, just ducks his head and waves a hand up to dismiss the attention.
He presses on his septum with the handkerchief, nostrils twitching dampness onto the fabric each time he sniffles, then he pinches and tugs downward as though heâs trying to drain out the irritation instead of blowing his nose in a quiet, well-mannered room.
It would make sense if it worked, but all of his fussing with it is only making the situation harder on him. Olruggio isnât usually so careful about tempering himself.
âhaâEHZSHhhiu!â
Heâs no good at it, either.
Just about everyone in the room is excited to say bless you to him this time, so Qifrey waits for them to have their fun before passing a new handkerchief over and receiving Olruggioâs thanks in the form of a brief, twitchy smile.Â
Olruggio waits until the moment has passed and the presenter has recaptured the spotlight, then slides an empty page from his notebook to the space on the table between them. He uses his left hand to write while keeping his eyes centered forward.
Letâs leave early
Qifrey makes eye contact to communicate his understanding, then writes his own message.
Would you prefer to step out first, or shall I take the lead? he writes back. As soon as Qifrey withdraws his hand, Olruggio hastily jots his response.
Me
They share another look to confirm. Itâs brief; pressure builds behind Olruggioâs eyes before they snap shut for another sneeze.
âEHJZSHhhu!â
Even the speaker up front interrupts their own presentation to throw a prompt, pleasant bless you to him all the way in the back.
bless you! :) writes Qifrey as he watches Olruggio go pink. Beneath it, Olruggio doodles a caricature of himself, looks Qifrey in the eye once more, then scribbles on top of the middle of its face and writes Thanks
When he excuses himself from the room, Olruggio doesnât bother making a show of it. He leaves all of his things on the table for an impression that heâs planning on coming back, and he holds off on making any significant noise on the other side of the door. Qifrey gathers Olruggioâs pen and notebook as the presentation shifts to a new section, holds still until a guest begins asking a question, then slips away on his own.
They used the same trick when cutting class back in the day, at least before their teachers caught on and began separating them. Whoever follows the other out of the lesson would wait a rough quarter mark first, then find his friend by taking two lefts through the hallway. The logistics worked regardless of the building they were stationed in, and they work now just the same.
Their meeting spot ends up being somewhere dark and empty. Olruggio is leaned up against a wall, easy to find by sound alone as he blows his nose. Qifrey is grateful at least one of them knows their way around, especially so because it doesnât have to be him.
âQifrey,â calls Olruggio hoarsely. The echo of his cough is starting to squeak a little in his chest.
âOlly. Seems youâve forgotten a few things,â Qifrey says as he hands them over.
âAwful nice of you to bring them to me.â Olruggio takes his pages back, playing along. âSorry for the trouble.â
I love you, Olly, thinks Qifrey, so much I can barely stand it.
âAre you feeling all right?â he asks out loud, because itâs the most he can manage.
âWell, no. That meeting pissed me off plenty.â Olruggio taps Qifrey on the arm and starts walking. âI know that island they were talkinâ about.â
âYou do?â
âYeah. Or I guess I know of it, because nobody lives there.â
âNobody lives there,â repeats Qifrey. That canât be right, can it? âThat meeting was focused on commission requests from the villagers.â
âRight, but they donât exist. Some nobles are interested in buildinâ a village for themselves to holiday out there, but nobody nearby will help with it because of the volcano. Itâs too dangerous.â
âThey left out that first part, didnât they,â agrees Qifrey sourly. âAnd do you think it would be possible to accomplish with magic?â
âMaybe. But Iâve got a feeling theyâre using the village names to pose their project as a public service for witches, and if nobody bites, to get away with underpaying someone for work they didnât consent to doinâ in the first place.â
âSounds like something that happens often.â
âYeah, plenty. Been tricked a few times myself, but some of my own clients are wise to it.â
âOf course.â Itâs much easier for people on the surface to talk about goings on that actually matter, after all. âDo you think youâll say anything this time?â
âIf I do, it wonât be down here,â sighs Olruggio. They reach a point where the hallway splits, and he stretches his neck toward Qifrey. âAnyway, enough with that for now. You up for a snack?â
The cafeteria is much less crowded mid-morning, but that doesnât mean theyâre safe. Qifrey thinks for a foolish moment that they may get away with taking their food and sitting down unbothered. Theyâre halfway across when some irritating gentleman offers Olruggio a free set of sweet dumplings, which he ends up paying for and sharing with Qifrey anyway.Â
âSuppose I should say hi to Sinocia,â Olruggio says as he tucks himself into a chair near the back.
