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instarsandcrime · 3 months

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Someone Worth Falling For

Hi hello! Long time lurker in the community, first time poster. I'm not sure how good this is because it's my first snz fic. But practice makes perfect-- even if my writing tends to lean on corny fluff! So I might as well log what I write and hope things get better from here. Enjoy! <3

“Htchh'chieww!”

“Bless you.”

“Htch'shhhiew!”

“Ble–”

“Hihh’chiew! Htch'CHIEW! HET’CHHHIEW! Ohhh…”

Lucifer groaned, forcing gurgling blow after blow into his handkerchief. Face glowing gold in embarrassment when he peered up from the fabric to see another pair stare back.

“...Excuse mbe.” He finally rasped out.

“Absolutely not.” Lilith pursed her lips, “Ten times in a row! I've seen less out of fits than sinners allergic to their own feathers and fur. Are you sure you’re alright, my love?”

She'd offered a way out. She'd offered a way out several times. But the response was always so scripted that it bordered on comical. An orderly list that only the Sin of Pride could obsessively memorize by heart.

“Why, there's dothi’g– snff– nothing to tell!” Lucifer beamed between congested sniffles, one armed wrapped tightly around her waist. “I just want to help my wife get ready for her first night off. And a party? My goodness, now why would I pass up such a rare and wonderful opportunity?”

Deflect

“And that’s very sweet of you, darling.” His other half hummed when a string of pearls draped around her neck, “But I’m just as happy to stay home if you’re feeling unwell.”

The demon king’s hand jerked as he weaved a comb from a puff of golden smoke. “Me? Catch a cold? Pfft, what? Like a sinner? Even if I’m fallen, archangels don’t get sick. It’s in our biology.”

2. Pull the archangel card.

“Yes. I’ve been told that holy beings tend to avoid illness– or rather, those who reside in Heaven. Where everything from the sky to the ground is designed to be absolutely perfect. But here, you are victim to the worst torture imaginable. And I believe there’s been a newer Overlord that’s taken a seat at the table– that one you had a meeting with the other day? The one that embodies pestilence.” As her hair was lovingly tended to, Lilith raised her head ever-so-slightly to kiss her doting husband’s jaw. She nearly cooed at the way he melted on the spot.

“As hypocritical as it sounds, I wouldn’t be so quick to ju- …j-juhhdge…” Lucifer froze, quickly rubbing his nose to satiate a tickle. Lilith’s face dropped to something so freely unimpressed because his last tactic was always to

3. Hide his symptoms. Poorly.

“Darling?”

“H-huhhhh…ho-hold on…” Lucifer raised a claw, handkerchief in the other. “I-I’m fine, it must…m-must be…s-suhh-something in…in the air— h-heh! Oh my, ex-excuse– Et’chiew! HET’chiew! HETCHHIEWW!”

“Bless you again.” His wife winced as the comb was unceremoniously dropped to the floor with a sharp clatter.

“Th-thahhnk– hhhHITSH!” Caught in a hitching jag, Lucifer quickly pinched his nose– and to his dismay, the slight buzz became an angry swarm.

“Beloved.”

“Het’Chht!”

“Let me just–”

“HIH’CHH! H-hihhh! HIH’TCH! ‘TCH! ‘TSHHH! I can’t s-st-stohhHT’CHNX’iew! Hih! Hhhih…hghh…nnh…” Lucifer’s ragged breathing slowed, peeping open a watery eye. Kneeled close, Lilith’s finger pressed under his nose, draped against her own handkerchief.

“See? Was asking for help so hard?” She smiled. Lucifer only swallowed, wordlessly taking the cloth in his palm. Silently he made his way to the side of her vanity, hopping on its desk. Eyes downcast, frown tucked behind cotton and smudged lipstick. “Be honest with me. There’s something more to your stubbornness this time, isn’t there?”

“N-no, of course not! I’m. I’m just– it’s…” Empty words trailed off into a muffled whisper.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”

“It’s– well–” Lucifer cleared his aching throat, biting back a cough before he lowered his makeshift mask. “It’s…it’s humiliating, that’s all. I trapped you down here with me. You had the opportunity to live in an eternal paradise. And now you have this one night to go out and party and enjoy yourself and I just– I know it’s not even close to that kind of perfection-- but I’d be ruining another chance at freedom all over again! And all because you think that I might have caught a cold? I’m fine! This is fine! I’ve been through worse! I’m just a little…a-a…a little snehh…” He quickly pressed the well-soaked cloth to his nose, trying in vain to hold some control over his next fit.

“Hit’shew! ‘Chiew! Hep’shiew! H’tsh! Heh’TSHIEWW! HA’SHHHIEW! HA’PSHHHIEWW!” He cradled his forehead with a palm, blinking stars from his eyes. “A…a little sneezy. Ugh, ‘scuse mbe.”

All too suddenly his chin was lifted, and his vision cleared to meet a piercing gaze. “Lucifer. Darling. Love of my life. Do you know where I’d be if I wasn’t down here with you?”

“N…ndo?” He muttered nervously.

“With Adam.” Her voice curdled like spoiled milk, “I would trade a thousand rings of Hell just to never see his face again. Taking care of you tonight wouldn’t be a curse. It would be a blessing. In fact, it would be a new opportunity at freedom for me. Now, I can finally repay the favor you gave to me so long ago.”

“Snf! I’m sorry, I– I don’t understand.”

Two strong arms lifted the demon king. “Then let me remind you of the day that we fell together.”

It took seconds too late for the fallen angel to realize what was happening, and Lucifer’s lovesick blush blended with his illness. Before he could even open his mouth to protest he was set gently on the bed, and his wife immediately went to work.

“First,” Well-manicured claws slowly unbuttoned his vest, “Since I was unable to move, you helped me get into something more comfortable until I could dress myself again.”

“I-I did, didn’t I?” A tense smile began to unfurl, and Lucifer allowed his other half to prop him against the headboard, slipping off his boots like he were made of gold and porcelain.

“After that, when I was feeling less restricted, you checked me for any injuries or illness.” A cool forehead bumped softly against something damp and burning, not bothering to worry about smudging freshly applied foundation. “And while I didn’t have a fever, you certainly do now.”

“I–” Lucifer paused, feeling delicate hands intertwine with his own. Slowly he retracted his forked tongue, tasting the bitter words in his mouth. “--I, um. I have to admit, I feel just a smidge under the weather.”

“Well would you look at that! No longer a saint, but you still cast miracles.”

“I do my best.” The fallen angel croaked out a weak chuckle, tired eyes lighting up when Lilith stopped to kiss his knuckles, lips briefly brushing over a golden wedding ring.

“Oh, what was next? Let’s see.” She got up, pacing around the room, “You bandaged my open wounds and wouldn’t let me begin my work as queen until I was off my feet.”

“I still have some mighty big scars from all the kicks you bucked me with.” Lucifer huffed.

His better half looked unashamedly proud, crossing her arms until they locked tight around her chest. “And as I said before, I will do what you have done to me. I’m sure it’ll do you well to give your more inventive powers a rest–” the fallen creator groaned miserably, “--while a servant fetches us some medicine and tea to wash it down with. As well as–”

“Hhhih!” Lucifer’s nose twitched, and he couldn’t help the frustrated sigh that mingled with unsteady breaths. Both handkerchiefs soiled, the demon flicked his wrist and summoned a third, “Oh for the love of– this i-ihhh…is getting rihh-ridiculuh…huhhh..hhh’tsh! Hut’Sshhhieww! Ha’TSHIEW! HET’CH’HHHIEW!”

“--a few tissue boxes. Bless you.”

“...I’b sorry for all the trouble. Snff!” A hacking cough broke through the apology.

“Trouble? Lucifer dear, it’s no trouble at all.” She consoled, sitting by his bedside. “You said it yourself. It’s just a cold. And you seem to forget that, when your caretaking was near its end, you refused to leave me until I truly needed space. You said that if I would permit you to stay, all I needed to do is ask. Well? Would you like me to stay?”

Painted nails fidgeted with the hem of a long cocktail dress and, despite everything that’s happened, Lilith offered a silent prayer to whatever higher power would listen.

Lucifer took a deep breath, “Th-then– um. If you wouldn’t mind lending a hand?”

“I’d be delighted to.” His other half hummed, kissing the red dimples on his cheeks, “You really do have no idea how much you were worth falling for.”

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#lu/ci/fer #li/li/th

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suddencolds · 29 days

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Atypical Occurrence [1/?]

Happy birthday to my dear friend, @caughtintherain!! I wanted to give you some Vincent suffering to chew on for the occasion, so please take this fic (or, first part of a fic) as a gift <3

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I’ve written for these two! chronologically, this fic takes place a month or so after the last installment leaves off :)

Summary: Vincent shows up late to a meeting. It just goes downhill from there. (ft. fake dating, the flu, a house visit)

—

Vincent is late.

Yves tries not to stare at the empty seat across from him. The meeting—their first meeting of the day—started five minutes ago. If there’s anything Yves knows, it’s that Vincent always comes in early.

In stumbles Cara, handling a morning coffee with probably more espresso shots than anyone should have at 8am. Then Laurent, briefcase in one hand, paging through a folder of files in his other. Then Angelie, Isaac, Garrett, Ray, Sienna. Then they get started, and Yves turns his attention towards the graphs projected onscreen at the front of the room, and tries very hard not to think about Vincent.

It’s five minutes later that the door swings open, near-silent.

Sienna—who’s presenting—stops, for a moment, to look back at Vincent from where he’s standing in the doorway, which means that of course, everyone looks.

Cara turns around in her seat, raising an eyebrow. Angelie frowns at him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Vincent says, quietly. “It won’t happen again.”

Isaac shrugs. Angelie looks a little concerned, but she turns back to her work, anyways. Sienna resumes her presentation. All in all, it’s nothing—or it should be nothing. Probably traffic, on the way here; a particularly unlucky commute. An unlikely occurrence, but—to anyone else—not anything worth dwelling over.

It might be a sufficient explanation, if Yves didn’t know better.

Vincent takes care to close the door quietly behind him, then heads over to the only open seat, across from Yves. He unzips his briefcase, quietly, unobtrusively, and takes out his laptop. Yves tries to focus on what Sienna is saying—she’s giving a review of a client’s current investment strategies; he’d reviewed her work on this just a couple days ago.

Vincent asks good questions throughout—he always has a good sense of what areas still lack clarity, Yves has found. Today is no exception. He takes part in the meeting with such calculated precision that Yves almost misses it.

Almost misses: the slight stiffness to his shoulders, as if it’s taking more than the usual amount of effort to keep himself upright. The way in which he clears his throat before speaking, like it might actually hurt. The way he rests his head on one hand, halfway into the meeting—as if even now, barely forty minutes into the workday, he’s already exhausted.

It’s subtle enough to go unnoticed, subtle enough that Yves wonders if he’s just reading too much into it—if, perhaps, Vincent is fine, after all.

—

He doesn’t see Vincent again until lunch.

Or, more accurately, he doesn’t see Vincent again until he’s headed down for lunch with Cara and Laurent. Vincent is already on his way out of the cafeteria, a takeout container in hand.

“You’re not going to eat here?” Yves asks.

Vincent doesn’t look at him. “I have some work to get done at my desk,” he says. He clears his throat again, like it’s irritating him.

“Okay,” Yves says. Vincent turns to leave, and Yves thinks of a hundred ways in which he could possibly prolong this conversation, and then decides against it. Vincent is already so busy.

“You look tired,” he settles on, instead.

He expects Vincent to dismiss this, to reassure him that it isn’t true. But Vincent looks up at him at last, blinking, as if he’s surprised that Yves noticed at all. His eyes are a little dark-rimmed underneath his glasses.

He doesn’t deny it, which is as much of a confirmation as Yves needs.

“The sooner I can get this work done, the sooner I can go home,” he says. Yves supposes he can’t argue with that.

“I guess I’ll see you around, then,” Yves says, even though he wants to say more, even though he feels like there’s more that he should be saying. “Don’t work too hard.”

Vincent nods, at this, and resumes walking.

—

Yves is probably overthinking it. There isn’t anything concrete, really, to justify his concern.

Vincent’s lateness to the meeting could just as easily be the consequence of an alarm he’d forgotten to set, his exhaustion just as easily a side effect—of recent late nights in the office, of arbitrary changes to the projects he’s on, of last-minute demands from clients.

The next time he sees Vincent is at the end of the work day. Yves always takes the elevators on the north end of the building—they’re ones that lead directly out into the parking garage. When he gets out to the hallway, Vincent is already standing there, waiting for the elevator.

Yves watches Vincent stiffen, slightly. Watches him raise one hand up to his face to shudder into it with a harsh, “HHihH’iKKTSh-hUH!”

A thin tremor runs through the line of his shoulders, as if he’s too cold, even though the office air conditioning is no colder than usual. His hand, cupped to his face, remains there for a moment more before he lowers it.

He sniffles, then, rummaging through his pocket for—something. When he doesn’t find it, he just frowns a little, sniffling again.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

“Yves,” Vincent says, his shoulders stiffening a little. He clears his throat, turning around so that he can address Yves properly.

It’s only a few seconds later that he’s turning sharply away, tenting both hands over his nose and mouth for—

“Hh-! hHiH—HIHh’DZSSschh-uhh! snf-!”

“Bless you again.”

Vincent sighs. “Don’t bother.” He really looks exhausted, Yves realizes. During their brief interaction at lunch, he’d already sensed as much, but the harsh white glare of the bright corporate lighting only makes it more evident.

Vincent looks a little paler than usual, if only slightly, and there’s a slight flush that spreads itself over his cheekbones. He looks—well, nearly as put together as always, distilled only by the slight crookedness of his tie, as if it’s been on too tight; the near-invisible sheen of sweat over his forehead. The slight redness to the bridge of his nose, the slight shiver to his hand as he reaches up to adjust his collar.

Yves frowns, taking this all in. “You look kind of…”

“Terrible?” Vincent finishes for him.

Yves winces. “...Well, terrible is a strong word. I was going to say, you look like you could use some sleep.”

“I’m… feeling a little off,” Vincent says, staring straight ahead, as if it’s not an admission at all. But Yves suspects, from the way he avoids eye contact, that perhaps it was something he was intending on keeping private. “You should keep your distance.”

The elevator dings. The sliding doors part, and he steps inside.

“First floor?” Yves asks, hesitating next to the panel of buttons.

“Yes,” Vincent says. Then, quietly: “Thanks.”

“You know, now that busy season is over, the world is not going to end if you take a sick day,” Yves tells him. “Even if you do like, twice the amount of work as everyone else on the team, if you needed to call out, I’m sure something could be arranged.”

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly. “I must look pretty bad if you’re saying this to me.”

“Yes, I was lying,” Yves says. “Clearly, you look terrible.”

It isn’t true at all—even here, even like this, Vincent doesn’t look terrible, not even in the least. But Vincent still smiles, at this—a tired smile.

The elevator doors slide open.

“Text me if you need anything,” Yves says, impulsively. “Seriously. Tissues, soup, medicine—whatever. It’s not far of a drive.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Vincent says. “I will see you tomorrow.” And then he steps out of the elevator, and Yves is left with an inexplicable sinking feeling in his stomach. As far as he knows, it has no place there. Obviously, Vincent can take care of himself. Obviously, Vincent can handle a cold. Yves has nothing to be concerned about.

—

The next day is rainy—a constant, torrential downpour, which makes his commute to work take almost twice as long as it usually does. It wouldn’t be spring here, Yves supposes, without dreary weather like this.

Back in uni, when he rowed crew, they’d practice out for hours out in the rain. Now that he spends the majority of his day inside, he supposes he can’t complain. The shelter of the office building is a reprieve.

Vincent doesn’t show up.

“I think he’s out sick,” Cara says, when Yves asks. “You know, it’s funny. I don’t think I’ve actually seen him take a sick day before.”

“For how hard he works, he definitely deserves one,” Garrett says.

“He seemed fine yesterday, when I saw him,” Cara says, with a shrug. “Probably came on quickly.” Yves nods.

But that isn’t quite right, is it? Vincent hadn’t seemed fine, had he? Yves thinks back to the things he’d noticed—Vincent, uncharacteristically exhausted during the meeting, though it was clear he’d been just as engaged as usual. Vincent, shivering in the elevator, telling Yves to keep his distance. How poorly had he been feeling already, yesterday? How poorly does he have to be feeling today to have called off of work for it?

He finds some time just before lunch to text.

Y: how are you holding up? Y: yesterday’s offer stands if you need me to bring you anything!

He doesn’t get a response from Vincent, which is a little concerning. He checks his phone halfway through lunch, and then twice more, in between his afternoon meetings, just in case he’s missed a notification.

“Are you expecting a text from someone?” Cara says, looking a little curious.

“Just a friend,” Yves says, which is and isn’t true.

To make a point—to Cara, and possibly to himself—he shuts his phone off. He very pointedly does not look at it again for the remainder of the hour.

It’s not until mid-afternoon that he finally gets a response.

V: Sorry to get back to you so late.

Yves sits upright, fumbling with his phone to get it unlocked. The text bubble pops up again, somewhat intermittently, to show that Vincent is typing.

V: If it’s not too much trouble, there’s a blue folder on my desk labeled 2-A.

Yves blinks at this, a little disbelieving.

Y: you’re asking me to bring you work files? Y: arent you supposed to be resting 🤨 Y: paid sick leave, remember? as in, leave your work at work??

V: I meant to pack them yesterday.

Y: that’s like a genie grants you 3 wishes and you ask for an extra day of assignments Y: terrible waste of a wish if you ask me

V: As a genie, you’re quite judgmental

Y: ok ok Y: as your loyal lamp dweller i’ll be over around 8pm with folder 2-A Y: you need anything else?

V: Nothing else V: You can just leave them outside my door

A beat. Then Vincent sends:

V: Sorry to trouble you

Yves thinks of twenty responses he wants to send to that text. Then, thinking better of himself, he shuts his phone off and gets back to work.

—

It’s a little past seven when he finally checks out of the office.

Outside, the rain hasn’t even begun to let up—it falls, straight and heavy, in large, globular droplets. The streets gleam with water. Yves leaves his umbrella in the trunk, tunes out everything but the static of the rainfall, and drives.

Yves has only ever been to Vincent’s apartment once—to pick him up for the New Years’ party Margot hosted—and even then, Vincent had met him at the door. But he recognizes the unit, nonetheless.

For a moment, he considers leaving the folder of files outside of Vincent’s door and taking his leave.

But it’s windy, and he’s afraid the papers might fly away, torn up by the biting wind, and get lost face down in a puddle somewhere, which would defeat the purpose of him coming here in the first place, and would probably also breach some employee confidentiality policy. So instead, he knocks.

It’s silent for a moment. Rain beats down on the slanted rooftops, a constant thrum.

Yves is about to reach out to knock again, when the door swings open.

There stands Vincent, in a pale blue hoodie and loose-fitting pajama pants, with neat rectangular cuffs.

He looks tired. It’s the first thing Yves registers—the unusual fatigue to his expression, which he can’t quite seem to blink away; the flush high on his cheekbones. The way he holds himself, his shoulders stiff, carefully, defensively; as if despite his exhaustion, there’s a part of him which wishes to appear presentable still.

It’s only a moment later that he’s taking a halting step back, ducking into a hoodie sleeve. Yves catches the shiver of his expression, his eyebrows pulling together, before it crumples, and his head jerks forward with a harsh—

“hHihh’GKkTT—! Hh-!! iHH-’DZZSCHh-uuUh!”

The second sneeze sounds louder and harsher than usual, even muffled into the fabric of his sleeve. It betrays his congestion all at once.

“Bless you,” Yves says.

Vincent emerges, sniffling a little. When he speaks, he sounds a little hoarser than he did yesterday. “I thought I said you - snf-! - could leave them on the front step.”

“You did,” Yves says, glancing down at the folder in his hands. “But it’s windy, and it’s raining. I figured you’d prefer to have your files intact. How are you feeling?”

Vincent blinks at him. He’s leaning heavily against the doorframe, Yves realizes, one hand gripped tightly around the frame, his knuckles white from the pressure, as if it would take him too much effort to stay upright otherwise.

“Alright,” he answers. “Thanks for making the trip here. I… it must’ve taken longer, in the rain.” He squeezes his eyes shut, as if his head hurts, as if the light coming from outside is exacerbating his headache. “If you ever need me to pick something up for you, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Yves says. Despite himself, he reaches up to press his hand against Vincent’s forehead.

The heat under his fingertips is alarming, to say the least. Yves blinks, lowering his hand, and tries to keep the worry out of his voice. “Have you taken your temperature?”

Vincent shakes his head. “I don’t think I have a thermometer.”

“Have you eaten, then?”

Vincent averts his glance, looking sheepish. “I… was planning to stop for groceries, yesterday,” he says. Planning to.

Yves thinks back to the elevator ride yesterday. Vincent had probably already been feeling very unwell, then. And yet, he’d talked with Yves as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I’m feeling a little off, he’d said, as if anything about his current affliction could possibly be characterized as “little.” I will see you tomorrow—as if he had really, genuinely been intending on showing up at work.

“So I take it that there’s nothing in the fridge, either,” Yves says.

“If it’s any consolation, you’ll be pleased to know that I slept,” Vincent says, in lieu of answering.

Then he shivers—the sort of concerning, full-body shiver that is a little concerning, coming from someone who is usually unaffected by the cold—and Yves is immediately reminded that the door they’re speaking through is open.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“You probably shouldn’t,” Vincent says, before his expression scrunches up, and he’s ducking away with a— “hh—! hHih-II—TSSCHHh-UH! snf-!”, smothered hurriedly into the palm of his hand. He sniffles, emerging with a slight wince. “This came on pretty quickly. It might be the flu.”

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I got my flu shot in the winter. And anyways, I’ll be careful.”

Vincent is quiet, for a moment. Then, frowning, he says, “I’d feel terrible if you caught this.”

That’s the least of Yves’s worries—he doubts he’s going to catch this. Even if he does, it will just mean a few days off of work. Not the end of the world, by any means. Nothing to warrant the expression on Vincent’s face—Vincent looks upset, as if he’ll really can’t think of anything worse than Yves catching this. Like even the thought of it is worth being upset over.

Yves shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, seriously.” He pushes past Vincent to step inside and shuts the door behind him. “Here, I’ll set these down on your desk. Where is it?”

“Down the hallway, to the left,” Vincent says.

Yves takes the folder, leaves his shoes at the door, and heads inside.

Vincent’s bedroom is small and organized—it’s the kind of bedroom that’s tastefully minimal, in the sort of unified manner that implies that everything in it has been carefully arranged. There’s a small white desk in the corner, a stack of files arranged neatly next to Vincent’s laptop, its lid halfway to shut. There’s a bookshelf, leaned up against the wall far; the bottom shelf looks to be filled with textbooks; the top shelf lined with books, both in Korean and in English. The walls are painted slate gray, the carpets lining the floorboards picked out to match, and there are pale blue curtains hanging from the windows, pulled tightly shut.

