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aller-geez · 2 months ago

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I NEED TO KNOW WHY THIS IS MY MOST ENJOYED FIC PLS SOMEONE ENLIGHTEN ME, ITS JUST A PLANE FIC 😭😭😭😭

Flight 676 To Anchorage

Written & Illustrated By: allergeez ✨

Just shy of 6.5k words, and more snz than my typical fics cause this one is definitely self indulgent ~

After a month of working on this fic despite my crippling depression and self hatred, it’s gotta be one of my favorites I’ve written✨

Mentions public contagion, but honestly it’s just a bunch of Remi suffering 😏

And as always, Levi belongs to the lovely @thekinkyleopard 🌱

The airport was a bustling maze of noise and movement, with people rushing in every direction. Despite the chaotic atmosphere, Levi's face still held his trademark cheerful smile as he strolled hand in hand with his mate through the throngs of travelers. However, today there seemed to be a weariness in his step, slowing their progress through the sea of bodies. Remi's features were set in their usual scowl, his sharp green eyes scanning each passing person with suspicion, ready to push them aside if necessary. A messenger bag adorned one of the leopard's thin shoulders, containing their boarding passes, an extra jacket, and the book he was currently engrossed in for the flight. Remi's dingy backpack hung carelessly from his back, weighed down with their belongings for the trip ahead.

Almost silently, the wolf muffled a small, dry cough into his shoulder. “14B is our gate, yeah?” His deep voice pierced the silence between the two, and Levi’s bright eyes flew back to meet his mate’s.

He nodded, his smile faltering as he took in Remi's anxious demeanor. "Yeah, that's our gate." He squeezed his mate's hand reassuringly, silently hoping that the flight would be a smooth and uneventful one.

They weaved their way through the crowds until they reached their designated gate, finding two empty seats nearby. Levi gestured for Remi to take a seat before settling down next to him. The leopard let out a small sigh of relief as he sank into the cushioned seat, grateful for the brief moment of rest.

With a small yawn, the leopard fished through his bag to pull out their boarding passes, and handed one to his mate. Remi took the boarding pass from his mate's outstretched hand and glanced at it, then up at the departure screens above them, which flickered with information about their flight: "Flight 676 to Anchorage," he read out loud, tucking the pass into the inside pocket of his coat for safekeeping.

"Boarding starts in 20 minutes, love." The leopard gave Remi's hand a reassuring squeeze. Despite being awake almost all night packing both his own luggage AND Remi’s, then quadruple checking that they had everything possible together for their journey the following day, Levi was thankfully more cognizant than his mate and was able to keep up with more than one direction at a time.

The wolf looked away, his emerald eyes darting around the busy waiting area with renewed vigilance. It was hard for him to hide the fact that he wasn't feeling well; he felt feverish and nauseous from the car ride over here, and he was just barely able to hide the rounding of his consonants that came from the ever growing congestion behind his eyes. The press of bodies against him didn't help either; behind the wet cement block within his sinuses he could smell sweat and perfume mixing into a cloying cocktail of odors that made it hard for him to breathe comfortably.

Remi sighed through gritted teeth as he leaned back into his stiff chair and closed his eyes for a moment. His ears subconsciously twitched at the low rumble of the crowd, filtering out snippets of conversation: someone arguing about lost luggage...a baby crying in the distance...the scent of overcooked pretzels wafting from a nearby snack bar...

When did airports get so loud? And crowded? The wolf’s head spun as he sat in the leathery airport seat, a stubborn tickle gnawing at him and trying to get him to blow his cover in front of his mate. He had managed to smother a few sneezes into the plush collar of his sweatshirt earlier that morning when Levi was out of earshot but blowing now would definitely raise even the most sleep deprived leopard’s suspicions.

Silently he scrunched his nose back and forth before attempting a soft sniffle, although he quickly had to abort at the sheer waterlogged sound he produced.

With a determined glare, the wolf sat up straight in his seat and managed to knuckle at his overly sensitive nose before clearing his throat.