âCheck the Medical Spire off your list, you mean?â Qifrey divides the plate in half and sets Olruggioâs portion down in front of him.
âMaybe get an exam so people stop askinâ about it,â Olruggio adds before taking a bite of his food. âReturn that thing of medicine, too.â
âAlready worn out by your admirers, Olly?â
Olruggio scoffs, rolls his eyes and ignores him. âCome with me. You could use some quiet, yourself.â
âAt the Medical Spire...?âÂ
âGot somewhere else to be?â
He doesnât. Retreating to oneâs own dwellings with a full schedule would raise questions and criticisms, which is the last thing their atelier needs.
Qifrey watches Olruggio wince as he swallows, and he takes the opportunity to move the spotlight. âHow do you like those?â
Before answering, Olruggio holds his hand out flat, then tilts it side to side like a see-saw. âFine. Nothinâ like Iâm used to at home, though.â
âNo?â
âNot even close.â Olruggio nods toward Qifreyâs plate. âTry some.â
Mid-bite, Qifrey realises Olruggioâs sense of taste has got to be gone completely, heâs so stopped up. The thought counts for something, so Qifrey doesnât bother to mention it.
The medical spire isnât far, but certain parts of the Hall are full of staircases that take them up and down for no good reason other than to confuse everybody at best. Today it means even a short distance gives Olruggio trouble catching his breath by the time heâs knocking at the door.Â
The one who lets them in is Emile, the strapping doctor Sinocia likes. Good. She steps aside into an empty foyer, pats Olruggio on the back when he starts coughing, then takes them to the benches behind the curtain so theyâll have a place to sit.
Sinocia is there setting towels into a basin. She looks over her shoulder and sets her eyes on them, then smiles brightly and spins around.Â
âI was wondering when Iâd see you two!â she says with a wink, tilting her head playfully. âBusiness or pleasure?â
Olruggio clears his throat. âHowâve you been, Sinocia?â
Qifrey recognises the joke. Witches arenât allowed social visits with doctors.Â
âOh, just fine over here. Busy, though,â Sinocia says. She brings him a glass of water, then hands one to Qifrey as well.
âThank you,â Qifrey says, making conversation so Olruggio can drink. âYouâve had a lot of visitors, then.â
âYes, mostly strangers coming in for⊠Well, for whatever it is happening out there this week. I wonât ask.â She starts to gather something from a cabinet. âShame we really canât see each other unless somebody is sick or hurt, isnât it?â
Someone is supposed to reply in defence of the Pact, something along the lines of Perhaps, but itâs necessary, usually followed by a threatening silence to keep anyone from complaining about it again.
âYeah,â Olruggio says, still a little breathless. He pulls a satchel from his robe. âIf youâve got some time now, I wanted to check if you might have any use for these.â
âOh! Let me take a look. Iâll trade you.â Sinocia takes the satchel from him and hands over a tiny metal cup. âDrink that, please. You sound even worse than everybody has been saying.â
âWhat is it for?â asks Qifrey as Olruggio downs the medicine without so much as inspecting it.
âJust standard cold medicine. Cough, headache, fever, that sort of thing.â Sinocia takes the cup from Olruggio as he cringes with a dry little cough. âSorry, dear. I know itâs bitter.â
Smoothly, she transitions their interaction into a quick physical exam, palpating the areas Olruggio has been struggling with before heâs even disclosed them. Throat, sinuses, forehead, and right beneath his ears. She takes a look at his eyes, checks his pulse, listens to him breathe. Every once in a while, sheâll hum something to herself or say âthatâs not good!â or call him a sweet name out of sympathy. Itâs clear sheâs familiar with him, and itâs just as clear that he trusts her to treat him properly.
