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grimoire-plague-blog · 5 years

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A Cold Night

Ulfric Stormcloak is down with a cold and Sedyn Dathandes (My Skyrim OC) has elected to keep him company.

Blasted snowstorm. Ulfric’s gloved hand tangled in the thick mane of his mount, matted with snow, as he tried to soothe the well-muscled horse beneath him. The shrieking of the winds blended with the distant roar of a dragon had the beast on edge. Despite the thick furs, he was adorned with, despite how his armor trapped his body heat, and despite the way his companion’s slight frame managed to block some of the wind from his face… he was freezing. The nord’s nose and cheeks were crimson from the bitter cold. He feared that if he failed to cease his incessant sniffling then the men would begin to notice. But if he did… well… the waterfall coming from his rather prominent nose could very well freeze to his face. At least it felt as such. A chesty cough rattled his lungs, his eyes stinging from the wind, and in that moment he would have loved nothing more than to curl up in his bed back in Windhelm to sleep by the fire.

He felt a tickle creeping into his throat, into his nose, as his watery eyes glanced to the side and settled upon the rider a few feet in front of him, just to the left. Blocking the wind, just barely, with his smaller body. His hand shot up, motioning for everyone to stop. The soft thuds of the hoofbeats on the snow-covered road, the groan of the wagons, all of the noise stopped almost instantly. The tickle in Ulfric’s nose only grew more intense, causing him to scrunch up his nose and sniffle forcefully.

“Dragonborn, what are you doing?” He called over the wind, voice rough from all of the shouting. The battle was done, for now, and their focus was to get home to Windhelm. Get the injured men treated, replenish their supplies, everything like that. “Why do you stop us?”

“Forgive me, Jarl Ulfric, but the storm is showing no signs of lightening up. The men are exhausted, hungry. There is a river near here. We should set up camp, hold out for the night. We have fresh water and the trees will provide some semblance of protection from the wind. Do you object?” His companion asked, his silvery purple eyes studying the rebellion’s leader from beneath the shadow of his hood. His mask, covering his mouth and nose, hid the slight smile that graced his lips as he saw Ulfric pause.

The jarl’s head tipped back ever so slightly, mouth open and eyelids fluttering as he tried to fight the oncoming sneeze. A losing battle, clearly, although drawn out by the fact he desperately worked to talk through it. Stammering, tripping over his words, all in an attempt to answer his counterpart.

“N-nn… no… we can… can… s-sto… stop… aahh… stop h-here,” He managed, but quickly lost himself to the sneeze. “Haaah…. Heeehhhh… AK’TSHOO!”

Wet and of explosive volume, the aftermath was quite frankly disgusting. At least in the eyes of most of the soldiers around Ulfric. Not many enjoyed the sight of their mighty jarl with thick streams of glistening mucus dripping down his face. The dragonborn, however… he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He had never seen Ulfric look so vulnerable before. They had seen each other gagged and bound, soaked in blood, and burning up with rage yet never ill. Even injured, the great Bear of Markarth never seemed to waver. But now, sniffling and furiously rubbing at his nose, Ulfric seemed much more fragile. Hopping down from his horse, the dark elf Sedyn Dathandes also known as the dragonborn passed it off to one of the other men and went over to offer Ulfric a hand. He heard some grumbles among the men as Ulfric gruffly accepted the offer, letting Sedyn lead his horse over to where they were being tied for the night. Everyone got to work immediately, pitching the tents and starting the campfire. Sedyn’s hounds, two wiry-haired hunting dogs, curled up outside Ulfric’s tent the moment it was set up. Ulfric, forced to retreat inside the fur tent, was wetly blowing his nose into a rag when he saw a dark gray hand pull the flap aside. Slipping in, the warm light of the lantern casting shadows upon his face, the dark elf sat down beside Ulfric. He had his own tent, yes, but wished to check on his friend.

“Sedyn. Why have you come?” He asked, glancing down at the two bottles of mead tucked beneath his arm as well as at the bowl of steaming stew that the elf presented him.