“I gotta pee, I’ll be right back in two seconds.” He tossed offhandedly to the other who sat tentatively, his blue eyes still locked on the many screens above to ensure they were in fact at the right gate. His expression twisted in surprise, then flickered to more concern.

“A-Are you sure, Rem? Okay but please hurry back we can’t miss the flight!” Levi called back anxiously but by then Remi was already weaving through the sea of people, in a B- Line for the nearest restroom, his nostrils flaring helplessly as he held his breath. Thankfully, the bathroom was right around the corner from their gate and as always, the men’s room had no line, allowing him to quickly slip into an open stall and nearly slam the door behind him, snatching a fistful of the single ply toilet paper from the roll before crushing it to his face as he pitched forward forcefully.

“hdt’ishhhh! Hhh—! Hihh’ISSHh! ihH’ktdSHhh!!! iH’tSSH! H— hhHiHhh! hhEhh-! HhEHh’iiTShh’iiEW!” His large frame was wracked with a fit of violent sneezes, leaving the wad of toilet paper in his hands a sopping mess.

Remi's body tensed as he braced himself against the stall wall, the force of his sneezes surprising even him. He had managed to keep them at bay for most of the morning, but now they were coming in rapid succession, each one stronger than the last.

Tears streamed from his emerald eyes as he gave a cautious inhale, then a slow exhale, and he tossed the sodden ball of paper into the open toilet.

“Bless you!” Called a stranger’s voice from another stall.

“Nnnngh—“ Remi grumbled low in his chest in acknowledgment as he unrolled more of the toilet paper on the wall and blew his nose with a soupy gurgle. With a grimace of disgust, he managed to clean himself up and toss the wad into the toilet with the other.

“Fuck me, I always feel like shit every god damn time we have to do ANYTHING.” The raven haired male growled loudly again, this time more to himself, and forcefully kicked the plexiglass walls of the stall he stood in, the sharp bang echoing loudly throughout the bathroom. Suddenly, the entire bathroom fell silent.

Frustrated and feverish, Remi finally exited the stall to an empty bathroom and stopped at the sinks to give himself a once over. He couldn’t look too much like walking death if he wanted to pass off as healthy to his ever inquisitive mate.

The wolf’s slightly dimmed green eyes scanned his reflection in the mirror, taking note of the deep purple circles under his eyes and the very subtle bulges of redness across his cheeks from how swollen his sinuses had started to become, as well as the slightly pink hue his nose had taken on.

The wolf took a second to turn on the water at the sink and splash some cool water across his face, using the bottom side of his shirt to dry himself afterward, finally taking a determined breath. “Let’s get this show on the road I guess…” he breathed before turning on his heels and making his way slowly from the quiet bathroom back out to the overwhelming mass of people. He swiftly wove through the other travelers until making it back to their gate, and Levi’s worried expression melted into happiness as soon as Remi’s face came into his line of sight.

“Perfect, you’re back! I think they’re just about to—“

Cutting the feline off, a voice came over the intercom, announcing boarding for their flight and Levi couldn’t help but giggle. “Perfect timing~”

Remi adjusted his backpack on his back before stretching his arms above his head with a loud yawn while he subconsciously gave his nose a good rub, a feeble attempt at looking “relaxed”.

With a knowing chuckle and a shake of his head, Levi followed suit and they made their way towards the line forming at the gate.

As they boarded the plane and found their seats, Remi couldn't help but feel a sense of anxiety creeping up on him. He had never been a fan of flying and always felt restless on long flights. But somehow he just had a feeling that this one would be even worse than usual.

As they approached the seats labeled clearly on thier boarding pass, Remi gestured to the leopard to slide in first to the window seat. He hated being able to see outside anyway; plus, this way he could avoid anyone trying to be overly friendly with his mate. He didn’t want to have to cause a scene. Levi tossed the wolf a grateful, tired smile and slid in to the seat closest to the window, his messenger bag clutched tightly in his hand.

Remi took an extra second before taking his seat while Levi was distracted to scrub his red rimmed nostrils within an inch of their life, you know, for good measure.