There are signs here, too, of his illness, but they are subtle. A tissue box, nestled between his pillow and the headboard, half empty. A waste bin at the foot of the bed, conveniently in reach. A small bottle of aspirin on the bedside counter; an empty packet of cough drops sitting at the edge of his nightstand.

Yves sets the folder at the end of Vincent’s desk, next to the rest of his files, and turns to face him.

“You’re not going to work on these until you’re feeling better, right?” he asks.

“Only if I can’t sleep,” Vincent says, which Yves supposes is a satisfactory answer. Then he twists away, his eyebrows furrowing, lifting a loosely clenched fist to his face to cough, and cough.

The cough is harsh and grating—his entire frame shudders with the force of it, his breaths shallow and raspy. He really sounds awful. This must have come on quickly, Yves thinks.

If it’s upsetting, seeing Vincent like this, it’s even worse to be standing here, in his room, doing nothing. So—if only to make himself useful, if only to convince himself that there’s something he can do—Yves ducks out into the kitchen.

The pantry is meticulously organized—glasses lined up in neat rows; stacks of bowls sorted by size. He fills a glass with water, shuts the cabinets, and takes it back to the bedroom.

By the time he gets back, Vincent is sitting at the edge of his bed. His glasses are folded neatly, left at the very edge of the countertop.

“Here,” Yves says, crossing the room, holding out the glass for him to take.

“Thanks,” Vincent says, taking it gingerly from him. He takes a small, tentative sip, and then another—his hands are a little shaky, Yves notices. “You - snf-! - should really go.”

“I’m not entirely convinced you’ll be fine on your own,” Yves says.

“Of course I will be,” Vincent says, with all of his usual certainty. He lays down, pulling the covers over his body. “I have been fine on my own for years.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, Yves supposes. But he doesn’t feel reassured in the least.

“Thank you again for bringing me the files,” Vincent says, at last, shutting his eyes.

“You could’ve asked me to get you groceries,” Yves says. “There’s a supermarket not far from here, right? And you’re out of cough drops.” He takes a few steps over, towards the desk in the corner of the room. “These—” He examines the bottle of ibuprofen on the table. “—are expired.”

“Just because you’ve extended this kindness to me,” Vincent tells him, “doesn’t mean I should take advantage of it.”

Yves blinks, a little taken aback. “It’s only groceries. I wouldn’t have minded, really.”

“See,” Vincent says, with a note of—something in his voice. It sounds a bit like resignation. “That’s just the kind of person you are.”

Yves doesn’t know what to say, to that.

Before he can think up a fitting response, Vincent’s breathing evens out. Yves lets himself listen to the shallow, steady cadence of it. Lets himself acknowledge the heavy, painful feeling in his chest for just a moment. Then he shuts the lights off and heads back out into the hallway.

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i wanted to end somewhere more conclusive but i was falling asleep at my keyboard trying to end this so #please take this for now 🙏#my fic #it is very late rn so i am scheduling this for the middle of my work day tomorrow... now i need to run to sleep T.T #i will finish off the latter half of the house visit in the not too distant future!#yvverse #ps caughtintherain if you are reading this ily and i am so grateful to you for letting me consult you abt these two 😭😭 and i hope it's #okay for me to post this as a gift jafkhjfslk ANYWAYS pls read this at your leisure and happy birthday again!!!

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zensations35 · 28 days

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Bottoms Up (Haz/bin Wav)

This one's been in the works for a while, and I had a good reason to finish it today. A dash of angry adrenaline, a bag of saline, and a good cause-- enjoy the entire hotel gang having a silly, sneezy drinking 'contest'.

*see bottom for transcript!!*

NOTE!! If you enjoy this, and you'd like to contribute to me, you can 'tip' me by donating to @vahnibee via THIS LINK. (see her most recent post for info-- I'll be reblogging it later, but seriously. Anything helps)

TRANSCRIPT AS FOLLOWS:

Angel: So, Val made this hot new drink and it gets ya super fucked, like you wont even believe!

Husk: *laughs* Yeah sure

Angel: I’m serious! Even tight pants would be trippin over his fucking antlers

Alastor: ٨ـ

Vaggie: Honestly I could use something strong after today

Angel: Ohohoh?? Tiny Tits wants to get wasted? What are we, in End Days?

Vaggie: Are you gonna deliver, or is this all talk like the time you told us you could eat five jumbo pickles at once without using your mouth?

Angel: Easy toots, there’s a catch. Moth boy…he’s a little weird. This drink…it make’s you sneeze. Sooo…

Sir Pentious: *cackles* Give it here, spider! I shall be the only one immune to this toxin! For I am a snake. An snakes do not sneeze!

Vaggie: Oh ho this'll be good.

Sir Pentious: *sneezes viciously and embarrassingly twice* Ohh dear…

Angel: Toldja so! What about you, tight pants? You in?

Alastor: Hmmm, no. I think you will all regret having me participate. But it certainly is sadistically intriguing to ẇ̸̹͙͓̪̇͠a̶̖͚̙̽̆t̴̩͖̦̀c̶͉̥͗̉ͅh̵̺̞̊.

Angel: oooookay …fuckin weirdo. *looks at Husk* You’re being awful quiet over there, whiskers. Are you gonna drink, or what?

Husk: Ehh, I uhh. *embarrassed mumbling*

Angel: What? Afraid of a little--

Charlie: *sneezing* Oh! Okay! *sneezes* Wow! It really *sneezes* Does!! *sneezes again* Vaggie! You should try holding back.

Vaggie: *slams drink* Whoo! Ok I got this.

Charlie: You got this!

Vaggie: I am strong!

Charlie: You are strong!

Vaggie: I am queen of -- *instant violent sneeze* Goddammit

Charlie: Aww babe, it’s ok, you’re still my queen

Sir Pentious: Wait, I thought you were the princess, my dear?

Charlie: What?

Angel: Well, fuzzbutt, you gonna drink or what?

Husk: Um, I…I uh--

Angel: Come on! Are you losing your alcoholic card over this?

Husk: I’m not I just--

Alastor: Oh do tell them, Husker. It’s so very amusing.

All: What?? Tell us!

Husk: Rgh, it’s not a big fuckin deal just…

Angel: Oh my gawd I will literally suck fifteen dicks at the same time if someone will just tell me what the big fucken secret is (and I totally can) *clicks cheek*

Husk: *growls* Fine. I’ll drink If…the Radio Demon drinks too.

Alastor: Hmm~ fine, but I did warn you.

All chanting: Go go go!

Husk: *drinks* *kitteny stifles*

*All laughing*

Angel: Oh my fuck Husk your sneeze! I can’t decide if it’s cute or hilarious! Or kinky~

Sir Pentious: I am no longer feeling self conscious about my sneeze!

Husk: Alright alright! You got your chuckles. It’s Radiohead’s turn. Wait…

Angel: Wait, where did he go?

Vaggie: The booze is gone! Where…

Charlie: Alastor?!

٨ـﮩﮩ٨

*drink pours*

Alastor: Mmm, it is quite good. *sip* *sneeze*

*hotel powers down*

All: What the fuck! Come on!

Alastor: *laughs*

Fade out

#whew i did it #i wondered if i'd get around to this #i crawled out of my hole and did it #TAKE THAT DEPRESSION #will i crawl back into my hole after this?#probably #but this was a fun silly time #pentious was really fun tbh #how many times i had to do his laugh was ridiculous #i should make a blooper reel because i finally got his snz down and the noises i made were just so funny #snz #snz wav #haz/bin #snz audio #zen audio #snz fic #hazbin snz #snz fet #snz kink

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prohistamine · 4 months

Text

M Allergies, 1.6k words

I'm back with another fic gang. This time featuring two high society exes reuniting at a fancy gala. In proper prohistamine fashion this one features allergies, a character with the fetish, and fun power dynamics.

Be warned! somewhat explicit sexual content and general unforgivable horniness

“Lovely of you to come, truly I’m so glad to see you both.” Lorna shook the minister's hand in hers, firmly and warmly. A handshake practiced a thousand times over. “Ms. Windsor arrived a few minutes ago I believe, I’m sure she’d be delighted to catch up on your party's substantial victories in the recent election.”

As he turned away Lorna selected a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and took a healthy sip. She’d need it to get through the rest of the night. She turned towards the door, ready to resume her assessment of each new guest as they arrived, but when she saw the man who’d just walked through the doors her stomach dropped. His dark hair was shorter than the last time she'd seen him, falling in waves around his face. He looked smug as ever, and when he caught her eye he started walking her way.

“Colin,” she murmured through gritted teeth, “I didn’t think you’d be caught dead here.”

Colin grinned thinly. “Ah well, you would assume I’d choose to be petty, you always thought the worst of me.”

She scoffed. “That is a charitable way to describe two years of you repeatedly lowering my expectations.”

“Now Lorna, can’t we put the past behind us? What is it we always said, not to let pleasure interfere with our business?”

“Stirring up unnecessary rumors will interfere with business. Don’t you think it’s a bit soon for us to be speaking in public? The dust has barely settled, people will talk.”

“‘Oh the worst fate!” he said in mocking horror, “to be the victim of gossip! Do you think we’ll make it out alive?”

“Oh of course, because you're so above petty politics. I’m the one who’s obsessed with gossip and you just let it roll off your back.”

“Do you think you could say that again for me? Maybe I can get it on tape.” He smiled and rubbed at his nose absentmindedly.

“You know what? I’m glad you came. I really missed that familiar little headache you gave me. It's this sort of… gentle throbbing at the base of my skull? I’m just not the same without it.”

“I knew you missed me. I missed the exercise I got from our conversations, we should really make a habit of it.” He rubbed his nose again, with more intention, and was she imagining it, or was the motion accompanied by the faint sound of wetness?

“Are you just here to flaunt your ability to get yourself out of bed?” Lorna asked, “ Because if so, point proven. This is kind of an important night for me.”

“Ah well, I’m glad you recognize my presence as the achievement it is, but I do have something to-” he cut himself off with a sniff and a scrubbing at his nostrils, “something to discuss. I have to ahh- hehh-” Lorna recognized the face he was making immediately, the far away look in his eye, the crease between his eyebrows. His buildup was, as always, dramatically long before he snatched his handkerchief out of his pocket and sneezed into it twice “AaaSCHU! AaaeSTCHU!” As always, there was no attempt to stifle his violent outburst. He looked up at her blearily, “Ah, pardon me.”

There was a faint smirk in his tone. Lorna scowled. Of course this would happen, just what she needed when she was already struggling to maintain her composure.

“Bless you.” she managed to say, intent on keeping her voice even. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having a reaction.

“Thank you I- oh there's- Aaah- ahh- AhGHSHUU! AESHTEW! AEGHEEW! Huhh. There were more.”

Despite her frustration, the familiar heat was rising in Lorna’s stomach and traveling down between her legs. Composure be damned, she leaned forward and hissed into his ear.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

He chuckled. “Oh that would have been brilliant. I’m not that cruel, I'm afraid, or that creative. It must be the floral decorations. I’m desperately allergic, you see.”

Oh he was fucking loving this.

“People will stare you know. You’re embarrassing yourself.” She was looking for any way to take back power in the conversation, and she realized she’d been sloppy the moment she spoke.

“Embarrassing myself?” he asked smugly, “Oh you’d love that wouldn’t you.”

“I’m leaving.”

“C’mon now Lorna, I do have something important to discuss. How about we go out onto the balcony to talk. No worries about prying eyes, and the fresh air will be good for my nose.”

Lorna cast a glance at the large glass doors leading out to the south balcony. They had fabric drapes in front of them, placed intentionally for anyone desiring a conversation away from the eye of the press. Regardless of the privacy they’d have once they got there, people would be sure to notice the two of them leaving together. The smart decision would be to tell him she wasn’t interested in talking, but she desperately wanted a break from the crowd, and, pathetic as it made her feel, she wasn’t sure she could pass up the chance to continue watching him sneeze. It had been months since she’d had the pleasure, and she was beginning to feel like a woman starved.

“Fine.”

“Marvelous.” he said, words slightly muddled with congestion.

They made their way across the room, no doubt incurring the whispers of several guests.

Once they’d stepped outside and shut the doors behind them, Lorna turned to Colin only to see his face skewed in preparation for another sneeze.

“Hehh- Hhh- HhhSTCHU! HaAGHSHEW- I ha- hhh hhASHEW! I haahh- hadn’t realized it was …it was-” he held the handkerchief in front of his face expectantly as he struggled through the sentence, head tilted back as he gulped in air to fuel the fit, “ATZSHUU! ASHEWW! R-realized it was so… ahh- AschUUu! so cold out here.”

A sufficient chill had settled in the air since the sun had set, something Lorna hadn’t even considered. Colin was wearing nothing but a simple suit jacket, and he’d always been incredibly sensitive to changes in temperature. Just going outside in cold weather usually caused him a small fit, and the combination with his fall allergies was having quite the effect. He blew his nose into the folds of his handkerchief and then geared up for more.

“heeSGHEW! EESGHEW! HESHEWW!! Hehh- haaahh- ahh- ASHEW!” He was bending at the waist now with the force of them, and reached blindly to his left in search of the balcony railing, which he leaned on for support once he found it.

“Huhh-hhhh-hhoh god- heeehSHUUH! EESHEW! HEERGHSTEW! ESH-ESH-ESHU!!

The fit was punctuated by three violent little sneezes that tripped over each other to be released.

Since the moment he’d first sneezed, Lorna had felt like she was putty in Colin’s hand. His intimate knowledge of just what his allergies did to her gave him a maddening and tantalizing power over her. However, as he desperately wrenched forward with sneeze after sneeze, one hand shakily clasping a handkerchief to his face and the other doing its best to keep him upright, it was hard to see him as holding any kind of powerful position. For the first time that night she felt a twinge of pity for him. The feeling both frustrated her, and, of course, only served to further arouse her.

His fit finally subsided, and he slumped against the railing, gasping for breath.

“Sorry,” he managed, too exhausted to sound properly smug.

“Don’t be,” she couldn’t help but reply, her voice high pitched and obvious. She was so wet that she was worried it might actually start dripping down her legs. They both stood there for a moment in silence.

“So,” he started, still somewhat breathless, “about the election-”

“Colin-” she interrupted him, “I appreciate the effort to resume our professional relationship, but I don’t think I can listen to you talk about politics after that performance.” She knew she had admitted defeat, but in the face of his sniffling, shivering frame she found she no longer desired to one up him. What she really desired was to fuck him, to ease him open with her fingers and fill him up until he couldnt see. That or be fucked by him, bent over and begging for it as he held her by the hips with his big hands.

“I understand,” he said, “another time then. Perhaps then, before we go inside, I could talk to you about something expressly unprofessional.”

“Have at it Colin,” she said, trying not to sound like she was begging for it.

“There's something I’d like to show you. I warn you, it’s somewhat inappropriate.”

She felt her heart flutter in her chest, “I can handle that.”

He took a step toward her and then took her wrist. He guided her hand forward, lowering it beneath his waist and then pressing it between his legs where an erection was straining against the fabric of his dress pants. She moaned audibly at the surprise.

“Do you see what you’ve done to me?” he murmured into her ear, “this is what happens to me now, every time I sneeze. I can’t help it.”

“Colin,” her voice was strangled.

“How am I going to explain this to future lovers? You know how I get in the spring, I’ll be hard constantly. What will I say if they notice my cock twitch every time I sneeze? Every time they sneeze?”

Lorna’s clit was throbbing. Colin gave a liquid sniff, and she moaned again, body shuddering against his. Her hand closed slightly around his cock and he gasped sharply.

“My nose still itches terribly,” he murmured, accentuating the statement with another sniffle, “It would feel heavenly to rub it on something soft.”

“Please,” she begged him.

He leaned down slowly, placing a hand firmly on her hip, and dragged his nose across her shoulder, rubbing it in the nape of her neck. She trembled at the feeling of his soft nostrils, shifting as they rubbed against her, leaving her skin slightly wet.

“Fuck, that feels nice,” he said softly. She could do nothing but whimper in response.

She let it go on for a moment, their bodies intertwined, her hand on his cock and his nose buried against her. It took everything in her not to pull him into a kiss. Instead she stepped back, and wiped her shoulder with her hand.

“Thank you,” she said, wrangling her voice back to her well-practiced professionalism, “for that stimulating conversation on politics.” She took a moment to compose herself, taking a long deep breath and then continuing, “I have a gala to host, and you have one to attend. I think it best we continue this conversation later, after the guests have left. Perhaps in my personal chambers. You’d have to be discreet about staying behind of course, we wouldn’t want my guests to suspect we’re doing something illicit.”

Colin looked taken aback, and then broke into a wide grin, “Of course ma’am.”

She turned towards the door and then, before opening it, turned back towards him. “This does not mean I forgive you, " she said sternly.

Colin’s eyes sparkled. “Of course not.”

#snz kink #snz blog #snz #snzblr #sneezefucker #sneeze kink #snzfic #snz fic #my writing

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vllergy · 11 days

Text

painkillers

vesen request, 2.1 k, cold fic ty to @scatter-snz for this elite prompt i hope this is what u had in mind!!! jin-young is a cop (he has the kink because of who i am as a person) vesen is a big tall hot alien assassin aliens and humans are working together but it's still pretty new and things are awkward jin and vesen 100% fall in love with each other eventually that's basically all you need to know

It's Jin's first day being back after a record two days off. In his six years on the force, he can't remember the last time he took actual sick leave. To be fair, he doesn't get sick that often and when he does, he's aways been the type to grin and bear it. Part upbringing, part police conditioning. If you're not dead, you're fit to serve. Or at least that's the way it always has been. The Kheelen changed that. Human officers aren't spread thin these days due to the partnering initiative. So his cases that would have once fallen to the wayside in his absence now fall to his partner, Vesen. And he's expected to trust that his taciturn, ill-mannered Kheelen counterpart can handle that shit on his own when Jin is otherwise indisposed.

For the most part, Jin does. Vesen may be an ass, but he's a competent investigator. Unfortunately, he and Jin's methods when it comes to gathering information are still wildly disparate. Something he knew, but didn't truly understand the consequences of until now as he sits across their latest subject in the interrogation room.

In the two days Jin took to nurse the cold from hell, it seems Vesen has taken it upon himself to put the fear of God into this man.

The man is visibly sweating. His eyes are only focused on Jin, though every so often they twitch Vesen's direction only to snap back as if his very image is a chemical burn. His cuffed hands tremble on the steel surface of the table and he picks at his cuticles the longer they sit there. Jin doesn't blame him, necessarily. Vesen is, objectively, terrifying. Even just sitting like this you can tell he's the apex predator in the room. He's so much bigger than both Jin and the other man--he overpowers the chair and the room itself, looking comically oversized for the entire thing. Jin thinks all the Kheelen look a little silly in the human precinct, actually. Crunching themselves into tiny desks, massive hands cupping small coffee mugs, ducking under doorways--it'd be laughable if they weren't all sure the Kheelen would crush their skulls for even a giggle about it. Jin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Intimidating is usually an advantage in an interrogation, but whatever Vesen's done to this guy over the past two days has pushed it over the line. He's not just intimidated, he's shitting his pants. There's no way they're getting through to him now. And frankly? Jin is too tired to rectify the situation. He's still not feeling great. His head is fuzzy and dulled, his painkillers are wearing off, and part of him knows he should be back in bed. But he's legitimately worried Vesen will frighten this man to death if he leaves him alone with him for any longer, and that's a bad look for everyone. Sniffing softly, Jin blinks and tries another tactic. "We want to help you, Anish."

Vesen scoffs at this, and Jin just barely manages not to roll his eyes. "But you have to give us something to work with," he continues.

Anish shivers and shakes his head, "It doesn't matter! You know it doesn't! These bastards are taking over and they're just pretending to play nice until they don't have to anymore." Oh boy, here we go. Vesen's hackles rise, just as Jin expects. The alien leans forward, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Artificial light flickers over his lilac skin and makes his dark hair shine like ink. "You dare insinuiate my people are not here out of good faith?" he hisses, sharp canines flashing, "When you are accused of aiding in a terrorist attack against them?" Jin reaches out for his arm. Down, boy. His fingers drift over steel muscle beneath Vesen's uniform as he tries to tug him back into his seat. He's about to say something to try and reign him in when he realizes with sudden horror that he's about to sneeze instead. "Hhh?" He quickly turns away, angling himself away from the table and steepling his hands over his nose and mouth. His eyebrows crash together as an embarrassingly sharp breath snags in his lungs before-- "chhSH’iew!!"

And it's never just one. "CHshISHh’iu!"

Two is actually pretty good for him, especially with this fucking cold. He gives a tentative sniffle before raising his head and clearing his throat. The tickle abates for the moment, but he can feel it buzzing dully in the back of his sinuses, tickling in the corners of his eyes. Ordinarily, he wouldn't care. Sneezing in public isn't his favorite thing, given how he feels about the activity in general, but he's never been good at stifling so it's not something that can be avoided. But sneezing in front of Vesen is a new hell in and of itself. Without even looking, he can feel the intensity of his partner's gaze on him and it makes heat begin to crawl up his throat. Fucking hell. "Excuse me," he says with a soft sniff and clears his throat again.

At the very least, he's dispelled the tension. "Arguing about who started what or whose intentions are genuine isn't going to get us anywhere. So let's not even get into that," he says, sending Vesen a warning glance. Vesen, he suddenly notes, is staring directly at his nose. For some reason that revelation sets off a nuclear detonation in Jin's lower belly and all the blood in his body rushes south. Self-consciously, Jin rubs at his nostrils and tries to think about anything else. But that only aggravates the dormant tickle, and he has to press his tongue to the roof of his mouth to curb the impulse. "Fine," Vesen hisses, turning his eyes back to Anish, "Then let us stick to the facts." Anish gulps. Jin strokes a finger down the datapad in front of him, bringing up a few files. They could pin Anish with his money transfer trail. Or his text messages. He and Vesen haven't which way they were going to do this--they hardly ever agree anyway--but he shifts the pad closer to his partner so that he can look too. "The facts are, you are a coward, Anish," Vesen suddenly purrs, "And you will not survive a week in prison if I put you there." Jin could strangle him. He does roll his eyes this time and looks toward the ceiling, as if asking some higher power for the strength not to. "What my partner means is that you nee--" The bright lights overhead tease the last bit of the tickle out at the most inopportune time. The fuzzy, static feeling inside his head snaps like someone struck a bolt of lightning into the middle of his face. He whips to the side, his elbow in front of him and his hand braced on his opposite shoulder. "Hh--excuse meehh'IIsHH!"

He mists the inside of his elbow, shakes his head softly and then gears up for another. His breath stumbles, eyelashes fluttering. "Are you going to continue sneezing?" Vesen deadpans. "Hhhuh?" Jin blinks blearily, his cheeks going red as he tries--unsuccessfully--to pinch off the next one, "nnTTchSHH'iu!"

"Madrax. What is that inane human saying? Bless you, Jin-young."