“You seem to be unwell. The least I could do was bring you something to eat and perhaps a drink with a friend may brighten your spirits,” came the soft response, the wooden bowl soon taken from Sedyn’s hand. The dunmer tugged his long silver hair free of the low ponytail he typically wore it in and opened the bottles of mead, handing one to Ulfric before bringing his own to his lips. Taking a swig, he sighed.

“You did not need to do this. But thank you, friend.” Ulfric’s words were warm, his deep voice soft as he ate some of the stew he had been given. Interrupted rudely by a sneeze. Covered, just barely in time, by that snot-soaked rag he had been blowing his nose into.

“No, I had to. As someone who cares for you. And for myself,” He said softly, watching as Ulfric curiously raised an eyebrow in response to the latter statement. “I just mean… some of the men insist that you keep me around because I am dragonborn, because I am an asset in this civil war. That because I am a dunmer, I will never be more than a tool. I know that is not the case, Ulfric, I do… but I also knew that if I came into your tent and you, instead of shooing me off, allowed me to be with you in a time of need then I would never have reason to question it again,” Sedyn confessed, watching Ulfric’s blue eyes narrow. As he went to take another drink of the mead, he felt a strong hand grip his arm. Too tightly. “Ulfric?”

“The issue with your people is something I must address. Something I will address,” He stated gruffly, clearing his throat as his voice threatened to abandon him. “But the civil war comes first. I must end this fight before I turn my attention elsewhere.”

“No, no. I am well aware of that. That isn’t at all… what my problem was. I simply thought that, were such accusations true, I would quite miss our talks. Things like that, as selfish as it may be.”

“If I ever hear any of my men giving you trouble, if I ever hear them calling you a gray-skin, I will… aaah… Hak’tschoo!” He was interrupted by another sneeze, rubbing furiously at his nose for a moment before finishing his thought. “I will make sure they never do again.”

“That is not needed… but thank you. You should take off your armor,” Sedyn mumbled, hesitantly reaching over and placing a hand on Ulfric’s sweat-damp forehead. “I believe you have a fever.”

Grunting in response, the nord started to remove his armor piece at a time. Sedyn looked away, closing his eyes with a soft sigh. He heard the rustling of the fabrics and the quiet, chesty coughs but refused to glance over until his ears picked up on Ulfric’s chuckling. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder and glanced back at his jarl, who now wore only his tunic and pants just like Sedyn himself. He took a drink of the mead, refusing to make eye contact with Ulfric as he was a bit flustered after their previous conversation.

“You look as if you have something you wish to say,” He mused, “What is it?”

“Nothing, er… no, forget it. It is embarrassing. It would be most effective for me to show you… and yet I would not be able to look you in the eyes,” the dunmer confessed, biting his lower lip. “You needn’t worry about it. I assure you, it can wait until we are done with the war. Or back in Windhelm, at least.”

“No. It is bothering you. If you cannot tell me then show me,” Ulfric commanded, watching as his companion turned away with an indignant huff. “You want me to close my eyes? Would that even things up a little?”

“I have heard you say those exact words to opponents. But yes, actually, if you could avoid looking at me until I calm myself… that would be ideal.”

He wasn’t sure what Sedyn could possibly show him if he had his eyes closed and he certainly had not been expecting the dark elf to accept the joking offer. Nonetheless, he closed his eyes with a sniffle. Waiting for Sedyn to tell him he could open his eyes, Ulfric sat with his hands in his lap and his feverish mind working hard to try and figure out what was weighing on the heart of the dragonborn. Fiddling with his hands, Sedyn glanced from the ground to Ulfric’s face several times. The tent was silent aside from their breathing and the wet sniffles of the ill nord. There was an ever so subtle shifting of the bedroll, rustling of fabric, as he moved closer. Hesitating, he let out a shaky breath and leaned over so that his face was merely an inch from Ulfric’s. He could feel the jarl’s breath, warm and heavy with the scent of mead. He did not notice the twitching of Ulfric’s nose, the hitching of his breath, or the soft groan that escaped his lips… Sedyn’s own heartbeat was pounding in his skull. It had become the only thing he could hear, keeping him unfocused and shaky. By the time the sneeze escaped Ulfric, it was too late. The elf’s soft lips made contact with Ulfric’s slightly chapped ones seconds after. The nord’s eyes flew open, staring at Sedyn in shock as he raised his arm to wipe his face with a sheepish chuckle.