He could feel that stubborn tickle start to dislodge itself from his sinus cavity and he only had a few more moments before he’d be forced to just grin and bear it while in flight.

Suddenly, a strange man brushed against one of Remi’s broad shoulders before a friendly voice brought Remi back to reality.

“Excuse me sir,” Dressed in a crisp, white button-up shirt and expensive-looking brown slacks, the voice had come from a man that exuded an air of importance that was simply lost on Remington. As he blinked his dulled green eyes, trying to shake off his daze, the man asked politely, "Sorry, sir, are you sitting here?" The contrast between their appearances was stark - the man's pristine attire against Remington's rumpled clothes and unkempt hair.

Hearing the conversation, Levi grabbed his mate’s wrist and gave him a gentle tug. “Yes I’m sorry, sir, He was just sitting down, weren’t you Acushla?”

Levi’s face displayed a sheepish smile towards the man before he glared at Remi who raised his hands in front of him in defense as he sat in the middle seat next to the leopard.

“Uh, yeah.” The wolf cleared his throat, and nodded towards the man as he took off his backpack and sat it on the floor in front of him.

“No problem at all.” The man graciously smiled and waited a moment before scooting into his own seat on the aisle.

Levi already began to pull out his extra blanket and pillow, slipping a pastel blue hoodie over his head while he got as comfortable as he could against the metal window. He had his book in his hand, but Remi could instantly tell that he wouldn’t be reading much, taking into account how exhausted he was.

Shortly, the wolf tried to stay incredibly still as the strange man got into his seat. He had been interrupted while he was trying to rid himself of the tickle that now licked up the tip of his nose before burning like wildfire up through his entire sinus cavity.

Remi could barely hold back a small whimper than was almost inaudible within the seat of voices around them, crushing his index knuckle to his septum in hopes to smother the sneezes instead, and he held his breath with his eyes squeezed shut……

One…..two……three….

Then, suddenly as if a dam had given way, the tickle bloomed within the tip of his nose and he was no match for its intensity. Remi sucked in a deep, involuntary gasp before pitching forward, his face deeply buried within the fabric of his sweater collar.

“Huh'GDTS'ue! Hnkt'KNXTuhh! Hh’NDKT’ih!” Three deep, nearly stifled sneezes were extremely muffled into his sweater, although the stranger who took his seat directly next to the raven haired man offered a wary smile. “Bless you!” He nodded his understanding towards Remi, who by now wanted to shrink into his stiff airplane seat, although the wolf ignored him as he glanced over at his mate who studied him with one eye open for a second, then both of them.

“Bless you, Acushla, are you okay?” The leopard asked with concern, although it was quite obvious the exhaustion from the morning was weighing on the feline as he stretched out a hand to gently rub the back of his fingers against his mate’s cheek. Remi couldn’t have been more red, both from embarrassment and the fever he was sure he was running.

Remington shook his head to dismiss the leopard’s worry and his touch, although he wanted nothing more than to melt into the felines gentle hands, he was determined not to slow down the plans this time. No matter how much his brain throbbed with every breath he took, or how much his head felt airy— yet packed tightly with wet cement at the same time.

“I’m fine, it’s just the temperature difference from these ACs or something.” Remington reassured his mate with a gentle smirk before he reached up towards the small spout in the ceiling that was blasting him with cold air and turned it off.

To an exhausted Levi, this sounded like a plausible explanation. Remi’s nose was sensitive; he was a wolf after all… and sometimes he would just get set off by things— it wasn’t like that was out of the ordinary…

The leopard yawned quietly with a nod, readjusting his pillow against the window and closing his eyes. “Okay my love.” The smaller male murmured as he relaxed into his seat.

The wolf’s anxious eyes darted around the cabin as Levi began to doze off, and he quietly sniffled into the hem of his coat. Remington couldn't help but study him with a mix of love but also an underlying anxiety —the way his eyelashes fluttered against his freckled cheeks were just too adorable.

Even now, with the plane lights dim, and the constant low drone of the chatter throughout the cabin of the plane, Remi covertly knuckled at his nose, a bead of moisture gleaming in the scarce light, earning him a quick uneasy glance from the stranger next to him as he shuffled through his own carry-on bag.