Qifrey likes Sinocia. Her disposition is cheerful and tranquil and her presence is steady; sheâs always been kind and professional. It takes a special type of doctor to treat witches, not only in competence but in personality, too. They have to be okay with not knowing, with the relative isolation to their peers on the surface, and with the restrictions on communication between themselves and their patients. Sinocia has managed to be respectful of that without detaching herself, and sheâs able to take care of Olruggio in all the ways Qifrey is locked away from.
At least somebody is doing it. And Sinocia hasnât got an ulterior motive, no reason to care for titles or status. She hardly cares about anything aside from his company and his health. It would be nice for Olruggio to have someone like her for a friend, instead of someone like Qifrey whoâŠ
âIHGXSshu!â
âŠwho cares about those things too, but canât help the rest of his circumstances around Olruggio. Including his own bodyâs responses to something so⊠soâŠ
âIHGXZSHHhu! haâAEZSSHhiu!â
âAw! Bless you. Oh, donât worry aboutâ here, honey, just use one of these.â
âŠso attractive. Sexy. Natural, naive, beyond his control. Youâre terrible, Qifrey reassures himself, unable to look at anything but Olruggio, the breath building in his chest, brow taut and mouth open, moisture sparkling at the edges of his features.
âMPHZSHHhhih!â
âAll right, you, enough with that,â Sinocia says warmly. âI know you donât feel good, you donât have to try and prove it to me. Can I take your temperature, or do you have to sneeze again?â
âBest hang on a few,â is Olruggioâs muggy answer.
âBlow your nose then, dear.â Sinocia gives Olruggio some privacy by looking to Qifrey next. âUsually he staves these things off until after all the work is over, right? Iâm curious about what the deal is this time.â
Qifrey crosses his legs. âAfraid I couldnât say.â
âHave you been well, Qifrey? And the girls? They were in great shape last time they came in. You must be taking good care of them.â
âThink itâs just the season,â interrupts Olruggio. He sniffs and beckons Sinocia back before she can ask how Qifrey has been taking care of him. âGo ahead, Sinocia, give me your worst.â
âOkay!â
Olruggio looks so darling with a thermometer in his mouth, pouting like he does, nose flushed pink from the influx of activity.
âNow, what do we have hereâŠâ While she waits, Sinocia has decided to look into the supplies Olruggio brought in. She begins to rifle through the bag without pouring anything onto the counter, holding up and then putting back its contents one by one. âMarktea, pastilles, fancy water, some aromatherapyâŠ? Olruggio, where did these come from?â
âOne of Ollyâs clients,â answers Qifrey. âHeâs supposedly well-meaning.â
Olruggio shifts like he wants to say something, so Qifrey holds his index finger vertically against his own lips.
âThe brands in here are really expensive,â Sinocia says. âOoh, and this oneâs been opened already. You didnât like it?â
The thermometer bounces as Olruggio makes a sound through the corner of his mouth.
âLaceweed oil!â Sinocia laughs. âNo wonder youâve been sneezing like that.â
What in the world does that mean? Is Qifrey even allowed to ask? The reminder of what he missed is going to make him dizzy all over again if he isnât careful. He keeps his gaze off of Olruggio, just to be safe.
Sinocia closes the drawstrings on the satchel and sets it aside, then takes the thermometer from Olruggio and inspects the number with a frown. âYouâre a little warm, but not too bad yet. Iâll give you some tranquileaf to take as needed, okay?â
âThanks.â
âAnd this syrup in case your cough gets worse. And a poultice to help you breathe better; apply it before you to go bed.â
âOkay. Sure. Thanks.â
âAnd⊠Iâll have to give this back, too. Iâm really sorry, I donât think a hospital can accept something that costs so much.â
âSo,â sighs Olruggio, âjust take it home with you, then.â
âWhat?â
âConsider it a gift.â
âExcuse me?â
âItâs not against the rules, is it,â says Olruggio dryly as he stands up. âItâd be a big help, you know. Keeps me from havinâ to deal with the guy when he thinks I never received it. Probably wanted me to try returninâ it to him so heâd get a chance toâ âŠAh. Sorry.â
âSorry?â echoes Sinocia.