“You… surprised me. I apologize, for what just happened,” Ulfric murmured, unsure what exactly it was he felt at the moment. His heart was racing and his head was… fuzzy. “Is that what you wished to show me?”

Sedyn nodded, clearing his throat awkwardly before Ulfric once again distracted him. The nord had begun to cough. A quiet, restrained cough at first that escalated into a fit of painful hacking. It sounded as if his lungs might be coughed up along with whatever had caused the disruption. Placing a hand on Ulfric’s back, Sedyn began to gently rub in an attempt to help. He could feel his tunic beginning to stick to his feverish skin. When it stopped, finally stopped, Ulfric tugged his sweat-damp tunic free and tossed it aside. He moved to curl up in his bed roll, the thick furs covering him. And yet, despite the sheen of sweat causing his skin to glisten in the lantern’s light… he was shivering.

“Would you… like me to help you feel warm?” Sedyn inquired, embarrassed that he even asked. But Ulfric nodded. The dark elf removed his own tunic, slipping beneath the furs and pressing up against the well-muscled body of the nord. When his friend turned to face him, however, and pulled him into his arms… Sedyn thought he had died and gone to Sovngarde. Or somewhere… somewhere blissful, certainly. His small and lithe body was swallowed whole by Ulfric’s massive frame. It was no wonder he had been called the Bear of Markarth, his size alone warranted it.

Ulfric snuffed the light of the lantern, letting darkness fill the tent as he closed his eyes. “If the war goes as I intend, perhaps you will be by my side… when I have become High King of Skyrim,” He murmured. “If such is what you desire.”

“Whether you are High King or criminal… graced with riches or wearing rags… I will remain by your side so long as you will have me,” Sedyn whispered, “But first, let us nurse this illness you have caught and focus on making it out alive. The future of Skyrim… depends on us. You, with the rebellion… me, with the dragons.”

“Indeed.” A wet sniffle stopped him from speaking his mind all at once but Ulfric quickly continued with his thought, “We will do well. I am confident.”

The night passed, much like that. The two enjoying one another’s warm, talking quietly in the darkness until they fell asleep. It took three more days for them to reach Windhelm. Ulfric had nearly recovered, ailed by nothing more than a lingering cough by the time he sat upon his horse watching the heavy gates swing open. The rider beside him, the very man who had kept him company each night since their lips had met for the first time, was shivering from head to toe. While Ulfric could not see it beneath the mask Sedyn so often wore, he knew the dark elf’s nose was streaming. The scratchiness that had crept into his voice that morning worsened quickly. By the afternoon, the incessant sniffling had begun. He had caught Ulfric’s cold and the entirety of the men knew it. Sedyn simply would not acknowledge it and went on acting as if all were typical throughout the day. One of his hands gripping his horse’s reins, the other shot up to tug the mask down. A series of wet sneezes, sudden and desperate, had Sedyn doubled over.

“Ht’kssh! Ahh’chtoo! Kt’sch!”

“Sedyn, once we get to the Palace of Kings… head to my chambers and rest. I will stable your horse.”

A pathetic sniffle could barely be heard over the noise of those around them, Sedyn glancing over at Ulfric with watery eyes. “Hm…? Oh… that is- thaaa… aah… that isn’t… nec-nnn, necessar- ak’shoo! Hehh… Ki’hitsch! Aaa… AT’KTCHIEW! Ugh,” He groaned, the forcefulness of the last sneeze causing his head to throb. “I’m fine…”

“That is an order, not a request,” Ulfric commanded, leaning across the small space between their horses to kiss him. He ignored some of the audible gasps from those around them, ignored the stares from the dunmer who had been watching when the gates opened, and ignored the rising heat he felt in his cheeks. The look on Sedyn’s face, surprise mixed with pure joy, was all he chose to pay attention to. In that moment, it was all that mattered.

“Y-yes, my Jarl… Thank you.”

#snz #snzblr #sickfic #skyrim #ulfric stormcloak #my fic #my oc - Sedyn #snz kink #illness

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grimoire-plague-blog · 5 years

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Welcome Home

My original characters Yuri Volkov (a Russian-American Video Game Developer) and his girlfriend Elle (African-American Interior Designer).