Suddenly cutting through the white noise of the cabin, a gentle chime echoed through the plane’s intercom, followed by a gentle, velvety soft voice of what the wolf could assume was the pilot.

“Good morning ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. Welcome to flight 676 to Anchorage, Alaska. Your flight today is looking to take around 9 and a half hours, and we’re not expected to have any delays or run into any turbulence.” The pilot explained slowly as the flight attendants began to walk up and down the aisles.

Without missing a beat, the emergency escape plan as well as the normal explanation and demonstration of the overhead oxygen masks in case of cabin depressurization was recited, followed by the bell of the Fasten Seatbelt sign becoming illuminated above everyone’s head.

Remi couldn’t help but look around anxiously, tossing a worried glance to his mate who was already sleeping peacefully while the hustle and bustle of the plane continued on around them, unaccustomed to handling the initial take off of the plane by himself. But with a determined grit of his teeth, he prepared himself none-the-less.

The plane rumbled and shook as it began its ascent, its powerful engines straining against gravity to haul the heavy metal bird into the sky. Brushing his long bangs from his forehead with a tense sigh, the raven haired man stared out of the small window from the corner of his eye, watching the world below turn into a colorful blur of tiny lights and shapes that were quickly turning into stars. His breath caught in his throat and he swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably in his seat while his long fingers twitched at his side. He wondered whether he should just ask for a drink to calm himself down, despite the fact that the plane had just left the ground moments earlier, but decided against it as the plane continued to climb into the sky.

The air at higher elevation was so dry and stale that it was scraping across his tongue like sandpaper, making him want to lick his lips over and over again, but he knew better than that. Better not to draw any more attention to himself than necessary… Although, he definitely felt his nostrils twitching; as if with a mind of their own. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stop the tickle that was beginning to dance deep around his sensitive sinuses. This only seemed to aggravate the blooming sensation, and he attempted to stifle it with a fist but failed miserably, sending a loud "heh’iTTSHH’iEW! ihh- ih’TTSSHH!" rippling through the otherwise quiet cabin.

Immediately, all eyes turned towards him - including those of the man sitting next to him who was now visibly uncomfortable with the unexpected noise and possibly contagious wolf. The stranger quickly moved away from him, trying to create as much distance as possible between them while pretending to be engrossed in his book.

The wolf held his breath while his fever flushed cheeks seemed to beam a darker shade of vermillion. Despite the entire cabin seemingly focused on him, Remi’s entire focus was on Levi, although to the downtrodden man’s good luck, the leopard didn’t even seem to stir in the slightest.

He desperately tried to hold back his breath, afraid of what would happen if he let it out. But as his lungs burned and his throat tightened, he knew he couldn't hold it any longer. He released a shaky exhale, only to be met with a harsh cough that rattled through his congested chest. He was torn between relief at being able to breathe and fear of the consequences of his actions.

He did his best to stifle the next few coughs into his sleeve, though they still echoed through the quiet cabin. He could feel the eyes of the other passengers on him, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment.

The man next to him, who had recoiled when the canine first started coughing, now leaned over with concern in his eyes. "Hey buddy, you doing alright?" he asked kindly. Remi nodded, bristling slightly at the question, not meeting the man's gaze.

"Sorry," He mumbled, his voice raspy and slightly deeper than usual. "M’ fine, just allergies," the wolf replied tersely, turning his attention back out the window.

The man didn't look convinced. "That cough doesn't sound too good. Here, take some of these," he said, offering Remi a packet of cough drops from his bag.

Remi hesitated before accepting them with a quiet "thank you." He hoped taking the cough drops would show the man he was okay and get him to stop pressing the issue. Fuck, he hated people. Especially people who stuck their nose in his business….

Unwrapping a cough drop and popping it in his mouth, the menthol provided instant but temporary relief to his irritated throat. He knew the cough suppressant would only mask his symptoms, not cure the cold that was quickly progressing, but maybe it would get him through the remaining hours of their flight.