Vesen stands as Jin pulls a crumpled tissue from his pocket and tends to his nose. In the next second, he feels his collar being tugged and himself yanked up from his chair. Feet stumbling under him, he struggles to get his balance for a moment until Vesen's large hand steadies him at the small of his back. Vesen's low voice simmers with what sounds distinctly like a threat, "We will return, Anish. Make yourself comfortable."

Then, before Jin knows what's happening, he's being guided out of the interrogation room and back into the hall. The door shuts and Vesen's hand retreats from his back. In a moment, the alien is towering before him, arms crossed over his broad chest and staring down imperiously at him. "Jin-young," he says disapprovingly. Jin blows his nose softly and retrieves another crumpled tissue. "Vesen."

"You are still ill." "I'm on the tail end of it."

"I do not wish to work with you when you are not well."

Jin scoffs, dabbing at his red nostrils, "I thought the Kheelen didn't get sick. I'm pretty sure you can't catch this."

"It is not my well-being I am concerned for."

Jin's eyebrows shoot skyward. Vesen, concerned for someone besides himself? No fucking way. He might have said as much if his nostrils didn't suddenly swell double. He crushes the tissue to his nose and mouth to muffle a tired sneeze.

"hdj'SHMMf!!"

"Bless you."

Jin blinked and gasped, "Hh'chhmpf!"

"Bless you."

Jin adjusts the tissue to try and find a dry spot, missing the next sneeze entirely and directing it to the floor. "You don't have to say it every ti-hiime--hhCH'ISSH'iu!"

"And why not? Bless you. You said it is something humans say when another sneezes. You are sneezing, are you not?"

Jin blushes darkly as he attends to his nose. Does Vesen have any idea what he was doing to him? Clearly not, or else he'd be raking him over the fucking coals for it. But somehow him being oblivious is making it so much worse. "Look who's suddenly so concerned over human-Kheelen relations," Jin gripes hoarsely, trying desperately to deflect. Anything to stop talking about him sneezing and Vesen blessing him. He'd rather be waterboarded. "You should go home, Jin-young." "And leave you to eat our sole witness alive? I don't think so." Vesen bristled, "You doubt my abilities."

"If we were torturing the guy? Not for a second. But we're trying to get him to talk to us, Ves." "Ah yes, and sneezing at him incessantly is doing the job just as well. Perhaps there is some merit to that," Vesen leans forward, grinning, "You look so unspeakably pathetic that he might take pity on you and finally tell us the truth."

Jin tosses his sodden tissues in the nearby wastebin and scrubs at his face.

"Fuck you," he groans, "Can we just go back and get this over with?"

"No, you are going home."

Vesen grabs his upper arm, his grip like a vice. Jin never really forgets how strong the Kheelen are, but every so often a brazen display hubles him completely. Vesen steers him effortlessly back down the hall without any hope of him struggling against him. "Wait, Vesen, c'mon--" He struggles anyway, just on principle. But a moment later he yanks on his grip unintentionally as he wrenches away from him with another ill-timed sneeze. "Hh'CHISSihuh!" He nearly bends double on that one and Vesen abruptly pulls him to a stop. The alien holds fast to his arm as if he can sense that Jin is going to lose his balance if he's not tethered to anything. "hah'hhCHHishh! iSSCchuh!" His ears begin to ring. Distantly, he's aware of Vesen's other hand bracing against his shoulder. That second point of contact sets his blood on fire. Before he can think too hard about that, another sneeze tickles the inside of his sinuses and he attempts to smother it with his free hand, "PpshhiSHHch!"

"Bless you," Vesen sighs as Jin straightens back up wearily, "Are you finished?"

"Yes," Jin lies and then shakes his head rapidly, turning away and pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, "NnghsSHH'iu!"

Vesen taps his shoulder. It almost feels...sympathetic?

"Go home, Jin-young. I will wait until you are well again to interrogate our witness."

Jin sniffles and glances up with watering eyes. "W-wait, really?" It's an unexpected gesture of charity from Vesen who has been historically uncharitable all the time he's known him. He narrows his glassy eyes, skeptical. Or at least, he tries to look skeptical despite the fact that his heart is in his throat because Vesen is still holding onto him and just watched him sneeze his head off with rapt, disgustingly erotic attention. "What's the catch?" "There is no catch. Just go before I lose my patience," Vesen said.

Jin knows better than to argue with that. Vesen is someone who loses his patience extraordinarily quickly, and it's never pretty. If he's giving him an out, Jin might as well take it.

Sniffling, Jin nods and gives him a tiny salute, "Thanks, Ves."

Vesen finally lets go of him. He grunts in response, gives him one last unreadable glance, and then turns on his heel. Before Jin can say anything else, his impossibly tall figure disappears back down the hall towards the interrogation room.

Jin isn't totally sure, but he thinks Vesen might not be such a bad guy after all.

That, and he's suddenly unreasonably horny.

#vesjin fic #vesjin #snz fic #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!#i write so slow and had to wait for the inspo to HIT yk #my idiots #please enjoy jin being an absolute disaster because vesen is witnessing him doing the 1 thing he would rather die than have him see #vesen is a big softie ok #snz kink #snz #snzfucker #my ocs

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oh-no-my-hand-slipped · 1 month

Text

An Adventurer’s Cold

****************************

An original fic commissioned anonymously

********************************

Subject: Original Characters By Author

Length: 3,998 Words

Genre: Denial, RPG, Contagion, Stuck Sneeze

Rating: E for Everyone

CW/TW: Slight Food Description, Mild Blood

*********************************

You have entered MARLINE’S MAGIC SHOP.

“Snf…welcobe back, traveler.”

Marline took a worn handkerchief out of her front apron pocket, blowing her nose mightily. She sniffled, leaning against the old oak counter she stood behind.

“Whad can I interest you in today?”

Terra, only half listening, looked at the many mystical items lining the shelves. Dragon’s heart, succubus horns, even a small jar filled with pixie wings for one silver piece each. Not a bad price, considering how hard pixies were to catch.

However, she didn’t have time for browsing today.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a bronze kobold fang, would ya?” she asked, looking through a green eyepiece at the tired shopkeeper.

Marline smiled. “You took thad request for the rabid fairies, I take it?”

“Yep! They’re some nasty critters, but we’ve got a potion that should stun ‘em -”

“Hah-! hhhhp’TSHIEW!”

Marline bent over the counter, her long red hair spilling over her face. She groaned, taking her handkerchief out again. Terra lowered the eyepiece.

“Good health, Mar. Though it sounds like it’s a little late for that.”

Marline blew her nose with a loud honk. “I was bushroom hunting during a rainy spell ereyesterday - snf! I believe I bay have lived to regret it.”

“I’ll say,” Terra said, frowning. “Have any faeleaf? It doesn’t taste great, but it’ll set you right again.”

“Not this week, I’b afraid. I wasn’d the only one who fell ill after the storm. I would harvest sobe byself, bud I…hih! hhh’PTCHIIEW!”

“Hey, no worries!”

Terra reached into her traveling bag and pulled out a small, bitter-smelling burlap pouch.

“I always keep some with me for emergencies.”

Marline shook her head. “You busn’t – hih’PSHIEW!”

Terra set the bag on the counter.

“Listen, if anybody has an emergency, it’s what you’ve got. Besides, I haven’t caught a cold since I was a kid! I don’t think I’m going to start getting one now.”

Marline gave a knowing smile, but took the herbs with no more opposition.

“Stday in good health, kind traveler,” was all she said before stuffing her handkerchief back into her apron pocket.

“I will!” Terra replied, not noticing Marline’s expression. “The spirit of adventure will keep me warm! And a little mead, if I can get it.”

Terra chuckled, and turned on her heel to leave.

“Ah! Your kobold fang!” Marline called after her.

Terra spun around again, putting her hand on her forehead.

“If my bow wasn’t on my back, I’d forget that too,” she said, reaching for her belt. “Let me just get my coin purse, and I’ll -”

Marline shook her head. “No, no, dear traveler, please. Your kindness has been paybent edough.”

She reached into her apron, pulling out a sharp, yellow tooth with a purple tint at the crown. She held it out to the adventurer.

“Don’t mention it,” Terra said, accepting the tooth.

Suddenly, Marline’s handkerchief was retrieved again, and she sneezed into it yet again, sniffling with a quiet groan. Terra suddenly realized that the tooth must have been next to the shopkeeper’s many handkerchiefs throughout the day. That would explain its uncharacteristic shine.

She shrugged, putting the tooth into her satchel. She’d touched worse bodily fluids.

KOBOLD TOOTH is now in your inventory.

“Get some rest, Marline!” Terra called behind her as she left.

“I shall,” Marline said wearily. “Fare thee we-heh! hhhh’PCHIEW!”

**************************************

You have entered the DARK FOREST.

“I believe this is the place, if my master’s geography is correct,” Vin said, peering at a dusty, yellowed scroll. “Though the topography may have changed since he made it.”

“Eh, how much can a bunch of rocks move?” Terra said. She squinted above her, checking the branches of the surrounding trees for glittering wings or beady eyes between the leaves.

Vin adjusted their glasses with a mechanism on the side of the hinge. “Quite a bit, actually. Earthquakes, battles, magical events, even the migration of animals can-”

ENERGY has decreased. You are now FATIGUED.

Terra yawned, rubbing her suddenly burning eyes. Vin scowled.

“You can at least pretend to be interested.”

Terra started. “Huh?”

“We have been walkin’ for a while,” Norif said, hoping to placate the scholar. “We ought to set up camp – it’s gettin’ dark anyway.”

Vin hmphed, but didn’t have any objection.

Suddenly, Terra noticed that there weren't as many sounds of footsteps as there were before. Her worn brogues, Norif’s dwarvish leather boots, Vin’s cork soles…

Terra turned around.

Frederick had completely stopped, and was looking up at the sky, which had just begun to show the pinpricks of summer stars. His wide, moonish eyes stared, unmoving. Then, with a slow motion, he lifted a thin arm and pointed a finger to the trees, his other hand moving inside his cloak. Terra instinctively rubbed her hands together, preparing her magic.

The others soon followed suit, grabbing their own weapons and standing at the ready.

Their preparedness paid off, as, before the party knew it, a swarm of angry fairies descended upon them, snarling and screeching.

Norif swung his ax at the creatures, taking large clouds of them with a single blow. Vin, with a scraping of iron, loaded their crossbow, the many cogs and mechanisms firing the arrows directly into each fairy heart. A thin rope attached to every arrow jerked them back into place with a satisfying clack. The practical Frederick fired his revolver quickly and without mercy, leaving every target a blood splatter on the dark soil.

But even with these efforts, the fairies quickly overtook them. Frothing mouths and gnashing teeth soon surrounded the adventurers.

They had expected this – after all, fairies could only be kept at bay with magic, as was their birthright. They all looked to Terra, their resident mage.

Taking this as her cue, Terra retrieved the kobold tooth from her belt, crushing the hollow bone in her palm until it was a thin powder.

A simple wind spell would spread the tooth, subduing the fairies until Terra could harness lightning to defeat them for good – electricity was the only natural element they had no control over.

Terra took a deep breath, and a howling gust of wind blew through the forest as she puffed out the ground tooth. A white cloud swirled around her. The rest of the party kept their distance, both out of reach from the spell and the rabid fairies. The cloud overcame the swarm, and, as they smelled the scent of their natural enemy, went limp and hovered in the air.

Exactly as planned.

Terra stretched her fingers, feeling the warm pulse of magic flow through her hands. To the knuckles, to the joints, then to the tips it went.

But, before she could cast the final spell, her breath caught.

The KOBOLD POWDER is tickling your throat.

Terra tried to will herself to focus on the spell, but it was no use. The powder was making her eyes water and her throat dry. She hacked out a cough, still holding her hands in front of her to cast. The spell buzzed uselessly from her fingertips.

No matter how much she wheezed and croaked, Terra couldn’t keep upright long enough to cast her spell. The cloud was starting to settle, and one of the bigger fairies shook itself from its haze, baring its fangs. It dived into a thin part of the cloud towards Terra.

“Watch out!” Norif called, but it was no use. Terra could hardly hear herself think, much less anyone else over her hacking.

Terra looked up just in time to see the fairy rear back an arm and sink its claws into her cheek. She yelped, stumbling back. A tree root caught her heel, and she tumbled to the ground. She lifted herself onto her elbows to the fairy growling a low growl, preparing another, deadlier attack. Green venom dripped from its fangs, and its yellow eyes dilated. Terra held her hands in front of her, trying in vain to ward off the creature.

“N-Nice fairy…snf…”

Unbeknownst to the mage, the tickle in her throat had slowly traveled to her sinuses. Her freckled nose began to twitch.

You need to SNEEZE.

“Deh-Don’t…hih-!”

A small group of black clouds gathered above them, and Terra’s hands began to crackle. Thunder crashed. The fairy started, looking up with wide eyes and a whimper. Terra squeezed one watering eye shut.

“A-Almost…gih-!”

The clouds grew thicker, the thunder louder. The tree branches trembled in the wind. The other fairies, still hovering, looked up at the rumbling sky. Terra hitched, curling her fingers.

“HAH-!”

KSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSH!

You used CALL OF LIGHTNING.

Lightning flashed, hitting every single fairy with a bolt of white hot magic. They fell to the ground, singed and lifeless. Barely contained, bolts began hitting nearby trees, giving them black, round burn marks with red centers. If the rest of the party hadn’t gotten out of range of Terra’s magic, they would have surely been struck as well.

It was VERY EFFECTIVE.

Once the spell had run out of targets, it ended, and the dust cleared. All that was left in the now barren clearing was Terra, stunned and still holding her hands in front of her. A light drizzle began to fall.

There was a long pause as the party stood still in front of the clearing, afraid to join the fairies littering the ground.

“Cogs and corkscrews,” Vin murmured, their usually narrowed eyes wide.

Norif gingerly stepped into the singed circle, keeping the blade of his ax above him just in case.

“Y’alright?” he said, taking a torn rag from his breast pocket.

Terra blinked, and a nervous smile shook on her lips.

“I, uh…the spell kind of got away from me, huh?”

“I’d say so,” Vin said, earning him a glare from Norif, who had begun dressing the wound on Terra’s cheek.

“At least the job’s done,” he soothed. “No one in their right head would want fairies caught alive.”

Terra nodded. “Yeah. That’s right. Just - koff! - give me a sec and I’ll -”

ENERGY has decreased. You are now EXHAUSTED.

Terra fell back against the tree trunk, wincing. Norif rubbed her shoulder.

“We’ll make sure the fairies don’ seep back into the soil. You did your part. We’ll do ours.”

Hardly in a position to argue, Terra leaned her head against the tree trunk, closing her burning eyes.

Before she knew it, a pair of strong arms lifted her up from the ground. All she heard before she dozed off was Vin complaining that their glasses would get rusted in the rain, and there wasn’t a blacksmith for miles, and was it really necessary to do a lightning spell of all things…

*****************************************

You have entered GWALT’S INN.

“A c-couple rooms, if ya would.”

The innkeeper peered over at the counter at the adventurers. Terra was standing, as she had insisted on entering the inn on her own two feet. However, she had a hand on Frederick’s shoulder for support.

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow. “On whose account?”

Terra looked around. Instead of drunken workmen or soldiers recounting battle, the fine oaken tables were filled with nobles politely chatting over honey mead or aged wine. A few of them had turned to stare at the soaked, mud-covered party in varying degrees of confusion and disdain.

This wasn’t an adventurer’s inn, but a place for those of higher standing to feel a clean ruggedness, a false sense of bravery as they “conversed with the locals.”

This wasn’t a place for them.

However, before they could return to the stormy darkness, Frederick held up a hand and reached inside his cloak. He retrieved a thin card, one side silver and the other gold. A few words that Terra didn’t recognize were engraved into the metal. Frederick laid the card on the counter, pushing it towards the innkeeper with the tip of his finger.

To Terra’s surprise, the innkeeper began to sputter, his waxy face turning red.

“Of course, sirs! Madams! His majesty’s brave battalion!”

The nobles began to whisper among themselves, their disgust turning quickly to awe and reverence.

“I am terribly sorry, no, outraged that you had to travel in such dreadful weather!” the innkeeper stammered, showing them up the stairs with a low bow. “I will have your clothes washed immediately, and perfumed of course! And whatever of our selection of humble morsels you may like, if thou wishes.”

Terra raised her eyebrows, looking at Frederick. He only nodded solemnly.

It wasn’t long before the mage was in a pair of silk bedclothes, laying in a large bed with frilled sheets and a thick quilt.

However, she wasn’t sleeping.

“Ih-! Hih…!”

You need to SNEEZE.

She sniffled, then, with a sigh, blew her nose. Mounds of tissues surrounded her, all provided by the inn staff, of course. However, no matter how much she snuffled and sniffled and rubbed her nostrils with the palm of her hand, she couldn’t bring herself to sneeze – though the need grew ever more powerful.

Unable to doze for more than a few minutes, she tried to plan the next few days' journey with Vin and Norif, but to no avail.

“If we - snf! - take the high road,” she wavered, keeping a tissue at her nose, “w-we can…meh-!...make good time.”

Norif rubbed the end of his beard. “I don’ think we’ll be leavin’ this inn for a while. On account’ve…”

He cleared his throat.

“...the weather, a’course.”

“The rain’s never stopped us before,” Terra said. “A-And we won’t - snf! - have to stop for washing! We’ll just let the rain…c-clean - HI’HIH-!”

“Would you be quiet?” Vin hissed, not looking up from the map. “I can hardly concentrate.”

Norif slit his eyes at the halfling. Terra growled in frustration.

“You made me lose it again!”

She reached for another tissue, but, finding there to be none left, she buried her nose into the neck of her shirt.

“Disgusting,” Vin said, recoiling and putting the map in front of their eyes.

Terra ignored them. “Maybe some of the kobold tooth got into my nose…I’ve neheeded to sneeze since we bagged the fairies.”

She sniffled.

“Or maybe it’s a curse? But what curse makes you n-need to sneeze?”

Before Norif could answer, the door opened, and Frederick came in, arms full with packs of tissues from the innkeeper. He moved carefully around the bed, handing one of the packs to Terra. She ripped them open with one hand – as the other was more than occupied – and put almost half of them to her streaming nose.

“Thangk you,” she said with a blow.

Norif moved the quilt up to Terra’s shoulders, gently pushing her head onto the mountain of silk pillows.

“Well, until this, er, curse passes, it would be best to lay yourself down for a bit. Maybe Vin could find a cure for ya. Yea, Vin?”

Vin raised their eyebrow at the pointed request, but said nothing to refuse.

“I’ll be fine,” Terra said, propping herself up on her elbows. “And we’re - snf! - leaving tomorrow, rain or shine…!”

She yawned, settling back down again.

“Curse…or no curse.”

******************************

The innkeeper had insisted on breakfast before the party left. An array of meat, pastries, fresh fruit, wine, and mead were brought before them – a king’s feast.

But Terra could hardly touch it.

Having been kept up almost all night by her burning sinuses and aching head, she could only lean against the back of the wooden chair, shivering as the chilly morning air drafted through. Her coat was made to be warm, even in the most frigid northern wind, but it seemed like the cold was leeching into her very bones.

She was only awoken when Norif put a hand on her forehead. The warmth of his rough palm felt her head, then either side of her neck. She heard him whisper something to the others, but the only thing she could hear was her pounding temples.

“Mmn…is it tibe to leave?” she murmured, trying to push her chair back from the table. Her sore joints were too weak, and the chair’s back legs clacked back onto the floor.

“Ah! Not just yet,” Norif saud, an odd tone of urgency in his voice. “We need’ta…er, Vin’s gonna go to a library nearby. T’cure your curse. There’s really no use ‘n you goin’, it’s all dusty books and scrolls.”

“Don’d have tibe,” Terra croaked. “Back to the guild.”

Norif gave Vin a pleading look, and the scholar fumbled with their knapsack, taking out a few tattered papers and maps.

“Eh, w-well, we are a few days ahead of schedule. We needn’t be back for at least another week, and it only takes three days to - ”

Terra was already up from the table, ignoring Vin. Without much choice, everyone else followed suit. After yesterday’s battle, they were afraid of what might happen if they tried to force her back to bed.

The weather had much improved since the day before. Though it was still a bit gray, the sun peeked out between the clouds, sending rays of light through the raindrops still left on the leaves.

Despite her weakness, Terra took the front as usual, plodding alongside Norif. Shivers ran up and down her spine as a cold wind left from the storm began to blow.

As the group walked near the edge of the woods, the clouds grew darker, and the sun disappeared again. Terra put a thumb on the underside of her nose.

You need to SNEEZE.

Terra sniffled and rolled her eyes. As if on cue, her nostrils began to tremble, and a burning tickle flared in her swollen sinuses. But, this time, the urge grew so great that it made the mage stop in her tracks.

“Hih…? HIH-!”

Attempt to STIFLE? > YES NO

She put her hands over her nose. A slow tingling made its way from her nose to the rest of her body. Soon, the air around her crackled with blue sparks of magic.

“Terra?” Norif said, reaching towards her before thinking better of it.

Terra tried to answer, but it was taking everything in her to keep the magic contained. Thunder rumbled in the clouds as she squeezed one watery eye shut.

“I-I’m…guh-! HUH-!”

She desperately waved to her friends to stand back – she knew that this sneeze was coming, one way or another. The party wasted no time, running behind the treeline with whatever they could carry above their heads to protect them.

“HihihHIH-!”

Terra leaned her head back, the magic coming to a peak inside her. The air was suddenly silent – a calm before the storm. Until –

“HIYA’TSHIIIIIIIEW!”

A circle of lightning flashed around her, and thunder rumbled loud enough to shake the earth. Smoking burn marks smoked around her.

But, before the rest of the party could join her again –

“HYESH’IIIIIEW!”

Again and again Terra sneezed, with each sneeze bringing another ring of lightning and another round of thunder. All of her lost sneezes from the night before seemed to finally come to fruition, and she couldn’t stop for some time.

Finally, though, Terra did stop. She lifted her head, dazed and with singed hair, and sniffled thickly.

SNEEZE COMBO x15!

Snottiness Rank B! Power Rank A+!

Bless you, TERRA!

One by one, her comrades came to join her – Norif first, of course, then Frederick, then, after some convincing, Vin.

The thunder had subsided, but a heavy rain had begun to fall. Terra started to shiver again, her trembling breath visible in blue puffs of steam.

“Ya poor thing…” Norif said, taking off his own fur-lined cloak and tying it around her shoulders. “You really oughta’ve stayed in bed.”

Terra rubbed her nose on the back of her damp sleeve. “Bud…th-the guild…we need…koff!”

She began coughing into her arm, and Norif fastened his cloak tighter around her.

“Ya need do no such thing,” he said firmly, though not unkindly. “You’re sick as a gnome in the rainy season. And almost half as wet –”

“And the sooner you put aside that hero complex of yours,” Vin interrupted, “the sooner we can get inside the inn, out of this weather! I’m already soaking, and we certainly don’t need two people ill in this party!”