The setting sun cast a warm glow through the apartment window, the city lights sparkling. A hearty chuckle echoed through the hall as slender fingers pulled the laptop closed and picked up the cell phone.

“Relax, Elle. I have a cold, not the plague,” came the voice of Yuri Volkov, rich and normally smooth like honey, with hoarseness slowly taking hold. Clearing his throat, a soft sniffle hinted at the congestion creeping in. “You’ll be back by morning, right? I won’t die before you get back.”

“Alright, alright. I get it. You’re okay,” Elle murmured into her cell phone as she tucked a handful of her hair behind her ear, the tight black coils angry with her for sleeping in such a strange position on the plane. “I should get home around five, yeah. I’ll see you then. Get some sleep, deal?”

“Mhm, deal. No speeding on your way back. I know you get impatient. Don’t be quiet coming in though, if I’m not up when you get back you’d better wake me,” He requested, sniffling again as he turned away from the speaker to cough quietly into his elbow.

“If I don’t, you’ll sing that obnoxious song all day like last time. I’ll wake you up if only for the sake of my sanity,” She retorted, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m at baggage claim now, have to get the suitcase and get going. I love you.”

“Aw, you don’t want me to serenade you? Oh well. I love you too, cupcake.”

He heard the chuckle escape her before he hung up, tucking his phone into his pocket before refilling his dog’s water bowl. Elle, meanwhile, had tugged her suitcase free from the disastrous pile-up forming at the baggage claim and embarked on her journey to the car. Her darling Yuri, the only person who could ever call her cupcake without making her gag, had such a tendency to downplay it when he wasn’t feeling his best which meant just a cold could very well be just that… or much worse. A pain in her butt it may be, trying to discern whether he was being honest or not, but he did equally tedious things for her sake as well. The rolling suitcase couldn’t roll fast enough, not with how excited she was to see him. Being away for two weeks on business meant that she’d not only missed him but had been bored out of her skull with her co-workers. Meetings this and meetings that… she was lucky she had the next few days off so that they could recuperate together. Him from his cold, her from jet lag.

That morning, at exactly five, she turned the key and opened the door to the apartment they shared in Portland, Oregon. Suitcase against the wall, she slipped her shoes off and shut the door quietly. Dark brown eyes, like the soil after spring rains, settled on the vaguely human shape decorating the couch. A soft smile on her face, her lips parting slightly as she took a slow breath in, Elle crept closer. Yuri was asleep, tangled in a blanket, with his dog curled up on his stomach. As Elle approached, the basset hound sleepily raised her head to greet her. With droopy eyes and one long ear flopped over the wrong way, tail thumping gently against the back of the couch, waddled haphazardly over to the edge to place her front paws against Elle. Giving the dog a loving scratch behind the ear, she picked her up and gently placed her in the dog bed.

“Good girl, Lada. Sorry. I have to wake up your dad,” She teased as the basset hound promptly went back to sleep. It was fortunate. Lada only listened to Elle about half of the time, mostly because Yuri had trained his dog to respond to Russian and not English, which had resulted in many interesting situations at first.

Creeping back over to her sleeping partner, Elle crawled on top of the couch and straddled him. She was careful not to wake him, not just yet, as she studied him. The shadows beneath his eyes, from the way they were set, deepened by his illness and the pink that painted his cheeks and nose, tinged with red at the nostrils that had clearly been suffering for the past twenty-four hours or so. The parted lips that quiet breaths slipped from, in time with the rising and falling of his chest… her fingertips delicately brushed aside the soft waves of wheat-colored hair that had cast a shadow across his face as she leaned closed and pressed her lips to his. But the kiss was stolen away from her, no longer under her control, the moment she felt his warm hand cup her cheek. She felt his teeth, ever so gently, nip at her lips playfully before their lips parted and he gazed into her eyes.