âForgot where I was.â Olruggio rubs his neck and looks away. âYouâd be doinâ me a favor takinâ it off my hands is all.â
Qifrey shrugs when Sinocia looks to him for explanation, so she shrugs easily and brightens right back up.Â
âIf you insist! Thank you, Olruggio, thatâs very generous.â
âLike I said. Itâs mostly a favor to me. Share it with someone if youâd like, put the bounty to use.â
âHmmmâŠâ Sinociaâs eyes dart to Qifrey and then up at the ceiling as she taps her chin with one hand and places the other on her hip. âI know! Iâll accept your gift so you can do a favor for me too, and be a less troublesome patient.â
âMuch easier said than done,â Qifrey reminds her.
âHeâs one to talk,â Olruggio says. âAt least I see a doctor when the time comes. I have to drag this guy by the scruff to get him to go at all. Lucky heâs usually too weak to fight me by then.â
I love you, thinks Qifrey. He watches Olruggio gather his prescriptions and tuck them away neatly, like a good patient does.
âYes, I know,â Sinocia says. âSo since Iâve got you both here already, Iâm not letting you leave until youâve slept a clockmark or two. Itâll be much worse on you, Qifrey, when you catch this cold because you havenât been sleeping either, and then Iâll really have my hands full.â
âWhether thatâs true or not,â Qifrey says, as though he wouldnât love anything more, âIâm not sure we can get away with skipping just to have a nap.â
âSure you can! Doctorâs orders,â declares Sinocia. âIâm sure whoever youâre standing up would be happy to meet in private later or relay necessary information to you some other way, right?â
âUp to you,â Olruggio adds. âIâm takinâ a cot either way.â
What else is Qifrey meant to do? He follows the both of them to a quiet space down a half-flight of stairs and clenches all the muscles he can access, feeling like a stone falling to the bottom of a water well and scraping the sides of it on the way. He mirrors Olruggioâs crooked smile, perches stiffly on a hard wooden chair and wonders how long heâll pretend to sleep.
okay so i've read this three times today, my first two reads i was too absolutely wrapped up in things to have any sort of reaction beyond emoji hieroglyphics, but now that i've had some time to regain my words...
i'm going to change my mind here in a second and come up with another thing that is my favorite BUT I do think my favorite part of this is that it absolutely nails both the individual characters of oru + frey but also distills their relationship and all of its yearning pining aching glory but recolors it through OUR lens and it does so so effortless and easily that i'm really just in awe, you really have such a great grasp of these guys and what makes them tick!
+ it's just so hot, I never really appreciated the voyeur side of things until I started reading your fics, and now I just can't get enough of it and love incorporating it into my own work, so thank you for opening my eyes there! you also just write such an interesting protagonist with the fetish across all of your different fandoms, it's so real and visceral and feels like someone's tapping the narrative right out of my own inner monologue!
okay so specifics now -- really into the in media res here, love that we're just dropped into this symposium and olruggio already has a cold, also am so obsessed with how you balanced his celebrity with the fact that people looOOOOOve to talk about a cold; the kind of fawning and flattering and extra attention paid to him when he has a nice professional exterior up and is just trying to get through it, plus how qifrey is just FUMING in the corner. You really nailed Qifrey's inner tone throughout all of this, the fact that he does not want to be here, how he feels so isolated and trapped; i think it's really easy to forget that qifrey had a shitty childhood at the great hall and probably has few fond memories of the place because he's SO good at convincing everyone (including the reader/viewer) that he's this chill and happy-go-lucky guy when really he has such a deep well of loneliness and bitterness beneath that surface. and you KNOW that about him and convey it so so well throughout this piece. idk the dichotomy of him + olly and how they work both separately and together is such a masterpiece of a character study, I wish I could take this apart and view the individual moving parts under a microscope.
whoops i already lost the specifics, so let's get back to: your spellings. they're fantastic. REALLY good sounds throughout the piece, so vocal and grating and forceful, I love also (selfishly) that he can't muffle them/stifle very well so he's just forced to put his cold on display for everyone who's paying attention to him (which is...everyone).