They crossed their arms, and lifted their chin.

“Furthermore,” they added, “we wouldn’t want you catching pneumonia. That’s quite a bit harder to treat than that disgusting cold. And I will be significantly more furious with you if I catch it.”

Frederick took off his combat gloves, then put them over Terra’s red-tipped hands. He looked over his glasses and gave her one of his rare smiles. Putting his palms on either side of Terra’s hands, Frederick rubbed them together, trying to warm them.

“Ya feelin’ better, Terra?” Norif asked.

Terra sniffled. “C-Cold…”

“Well, no wonder!” Vin said, scoffing. “Heat is mostly lost through the head. If she had some sort of covering, then, perhaps…she could…”

Vin stopped. Everyone was staring at them. Or, rather, their scholar’s beret.

“I mean…or, rather…” they spluttered, then threw their hands up. “Oh, fine! But it had better be returned to me in the exact condition I lent it. It’s irreplaceable, you know.”

They took off their hat, stiffly handing it to Frederick, as if through ceremony rather than a favor.

“Your sacrifice will be remembered through th’ ages!” Norif said, chuckling.

Vin glared at him. “My patience has already been tested enough. Do not test it further.”

“Aye, aye.”

Terra could feel a slow warmness spread through her, and her eyes suddenly felt heavy as iron.

“Alright, up ya go. Let’s get ya out of the cold.”

Terra was heaved up again, and, surrounded by the warmth of her friends, drifted into a dreamless, sneezeless sleep.

FRIENDSHIP LEVEL +1!

********************************

You have entered MARLINE’S MAGIC SHOP!

“Welcome back, traveler! Might I interest you in our wares?”

Marline smiled at the returning Terra, who replied by blowing her nose into a pink tissue.

“How’s it going, Mar?” Terra said, sniffling as she looked at the glimmering displays.

Marline’s smile faded. “Are you not well, traveler?”

“I’m weller than I have been. Just a liddle sniffly now. Snf!”

Marline put a hand to her mouth.

“Oh, Terra…it must have been my chill that you caught. And I left you without any faeleaf!”

Terra rubbed the back of her neck. “About that. You wouldn’t happen to have any more of that left in stock, would you?”

“Ah, yes, a fresh bunch! Why-”

Suddenly, a large, dwarvish sneeze came from outside the shop, followed by a chorus of harsh coughs. Marline put her lips together underneath her hand, keeping back a giggle.

“Oh, dear.”

“Yeah,” Terra said sheepishly. “I’ll take three pouches.”

She furrowed her brow, counting on her fingers.

“And a few-”

Another sneeze rang out, this time small and high-pitched.

“Okay, a lot of tissues. We’re gonna need ‘em. Maybe some tea? I guess? That’s what Vin gave me when I was sick, anyway.”

Marline winked. “I know just the thing.”

She disappeared behind the shelves for a few moments, coming back with many packs of tissues, two pouches of strong-smelling tea leaves, a few pouches of faeleaves, and a thick blanket.

“May your party be blessed with a quick recovery,” Marline said.

Terra started to reach for her coin pouch, but Marline stopped her.

“I gave you and the others my cold. I’m going to cure it as best I can.”

Terra opened her mouth to argue, but closed it again. She began to put the items in her bag.

“You’ll have nothing to sell at this rate, Marline,” she said.

Marline tilted her head. “Well, I can always deal in colds.”

Yet another sneeze came from the doorway, raspy and shuddering.

“It appears I’m quite good at it, I’m afraid.”

“I am too, if being an adventurer doesn’t pan out,” Terra said, turning to leave. “See you later, Marline!”

“Goodbye, dear traveler! And good health!”

Marline chuckled as Terra joined the others.

“Though it appears it’s a little late for that.”

60 notes · View notes

chestcongestion · 2 months

Text

Demon-to-Demon Ch.1/5 : Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion, some mess

Word count: 3,763

I have no self control and wanted to smack a bunch of my favorite characters with the sick stick at once, so here's chapter 1 of my self-indulgent large-scale contagion fic, enjoy!

@onetrickponi Since I promised I'd tag when it was finished ^^

Alastor knew good and well that the day’s meeting would be trouble when he heard the audible strain in Ms. Carmine’s voice when she pointedly cleared her throat to get the other overlords’ attention.

There was a grating, almost painful-sounding quality to it that made Alastor’s ears twitch, it reminded him of the hoarse undertones one would normally hear from a seasoned smoker.

The group of chattering overlords fell silent, turning their gaze toward Carmilla and awaiting the start of the meeting.

“I just-” Carmilla paused, shutting her eyes and clearing her throat a second time, “-just wanted to apologize in advance for my voice. I’ve been fighting a sore throat since yesterday.”

“You’re losing,” Velvette laughed from the opposite end of the table, rotating in her office chair and scrolling through her phone, her smug smile showing off her pearly white fangs, fangs made brighter when contrasted against her shimmering black lipstick.

“I am aware, but thank you for that keen, mature observation, Velvette,” Carmilla spat back, swallowing and trying not to wince before blowing a tendril of her hair out of her face.

“You’re very welcome,” Velvette replied, twirling a strand of her hair around her index finger.

Alastor flashed Rosie a knowing look with lowered eyelids, before redirecting his attention to Carmilla.

“We are meeting today to discuss the recent ‘smog’ problem, there appears to be a red mist lingering in the air in the Doomsday district, and it is approaching the district borders,” Carmilla announced, “Zillia?”

“Uhm… nobody seems bothered by it, to be honest, but I can’t figure out where the hell it came from, it just appeared, and it isn’t goin’ away either,” Zillia explained, “Nobody’s complained about having trouble breathin’... or seein’ really, it’s just kinda weird.”

“So there’s just a blanket of red mist hangin’ in the air, but it isn’t causing any trouble?” Rosie inquired, raising an eyebrow, “Nothin’ at all?”

“Nope! It even smells nice,” Zillia replied, resting her head in her palm.

“It does, I was visiting the district the other day and its fragrance is oddly pleasant…like freshly-picked flowers,” Carmilla said with a wistful sigh, wincing through another dry swallow only to smile when Odette handed her a glass of water, which she eagerly finished in three gulps.

“So we’re here to talk about a non-problem?” Velvette asked, not even bothering to look up from her phone.

“ ‘Twould be a wise decision for thou to refrain from such idle chatter whilst the adults are speaking,” Zestial hissed from his seat, staring at Velvette with unblinking eyes.

Velvette complied, returning Zestial’s jab with a raised middle finger and a well-researched bite to the thumb.

Zestial held back a gasp, “Insolent girl,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Dusty fuckhead,”

“Senseless wretch…”

“Spindly geezer,”

“Overgrown infant!”

“Senile shitstain!”

Zestial and Velvette’s escalating squabble quickly died down, both turning to glance at Carmilla, who had two of her large fingers pinching the theoretical bridge of her nose, an area that had quickly flushed an irritated pink. She sniffled twice, before holding both hands over her mouth in a futile attempt to silence a hoarse, rough-sounding cough.

A minute passed, and Carmilla fought every bone in her body to keep from flushing with embarrassment.

“Carmilla?” Zestial inquired, only to receive an anxious glance in return.

Velvette snickered, sliding a travel-sized package of tissues across the table and leaning back in her chair, “Have at it, old bird, sounds like you need one.”

“Th-thank you,” Carmilla replied, her consonants sounding noticeably muffled as she picked a tissue from the package and held it up to her face, noisily blowing her “nose” until she had to pause to take a deep breath, “Excuse me…”

Alastor’s ear twitched, and he nervously drummed his fingertips against the table, shooting Rosie another knowing look, practically blinking at her in morse code.

“What’s eatin’ you?” Rosie whispered, “Quit battin’ your eyelashes at me and spill.”

“We should leave,” Alastor whispered back through clenched teeth.

“Why?” Rosie inquired, only to be interrupted by Carmilla loudly blowing her nose a second time, soaking another tissue and closing with a loud honk, which made Rosie giggle.

“Unless you want that to be you, I suggest we make our exit,” Alastor whispered, his eyes looking desperate and frightful in spite of his wide grin.

“Oh hush, don’t be so dramatic,” Rosie argued, playfully tugging at one of Alastor’s ears.

“Uch… Clara, what else were we supposed to discuss? I’ve lost my train of thought,” Carmilla asked, the center of her face and the underside of her eyes looking pinkish-red and puffy from the irritation.

“There’s nothing else on the agenda, Mom,” Clara said in a hushed voice, showing her mother the empty clipboard.

“Oh for the love of-” Carmilla groaned, massaging her temples with her large fingers, “This is…ih… i-ih…”

Alastor’s stomach dropped, he knew that sound, that sound may as well be the click of a pin being yanked from a grenade, the beeping of a volatile time bomb, the-

“Ih’ktshhhiew! Ih’tshhew! Ih’ktschiew! IH’KSHHHUH!”

A dense cloud of infectious droplets sprayed into the open air through a wide gap in Carmilla’s fingers, stretching across the entire table, if not the room.

Alastor’s mind flashed with images of ailing neighbors and frazzled doctors, of boarded-up storefronts and oxygen-starved soldiers lying on tarps in the grass. It was a rough two years… a rough three, frankly.

“Alastor, snap out of it,” Rosie whispered, gently tapping on the back of Alastor’s head.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied, trying and failing to tune out Carmilla’s sniffling in the background as he thought about scrubbing himself down with lye and dunking himself in a tub of boiling water.

“Ih’tschhhiew! Hnk’tchew!... My apologies, I just- Ih’ktschhiew!- I didn’t think this would happen,” Carmilla said, her voice hoarse and exhausted as she wiped the watery underside of her eyes with her thumb.

“Gesundheit! Don’t sweat it, sweetie, but I think you should get some rest,” Rosie said, managing a knowing smile at Carmilla, who weakly smiled back.

“I think so too… meeting adjourned- Hi-iih…HIH’TSCHHIEW!- ‘Scuse me…” Carmilla announced, loudly blowing her nose as she turned to exit the room with her daughters.

Alastor hurriedly gestured at the door, begging Rosie to follow him, not wanting to breathe in the poisoned air of the meeting room for a second longer.

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming, calm down,” Rosie chuckled, grabbing hold of her umbrella and following Alastor outside, “Goodness, a few sneezes and you turn into a maniac!”

“Apologies, when you spend a year working as a volunteer ambulance driver in 1919, you learn not to be quite so relaxed when there’s germ-riddled moisture all over your face,” Alastor rambled, feeling a chill run up his spine at the damp fur on his ears, “E u ch!”

Rosie rolled her eyes, “Go home and wash your ears, silly, I’m sure you’ll be fine,” she said with a nonchalant grin, twirling her umbrella in her hand as she headed back to Cannibal Town.

Alastor sighed, vanishing into his shadow and resigning himself to heading back home. He needed to take a bath in some turpentine and light his clothes on fire, knock back a few bottles of rubbing alcohol, anything to keep whatever Carmilla sprayed across the meeting room out of his body.

Hours later, Husk jumped out of his skin when his “keeper” appeared out of his own shadowy mist in front of the bar, grumbling to himself with an iron grip on his microphone.

“You’re just too fuckin’ good to walk anywhere, huh? Poofin’ out of the shadows is just too easy… whadda you want?” Husk asked, cleaning a beer mug while he awaited Alastor’s response.

“I need a shot of whatever you use to clean off the counter,”

Husk blinked.

“I’m sorry… what? Not that you can’t handle your liquor… but I don’t think I’d trust you with anything’ harder than a couple whiskey neats,”

“Hand me the bottle,” Alastor muttered through clenched teeth, twisting the safety nozzle of the spray bottle of disinfectant that Husk kept behind the bar. He spritzed both of his eyes before liberally spraying the back of his throat, knocking back the residue with a harsh swallow before sliding the spray bottle back in Husk’s direction.

“... The hell is wrong with you?” Husk asked.

“Absolutely nothing, nothing I’d concern myself with telling you, anyways,” Alastor replied with narrowed eyelids.

“Well then… suppose I’ll have to keep lemon disinfectant around for the next time you’re feelin’ adventurous,”

Husk’s little comment and the laughter that followed irritated Alastor, and the radio demon considered beaning the cat in the back of the head with his microphone, only to be wrenched out of his thoughts by a sudden itch in his sinuses, forcing him to raise the back of his hand under his nose.

‘Come on Alastor, you’re better than this, fight it, fight it, fight it-’

“Hnk! Hnk’tshh! Hhk’tshh!”

Husk’s ear twitched, and his face stretched into a knowing smile as he zeroed his focus on Alastor’s nose, “You know-”

“Shush,”

“I don’t think I’ve ever-”

“Quiet.”

“Ever-”

“Husk,” Alastor hissed, preparing his arm to reach for Husk’s throat, only to be stopped in his tracks by his itchy nose, “H-hihh…Huhh…h-huh..”

“Heard you sneeze,” Husk whispered, knowing that he’d caught Alastor off guard, “Until now, anyways.”

“Hu’hktschoo! Huh’ptshhhoo! Hnk’TSCHOO!... Huh….HUH’PTSchhiEWWW!”

Husk grinned as he watched Alastor blearily pat around on his person for a pristine red handkerchief that was tucked into his front pocket, pulling it out and pinching it around his nostrils before letting out a dense, gurgling blow.

“I take it that is what the disinfectant was supposed to prevent,” Husk laughed, “Whatever it is you managed to catch, it sounds nasty…shit.”

“I could kill you with my bare hands,” Alastor hissed, pantomiming the act of strangling Husk, only to be caught unawares by another itch, “HNK’TSsschHIEWW! Hnk’Tschhiiew!”

“I’m aware, but maybe put it off a few days, I’d rather not have snot on my corpse’s face,” Husk teased.

“You are a mbiserable drunkard, and I hate you- Snff!- I really do,” Alastor replied, blowing his nose a second time and struggling not to scowl at how damp his handkerchief was beginning to feel underneath his fingers. “Right back atcha,” Husk said, poking Alastor’s nose with a sly grin, watching his boss’s nose twitch helplessly. “Nghh…Gh-hhuh…H-Huhh- HNK’TSCHOO! H-uh’tzZZShhOO! Huh’ktSCHEW! H-huh’TSCHOO! Hnk’TschhhiEW!” Alastor sneezed, only able to hold his hands loosely in front of his face, paralyzed by the fit.

Husk winced, wiping off his face and wiping down the bar counter, “Fuckin’ hell, remind me to drink the rest of that disinfectant when I’m done cleanin’ this up, might be too late for you but I like breathin’ through my nose,” he grumbled.

“Snff-snff! Uch… I don’t think I’ve ever felt this… slimy or disorganized in mby entire life- Snfff!” Alastor said, blowing his nose again and trying not to think about how loose and wet it sounded, “I have no idea where all of it is even coming from.”

“Well, make yourself scarce, I’m not trying to find out,” Husk replied, pausing and turning to the front door of the hotel upon hearing it swing open, “Welcome back, Princess.”

“Hii, I’m so excited for some quality bonding time now that Cherri is staying with us! I haven’t been able to just relax and watch a movie in years,” Charlie said with a smile as Vaggie snuck behind her to head upstairs, “Is Angel back yet?”

“Nah, he’s still at work, but he said he’d try and make it here in time,” Husk stated, checking his phone to see if Angel had texted him anything new, “How’d the recruitment effort go?”

“Uhm, better! Some people seemed interested and actually kept the pamphlets I gave them, but a lot of people said they didn’t wanna touch my hand or get too close because they weren’t feeling well… which was surprisingly considerate for a huge group of sinners,” Charlie explained, rambling as she leaned against the back of the sofa in the parlor, “Half the people I spoke to either mentioned they thought they were sick or they looked sick… I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many sick people in one day.”

“Really?” Husk asked with a knowing smirk, “Somethin’ must be going around…”

“I guess so, yeah,” Charlie replied, “Alastor! How was the overlord meeting?”

“Oh it was alright- snff- a bit shorter than expected. Don’t think I came away with anything of note,” Alastor responded, holding his damp handkerchief behind his back and wrestling with the urge to rub his nose. It was so itchy.

“I can think of something… ” Husk muttered playfully, seemingly unbothered when Alastor whipped his head around to stare daggers at him.

“Has everyone thought about what movie they’re gonna suggest for movie night tonight?” Charlie asked, grinning and bouncing on her heels, “Because I have, and I’m so excited!”

“Ooo! I did! I did! I’m so excited, I haven’t been able to see it since I was alive!” Nifty exclaimed, dropping from the ceiling onto Alastor’s shoulders, clutching a feather duster. She was so preoccupied with thinking about which movie she’d picked, she didn’t notice her feather duster brushing against Alastor’s nose.

“HUH’PTSHOO! Huh’ptschiew! Hhn’ktshew! HHN’KTSHIIEW! Huh’PTSHHIEW!.... Oh mby goodness…snf-snf!...Ndiffty…” Alastor groaned, wetly blowing his nose and trying to avoid Charlie’s concerned gaze, “Don’t look at mbe like that.”

“Sorry- not looking, not looking,” Charlie replied sheepishly, averting her gaze from Alastor by staring at the carpet, “That just sounded… uhm… a teeny tiny bit-”

“Gross!” Vaggie called from upstairs, “The word she’s looking for is ‘gross’!”

Husk flopped onto his back behind the bar, struggling to contain his laughter.

“I was going to say ‘wet’... but I guess that works too,” Charlie said, shooting Alastor a nervous glance, “You feeling okay?”

Alastor narrows his eyelids, his grin still stretched across his face in spite of his angry eyebrows and puffy, miserable-looking eyelids to match his irritated and streaming nose, “Would you believe mbe if I said yes?” he asked knowingly.

“Not really, no, you sound awful,” Charlie admitted, quietly gesturing for Alastor to lean down, reaching out a hand and pressing her palm to the Radio Demon’s forehead when he reluctantly complied, “You feel warm, too. You probably just caught whatever’s going around, don’t worry!”

“I’ll try mby best not to,” Alastor replied, blowing his nose again and wincing at how wet the fabric was getting, “Snff-snff! Pardon me…”

Charlie looked at the sniffling overlord with concern, before getting back her typical kind smile, “You should take a hot shower and change into something more comfortable if you’re sick! By the time all of us get ready, Angel and Cherri will probably be back, and we can pick the movie for tonight!”

Alastor considered arguing, considered vanishing into a puff of shadowy smoke and reappearing in Cannibal Town to crash with Rosie, considered sprinting out the door and going into hiding… but he’d been found out, and all of the sneezing he’d been doing was definitely catching up to him, he was exhausted.

“Alright, I’ll be back down,” Alastor said with a nod, vanishing upstairs, but not before catching a sharp “Hnk-Tchoo!” with his handkerchief.

“I’m gonna go get ready, too,” Charlie said, turning to Husk, “You coming?”

“Nah, Angel just texted me on his break, I’m gonna ask him how the shoot’s going for a little while, I’ll catch up,” Husk replied, leaning against the bar counter and tapping slowly at his phone, shooting Angel a message and waiting patiently for a reply.

[Don’t forget about tonight… almost done filming?]

On the opposite side of Pentagram City, Angel stared at his phone, attempting to think of a response, only to peek over at his boss from the other side of the cameras.

Valentino was working through a plot hole that Travis left in the script- while lecturing Travis about it- and it was taking longer than expected. While they spoke, Valentino was also busy moisturizing and straightening Velvette’s hair to get her ready for an auction she was heading to that night.

Velvette typically had her assistants help with her hair, but she wandered downstairs to the porn studio because she had a headache and the vibrant lighting in her studio was making things worse.

Angel stared at the pair of overlords in silence while he tugged his underwear back on and tidied up his fluff with a hairbrush.

“Y’know what? Fuck it, nobody’s gonna notice the inconsistency anyways, if they’re watching porn for the plot, they’re doing it wrong,” Valentino conceded, rolling his eyes at Travis and taking a deep drag from his cigarette, smiling at the hit of nicotine before blowing out a large heart-shaped plume of smoke, his smile fading when he heard Velvette start to cough from her position in front of his legs, “Oh shit, sorry pequeñita, I forgot you hate the smell of these.”

Valentino took a second puff, blowing his next plume of smoke at the ceiling, only to stop upon hearing Velvette’s cough again: a persistent, hacking cough that forced Velvette to draw deep breaths in between bursts. Ashing his cigarette, Valentino used one of his hands to pat Velvette on the back.

“Fuck, Vel, you good?” Valentino asked, his attempts to help dislodge what he assumed was just something stuck in his colleague’s windpipe getting more intense.

“S-stop it,” Velvette wheezed, tucking her head into her knees and letting out a heavy barking cough that made her entire body vibrate, but seemed to alleviate the ticklish feeling in her throat, “Fuck…”

“That was a rough ass cough,” Valentino said, running his fingers through Velvette’s freshly-straightened locks and wincing at the searing heat he felt upon touching the side of her head, “-Shit, Vel, why didn’t you tell me I burned you?”

“You-” Velvette clenched her teeth to smother another coughing fit, “- you didn’t burn me…” she replied.

“You sure? It feels so hot right here, I just thought…wait a second…” Valentino paused, pulling off one of his gloves and pressing his bare palm against Velvette’s forehead, “Yeah… tienes fiebre, I think the auction is gonna have to wait for another time… how do you feel?”

“My head hurts, my throat hurts, I’m tired, and every time I breathe I feel like I need to cough,” Velvette complained, leaning back against Valentino’s legs, “This is horseshit…Hh’tshh! Hhn’tshh! Hnk’tshh!”

Valentino frowned, running his fingers through Velvette’s hair, “Okay people, that’s a wrap for tonight, see you tomorrow!” he announced, clapping to dismiss the film staff and the actors before gathering Velvette in his arms and turning on his heel to leave the studio, “Let’s get you something hot to drink and some comfy clothes, hm?”

“Put mbe down… Hnk’tshh!... I’b a grown woman,” Velvette hissed, pushing away from Valentino’s chest, only to lean against his shoulder after only a few seconds of protest, “Actually, nevermind…snff!... I’b too tired to walk. Fuck it.”

“Mmmhm, that’s why I picked you up,” Valentino teased as he walked, eventually vanishing down the hall and leaving Angel in the studio alone.

“Hell yes,” Angel cheered, hurrying to put on the rest of his clothes and texting Husk that he’d be home earlier than expected.

A couple of hours later, the group was gathered together on the sofa in the parlor, all cozied up in their pajamas.

Charlie and Vaggie reclined against one another, Angel stretched out across Husk’s lap, Niffty was seated in front of the sofa on the carpet, Cherri was sat in the armchair on the right side of the sofa, and Alastor was reclined in the armchair on the left.

“So, who gets to pick tonight’s movie?” Angel asked, petting Husk between his ears, listening to his partner’s satisfied purring.

“We drew straws, and Niffty won, so we’re watching…” Charlie began, turning to Niffty to wait for her selection.

“Singin’ in the Rain!” Niffty cheered, clapping her hands quietly, “It’s one of the last films I saw before I died!”