His throat burned, a sort of dull sensation, and he while he desperately wished he could smell that flowery perfume he knew she was wearing (she wore it every day, it was her favorite scent) it had become painfully clear to him that he was no longer capable of breathing through his nose. Slowly removing his hand from her cheek, he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. Rheumy eyes, although the same beautiful blue-green that Elle adored and filled with glee at the sight of her, were met with her mixture of concern and joy. He hesitated, turning away as his breath hitched and his eyelids fluttered… but the sneeze that tickled his nose turned into a yawn. He heard Elle’s laughter, saw the movement of her hand as she tied up the hair she had worked so hard to grow out into a thick bun, and felt the back of her hand against his forehead.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, her hand turning as she ran her fingertips gently down his face and traced them along his jaw as she heard him sniffle, very much in vain, while contemplating the question.

He felt awful if he was to tell her the truth. His throat was sore, scratchy, and it burned. His nose, thick with mucus, allowed little to no oxygen to him. It left a throbbing in his skull, a pressure not intense enough to cause him much distress but instead the perfect amount to irritate him endlessly. As a result, it had taken him quite a while to fall asleep… but seeing his darling Elle lifted his spirits in spite of it all. Taking her hand away from his face, he wiggled out from underneath her and picked her up. After all, she was rather small. A mere five feet. Had he been about three inches taller, he would have had a foot in height difference. She let out what had to be the world’s quietest, and arguably cutest, shriek in response to having him lift her from the couch, wrapping her arms around his neck without protest as he carried her to their bedroom. He set her down on the bed, then sat next to her with a smile. Then, suddenly and desperately tugging a tissue free from the box on the nightstand, his head tipped back slightly and his mouth open… eyes squeezed shut in anticipation as his reddened nostrils flared, he sneezed. Loud, and rather forceful as his head snapped forward, he followed up the sneeze with a futile blow of his nose. It did nothing to combat the congestion he felt, nothing to alleviate the pressure in his skull - in fact, it made his throbbing head feel worse - but it did serve one purpose. It completely decimated the tissue. That answered Elle’s question for him, although he still tossed the tissue into the wastebasket and grinned at her as if he were a child in a candy store.

“Cupcake, I’m alright. I’ll be better if you get your pajamas on and come to bed with me. Just a few hours. A little nap,” He requested, speaking through his congestion. He would have laughed if it weren’t for how miserable he felt, how horrid he knew he sounded, but he simply didn’t find it funny at the moment. He wouldn’t, couldn’t really, bring himself to be fully content with the situation. He was ecstatic that Elle had returned home and yet… so disappointed that he had caught a cold. Determined to make the most of it, that he certainly was, but unable to be wholeheartedly happy.

Watching her stand up and go over to the closet, let her clothes drop to the floor before slipping into one of his t-shirts, one she knew he never wore outside of the house, and sit back down beside him helped. He felt her hands against his shoulders as she pulled him down, doing her best to curl around him despite the size difference. When he was sick, she always tried to be the big spoon. Her hands on his back, rubbing in small circles as a series of wet coughs sent little spasms through his body. He grabbed a tissue, spit out what he had coughed up, and threw it away with a muffled groan, burying his face in his pillow.

“Aw, baby, I’m sorry,” She murmured, planting a kiss on his neck. “I love you. If you need anything… wake me up.”

She got nothing but a nod and a congested sneeze in response as Yuri grabbed her hand and closed his eyes, the glass of water he had gotten the first time he had tried to sleep still standing beside the Tylenol but sans ice cubes now that time had passed. The Tylenol, however, had failed to do any noticeable good. She barely heard his hoarsely whispered declaration of love before his breathing slowed and the stuffy-nosed little snores began.

Yuri woke up that afternoon to a series of strange noises. It was somewhere between the sounds of a whimpering puppy and high-pitched squeals of “ow” and “oh” repeated over and over again in such quick succession that it almost sounded like “uwu” and LSD had a love affair. His mind felt foggy and heavy. It took him a moment to react to the noise, to stand up and follow the sound out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. There, curled into a ball on the tile floor, was Elle. On the counter sat a box of pasta, half empty. There was a large pot perched upon the back burner of the stove. Things that to anyone else would not have seemed suspicious seemed to Yuri… rather dangerous.

“E-” He started, his voice coming out as nothing more than a painful croak. He paused, clearing his throat irritably before restarting the thought. “Elle, why are you on the floor?”