Other things I loved: how you wrote olly's dialogue, his voice is just so clear and sharp and perfect. how qifrey touches olly and comments on his "poor throat." how he hands him a handkerchief (that's STILL WARM FROM HIS BODY HEAT HELLOOOOOO) and clearly arrived prepared for this. qifrey must have been suffering for DAYS as this cold developed. olly getting the corner rooms just for qifrey because he knows he wants privacy. THE COMMENT ABOUT THEM SHARING A WALL...i was so prepared for qifrey to have a torturous voyeuristic night so that was very funny and clever when you went "lol jk" on that.
the little asides, the "i love you"s and the "how on earth could anyone not fall in love with him"s. The quiet little whispered parts of qifrey's soul that he can't suppress but won't be able to ever share. god. i'm in shambles.
"i'm keeping your handkerchief by the way" hot cha chaaaaa oh man i'm feeling some things about that one.
olruggio not sleeping at ALL oh my god, the way i absolutely made a face of sympathy and concern when i read that the first time. the beautiful little details about how he looks great but also looks terrible and LOLL tetia and richeh absolutely roasting him about it. typical. i love them. also "one to ten qifrey how bad is it" was so CRUEL of him, poor qifrey. a vanilla loves to ask someone else to weigh in on their cold.
the really sweet moment about the girls arranging the tables so they can look at each other when they eat like they do at homeeeee i cry
OLRUGGIO SAYING THAT QIFREY'S PROBABLY GOING TO CATCH THIS BECAUSE HE'S HIS WATCHFUL EYE...god. there were so many little moments of him or sinocia (who i ALSO LOVED) referencing how qifrey is going to get this next and it really sent thrills up and down my spine picturing that
the quiet presentation room...the absolutely inability to cloak his shit...the way poor qifrey must have been absolutely dying in there...good thing this guy relies so much on masochism to keep himself in check (I have a whole separate thesis I could write on that and how that intersects with the way you've written him with the kink, but that's very spoilery territory so I'll save that for your dms instead). the little notes on each others paper!!! the WAY THEY HAVE DONE THIS FOREVER!!! the way they know each other so well and so effortlessly.
EMILE I LOVE EMILE AND HAVE ALWAYS LOVED HER
and sinociaaaaa we love sinocia in this house. i also love when you write scenes between doctors and characters who are sick...you've done this so well with shoko in your fics in the past so i love that you got to do that here with sinocia too!! especially the extra layers of social commentary too about the way that witches are expected to interact with doctors...that's another thing i could write entire treatises about and i know you're way ahead of me there...
"can i take your temperature or do you have to sneeze again" "best hang on a few" wow hello i'm uh. my insides are a puddle of molten something or other.
"usually he staves off these things until after all the work is over, what's going on this time" that casual discussion of his cold with and around him...the way that she's trying to rope qifrey into it because she knows that he's been taking care of olruggio...
sinocia getting them to take a nap UGH she's so sweet and i'm sure they really needed that
OLLY'S COMMENT ABOUT how at least HE sees the doctor when he needs to and how qifrey needs to be dragged by the scruff of his neck...ugh i'm so weak for that
idk i feel like i kind of just recited the plot back to you but i really did find things that i loved and enjoyed in every single sentence of this fic...you have such a deft hand with language and descriptions too, i am always taking notes so fervently on the way you lay stuff out.
ok brb gonna go read it againnnnn you're the BEST and i am so grateful to be here in this sandbox with you!
witch putting a silencing spell on a handkerchief and then getting too used to it for one reason or another (the fetish; being generally guarded about sneezing; etc). itâs only after theyâve already loaned it or lost the spell on it that they are bodily reminded just how hard it is to silence their sneeze without it
okay i swear this is my last witch hat post (of today anyway lol) but let me just. my thoughts.
a) qifrey turns away to hide his face when he feels vulnerable so maybe ....when he sneezes.... the thought of him whirling around and covering with his hand splayed in front of him is so
b) the snf sound effects??? so cute he definitely gets sniffly with a cold/allergies
c) he is denying in this despite it being So damn obvious what is happening so he is obviously deny deny deny even if he is very bad at it
d) "i may need a moment" i am going to commit war crimes at the thought of him saying this knowing he is going to sneeze