Charlie nodded, pressing play on the chunky CRT television in the parlor, and leaning against Vaggie as the film began to play.

Alastor blew his nose into his handkerchief, glaring at the wet fabric and conjuring himself a dry one out of thin air, moving to put it away before feeling a familiar building itch.

“Hnk’TSHH-iew! HNK’TShhiew! HNK’Tshh-iew! HNK’Zzzt!”

Charlie peeked over from her spot on the sofa, mouthing ‘Bless you’ at Alastor before returning her attention to the movie.

Alastor returned the gesture with a quiet nod, straining to avoid rolling his eyes at the idea of letting himself be so… vulnerable around these people. The Radio Demon silently thanked his lucky stars that Lucifer was on a brief whirlwind tour through the rest of Hell to get back in touch with the other sins, meaning that he wouldn’t be around to bear witness to Alastor’s embarrassing misery.

“HNK’Tshh! Hh’kzzhht! Hh’Kshoo!”

Alastor shivered, leaning back in his armchair and attempting to focus on the movie to take his mind off of the throbbing sensation in the back of his throat, or the incessant tickle in his sinuses. He couldn’t wrap his mind around why he suddenly felt so cold.

Lost in his thoughts, Alastor barely noticed it when something warm and soft was draped over his shoulders, and a bundle of warmth gathered in his lap. Upon regaining focus, Alastor noticed that someone had draped a blanket over him, leaving his arms free, and that KeeKee was curled up in his lap, purring softly.

Resigned to his fate, Alastor simply began stroking KeeKee’s back, the soft static in the background of the film and the cat’s blissful purring beginning to make him drowsy.

“Ooo! This is my favorite part! Alastor, look, this is the actor I said you looked like when we met!” Niffty whispered, eagerly tugging on Alastor’s pant leg to get his attention, only to be met with silence, “Alastor?”

Niffty looked up only to see Alastor relaxed and fast asleep, his back pressed against the armchair and his usual grin reduced to a soft, toothless smile. Congestion rumbled in his sinuses as he snored, his nose twitching every so often to fight the constant tickle threatening to disturb his slumber by making him sneeze.

“I’ll show him later,” Niffty whispered, hugging Alastor’s ankles and going back to watching the movie, “Maybe he’ll feel better tomorrow…”

#snz #snz fic #snz kink #illness kink #ha/zb/in ho/tel #gingey.rtf

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stormyweaver · 4 months

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Nobody asked for this, but it's my OC Elliott. Have fun!

----

"Hehh!!-- Ihh- ihh- IHHH-- HIIISSHHH'HUUEE!! Ohh… sdf!-- HH'JSSCHHUuee!!" Elliott sniffled - a thick, viscous sound reminiscent of sludge far too packed to flow through the pipe it currently resided in - and winced at the 'bless you's' which echoed through the garage. Taylor spoke up first, as always, with a blow to Elliott's already fragile ego. "Jesus, you plan on stopping any time soon? I only have so many fingers to keep count!" Though a part of Elliott, a large part, wanted to beam his co-worker with an allen wrench, he knew that the comment was at least partially warranted. Ever since arriving to work, Elliott had been sneezing on and off; and that wasn't even including the sneezing before he'd gotten to the auto shop. Pausing to cough into his elbow, the brunette decided to opt for non-violence - and instead threw up a not-so-friendly gesture towards his fellow mechanic. "Maybe if you actually focused on working instead of counting my sneezes, you'd leave on time for once," With another forceful, snorting intake of air, Elliott laid back down on the bench beneath his back. It felt cold and rough beneath his aching muscles, the skin shivering every so often, sticky with sweat. He was genuinely surprised he hadn't soaked through the entirety of his shirt already. Despite his malaise and slight dizziness, he continued working on the car's suspension. A few minutes in, he blinked blearily, before a panicked, albeit hazy expression settled onto his face. No no, not again, he was almost done! Rosy nostrils fluttered as his chest rose with a sharp inhale.

"Ehhh--!! EHH'JSSCHH'HIEW! HH'RRRSCHH'HIIEW!!Ohhh…"

The sneezed threatened to bolt him entirely upright, and he barely managed to restrain the strong expulsions from doing so. Still, his nose still got it's vengeance: glistening trails of mess clung to his upper lip, along with a heavy spray settling onto his face and shirt. Elliott swore under his breath, then went rigid as Taylor piped up again.

"Thirty-six!" Fucking hell. He'd probably beat his record at this point, and it was only... 11:30am. Today was gonna be long.

#greywrites;#oc: elliott;#mess #snz #snz fic #sick fic #sick drabble #snz drabble #this was genuinely so fun to write i missed writing so much #snz kink #snzblr

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hockeynoses · 19 days

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Something inspired me, and I wanted an "I Told You So" situation, so I wrote this. It's only a teeny bit D/s, with a sweet ending.

“Aww, sweetheart, you look miserable,” says A.

“SNF. I amb,” B responds, their words thick with congestion.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling poorly. But you know, this could have been prevented.”

A miserable, viscous sneeze is B’s only response. It fills the tissue that’s held desperately to their face, a constant presence under their red, streaming nose.

“Like I said, if you had only…” A looks at B expectantly, prompting them to finish the sentence.

“If I had… ha… ha’ERRSSHH’IUE!” B groans miserably into their mangled tissue. “If I’d have godden bmy flu shot.”

“Yep. Then you wouldn’t be…”

“Ha’IIGHHH’SHUU! Ugh. Sigg.”

“With?”

“The… huh- the -heh’AAIIEEH’SHUH! With the flu,” B practically whines into the tissue.

“Correct.” A can’t control their smug, satisfied smile. “Now, are you going to listen to me next time?”

“Yes. ihh-KIIISSSHH’iew!”

“Good,” says A, their smile turning sunny.

“Can you brigg bme sobme tea now?”

“Of course, love.”

#snzblr #snz fic #snzfic #snznario #snz prompts #snzfics #snz fics #hn moaning and groaning tag

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glitterrosesnzz · 4 months

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unnecessary things

man this is SO LATE but i finished writing a b-day snz fic for W/anderer!!!

word count: 1k

“Hh-hH’Nxt!!”

Aether froze mid-step, looking over his shoulder at where the Wanderer was standing behind him, avoiding eye contact.

“...Was that a sneeze?” Aether asked, turning around fully to face him. The Wanderer tsked, tilting his hat down so that Aether couldn’t see his eyes.

“You must be hearing things… maybe you should go get your ears checked.” He said, “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m nothing more than a puppet. I don’t do such unnecessary things.”

“Oh, really?” Aether started walking towards the other, smirking a little when the Wanderer took an instinctive step back. “Then surely you wouldn’t mind if I tested a few things, would you?”

“And just what gives you the impression that I’m going to let you do that?”

“Because if you don’t, then I’ll know for sure that you were lying to me just now.”

“...Tch. Whatever.” The Wanderer slowly moved to sit down on the ground. “Have your fun. You’ll soon see that this is pointless.”

“We’ll see about that.” Aether kneeled down in front of him, rummaging around in his bag for something to make the other sneeze, but… hm. Now that he was thinking about it, what would make a puppet sneeze? The Wanderer was definitely capable of sneezing, Aether knew that what he had heard had not just been his mind playing tricks on him, but what had even set him off in the first place? Had it just been random?

“We don’t have all day you know.” The Wanderer said, tapping his finger on his knee impatiently, seemingly bored already. “Hurry up and get this over with.”

Huffing out a breath, Aether abandoned the useless contents of his bag, and decided to pick one of the longer pieces of grass surrounding the two of them. The Wanderer smirked.

“Seriously? A plant? Need I remind you that I was almost a god, a strand of grass isn’t going to affect me.”

“Oh, just shut up already.” A piece of grass wouldn’t have been Aether’s first pick either, but it was the best thing he had right now. Reaching out, he gently grabbed hold of the Wanderer’s chin, tilting the other’s head to have a slightly better angle. Surprisingly, the Wanderer didn’t protest this motion, instead remaining silent as Aether began to swish the piece of grass back and forth.

After a few minutes or so of no reaction, Aether let out a slightly frustrated noise, briefly pulling the grass away in order to lightly flick the Wanderer’s nose.

“You do realize that refusing to breathe implies that I was right, right?” Aether asked. The Wanderer blinked- seemingly surprised at having been caught, before glaring at him. Aether didn’t rise to it, instead waiting patiently, blade of grass at the ready. After a moment of prolonged eye contact, the Wanderer reluctantly let out a breath.

It hitched soon after.

Aether’s face lit up as the Wanderer’s glare darkened.

“Don’t think that means anyth- hIH- h-hey!” The Wanderer’s expression started to twist into something else altogether as Aether immediately got right back to work, gently tilting the Wanderer’s head from side to side as he tried to find just the right angle. “W-wait- hiH… hEh…”

Aether stuck his tongue out slightly as he focused, twisting the grass back and forth. He must have briefly hit some sort of spot, if the way the Wanderer’s hitching breaths had momentarily pitched up was any indication, it was just a matter of finding that spot again. The Wanderer’s hands slowly lifted up-

“If you rub your nose or stop me, it means I win.” Aether deadpanned, and the Wanderer’s hands froze in place. From the way they were trembling slightly, it must be taking the Wanderer some effort to keep them from moving any further. Aether let out a small laugh. “Although, I’ve practically already won, considering you so obviously need to sneeze.”

“HihH- N-no I don-hH- hiIH-”

“Of course you do, listen to you!” Aether continued, “You can’t stop hitching like ‘heH’ and ‘hAH’-”

“Hh’nNxti!!” The Wanderer abruptly forcibly pulled away to stifle a sneeze into his hands. Aether paused, briefly shocked, before coming to a realization as the Wanderer’s breath hitched again.

“Wait, hold on-”

“S-shut, hEH-, shutup- hiH-”

“Did you sneeze just because I mimicked it?” Aether asked, watching in fascination as the Wanderer’s ears slowly turned a faint shade of red. “You did, didn’t you.”

The Wanderer shook his head in the negative, unable to speak as his breath hitched desperately.

“Hh- hEH’xNtiu!! Hh’Nxtii!!” He stifled two more sneezes into his hands. Aether let out a disapproving sound.

“C’mon now, don’t stifle, it’s bad for you.” He said, reaching out and grabbing hold of the Wanderer’s wrists. The Wanderer startled, leaning back-

Tilted off balance, the Wanderer went tumbling backwards, Aether being slightly dragged with him. Aether let out a small yelp, quickly reorienting himself, blinking to discover that the Wanderer’s hat had fallen off in the brief movement-

And that he currently practically had the Wanderer pinned to the ground.

…Hm. Well, actually… he could roll with this.

“Get off of me.” The Wanderer managed to hiss out- seemingly practically biting his tongue before his breath could hitch again.

“Nu-uh, I don’t think I will.” Aether smirked as the Wanderer choked back another hitching breath. “Don’t hold back on my account. Or, maybe, do you need me to teach you how to sneeze?”

“D-don’t-”

“You already have the ‘hiIH-’ and ‘hEH-’ part down, now you just need the-”

“Hh- hiH’IsHKiu!!”

“There you go!” Aether laughed despite the strong surge of anemo energy, leaning into his geo affinity to remain unaffected. “Now was that so hard-”

“Hh’shKiu!! Hih- hEH’inKshii! F-fuck- hH’iKshiu!!”

“Bless you!” Aether let go of the Wanderer’s wrists, getting off of him as the other sat up, breath still hitching. “Maybe this was a bit too much, huh?”

“Hh’NxTtii!!” Attempting to stifle again did the Wanderer no favours as his next hitching breath reached a much more desperate pitch. “HhEH- hH’iSHiu!! Heh’ShKii!! H’eshii!! Hh- hIH- hhEH’inKShiu!!”

Aether watched in silence as the Wanderer sniffled, rubbing his nose against his sleeve.

“So…” He started, after a significant number of seconds had passed without another hitching breath from the other. “What was that about not needing to do ‘unnecessary things’, again?”

The Wanderer paused in the middle of retrieving his hat to give him a glare. (With his hair mussed up from both the tumble and the sneezing fit though, Aether couldn’t help but imagine a hissing kitten.)

“...Shut up.” The Wanderer muttered, before pitching his voice louder. “If you’ve finished amusing yourself with childish games, we have stuff to do.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” Aether rolled his eyes, “Just know that I will be remembering this.”

The Wanderer said nothing in response, walking past him, but Aether couldn’t help but smirk as he noticed the faint blush on the other’s face.

#Gen/shin Imp/act #snz #snz fic #i'm saving the perfume concept for a later day so have fun with this in the meantime #i think you'll be able to pinpoint the exact moment i went ''lets get self indulgent with this'' dhfksjdlfkjds

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instarsandcrime · 2 months

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Pride Is A Fickle Thing

Well...at least it's not just Lu/ci/fer this time?

@onetrickponi had some great prompts to offer and, since she said she might be writing them, I decided to change up a certain one a little so it turned out the same but also different! Can be read as Ra//dio//App//le or just platonic fluff! Enjoy! ❤️

Prompt: Lu/ci/fer heals A/la/stor, though it takes a great deal of expended effort on his part and it turns out both of them hate looking weak in front of other people.

---

"Hp'shhzzzt!" A sharp, staticky sneeze slipped through a crack in the shadows.

Alastor wheezed as he grabbed yet another handkerchief from his collection, attempting in vain to blow away the clinging itch that stuck to him for the entire meeting. But he couldn't help it. Every single twitch of the finger, every flick of the ear, every time he even bothered to move his holy wound its poison would snake through his ribs and up to his aching head. And when it did the reaction got worse. And when the reaction got worse he couldn't help but...c-couldn't...help but…but snehhh--

"Et'chhht! TSH'ZZZZHHEW! Nnghh..." The overlord muttered out a string of curses as another wave of pain shot through him, grasping a pillar before he could double over and collapse.

“Oof, ouch! That one sounded rough." An irritatingly cheery voice chirped from nowhere in particular.

"Oh do be qui-quieehhh...Heh! Heh’eshhh't! Het'chhhzzz't!" Pressing a well-used cloth up to reddened nostrils, Alastor hurriedly straightened himself, discreetly rubbing the swarm of feathers he felt as far back as it could go.

"Bless y-- er, no, wait. That's not appropriate for someone like you, is it?" And with a golden puff of smoke he finally appeared. The six winged thorn in his side. “Fuck off? Damn you? Curse you, maybe? Mmmn no, I think you’ve already got that handled.”

"Lucifer." Alastor's ear flicked in annoyance, "What can I do for you m-my unh-huhh-holy fellow? Off t-to find some...s-some...snff! Suhh-someone to pestehhhHET'ZSCHHHH! Ghhh..."

The fallen angel winced as shrill feedback pierced the air. "Lookin' a bit sneezy there, bud. I guess even the most powerful overlords catch colds. Just goes to show that somewhere deep, deep, deeeeep down, you still have a mortal soul."

The Radio Demon chuckled, smile splitting despite the feverish beads of sweat that rolled down his neck. "On the contrary! Why, I'm the guardian angel of the Hazbin Hotel! I'm sure Charlie would agree."

Lucifer twisted the cane in his palms. “Ohoh! That definitely sounds like my little girl!”

"Agreed! She is truly a marvel. Exiling all doubts with a cheerful smile!"

"And when the hotel gets big enough, who knows? Maybe she won’t even need you anymore! She can take your place all on her own-- without the tacky bellhop suit, of course."

"Hah! Radio never truly goes out of style. Unlike...u-unlike the...the..."

"Speechless already?"

"A trifuhhh…huh! T-trifling matter, My Liege. I'm simply allergihhh...allergic to...to your bullshhHHT’SHHHhhoo...Huh'zschhh!"

"Impressive comeback. You should really--"

"'Hup’KZSSHHHT! HT'SHHH'OOooo...guhh…snff!" Worry bloomed on Lucifer’s face when his rival flashed a sliver of a wince. And as quick as it grew, Alastor rushed to crush the blossom with the wave of a hand. “Such compassion! I was wonderihh…wondering when the sin of pride would lower himself to such a weak emotion–”

“Let me see it.”

“Pardon?”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” His patient opened his mouth, “Nope, wait, don’t answer that. Just let me see the wound.”

“Hah! How absurd! Me? Get hurt?” The Radio Demon’s voice crackled with laughter, an unseen audience following suit. “Has our poor king gone senile in his old age?”

“I–! You–!” Lucifer took a deep breath, wisps of smoke billowing from his nose.

Inhale. Exhale.

“Okay.”

Despite his eternal grin, Alastor’s feverish eyes blinked back confusion. “...O. Okay?”

“Okay.” The king deadpanned, hopping back a few steps. “You like making deals, right?”

“I do have other hobbies, you know.”

“Nice. I don’t care. Walk to me without sneezing once. I know you can hide the pain, but if you think holy poison will just go away, then you must either be the most stubborn man in the nine rings, or the biggest dumbass.” He paused. “Or both. If you lose, I heal you and you never have to think about Adam and his gaudy lute axe again. If you win, let’s just say that in a few more days, no one in Hell will hear another broadcast from The Radio Demon again.”

A suffocating silence fell over the two, with only the small ambience of old timey cigarette advertisements and Ella Fitzgerald to keep them company. Until finally obsidian claws drummed against the tip of a microphone.

“...Fine.” Alastor said simply.

“Fine.” Lucifer spat back.

“A simple task, really.”

“Then stop stalling and do it, coward.” Satan flashed his pearly fangs.

A scarlet eye twitched. His opponent took a tentative step forward and the itch followed suit, fighting the urge to rub a knuckle against it.

“Having trouble there?”

“I can assure you I'm per…p-perfectly fihh-fide.” Another step. The growing tickle burned from the bridge to the tip.

“Fihhh-fidt as a fidd-fiddle.”

Almost halfway. Hold it in, hold it in.

“I'b dot as weak as y-yuhhh…you thidk…”

Through irritated tears, slit pupils studied him closely. “Uh-huh. Still don’t believe you.”

Temper beginning to flare as badly as his wound, the overlord opened his mouth to retort. But his voice was completely stolen as the itch teased the rim of his nostrils. It built and built until–

Oh, fuck it.

“Heh'SHHHHZT! Ihh-hih-Hp'SCHHH! ‘TSCHHHH'hhooo…nhhh…” The ground beneath him whirled and tilted like a merry-go-round and he was falling, falling, falling– only to be caught and dragged off the ride with unnervingly gentle hands.

“I've got you.” Lucifer muttered.

“What’s goi’g od? Why are you doi’g this?” The Radio Demon demanded as he was lifted, a body barely up to his chest not acknowledging his weight.

“Because lucky for you, I used to be a saint.” Wait…when did they get to his bathroom? When was he suddenly draped against the wall?

“You hate me." For some reason Alastor couldn’t control his shaking voice, losing the strength to fight. He sounded so disgustingly fragile. He hated it. He hated this. He hated. He. Hated.

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, shut up and let me save you already!” Lucifer swore, clicking the locks in place with the snap of his fingers. Alastor flinched when freezing hands pressed against a soaked through dress shirt and– oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, no shit!” A pure light became a ripple. Then a swirl. Then a bubble. It filled every space imaginable, bathing the pair in its warm blanket. Faintly, Alastor tasted a hint of jambalaya on his tongue. And like a needle and thread to a spilled over poppet, The wound began to close.

Unfortunately, despite the subsiding agony, the holy light that caught his patient's eye did not agree with him. Wait. If angelic power hurt a demon, why was he being healed with–

“H-hhh!” Alastor’s breath hitched.

“Seriously? Now? I’m trying to work here.” Lucifer growled, almost fumbling the surgery when his concentration nearly broke. Through the haze, the overlord could glimpse familiar beads of sweat that trickled down the side of the fallen angel’s neck.

“H-hhh…c-cad’t…h-hhhhelp it…” Between hiccuping breaths and stuttering speech, somewhere along the way a finger was pressed underneath his fluttering nostrils.

“I swear to my fucking Father.” Lucifer huffed out, blinking blearily as he continued his surgery one-handed. And before the wound closed, Alastor couldn’t help but dread at the way Lucifer’s eyelids drooped further and further, teetering between exhaustion and pain.

With two hands the healing process would have taken two minutes.

With one it took two hours. Or at least, the amount of hands was Lucifer’s excuse.

Alastor would have been more impressed if not for the fact that he was not impressed, because it was a ridiculous emotion to have for Lucifer of all beings. So instead, the next day, he chose to focus on what couldn’t heal right away.

“Het’schhzz!” Alastor pitched into his handkerchief, and Charlie quickly caught his breakfast plate before she could drop it.

“Bless you!” She breathed, clutching her chest with one hand.

Well. At least it wasn’t every five seconds.

“Thank you, my dear. Ironic as it may be.” Alastor chuckled, moving to pick up his utensils. He scanned the dining table to take in the morning rush. Angel Dust was gabbing away next to Husker, silently snatching food off his plate with his lower pair of arms. Vaggie was taking a sharpening stone to her spear between bites of food, softening when her princess veered the corner to give a quick peck on the lips. Sir Pentious was waving his spindly hands about, excitedly explaining the inner workings of his ‘flying machine’ to Niffty, who was absolutely more interested in the bug crawling on his top hat.

Overall a peaceful morning. Too peaceful. It unsettled him that there was one piece missing–

Ah. Out of the corner of his eye a small, white rat slowly crawled across the carpet. One with chubby, cherub cheeks. Fur mussed. Bags under its button eyes. A golden flush dotting his face, glowing like a firefly. And then suddenly everything clicked.

The lack of a wound or poison, but still feeling a fading tickle. The shared symptoms between them. Lucifer hadn’t just been exhausted that night. He hadn’t just healed him. Oh no, the bastard just had to take the holy poison for himself knowing that a half-holy body would survive. Though it was obvious he was equally– oh, what was that saying Rosie was kind enough to teach him– ‘going through it’. The fact that he would even risk inhaling a drop for someone he hated so much…

Hm.

Well, Alastor decided to himself, It would be remiss of him to not repay the favor. So with all the mercy of a heartless overlord, he kicked the stupid rat as far as it could go. With a startled squeak and a puff of smoke, the King of Hell tumbled across the floor. The dining room went silent for a moment, all eyes on the sudden appearance of Lucifer Morningstar lying on his back– disheveled, dazed, and stone still.

“Oh my gosh, dad!” Charlie yelped as her father pushed himself upright– moving stiffly, Alastor noted. “I didn’t see you come in…to…” As she helped him stand, her voice trailed off. “Are you okay?”

“I second that, fer the record.” Angel Dust waved a fork nonchalantly in the air, “Kingy’s always an early riser. What gives?”

“Worrywarts, aren’t they?” Lucifer jolted as Alastor popped up beside him with a screeching static, suddenly inches apart. His smirk widened as he tilted his head with a little, high pitched ‘hm!’ “I must say, I can’t help but feel the same. Your regal features look a bit. Oh, what’s the word?” He motions to his own face with a dramatic flourish. “Off-color.”