“You’ll laugh at me,” She whined, staring up at him with an innocent pout. But she got up when he started coughing. Harsh, chesty coughs that made his eyes water and her heart sink. Pouring him a glass of water, she sighed softly. “Here, drink.”

“I won’t laugh at you… even if it’s funny, I don’t want to laugh. Hurts,” He teased half-heartedly, taking a sip of the water with a smile. The faint freckles that usually dotted his porcelain skin, across the bridge of his nose and splashed along his cheeks, had vanished beneath the feverish flush his skin now held. “Why were you on the floor?”

“I… hit my elbow on the counter. I know, it’s pathetic but it really hurt and… Hey! You said you wouldn’t laugh!” She snapped, hands on her hips as Yuri stifled a snicker only for his amusement to slowly bubble over.

Laughing rather heartily, his entire face lighting up in response to her plight, he nearly doubled over in his fit of bubbly laughs and occasional snorts. Only to truly double over as the laughter turned into phlegmy coughs and wheezing gasps. He felt her hand on his arm as he straightened up, catching his breath with a smile, and rested his chin on her head.

“Sorry, cupcake. And what were you doing with the pasta?” He inquired, although he certainly had an idea as to what she may have been doing with it.

“I was trying to make you chicken noodle soup,” She admitted, watching him proceed to walk over to the pot and peer inside with a look of disgust, “Hey! I tried…”

“I appreciate the sentiment but that looks like Lada ate it and threw it back up several times, Elle. Leave the cooking to me un… until… I, ahhh…. Haaah… I can…” He paused, placing a finger under his nose as the need to sneeze crept up on him, desperately trying to talk through it in hopes that it would just go away. “Until I can… haa… t-t-tea… teach you,” He managed, but just barely, to finish his thought before a fit of sneezes took hold. Wet, congested, and loud. They left Yuri practically trembling, using a paper towel to blow his nose in a pathetic attempt to find relief only for the roughness of it to further irritate his nose and coax out another sneeze.

“Okay, okay… bless you… I just feel so useless. I can’t cook… you’re usually the one who cleans… and I’m not a doctor. But I know you feel terrible. Don’t even try to lie and say you don’t. Yuri, I… I want to help,” Elle insisted, turning off the burner and standing on the tips of her toes in order to reach his face and steal a kiss. “So, tell me how. Please?”

“First of all, cupcake, you aren’t useless. Yeah, you can’t cook. Sure, I usually clean. But you’re the only reason the herb garden on the balcony is alive. You’re the one who knows how to fix it when the sink is clogged or the power goes out,” Yuri reassured her, pulling her into a tight hug. “We can’t be good at everything. You’re good at the things I’m not. We’ll learn from each other. But don’t rush it. You are helping. But today we order takeout or something for lunch and cuddle on the couch. I finished looking over the proposal for the new game my team is developing so… I’m all yours until it the rest of them get back to me.”

She could hear the weak, incessant sniffles that dotted his speech and the irregular volume of his words as he tried to keep his throat clear. Her face, buried in his chest, was hidden. It was almost a relief to her, that he couldn’t see how happy she was to hear that she wasn’t useless. She had already taken Lada out for a walk that morning and had unpacked her suitcase while Yuri slept. She, too, was all his for the day. So she sat him down on the couch with a blanket draped around his shoulders, placed several items - a box of tissues, a glass of water, a wastebasket, and cough drops - beside the couch, and ordered a pizza. Resting his head on her shoulder once she sat down, Yuri sniffled and popped a cough drop into his mouth with a playful little smile.

“We are still going to the waterpark that you love so much next weekend, yes? It is just before that Fourth of July that Americans love so much and I hear they are putting on a fireworks show,” He pointed out, lacing his fingers with hers.

“Only if you’re over this cold by then. But leave it to you to get such a bad cold in the summer. You’re an unlucky guy sometimes,” She teased, kissing his forehead.

“I am a very lucky man, despite our current situation,” came his retort. And if the trip to her favorite waterpark went as planned, with the crowds distracted by the fireworks and him down on one knee with a ring in his hand, he would soon be the luckiest man there ever was.

#snzfic #snz #my fic #my ocs #yuri volkov #elle (volkov)#lada the dog #sickfic #illness

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