Lucifer’s glare broke when he put a hand up to his cheek. Then another, eyes growing wide as teacup saucers. It didn’t help when embarrassment overtook his feverish blush, brightening with the panic. “H-hah!” He chuckled nervously, summoning his top hat to tug the brim over his face. “W-wouldja look at that? Guess I fell asleep at the ol’ workshop again and I ran my power a little too– …t-too hot…” He sniffed sharply, rubbing at his nose.

“How uncouth.” Alastor circled the man like a ravenous beast. “Quite unlike yourself to be in such a state. Maybe you should be a little more honest. I can even give you a push.”

“Wh-whhhat are you–”

With a single poke of his cane Lucifer stumbled, grimacing in pain. And it only took one poke for that short-lived charade to fall apart.

“H-hehhh! No, ndo dabbit keeb idt togehh…together…”

“Your Majesty? Are you…?” Vaggie sat straighter, brow furrowed.

“Oof! That don’t look right.” Angel winced.

“Mhm.” Husk hummed into his mug of whisky.

“Oh my. The ultimate bad boy needs to be cleaned!” Niffty gasped.

“Poor thing.” Sir Pentious’s bottom lip wobbled.

“Dad?” Charlie set a hand on his shoulder. Then jumped back with a squeak as the single touch sparked the powder keg.

“Hit’schh!” Lucifer bent at the waist, merciless fit wracking an already exhausted body. “It’schh! It’shieww! Hit’SCHIEW! Hnt’SHIEW! HET’SCHH! ‘TSHH! TCHH! Hit’SCHH’HIEW! H-hihhh…hih! Hih– HITSCHHHH’HIEW!”

The room went silent. Angel Dust whistled lowly.

“My goodness, bless you!” Alastor gaped, every movement an exaggerated performance.

“Y-you did thahhh– thadt od purpose you sohd of ahhh– hah-HATSCHHHHIEW!” The fallen king pitched forward again. When he finally surfaced he was staggering, holding his aching head. “S’rry…’bout thadt.”

Before Charlie could run to catch him Alastor tutted, summoning his shadow to steady his rival, bending its lanky limb over his forehead. “My my, you sound awful! Simply dreadful! Overworked, perhaps? Or…oh, it couldn’t be! Is the King of Hell ill?”

“Oh shudt up Alasdtor– snff! I’b dot sigk! Idt’s jus’dt–”

“Allergies?” Husk deadpanned, expression completely unimpressed.

“Allergies!” Lucifer blurted, “Nodthin’ do worry your head over. So ihhh–...hih! hit’TSCHIU! HET’CHHHIEWW! Nghh, jus’dt ledt be–”

Charlie’s grip tightened, other hand reaching for a napkin. “Don’t run! Please?”

The King of Hell froze. He couldn’t help it. He was completely powerless when it came to his little girl. His flush started to hem the edges of silverware and dusted the windows, and he decided to look anywhere but at Charlie, distracting himself with a mucky nose blow into the makeshift tissue.

“I…I guess I’ll stick around a while longer. I feel a bit dizzy, anyway.” He chuckled, trying to pretend like every word didn’t painfully scrape at his chest. But Charlie smiled brightly, and she guided him to a chair Vaggie had already pulled out for him. Stepping back to wave her hands. Go on!

Lucifer blinked back shock when the room watched, silent with bated breath. “Oh– snff! Oh, well. Um. It’s not an emergency but. But I may be thirsty–”

Zipping back and forth, Niffty slid a cup of water by his side.

“Oh! Th-thank you.” Lucifer smiled bashfully.

The silenced thickened, group looking on expectantly.

“...More?!”

“More.” Charlie nodded, crossing her arms. Awestruck, the hermit crumbled as his closest residents and friends fussed and fretted. All the while Alastor sat comfortably in his chair and sipped his tea, humming to the tune of a new morning.

The perfectly chaotic puzzle was complete. Just the way he liked it.

#snz #snz fic #ha//zb//in//ho//tel//#a/la/stor #lu/ci/fer #char/lie #va/ggi/ie #an/gel/du/st #hu/sk #ni/ff/ty #sir/pen/tious

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suddencolds · 2 months

Text

The Worst Timing | [5/5]

we made it!!! part 5/5 + a mini epilogue (5.6k words) at long last 🥹 (aka the installment in which i remember that h/c has a c in it in addition to the h, haha.) [part 1] is here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

The world comes back to him in pieces—first the wooden panels of the ceiling, the sloped wooden beams. The coldness of the room, the slight, monotonous whir of the air circulating through one of the vents overhead.

He’s leaned up against the wall, seated on the floor in the hallway, and Vincent is kneeling beside him, his eyebrows furrowed.

It takes him a moment to realize where he is. He had been about to head back to the courtyard, hadn’t he? He doesn’t have much memory of anything that happened after, but judging by Vincent’s reaction, he thinks he can probably guess.

“Hi,” Yves says, for lack of a better thing to say.

He watches a complicated set of expressions flicker through Vincent’s face—relief, first, before it turns to something distinctly less neutral.

“You’re awake,” Vincent says. He turns away, for a moment. Yves notes the clench of his jaw, the tightness of his grip—his fingers white around Yves’s sleeve.

“Was I out for long?”

“A couple minutes.”

Yves wants to say something. He should say something. Anything to lighten the tension, anything to get the point across that this is all just an unlucky miscalculation, on his part. It really isn’t something Vincent should have to be worried about.

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” he starts. Really, what he means is, I’m sorry for making you worry about me. “I promise I’mb fine.”

The look on Vincent’s face, then, is something that Yves hasn’t seen before.

“Why do you have to—” he starts, frustration rising in his voice. He sighs, his jaw set. “I don’t understand why you—” He drops his hand from Yves’s sleeve, and it’s then when Yves notices the stiffness to his shoulders, the tension in his posture. He runs a hand through his hair, lets out another short, exasperated breath. “You’re not fine.”

It’s strange, Yves thinks, to see him like this—Vincent, who usually never wears his emotions on his face, looks clearly displeased, now.

“Hey,” Yves says, softly. He reaches out to take Vincent’s hand. Vincent goes very still with the contact, but he doesn’t say anything. “I—”

Fuck. His body seems to always pick the worst time for unwanted interjections. He wrenches his hand away just in time to smother a sneeze into his sleeve, though it’s forceful enough to leave him slightly lightheaded.

“Stay here,” Vincent says, getting to his feet. “Lay down if you get dizzy again.”

Yves blinks. “Where are you going?”

“To tell the others that we’re leaving.”

Yves wants to protest. Dinner is already halfway over. It’s not as if the festivities are particularly strenuous. They’ll probably move inside after dinner, where it’s warmer.

But he thinks better of it. Judging by how exhausted he still feels, how much his head aches, it probably wouldn’t be wise to push it.

“Don’t tell them about this,” he says.

Vincent’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Aimee is going to worry if she finds out,” Yves says, dropping his head to his knees. He doesn’t want to look at Vincent, doesn’t want to know what expression is on his face. “Just—let them have this night. It’s—supposed to be perfect.” I really wanted it to be perfect, he almost adds. There’s a strange tightness to his throat as he says it, a strange heaviness to his chest.

He knows what it means. If, after he’s tried so hard to do his part, their evening still ends up ruined on his own accord, he’s not sure if he could live with himself after.

For a moment, Vincent doesn’t say anything at all.

“Okay,” he says, at last. “Just stay here.”

And then he heads down the hallway. The door at the end of the reception hall swings shut behind him. Yves thinks he should be relieved, but he finds that he doesn’t feel much other than exhausted.

—

The ride home on the shuttle is silent. Vincent sits next to him, even though all of the other seats are empty. Yves thinks the proximity is probably inadvisable. He opens his mouth to say as much, and then shuts it.

Vincent sits and stares straight ahead, his posture stiff, and doesn’t say anything for the entirety of the ride. It’s strange. Yves is no stranger to silence—Vincent is, after all, a coworker, and Yves has endured more than a few quiet elevator rides and quiet team lunches at the office, but it’s strange because it’s Vincent.

Vincent, who usually takes care to make conversation with him, whenever it’s just the two of them. Vincent, who stayed up through the lull of antihistamines a couple months ago to talk to Yves, until Yves had given him explicit permission to go to sleep.

Yves tries not to think about it. Through the haze of his fever, everything feels unusually bright—the interior of the shuttle, with its leather seats and metal handrails.

The shuttle stops just outside the main entrance to their hotel. Just before he gets to the doors, he stumbles. Vincent’s hand shoots out, instinctively, to steady him.

“Sorry,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. It’s not that he’s dizzy. The roads are just uneven, and it’s dark. “I can walk.”

But Vincent doesn’t let go—not for the entirety of the walk through the cool, air-conditioned lobby, through the hallways to the hotel elevators. Not when the elevator stops at their floor, not when they pass by the grid of wooden doors leading up to their room.

Before Yves can manage to reach for his keycard, Vincent has already swiped them in, scarily efficient. He slides the card back into his pocket, pushes the door open.

“Thadks for walking me back,” Yves says. “Sorry you couldn’t stay longer. You mbust’ve been halfway through dinner.”

“I already finished eating,” Vincent says.

“Even dessert?” Yves says. “I think Aimee got everyone creme brulee from one of the local bakeries. I was excited to try it. Maybe Leon can save us some.” he muffles a yawn into his hand. It’s too early to be sleeping, but his pull out bed looks very inviting right now.

“Take the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves blinks at him. “What?”

“The bed’s warmer.”

There’s absolutely no way he’s going to let Vincent take the pull-out bed in his place, Yves thinks blearily. He’s spent the past couple nights muffling sneezes into the covers—if there’s anything he’s certain of, it’s that he really, really doesn’t want Vincent to catch this.

“I dod’t think we should switch,” he says, sniffling. “I’ve been sleeping here ever sidce I started coming down with this. I’mb— hHeh-!” He veers away, raising an elbow to his face. “hh—HHEh’IIDZschH’-iEEW! Ugh, I’mb pretty sure I contaminated it.”

“We can both take the bed, if you’d prefer,” Vincent says. As if it’s that simple.

Yves opens his mouth to protest—is Vincent really okay with sharing a bed with him?—but then he thinks about Vincent finding him in the hallway—the stricken expression on his face, then, his eyes wide, his jaw clenched—and thinks better of himself.

Instead, he lets Vincent lead him to the bedroom. The bed is neatly made—the covers drawn, the pillows propped up against the headboard.

“Lay down,” Vincent says, pushing lightly down on his shoulders. Yves sits. He peels off his suit jacket, folds it, and sets it aside on the nightstand.

“Hey, I kdow that was sudden,” he says, in reference to earlier. “I’mb sorry you had to witness it. I… probably shouldn’t have pushed it.”

Vincent says nothing, to that.

Yves lays down, shuts his eyes. “You didn’t have to accompady me home, you know.”

Silence. He exhales, burrowing deeper into the covers. “It’s not as bad as it looks, seriously.”

He opens his mouth to say more. He has to say something, he thinks, to convince Vincent that it’s really not that big of a deal. Anything, to assuage that look on Vincent’s face.

But he’s so tired. He can feel the exhaustion now that he’s finally let himself lay down. The bed is traitorously comfortable, with its soft feather pillows and its fluffy layers of blankets, and Vincent was right—it really is warmer.

He feels the press of a hand on his forehead, feels the cold, unyielding pressure. Feels gentle, calloused fingers brush the hair out of his face.

“Sleep,” Vincent says, firmly.

And Yves—

Yves, already half gone, is powerless, when Vincent says it like that.

—

When he wakes, it’s just barely bright outside. He takes it in—the first few rays of sunlight, streaking through the curtains. The bed, a little more well-cushioned than the pullout bed he’d spent the past few nights on—higher up and decisively sturdier. He blinks.

Beside him, seated on a chair he recognizes as belonging to the desk at the opposite end of the room, is Vincent.

Vincent, awake. Yves isn’t sure if he’s slept at all. He certainly doesn’t look tired, at first glance, but closer inspection reveals a little more. It’s evident in the way he holds his shoulders, stiff, and perhaps a little tired, as if there’s been tension sitting in them all night.

He’s reading a book. Whether he bought it at the convenience store downstairs, or on one of the other days when Yves was busy running errands for the wedding and Vincent was elsewhere, or whether it’d been sitting in his suitcase since the start of the vacation, Yves doesn’t know.

“How’s the book?” Yves says.

His throat is dry, he realizes, for the way it makes him cough, afterwards. Vincent’s eyes meet his, unerringly. He shuts the book, sets it down on the bedside table.

“It’s a little boring,” Vincent says. “How’s the fever?”

Before Yves can answer, Vincent leans forward and presses the back of his hand to Yves’s forehead. His touch is unerringly gentle, and Yves allows himself to look.

Vincent’s eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, and Yves wonders, suddenly, if he’s been this worried for awhile, now. If he’s been this worried ever since he’d walked them both back into the hotel room last night.

“I’m fine,” Yves says.

It has the opposite effect he intends it to.

Vincent’s expression shutters. “The last time you said that, you passed out in front of me,” he says, withdrawing his hand with a frown. “So forgive me if I don’t entirely believe you.”

Yves sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. It’s a fair point. “I’m usually more reliable whed it comes to these things.”

“What things?”

“Kdowing my limits.”

Vincent says, “I think you knew your limits. I think you just didn’t want to honor them, because you decided the wedding took precedence.”

He’s… frustrated, Yves realizes. Still. He’s sure he can guess why. Their fake relationship does not extend to Vincent having to look after him, to Vincent having to drop everything in the middle of a wedding, of all things, to take him home. To Vincent having to worry about all this—the fever Yves knows he has, now, and the bed he’s currently taking up—on top of everything else. As if being in a foreign country, surrounded by people he knows almost exclusively through Yves, who, for the most part, converse in a language he barely speaks, wasn’t already enough work on its own.

And Yves gets it. He hadn’t wanted this to happen, either. He’d told himself that if this—this pretend relationship, this pretense—is contingent upon both of them playing their part, the least he can do is be self-sufficient outside of it.

But now—because Vincent is here with him, and because they share a hotel room—all of this is now Vincent’s problem, too, by extension.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks.

Vincent smiles at him, a little wryly, as if the answer is evident.

“You gave up your bed just for me to steal it,” Yves says, in an attempt to lighten the mood. “It’s really comfortable, and all, but I’mb pretty sure they make these kinds of beds for two.”

“Is that a proposition?” Vincent says.

“Maybe.” Yves thinks it through. “Realistically, probably ndot, until I have a chance to shower.” He’s still dressed in his dress shirt and slacks from yesterday, a little embarrassingly—he should probably get changed. “Speaking of which, I should do that soon, so you don’t feel the need to stay up all night reading—” Yves leans forward, squints at the book cover on the nightstand. “—Hemingway? Somehow, I didn’t expect you to be the type.”

“I’m not,” Vincent says. “Victoire lent it to me.”

“Oh,” Yves says, trying to think of when Vincent would’ve had time to ask her for a recommendation. “Yeah. She’s—” He twists aside, ducking into his elbow. “hHEH’IIDzschh-EEW! snf-! She’s quite the literary reader. Is it really that boring?”

“I can see why people think the transparency of his prose is appealing,” Vincent says. “But I’m fifty pages in, and nothing has happened.”

“Isd’t that the sort of thing Hemingway can get away with, since he’s straightforward about it?”

“In a short story, maybe,” Vincent says. Then: “You are trying to make me feel better.”

Ah.

Yves laughs. “Where in the world did you get that idea?”

Vincent just sighs. “I would be exceptionally unobservant not to notice when I’ve seen you do the same thing all this week.”

“What?”

“Telling people that you’re fine,” Vincent says. “And distracting them when they don’t believe you.”

Yves doesn’t think that’s entirely accurate. It’s not like he was trying to be dishonest. It’s just that it was never the most important thing to address.

“Distracting is a bit disingenuous.”

“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, with a frown. “You’re so insistent on putting yourself last, even when you were obviously—” He sighs. There it is—that expression again, the one that makes itself evident through the furrowed eyebrows, the tense set of his jaw—frustration, and maybe something else. “You’re surrounded by people who care about you, so why not just—”

“There are plenty of things more important than how I’mb feeling,” Yves says.

“I don’t think that’s true.”

But of course it is, Yves thinks. A wedding is a once in a lifetime occurrence. An illness is nothing, in the face of that.

“I promised I’d be there,” he says, because when it really comes down to it, it’s true. He had no intention of going back on his word. “I didn’t want to be the one to let them down. Is that so hard to believe?” He reaches up with a hand to massage his temples. His head aches, even though he’s slept for long enough that he feels like it ought to feel a little better, by now. “It’s already bad enough that I had to drag you into this.”

“You didn’t drag me into this,” Vincent says. “I came on my own volition.”

Yves tries a laugh, but it’s humorless. “I made you leave halfway through the wedding dinner.”

“I’d already finished eating.”

“Ndot to mention, you practically had to carry me upstairs.”

“Because you’re ill.”

“That’s no excuse.” Yves wants to say more, but he finds himself beholden to a tickle in the back of his throat—irritatingly present, until he concedes to it by ducking into his elbow to cough, and cough.

When he looks up, blinking tears out of his vision, Vincent isn’t looking at him.

“You should get some rest,” he says, simply.

Yves can tell—just by the way he says it—that there is no argument to him, anymore. Just like that, Vincent is back to being closed off—poised and perfectly, infuriatingly unreadable, just like he is at work, his face so carefully a mask of indifference, even in the most stressful presentations, the most frustrating disagreements. Yves wants none of it.

“Hey,” he says. A part of him itches to crack a joke, to change the subject—anything to take away this air of seriousness. A part of him wants to reach out, again—to take Vincent’s hand, entwine their fingers; to reassure him, again, that he’s really fine.

“I’m sorry,” he says, instead. Maybe it’s the fever that loosens his tongue. Maybe it’s just a combination of everything.

He can feel Vincent’s eyes on him, still. Vincent has always held a sort of intensity to him, a quiet sort of perceptiveness. “I’m not sure I follow,” Vincent says.

“This visit was supposed to be fun for you,” he says. “And now you’re here, stuck in the hotel room because of me, even though today was supposed to be for sightseeing.”

It doesn’t feel like enough. What can he say to make it enough? There’s a strange ache in his chest, a strange, crushing pressure. Yves is horrified to find his eyes stinging. He’s held it together for so long, he thinks. Why now? Why, when Vincent is right here?

But a part of him knows, too. Of course traveling to a different country would be more involved than going to a party, or spending an evening at a stranger’s house. But there was a time when he thought this could really just be a fun excursion for the both of them—half a week in his family’s home country, with someone who he thoroughly enjoys spending time with.

And now, because of this untimely illness—or because of his own short-sightedness in managing it—it isn’t. He didn’t get to stay through dinner, didn’t get to wish Aimee and Genevieve a good rest of their night, like he’d planned to. He has no idea if things went smoothly in his absence. To make matters worse, Vincent is here, having endured a sleepless night, instead of anywhere else.

And really, when he thinks about it, who does have to blame for all of this, except himself?

“I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this,” he says. “So I’m sorry.” He resists the urge to swipe a hand over his eyes—surely, he thinks, that would give him away.

He turns away. It’s convenient, he thinks, that the embarrassing sniffle that follows could be attributed to something else.

“You’ve been nothing but accommodating to me, this whole visit,” Vincent says. “If anything, I should’ve insisted that you take the bed earlier. You haven’t been sleeping well, have you?”

He says it with such certainty. Yves opens his mouth to protest this—or to apologize, for all the times he must’ve kept Vincent up, including but not limited to last night—but Vincent presses on.

“You spent all of yesterday morning helping everyone get ready, and when I got back, you apologized for not being around—as if the reason why you weren’t around wasn’t that you were so busy making sure everything was fine for everyone else.” Vincent pauses, takes in a slow, measured breath. Yves is surprised to hear that he sounds… distinctly angry, in a way that Yves is not used to hearing.

“And then you showed up to the rehearsal and the wedding, even though you weren’t feeling well. And you still think you have something to apologize for? Are you even hearing yourself?” Yves hears the creak of the chair as he stands, the sound of quiet footsteps. Feels the dip of the bed as Vincent takes a seat at the edge of it.

“You know, after you left the dinner table, Genevieve was talking about how much she liked your speech? Do you know that yesterday morning, Solaine told me how grateful she was that you helped her with fixing her dress? Do you know that when I got lunch with Leon and Victoire, they told me how much time you spent preparing for everything—the speech, and the wedding, both?”

Oh. Yves hadn’t known any of those things, and he knows Vincent isn’t the kind of person who would lie about this sort of thing.

“I don’t get it,” Vincent says, sounding distinctly pained to say it. “How could you possibly think that you haven’t done enough?”

Yves finds himself taken aback—by the frustration in his voice, by the fact that Vincent has noticed these things in the first place, by the fact that he’s deemed them important enough to take stock of. He makes it sound so simple.

“I don’t know,” Yves says, at last. He shuts his eyes. “If it was enough.”

“I’m telling you that it was,” Vincent says.

But Yves knows that he could have done more, if the circumstances were different. If he hadn’t been so out of it during the wedding. If he’d taken the necessary precautions to avoid coming down with this in the first place. If he’d been able to stay through dinner, at least; if he hadn’t needed Vincent to accompany him home.

“You don’t believe me,” Vincent says, with a sigh.

Yves doesn’t say anything, to that.

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” Vincent says. There’s the slight rustling of the covers as he shifts, rearranging one of the pillows at the headboard. “But I had fun.”

Yves’s heart twists.

It’s sweet, unexpectedly. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better,” Yves says.

“When have I ever said anything just to make you feel better?” Vincent says, with a short laugh. When Yves chances a look at him, he’s smiling down at himself. “I mean it. Meeting your family has been a lot of fun. It’s not often that I get the chance to be a part of something like this.”

Whether he’s referring to France, or the wedding and the festivities, or being surrounded by Yves’s large extended family, Yves isn’t sure. But if Vincent is trying to cheer him up, it’s working.

“I can see why you like France so much,” he says, turning his gaze out the window, though the view outside is filtered through the semi-translucent curtains. “It’s beautiful.”

“Today was supposed to be the last day for sightseeing,” Yves says, a little regretful. “But you’re stuck here.”

“In a sunny, luxurious hotel room, with a view of the pool and the garden?” Vincent says, with a scoff. “I could think of worse places to be.”

Staying up all night, just to check up on Yves, more accurately. Vincent must be tired, too—yesterday was already tiring enough. And now it’s morning already, and he hasn’t gotten any sleep.

“Reading Hemingway,” Yves adds.

Vincent looks a little surprised. Then he laughs. “Yes. I guess you’re right. Perhaps it’s an agonizing experience after all.”

The yawn he stifles into his hand, after that isn’t half as subtle as he tries to make it.

Yves feels his eyebrows creep up. “Are you sure you don’t want to get some sleep? There’s plenty of room.” He scoots a little closer to the edge of the bed, just to make a point.

Vincent peers down at the space beside him, a little hesitant. “At 10am?”

“It’d be, what, 4am, back in Eastern time?” Yves says. “By Ndew York standards, you’re supposed to already be asleep.”

“That’s not how it works,” Vincent says, but he dutifully moves a little closer to Yves anyways. He’s changed out of yesterday’s wedding attire, more sensibly, but now he’s wearing a knitted cardigan which Yves thinks looks unfairly, terribly good on him. Yves finds himself marveling at the unfairness of it all. How can someone look so good wearing something so casual?

Vincent smells good, up close. When he lays down next to Yves, pulling the covers gingerly over himself—leaving a careful amount of room between them, but still dangerously, intoxicatingly close—Yves feels his breath catch in his throat.

Vincent is right there, less than an arm’s length away from him, closer than he’s ever been, and Yves—Yves is—

“See,” Yves says, as evenly as he can manage to, in his current state, as if his heart isn’t practically beating out of his chest. He swallows. His throat feels dry. “This bed definitely fits two.”

“I suppose it does,” Vincent says. “Now you can tell me if I’m a terrible person to share a bed with.”

“After everything I’ve put you through,” Yves says, “I think I’d honestly feel reassured if you were.”

Vincent smiles, again, as if he finds this humorous. “Are you sure you’re going to be fine?”

“Positive,” Yves says. “You should sleep. I’ll wake you if I ndeed anything.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Vincent shuts his eyes.

It’s not long before his breathing evens out, not long before he goes perfectly still. He must really be tired, Yves thinks, with a pang.

Yves, for some reason, finds that he can’t get to sleep. He stares up at the ceiling for what feels like minutes on end, shuts his eyes, all to no avail. Maybe it’s because he’s already slept far more than his usual share. Maybe it’s the jetlag. Maybe it’s merely Vincent’s unusual presence—the strangeness of having him so close, in an environment so intimate.

But when he allows himself to look, he sees—

Vincent, his eyes shut, his eyelashes fanning out over his cheeks. From the window, the filtered light gleams unevenly across the crown of dark hair on his head. There’s almost no movement to him at all, aside from the even rise and fall of his shoulders.

And Yves knows what the feeling in his chest is. He’s regrettably, intimately familiar with it.

He just isn’t sure he likes what it means.

—

Vincent—despite falling asleep so quickly—is up before him. When Yves wakes, next, it’s to a hand to his forehead.

“Hey,” Vincent is saying, softly. “Yves. You have a visitor.”

Yves opens his eyes.

He’s feeling—a little better, remarkably. Still feverish, still a little unsteady, but leagues better as compared to yesterday. When he looks over, he sees—

He doesn’t jolt upright, but it’s a close thing. “Aimee!”

He barely has a chance to ask before she’s crashing into him, encircling him in a tight hug. “Yves!” she exclaims, pulling back from him. “How are you feeling? Oh my gosh, when I heard you left early because you were unwell, I was so worried…”

Yves grimaces, turning away. “Sorry, I had every idtention of staying until the end—”

“You came all the way out with the flu!” she says. “I honestly can’t believe you. The fact that you still took the trouble to attend with a fever—”

“It—” Yves starts, but he finds himself twisting away, lifting an arm to his face. “hhEH-! HEEhD’TTSCHH-iiiEEw! Snf-! It’s fide, snf-! I’mb practically recovered already.”

“I should’ve told you not to push yourself when you told me you were coming down with something,” Aimee says, shaking her head. “And you stayed and gave such a lovely speech, even though you weren’t feeling well? When I was talking to Victoire after, she mentioned that you’ve been sick for days and Genevieve—you should’ve said something.”

“I’ll say somethidg next time,” Yves says, a little sheepishly. “Did the wedding go okay?”

Aimee visibly brightens, at this. “It was more than okay,” she says, her eyes gleaming. “It blew every expectation that I had out of the water.”

Aimee fills him in on everything that happened after he left, last night—dessert, the first dance, the cake-cutting; her favorites out of the photos they’d taken after the ceremony (a shot of Genevieve braiding her hair during the cocktail hour; a shot of them leaning in close, for the dance, tired but smiling; a shot of the cake with its multiple tiers, the frosting strung like banners across it; another where both of them are holding onto the cutting knife together and Genevieve looks like she is trying not to laugh; a shot of the bouquet toss, the flowers suspended in mid-air). She tells him about the conversations she and Genevieve had with others about marriage and their futures and their plans for their honeymoon.

Then she lectures him on how he should worry about his health first, next time. She tells him, in no uncertain terms, that she’s fully prepared to give him a piece of her mind the next time he tries to pull something like this. She insists that his health is more important than anything. Vincent stands off to the side the entire time, his arms crossed, passively listening in, but when Yves looks over helplessly, mid-lecture, he definitely looks a little smug.

All in all, she doesn’t seem disappointed in him at all. And, more importantly, she seems happy. Yves finds himself relieved, at this.

Genevieve stops by, too, a little later, to thank him for the advice he’d given her the day before the wedding. She hugs him too, and she leaves him a bag of tea that she promises “is practically a cure to anything—I hope it makes your flight home tomorrow a little more tolerable.” Victoire stops by, with Leon, and Yves resigns himself to more lecturing from the both of them. It’s humbling, a little, to be lectured by his younger sister and his younger brother, though he concedes that perhaps this time, it might be at least partially warranted.

Then Leon opens their hotel fridge to show him the two creme brulees he and Vincent had missed out on, packaged nicely in small paper containers. (“Vincent told me you were interested in these,” he says, and Yves finds himself slightly mortified—but perhaps also a little endeared—that whatever it was that he’d said last night, offhandedly, Vincent had deemed it important enough to text Leon about.)

Later, after Yves showers and gets changed—when he and Vincent eat the creme brulees at the table in the living room, and Vincent tells him that he’s finished the book, perhaps a little masochistically (“it doesn’t get any better,” he says, sounding a little spiteful)—Yves finds himself smiling.

He’s happy, he realizes, despite everything that’s happened. Even with the slight headache, and the lingering congestion, the fever that hasn’t quite gone away entirely. The revelation comes as a surprise to him, at first. But when he thinks about the people he’s surrounded with, he thinks perhaps it isn’t all that surprising.

—

EPILOGUE

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Vincent asks.

“Yes,” Yves says. It’s not a lie.

This time, he’s seated right next to the window, and Vincent is in the middle seat. Yves had offered to take the middle seat instead, but Vincent had insisted(“If you wanted to sleep, you could lean against the window,” he’d said, and Yves had accepted only because it would be better to fall asleep against the window than do something embarrassing, like fall asleep on Vincent’s shoulder).

“It’s just the annoyidg residual symptoms, now,” he says. “I—”

God. He always has the worst timing. He veers away, muffling a tightly contained sneeze into his shoulder.

“hHEH-’IIDDZschH-yyEW! Snf-! I’mb — hHhEHh’DjjsSHH-iEW! Ugh, I’m fine. I feel better thad I sound.”

“Bless you,” Vincent says, leaning over to press his hand against Yves’s forehead. “No fever,” he says. “That’s good. But you should take another day off when we get back.”

Yves doesn’t think taking another day off is necessary. “I spedt the entirety of yesterday sleeping,” he says. “I think I’ve rested enough.”

Vincent just raises an eyebrow at him. “Need I remind you that someone very wise told you to take it easy?”

“Since when has Aimee been your spokesperson?”

“She made a lot of good points,” Vincent says, deceptively unassuming. “I think you should consider taking notes.”

Yves looks at him for a moment. “You’re laughing at me.”

This time, Vincent smiles. “Maybe.”

Yves leans back in his seat, reaching up with one hand to massage his temples. The changing cabin pressure is not exactly comfortable—his head still hurts a little, but he’s flown enough times to know that it won’t be as much of a problem once they finish their ascent.

“Thadks again for coming,” he says, unwrapping one of the small, packaged pillows the airline has left on their seats.

“You invited me,” Vincent says, blinking. “All I did was show up.”

But that isn’t true at all, Yves thinks. Vincent is the one who spent time learning basic French, who met Yves’s family and who spoke with everyone with genuine interest, who bought Yves medicine and water, all while being careful to not be overbearing. Vincent is the one who left the wedding early to walk Yves back to the hotel, who stayed with him the entire day afterwards.

“That’s such a huge understatement I don’t even kdow where to get started,” Yves says. “Thanks for meetidg my family—they love you, by the way. They’re going to be askidg about you every summer from now on, I just know it.”

He can already picture it—June, this year, after busy season is over, if their fake relationship lasts that long. Another flight where they’re next to each other. Another dozen conversations about how they’d met, about what it’s like dating a coworker, about what their plans for the future are.

Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. This was never meant to be a long-term arrangement in the first place. But something about this—about being here with Vincent—just feels so unthinkingly easy.

“It’s no problem,” Vincent says. “The feeling is mutual. I’m glad I got to meet them.”

“Thanks for looking after me, too,” Yves says, with another apologetic smile. “I’mb sure being stuck in a hotel room all day wasn’t how you were planning on spending your last day of vacation.”

“I don’t mind,” Vincent says, sounding strangely like he means it. “I like spending time with you.”

Yves nearly drops the pillow he’s holding.

When he looks back at Vincent, Vincent looks faintly amused. “Is that so surprising? I think I’d be a terrible fake boyfriend if I didn’t.”

“You make a really good one, as it stands,” Yves tells him, sincerely, and Vincent smiles.

Yves looks out the window—where the city beneath them begins to resolve itself into miniature, where the sky stretches where he can see Vincent reflected faintly back at him, from the glass—and finds that he feels impossibly light.

#sneeze fic #snz fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snzfic #when i set off to write a slow burn h/c fic i don't think i expected it to be 28k words #this was a journey for me... thank you sincerely to everyone who's joined me for the ride 😭#i am not sure if this specific chapter feels rushed? or if it's too short? (if it does i'm very sorry 🙇‍♀️)#some thoughts... (spoilers ahead; pls read the chapter before proceeding)#1) this installment in particular is something of a turning point in their relationship development (and i hope that's not too subtle)#2) vincent not being like a traditionally 'soft' caretaker and having his frustration show a little more openly is something i've had in my #head for awhile :') it was fun to let that crystallize this chapter #yvverse #my fic

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zensations35 · 1 month

Text

Where Do We Stand? (Radio/static)

Yeah, I went whole ass horny with this one. One-sided fet!Vox pining after a drunk Alastor shows up hurt and sick at his doorstep. Lots of angsty shitass banter and a sprinkle of sexiness. cw for a Val cameo and whump with blood mentions. Enjoy!

Vox’s security monitor keeps fucking glitching. His own screen flickers and Vox’s left eye squints, mouth forming a tilted line of annoyance. He lifts a teal claw to tap the screen but it fuzzes anew and in tune with a squalling sound.

What the fuck? This screen is brand fucking new!

He fills his lungs to call out for a fledgeling demon when another sound stops him. From the front of the building.

What the electric fuck?? It’s 2AM. Who the--

ــــ٨ــ

The sounds twin with the glitching on the screens he was in the middle of editing with.

Rgh. I’m being stupid. Glitching electronics happen.

Still…

He rises from his personal study and follows the sound, finger scraping along the base of his screen like he used to do to his living chin before a big meeting.

The halls, unlike those in Vox’s security room, were dim, low light. The glow of his screen is enough to guide the way toward the double doors leading him in the direction the strange static leads him. Each speaker he passes grows louder, less crisp.

٨ــılııl٨ــ

It can’t be that. I saw him get fucked up. He wouldn’t come here. Why the f--

He wrenches the front door open to a pathetic, bloody, giggling--

“Alastor??”

“Why hellooo Vox~ Kfh-HK٨ــEHaha!!”

His smirk is cradled in flushed cheeks and beaded by dots of thick ichor. Holy shit. The fucking Radio Demon is crumpled on Vox’s front porch, folded into a disheveled pretzel, ears asymmetrical, eyes half black and glossy.

“Jesus fuck,” Vox reactively kneels, hands jutting toward his injured rival, but stopping just short, wrenching back as if Alastor’s body were laced with fire. His screen dims, brows knitting. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Visiting, obviously,” Alastor’s head lolls to the side, his wrist lazily rotating as if they were conversing over dinner, “was it not on your bucket list to see me at my worst, old pal?” His palm hovers over his face and his head cocks back, “EifSZk٨ــK!”

“God fucking dammit!” Vox laces his arms under Alastor’s, heaving him to wobbly legs with a slew of curses. “You came to me? Not your--ngh!” he drags him through the doorway, Alastor stumbling drunkenly, “Not your new friends?”

A keening laugh breaks through Al’s static, “Oh~ new friends. HaĦȺ. Well. They don’t trust me--”

“I don’t trust you,” Vox growls as he uses the toe of his shoe to wipe a smear of blood from the shiny tile. He shifts the Radio Demon so he can use his back to carry him the rest of the way to his room.

Well, this floor was clean. Vox will have to get someone to scrub the fuck out of the hall and immediately wipe their memory. That’ll be another all-nighter. Fuck.

Alastor props his pointed chin on Vox’s shoulder and flicks the antennae on his hat playfully. “Ahhh, but I know where you stand. I know what to expect from…hhh-ik!” he smushes his nose into Vox’s neck and shudders. “Nnnhـ٨ــhh…we were friends once…and I know you wouldn't let me die, not until you got me under the sheets.”

“Fucking hell--are you drunk?!”

Another cackle, “But of course! Ɐμɑ! How else was I to have the utter lunacy to come to your doorstep?”’

“Ugh…”

Finally in his bedroom, Vox uses his foot to slam the door shut, thanking Tesla he wasn’t sharing it with anyone tonight. He heaves Alastor onto the brand fucking new couch and groans, massaging his lower back with a few spicy curses.

Alastor slumps full out, dizzy and whirring, resting his cheek against the cool leather as he allows his eyes to flutter shut for a few seconds.

When they pop open, the ink of his power fades and the crescent of his smile thickens as he dances his gaze around the room.

“You’ve redecorated.” His throat rasps. “I don’t like it.”

“You never do.” Vox grumbles. His eyes roam over Al’s ravaged body, charred and seamed, coat in unholy tatters.

The Radio Demon wiggles a finger and even that small action looks like it exhausts him.

“Enjoying the view?”

Vox folds his arms, cocking his screen, “Just admiring Adam’s work.” He dips his teal finger under Al’s ripped vest and Alastor hisses. Vox pauses, throat tightening.

“Go on,” Al waves, “ignore my…noises.”

Vox mutters but continues peeling away some of the sticky fabric. “Al, Jesus this…this looks,” his eyes surge, “What the hell did you do?”

“Hfـ٨ـZX!”

Vox pauses, his system blipping. He sweeps a thumb across the base of the wound, making Alastor twitch in pain.

“It hurts that bad?”

“Not at all.”

“Fucking liar.”

“As ever.”

“I’m going to have to undo your vest.”

“Are you asking to undress me?”

Vox presses fingers to his screen, pixels beading in a prism where the pressure hits. “Al, Jesus, you know I wouldn’t--”

“I knew. Seven years ago. Things have changed.”

“Not that. Never that.”

Alastor scoffs. “Well, the company you keep.”

“You have no room to judge me or them, you fucking--”

“You’re right.”

Vox pauses, mid-breath. He flicks his gaze back up to Alastor, suddenly severe.

“I don’t.” Alastor says coolly.

Vox grinds his teeth assertively, “Those two helped me when I had no one. When I was at my fucking lowest. When I…”

“Mmm…I see.”

“Do you? Mr. I need no one?”

Al scoffs, a derisive snort. “What the hell do you think is happening right at this very moment?” he gestures down the length of his beaten corpse.

Vox’s vibrant eyes roam down the mangled form, his mouth shrinking into a tight crescent frown.

The glower slips from Alastor’s face as his lips contort into a twist, his fist winging up to catch a half-stifled, “GSZ’TF-Vـ٨ـvV!”

With his hands still on Alastor’s body, the jerking motion sets off a buzz of Vox's sensors, flushing his screen with a purple and pink glow.

Alastor wipes the side of his mouth and chuckles. “Ah~ Some things don’t change.”

“Fuck off.”

Al slips the top portion of his vest off and snorts at the look on his rival's face. “It’s embarrassing how badly you want to fuck me, Vox.”

“Will you stop analyzing me long enough for me to actually help you? Because I’m losing my patience here.”

“Fine.”

Vox grinds his mouth a severed frown at the corner of his screen as he dips closer to inspect Al’s chest. “What the hell did you do to it?!” The split skin is sewn together with some sort of green string--sloppily so, as if Al had done it half asleep and shivering. Which… actually tracks.

Alastor slaps his hand away with a grunt. “I’m no pharmacist, Vox. What do you expect from me? My expertise is pulling bodies apart, not piecing them together.”

“And you think I can do a better job?”

“Can you? Or are you more jealous you didn’t get to do it yourself?”

Vox mutters something and turns to rummage in a medicine cabinet.

A clattering knock has both men jutting ramrod stiff, Alastor wincing and scrunching his claw over his tattered wound.

“Vox~?” Valentino’s amorous voice floats through the closed door.

“Shit!” Vox glances at Alastor and his screen freezes, a line of pixels popping out in a shock of contrast.

Alastor’s smile stretches, his bleak eyes set in a wan but capricious leer. “Oh dear~”

“Shut-up!” Vox pings to Alastor’s side, his hand splaying over his mouth as Val’s voice floats through the door.

“Vox, darling? What’s the commotion in there?”

“Nothing!” Vox struggles to keep his voice neutral, even as Alastor’s lips move under his fingers, hot and damp. The breeze of his breaths flutter through his parted claws as he begins to pant, his grip on the wound growing firmer with a small shiver.

“Ff٨ــvv”

Oh Tesla, fuck no--

“Vox, can I come in, amorcito? I have…”

Vox misses Val’s next words, his screen blipping as Al’s face crinkles inward from the center, nose scrunching with a staccato of hitching breaths under the pressure of Vox’s palm.

“Hz͎̰͒c̩̍͋͐̚͠h̃́F!”

Godfuckingdamnshitb̷̧̝́į̵̇t̷̤͑͛c̴̻͊̂ḫ̷̨͘ç̵̉ơ̵̡̥c̶̰͒k̶͉̿̆ ̸̟̓

Another force presses against Al’s thigh, Vox’s erection growing reluctantly and brimming with flux. Alastor’s brows form a twisted V, a knowing look passing between them.

Vox feels his screen fuzz, as if he were experiencing a small surge. Then, a ping mildly akin to connecting to bluetooth.

((What--??))

((get--hh٨ــget rid of him)) Alastor’s thick staticky tone coat’s Vox’s inner speakers.

((You invaded my wifi??))

((Don’t be stu٨ــvphhii-)) the warm breath sweeps across Vox’s fingers and his screen crackles with energy, pixels oscillating with errors. But the voice isn't coming from Alastor's mouth. Only itchy breath.

((Control yourself, prick!)) Vox seethes through the wireless connection. He feels his rival’s breaths pulsing under his palm. Vox’s heartbeat speeds, matching the rhythm of threadbare hitches.

Alastor’s body wracks with a shudder. ((“Hvvv٨ــvXSH٨ــ!!”))

Vox feels the sneeze both vibrating his hand and within the walls of his mind. His own shiver is not one of fever but lust.

((Jesus fuck, Al.))

Alastor's smug grin stretches as he wraps his hand around Vox’s wrist and pries his teal claws from his face. ((You’d have a firmer chance of fucking him than me.))

RGH! Alastor’s head cracks to the side as Vox’s palm strikes his cheek, leaving a bold imprint on the side of his face. Dark blood paints a tiny ribbon on his lip as it curls into a soft smirk.

((Oh, I bet that felt good, enjoy it while you can get your filthy hands on me, you virtual fuck.))

Vox’s fangs vanish in an angry glitch for a brief nanosecond. ((I’m going to enjoy disinfecting your goddamn wounds and watching you writhe in antibacterial soap, shitass))

((Oddly, you’re not the first person to call me th--))

“Vox! Are you ignoring me??” Val’s voice swings from sugar to salt as it takes on a whiny tone.

With a pained grunt, Alastor shoves Vox away and snarls. ((You’d better go. Now))

((But you--))

((I’ll ħⱥꞥđłē it. Go))

Vox grunts pissily, but he knows Val is on the knife’s edge of impatiently storming in. The TV demon electrically ports to the door, his hand on the knob in seconds.

Before the moth can slip inside, Vox squeezes out of the room and clips it shut. Val glowers, cigarette holder snaked between the fingers of his upper hand.

“What the fuuuuck babe?” he whines. “What are you doing in there?” his lower arm trills toward Vox’s tighter than normal pants. “Your boner is bigger than the building, Luminosa.” His crooked grin ticks, pink essence beading at the corner, “Am I interrupting~ something?”

Vox’s fans sigh with a buzz. “Val, I’m just wor̴̗͠٨̵̠̔̓ “

A power surge overtakes him, making him groan, dropping his glitching screen into his palms. “H-k! Fv̵̨͛٨̴͈̀v̷͒͜٨̷̺̈!”

Valentino’s lower arms wind around Vox’s shoulders, his eyes drifting into concern. “What? What’s wrong?” His slim body bends at the waist to meet Vox’s, alarm spreading his wings to half mast.

“N-gh-nuh,” Vox hears Alastor’s voice mirrored in his internal speakers like an upload.

That fucker…

“Hih٨ــ! Their hitches twin across the connection, Vox’s body reacting to Alastor’s. “Heh-’̸̱͘SchË̴͇W̴̯̒H̸͓̕!̶̰͒!̷̮̐”̴̖͗ ̷͕̚ His screen flares brilliant blue, the jumbled onomatopoeia scrolling across the screen. “Gehh…snf!”

Val’s hands grip him tight, rooting him in reality. “Darling!” his tone peaks with coyness, “Are you unwell? Or are you playing~?” Pink venom inches down his fangs as his smile caresses his cheeks, his fingers gliding toward Vox’s groin salaciously.

Vox grunts, his palm smushed against the core of his screen as he attempts to sever the connection between himself and Alastor. “I’m٨ــhgk! I--”

Val’s hand grips his cock and he’s so hard and hot it could be the powerhouse to heat the flames of Hell itself.

“F-ffuuuhh--” he feels an encore of hitches from within his sensors. As Val fondles him, Al’s static strokes his modules. Vox’s claw crimps the fur on Valentino’s robe. His legs feel like gel and his free hand massaging the plasma of his screen is doing nothing to stave off the encroaching--

“IYZ’ETD̷̢͝C̶̗͕̙͇̟͒͌͠Ḩ̶͇̱͉͍͆Ž̷̬͋!̸̬̹̽͑!̶͇̥̜̜̆̋̄̋͘”

“Baby~” Val’s voice slinks along his skin, making him tingle with need. “Come to bed. I’ll take care of you...”

Suddenly, like the snap of a frayed cord, the connection to Alastor severs. Vox’s eye flares red and his heart stills for a full beat. Two.

What happened? He reaches out, opening pairing mode. Nothing.

He swallows and drops his hand, abandoning his lover’s touch.

“I--I’m fine, Val, I…I have to get this work done, I--” he backpedals, trying to swallow his heart back into his chest. “I just need a reboot and--”

Valentino visibly wilts, confusion washing his face as his antennae droop, “You…what??” his lips curl bitterly.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Vox is already threading through the doorway, “Night.” He slams it knowing he’ll pay for snubbing Val tomorrow. Physically and mentally. He spins to see Alastor flagging over the side of the couch, his wounds freshly split and gushing.

“Fuck!” Vox races to his side, snagging a towel and bracing it against his chest. “Why the fuck did you do that?? You had me going fucking crazy out there!”

Alastor grunts, face painted with cold agony, pushing himself up against Vox. “Nfg,” You’re wـﮩ٨ــwelcome,” he spits, ears flattening as he glares at Vox, “Would you rather he hear me?”

“Maybe!” Vox snarls, pressing the towel harder onto the wound to watch the Radio Demon wince, “Maybe I should have let him find you just to throw you to the curb. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you--”

“Hـﮩ٨ـSZV!” The burst of noise makes Vox startle, his hands bunching in the fabric of Alastor’s suit as he pins himself to the sputtering Radio Demon.

Alastor gasps, his chest inflating against Vox’s. His fingers climb against his face, clamoring to cover his nose and mouth even as his shoulders shake with the effort of restraining himself just long enough to get them there.

Small grains of lightning leap around the edges of Vox’s screen. Each of Alastor’s panting inhales make his breaths buffer and lag. He dares not risk looking at the Radio Demon--one more bracing inhale would suck the air straight from his lungs. “HFZḨ̶͇̱͉͍͆٨ــŽ̷̬͋!̸̬̹̽͑!̶͇̥̜̜̆̋̄̋͘𝚇༽༼Ɀ!!”

Alastor jerks forward into Vox’s arms, painting the TV demon’s hands dark and wet. Vox does his best to tamp down a fresh burst of desire and rage as he leans Alastor back against the couch.

Alastor sucks in fresh beats of air before peering up at him, a smug curl of his lips, “That was grossly and pathetically inappropriate.” He rasps a small hacking laugh, lifting a finger to graze the thin edge of Vox’s screen, leaving behind a garden of friction. “I hope you enjoyed it while you can.”

Vox shunts his gaze, neck twisting to hide the flush of his glow. “Goddamn you.”

“Already happened.”

Vox stands and grabs the previously deserted box of bleedstop.

Alastor’s brow lifts as he scrubs his nose. “Are you still consuming the poison?”

Vox scoffs, dumping out two packs of the supply.

Interesting they have such a large stock…

“I do what I do for my own reasons.”

“M~ and do those ‘reasons’ have anything in relation to myself?”

“Tch,” he sprinkles the crystals into his palm, “not just you.”

“Good. I almost felt bad for a moment there. Hgk-!”

Vox slams the palm of powder onto Alastor’s chest, causing the Radio Demon to wince and wither, noise blaring from his core. “Hff-Fuck! Couldn’t have done that any--eighhh!”

Vox grinds the heel of his palm into the wound, crushing the powder into a paste and buttering it over the gash.

“Ffــ٨ــuck! Vox, is this really necessary?!”

“Oh, so very necessary,” Vox snarls.

Alastor mirrors it but his lips are peeled in a grimace. He did invite this with his baiting remarks after all. Deserved. As always.

Once the salve is administered, Vox leans back and rips open a large roll of gauze.

“Lean up so I can get the back.”

Al does, but the movement makes him shiver. When Vox reaches for him, Alastor recoils, sealing his eyes shut with a moan.

“Don't be a fucking baby, Al. This won’t take long.”

But Al is shuddering so hard his teeth are clicking.

“Al?”

“Hfvv…Cــ٨ــcold-d…”

Vox touches his skin and it feels hot--feverish. “Fuck.”

Al wobbles and sags against the couch, still shaking, his arms now wrapped around his bare shoulders. His knees wind up and his ears disappear behind his head. “V-Vox̵̡̰̾̍͘x̴̢̫̜̊̎͛͌…”

“Al, stay awake.” Vox exhales, fans spinning anxiously. “Stay awake!”

Goddammitgodd̶̻̫̪͛ǎ̷͚̬͌̍͝m̵̫̮͝i̷̼͔̤̻͕͐͒͐͝t̶̰̙̲̜̦͊̑͗̒͘G̶̹͚̽́͐Ő̸̖̀D̸̢̙̩̍̆̍̒͊F̵̼̝̣̦̪̈́̾̈́U̶̹͚͕̒͑̂̍͝Ċ̸̙͖K̶̺̎͂̒̚̕I̵͇͝N̷͕͈̐̇̕G̶͕̀͜D̷̡͓̻̘̼̑̿A̵̠̠̋͝Ḿ̸̯̭̝̥M̶̟̅̀̊̒̓Į̵͝T̶̼̮̮͂́̄!̴̺̤̫̺̓!̵͉̘̽̋͂̕

Alastor slips, descending further into the seams of the couch, his left eye fully black now.

“Al, fuck,” Vox grabs a blanket from his bed (brand new fucking blanket too goddam--) and wraps Alastor with it. It seems to warm him a bit, the Radio Demon letting out a chittering sigh. He looks up at Vox, deliriously muttering with a newly wedged smirk.

“It seems you are b-better at this.”

“Fuck you.” Vox grumbles as he tucks another blanket around him. “Some of us have to be around here…” He waits for another snipe about Valentino, but it doesn’t come. “I still need to wrap your wound.”

“Of course,” Al says, but he makes no move to allow this. Vox rolls his eyes and props his screen on his fist, watching the asshole drift lazily.

Hours later, after finally having gotten the stupid ass gauze wrapped around his stupid ass not sexy body, Alastor seems asleep, but you never know with that guy. And Vox does not plan to sleep, even if he didn’t have to clean floors and mesmerize assistants.

When he returns from cleanup, Alastor is awake--or at least rested enough to stand on his own. His ears are alert and his eyes have cleared back to their normal magenta.

He’s doing his best to button up the three remaining buttons on his mangled vest. He seems sober now and perfectly posh and asinine as ever.

Normal. Except for.

“Where’s your cane--”

“Microphone.”

Vox rolls his head to the side, “Fine, call it whatever in this afterlife. Where is it?”

“Gone. Disposed of.”

“Why?”

“It matters not. I don’t need it. I’m not--”

“I know, Al.” Vox dribbles a sigh. "Are you going to be--"

"Thanks for having me over, chum," Alastor interrupts him, strolling to the door and flicking a coin to Vox. “For the service.”

“Tch. Whatever.”

Al shrugs. “Keep it. I do not wish to owe you.” He tugs his coat straight and adjusts his bowtie.

“Oh, and Vox,” Alastor pauses, claws ticking along the grooves of the bedroom wall. “Never say never.”

Vox lifts a neon brow. “You mean…”

“Once you find the exception, it becomes easier and easier to justify each consecutive time. And then you become that which you abhor.”

Mist curls around the Radio Demon’s body, and he vanishes as if he’d never been present.

God damn him. Vox slams the door, even though he didn’t actually leave through it.

That’s why he hates Alastor so much. Because he’s right. He’s so often goddamn right.

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devilscastle69 · 5 months

Text

panic! at the drugstore (j/jk, nanami)

hiiiii @ezynse merry xmas, happy new year, happy day. <3

im ur secret santa. <33 i hope u like this fic. ily. i want u to know the j key on my keyboard is challenged so i wrote "Goo" by accident sm ToT

(sorry for the title i dont even rlly listen to them i- )

please keep this to sneeze kink blogs only! 18+ only!

Summary stuff:

Fandom: J/JK

Characters: Nan//ami, Go/jo, Ijic/hi, Yu/ji,

Pairings: slight nana/go. in the way la croix has flavor

Good future AU (no bad stuff, everyones an adult. set in 2023)

As soon as Nanami detected Gojo’s presence, he should have turned on his heel and left. Instead, he’d gone into the drugstore, reasoning that the necessity of his trip outweighed the aggravation it’d cause. He wasn’t naive enough to hope he’d get out of here without any additional psychic damage but maybe he’d luck out and Gojo would—

“Nanami!” Gojo sang from a few aisles over. This was starting to play out like one of his nightmares. Verbatim. “Wow, you shop here too?!”

“Not anymore.”

Gojo laughed easily and brushed off the obvious rejection with a wave of his hand. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not happy to see your best buddy!”

“I have no such thing.” Nanami sighed and drew out a cough in the process which he managed to muffle into the sleeve of his jacket. Anyone else would have read the room and left him alone, but Gojo continued to chatter on at a volume unfit for the public space they were in. If only he’d move back a few centimeters so Nanami could escape without having to push past him and potentially causing a bigger scene than they’re already causing. He’d already used up his energy—both cursed and otherwise—at work today and he was quickly fading.

For the first time, he wished he could focus on the bubblegum pop blasting through the speakers with its sentiments of Sakura blossoms and old times; it would beat trying to follow the embellished story Gojo was telling. He pinched the bridge of his nose. To make matters worse, the temperature change had caused the congestion that had mostly settled by the end of the train ride over here to return with a vengeance. His nose threatened to drip and he risked a small sniffle. Immediately, he recognized it as a mistake when the lingering prickle sharpened and traveled deeper into his nose.

As if he hadn’t sneezed enough today.

“And after all that I got some wagashi at this great place near the hospital, Great Luck right? And haha it was! Anyway, the point is… I got some stuff for Yuji, but then I got hungry waiting for the car so I figured I’d better make up for it.”

Nanami made a point of checking his watch as a last ditch effort for a polite departure, less for Gojo’s sake and more for the sake of everyone else in this godforsaken store. But most of all for his own sake, considering he’s quickly losing the battle against the pertinent tickle up his right nostril. “I don’t have time to talk,” he said evenly, breath only wavering once he’s gotten the last word out.

Unfortunately, Gojo clasped his shoulder, refusing to let him leave. “Did you take the train here? We could carpool instead, Ijichi is—”

“ht’KKxt!” Nanami interrupted with a poorly restrained sneeze directed into the sleeve of his jacket.

“Bless you!” Gojo’s head lolled to the side; he had the decency to release him, but otherwise didn’t move out of his personal space. Nanami nodded and turned away. “Wow, that sounded painful. You okay?”

It was. “hGNXt’ch! h’kKt…chh.” Damnit. “Hh- kmpht’Chhh!” He might not have been able to see Gojo’s eyes, but he sure could feel them on him. This tickle just wasn’t going to quit until he let it out, and he’d rather end this as soon as possible. “h’eSCHh!”

“Oh bless you.” Gojo, ever uncaring of displaying any decorum, took zero steps away from him. He examined him from a few different angles, tapping his chin as he hovered. “Bet I can guess why you’re here today!”

“Excuse me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed small circles all the way into the inner corners of his eyes and tried to ignore the heat that had risen to his ears. His head pounded even harder than it had before.

“Always so formal, huh?”

Always so inappropriately casual, huh? Nanami glanced at Gojo’s basket and its contents: strawberry shampoo, bags of candy, winter apple body wash, face masks, moisturizer, cotton candy flavored lip gloss, and more items he couldn’t quite make out, but surely none of them were essential enough to inconvenience Ijichi in the way Gojo was. Everything he’s learned about Satoru Gojo has been against his will, and now he’s horrified that his brain was wasting the time wondering if he’s one of those people who can’t go to the store and truly buy one item.

“So, how was your—”

“I don’t have time to talk. Excuse me.” Risking a shoulder check, Nanami walked towards the aisles. He tried not to sniffle more than strictly necessary and tried to ignore the extra set of footsteps behind him. Key word was tried.

“Oh wow, you really sound terrible.” Gojo said sympathetically, continuing to haunt Nanami all the way to the cold and flu aisle. “How long have you had that cold?”

Why did it have to be Gojo?

“Stop following me.”

“You forgot your basket, though.”

So he did. “I don’dt need that much.” It was true, but Nanami accepted the basket anyway from the pouting man.

“Mm, really? You kinda sound like you’re dying, y’know.” Gojo wandered around the aisle and picked up a box of medicine that he held up to his blindfolded eyes. “No offense.” A man started walking in their direction, took one look at Gojo, and immediately turned around. Nanami released a small forlorn sigh through gritted teeth.

“I’ll be finde.” he said, clearing his throat. He could curb the hoarse quality his voice had taken on, but the congestion was something he’d have to live with for now. “You mentionded Ijichi is waiting?”

“Yeah, so hurry up, Nanami!”

“I will n’dot be ri-ridi’hhgg wih—” He’d gotten distracted and hadn’t noticed that the itch from before had been slowly respawning. Gojo gave a questioning hum as Nanami his knuckle to his nose, sniffled sharply, and cleared his throat again. “I will not be riding with you.”

“Aw, not with me?”

Nanami shot him a glare. All of his efforts were in vain because the urge to sneeze returned with a vengeance and demanded his attention in a way that put Gojo’s efforts to shame. The prickle spread like wildfire through his sinuses, and in spite of his efforts in snuffing it out, he’d allowed himself to get distracted enough to give the enemy the advantage. “Hh-!” He inhaled sharply before shoving the back of his wrist up to his nose. “nGhthsCH! hh’NGXTCHh’ueh!” That last one had been particularly loud but had been just as unrelieving as its predecessors. “hehH’TSChhiuh!”

Gojo patted his back. There was a warmth to his palm that Nanami could feel even through the layers of fabric acting as a buffer between them. “Bless you.” Using only his free hand, he easily broke the seal of a travel pack of tissues on the shelf and nudged a few tissues into Nanami’s palm.

“You’re supposed to pay first.” In spite of the protest, he fixed his glasses that were in danger of falling off his face and accepted the tissues; by noon, his handkerchief had become unusable and he’d already gone through the tissues he’d accepted at the train station this morning, so his options were limited. He turned away for a moment to blow his nose. While his efforts were productive, they did little to kill the taunting buzzing in the back of his nose. He pinched his nostrils shut from behind the tissue and willed the tickle to recede.

“Not yet! Hey if I buy your stuff will you ride with me? Wouldn’t you get back sooner that way? Oh, bless—”

“hh’MPHtchh!”

“—you again!”

He took a moment to massage the bridge of his nose in a silent apology to himself for the poor attempt at stifling before clearing his throat and bringing up sodden tissue to wipe the lingering moisture from the red rims of his nostrils.

No amount of free cold medicine would make spending his free time with this absolute menace in a small enclosed space worth it, but at the same time it’d be less aggravating for him to just go along with it in the long run. Gojo’s already made it clear he has no intention of leaving him alone. He gave half a nod and picked up the first bottle of cold medicine that he saw and a bag of face masks and took a few steps in the direction of the check out.

“That’s all you’re buying?” Gojo asked. His lips formed an exaggerated frown and his forehead wrinkled as if he was bewildered by Nanami’s shopping habits.

Nanami was too busy fighting a losing battle against the threat of another sneeze to tell Gojo to stop adding more items to the basket, but he managed to shoot him a pointed glare before his expression crumpled. “Hh- hehhH- …mPHTtshhiuh! Pardon,” he said more out of habit than anything and wiped his nose again, “I have more than enough now.”

“So frugal.”

He supposed the cough drops, vicks, lotion tissues, vitamins, and nasal spray wouldn’t hurt, especially if accepting them will get Nanami out of here faster. Since he’d already opened the tissues, he figured he might as well put on one of the masks in the pack. His glasses immediately fogged and he tucked them into his inner coat pocket.

After they’d approached the register Gojo told the cashier they would be paying together and nuzzled his cheek against Nanami’s shoulder in an intimate way. He’d smack him later.

The cold pierced through Nanami’s coat as soon as they opened the door. As annoying as this situation is, he can’t say he’s upset that he won’t have to walk back to the train station. They turned a corner and Gojo pointed out the car.

“I know, I know.” Gojo opened the door to the passenger side and abruptly wrapped an arm around Nanami’s shoulder, yanking him into the field of vision as if he’d run away. “That took a little longer than I said, but look who I ran into!”

“Nanamin!” Itadori called out from the back seat with a cheery wave. Nanami is just as surprised to see him, though he’d mostly tuned out Gojo’s story. “No way, what a coincidence!”

Nanami shot Gojo a withering look and gave a slight bow to Itadori. “Itadori-kun…”

“Think fast!” Gojo called out and threw a bag of candy at Itadori.

He caught it easily. “Wow, thank you, Gojo-sensei!”

“Gojo-san, we were meant to be back over a half hour ago—“

“Ijichiiii, you need to relax. Seriously, you’re already getting frown lines, that’s no good. Look, I even got something for you. Tadaaa~” He dropped a pack of instant udon into his lap and a face mask and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat. “Can you drop Nanami Kento-kun off first?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Ijichi sighed and took a moment before he half-heartedly thanked Gojo for the gifts. Then he turns to look at the backseat. “Of course, Nanami-san.” He and Nanami shared a quick glance as the cause of their stress tore into his own pack of candy and ate it noisily.

“Oh, why are you wearing a mask, Nanamin?” Itadori asked as Nanami sat next to him and put on his seatbelt. “Do you have a cold?”

“It’s alright,” Nanami assured him and cleared his throat, “just a mild one.”

“I dunno if mild is the right word there, Nanamin.” Gojo interjected as Ijichi finally started driving.

Itadori’s face fell and Nanami sincerely considered kicking the back of Gojo’s chair, though he was too busy pinching his nose shut over the fabric of the mask to stifle a sneeze that had nearly escaped his detection. “hGXxt’chshh!- excuse me.”

“Bless you. I hope you feel better soon.” Itadori frowned and offered him a piece of candy. Nanami shook his head and Itadori shrugged and ate it himself.

“You’re gonna pop an eardrum like that,” Gojo chastised, clicking his tongue.

All of this was past the point of the nightmare he’d thought he was having earlier and was starting to veer into the fever dream category. Perhaps in more ways than one. Gojo flicked through the radio stations until he found what he was looking for and started singing along with a pop song. Itadori joined him and they pointed at each other while Nanami reflected on his life choices and folded his arms more tightly over his chest.

Nanami glanced at Ijichi’s GPS. Twenty minutes of this felt like a death sentence. His limbs had started aching a few hours ago and now that the adrenaline was long dead and he was sitting again, he felt it in full force. The sudden urge to lean his temple against the foggy window arose and he indulged in it, ever so slowly pressing his forehead to the window.

While Gojo was especially pitchy, the noise at least took the focus off of Nanami as he muffled a series of throat-tearing coughs against the crook of his arm. His lungs gave a slight whine as he regained his breath and he could feel the silent attention the other three men were giving him.

“Can you breathe okay, Nanamin?” Itadori asked, patting his shoulder. If it were anyone else, Nanami would have batted the hand away, but doing that to Itadori would feel like kicking a puppy and it's not like he was heartless. While most people become hardened and jaded after living the life of a jujutsu sorcerer, Itadori remained as kind and genuine as ever over the years.

Instead he nodded. “Yes. Don’t worry.”

Itadori gave him a thumbs up. The singing continued and he pitied Ijichi for how long he’s had to put up with Satoru Gojo today.

To Gojo’s credit, he toned down the singing, but Nanami almost wished he’d go back to his caterwauling, because his nose had chosen that moment to betray him yet again. It itched like mad and putting pressure on the tip of his nose did nothing to chase the feeling away. He did his best to muffle it into his sleeve anyway, hoping the extra layers would do anything to make it less intrusive than he knew it would be. “Hh- hgzt’SChhiuh! heHMPHhshh’ieuh!- pardon me.”

“Aw, bless you,” Gojo chimed in, stretching out his seatbelt as he turned his body around to face him. “Do you want my jacket, Nanamin?” He puckered his lips.

This time he let his shoe dig into the bag of Gojo’s chair. “No.”

Ijichi quietly turned up the heat. “Give him a break, Gojo-san,” he said tiredly.

The rest of the ride quite literally blurred together as Nanami fought to keep his eyes open. With the heat on, his chills were kept at bay, and it was easy to drift off to sleep. He jolted and shook himself awake at least three times before the familiar building came into view, and the third time, it’d been because Itadori was saying his name to get his attention. Ijichi pulled up closer and stopped the car. Nanami thanked him for the ride and held up a hand to stop Itadori from offering a side hug.

“Get well soon, Nana—”

Nanami shut the car door and ignored the rest of Gojo’s sentence. Getting into the apartment was a blur, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d come home in rough shape, relying on autopilot. He immediately hung his jacket and loosened his tie, and then he removed his face mask, cringing as he pinched away the lingering moisture from his nostrils. He’d done his best to avoid rubbing his nose all day, but his efforts seemed to be in vain considering how sore it still was.

As much as he wanted to just collapse into the couch, his discipline won out and he managed to undress. Though, not without challenge. “huhh…HGSCHh’uh!” He sneezed all over his chest, too slow to cover in his exhausted state. Undeniably, it was a relief to be able to sneeze freely in the privacy of his bedroom. “hh-...hDJtSchh’euh! hhaH’DTzSHhh’ih!”

He found the tissues from the bag and blew his nose, letting out a slight hum of relief as some of the congestion came free. His eyes still ached and with a quick dose of medicine, he was ready to close them. He laid in bed with the extra throw blanket atop the comforter and waited for the chills to die down so he could sleep.

It was restful for the first few hours. As he’d anticipated, he woke up in the early hours of the morning coughing, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and his mouth bone dry.

3 AM.

It was too early for this. He forces himself into the kitchen to fill a tall glass with water and to find a few more items from the bag. He took the cough drops out and put one in his mouth and placed the rest of the bag on the bedside table.

Somehow knowing that he needed as much sleep as possible hindered him from doing so. He drifted in and out of sleeping for the entire morning, occasionally walking up mumbling something incomprehensible.

He was finally asleep until his phone went off a few minutes past 6 AM. It wasn’t his alarm, but an obnoxious ding.

Gojo:

heyyy nanamin~

… Nanami clenched his jaw as he watched the animated ellipses bubble and waited to see what could possibly be so important to disturb him.

Gojo:

good morning! 🌞hope u get some rest today hahaha :D you sounded awful 🤒dont go dying </3

Typically jujutsu sorcerers have about as much paid sick leave as he would’ve had at his former company: basically none. What kind of fucked up—

Nanami frowned, realizing he’d missed some other notifications, including the ones canceling his mission for the day. It’s easy to put the pieces together. He had to put the phone down to sneeze a few times, and it continued to ding throughout his fit.

Gojo:

we’ll have to go out when youre better!! next friday?? theres a new barcade i wanna try and then KARAOKE!!!!!! :DDD

Gojo:

Nanamiiiiii D:

Gojo:

don’t leave me on read

Gojo:

bless youuuuu :3

Gojo:

no i cant hear u im just guessing

Gojo:

was i right?? o.O

Nanami silenced his phone and went back to sleep, deciding to address the new situation, along with the strange feelings that’d started coming up, later. For now, at least he could relax.

Nanami:

Thank you.

#snzfic #snz #sneeze kink #my writing #j/jk #cold snz #sneeze fic #snz fic

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