Within seconds, however, the wolf could feel another round of wet, chesty coughs rising up from his lungs. He tried to suppress them but it was useless, as always. He doubled over as a string of harsh coughs wracked his body, spraying fine droplets of contagious germs into the recirculated air.

The man next to him who just seconds earlier seemed sympathetic to the raven haired man’s situation, now recoiled in disgust, grabbing a napkin to shield his face. Other passengers nearby shot Remi angry glares, and a flight attendant hurried over with concern and offered the wolf a plastic cup full of water, which he eventually accepted hesitantly. Tossing another anxious glance at his mate curled up against the window, his cheeks almost couldn’t get any more red. Thankfully, the leopard still slept like a rock.

“Sorry," Remi croaked miserably, his usual deep, almost booming voice barely a whisper. He wanted to disappear, honestly. But as his embarrassment grew, so did his increasing frustration, causing his left eye to twitch every time a new pair of eyes bore into him.

As the flight attendant finally made her way back to her seat, he tried to sink back as far as possible into his own chair. His throat burned fiercely and his chest felt heavy. The wolf's ears were starting to plug up and he could feel pressure building in his sinus cavities. His whole body ached with feverish chills. He just wanted to curl up somewhere dark and sleep for days.

“Uh,” Remi snorted back the congestion miserably, dragging one of his wrists under his streaming nose, a glimmering trail of moisture deposited on his clammy skin. “I deed to get through…” he stated to the man next to him simply, pressing a wrist to his septum as the ever-present irritation blooming in the recesses of his nose made itself known again.

The man groaned, irritated that he had to set down the SkyMall magazine he was leaving through, but still rose to his feet and slid out of way to stand in the aisle, obviously recoiling as the wolf slipped by him.

Remi made his way down the aisle towards the bathroom at the back of the plane, stifling a few raspy coughs into his sleeve as he went. He could feel thick congestion building in his sinuses, packing tightly behind his eyes and making his head pound. As he reached the bathroom, he let out an explosive fit of ticklish sneezes that he barely had time to aim at his elbow.

"hh’IISHH! —hd’ISCHhhh!! —hhh’dtTISHhh! —hdt’ISHHhh! Ugh..." Remi groaned, quickly letting himself into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. He leaned heavily on the sink, avoiding his reflection in the mirror as he fished in the inside pocket of his coat for a travel pack of tissues he had conveniently stashed there earlier that morning. He blew his nose forcefully several times, filling up each consecutive handful of tissues instantly. Crumpling them in his fist, he tossed them in the trash can with a miserable, unproductive sniffle.

Despite blowing his nose, Remi could still feel pressure building inside his sinuses. He snorted again thickly, tasting the unpleasant discharge in the back of his throat. His ears felt clogged and he worked his jaw, trying to get them to pop, but to his dismay, it was seemingly impossible.

After washing his hands, the wolf wet a paper towel and held it to his flushed face, hoping the coolness would provide some relief. But his head continued to pound and his nose tickled maddeningly.

“God, fuck ME.” the frustrated man growled, finally managing to make eye contact with himself in the mirror; but even he couldn’t help but grimace from the image he was faced with.

The usual blindingly bright gleam from his emerald eyes was considerably dimmer, and the purple bags under his eyes now looked like trenches that bordered his flushed, swollen cheeks, and bright red nose. His forehead was littered with beads of sweat, and his normally tanned skin had become uncharistically pale.

“Geezus fuck, Remington, you’re lookin’ mad rough, bud.” The wolf snarled under his breath to himself in disgust, shaking his head as he stood up straight.

He couldn’t believe how terrible he looked and felt. This cold or whatever it was, was really taking a toll on him.

But he had to keep pushing through. The two men FINALLY had the money together that they needed to buy some land; something him and Levi had been talking about since they first met. He couldn’t let something so stupid, like another illness, slow them down this time.

With a defeated sigh, Remi splashed water on his face and took a deep breath before unlocking the bathroom door and stepping out.

He nearly collided with the flight attendant who was just about to knock on the door. “M’bad.” he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with one hand as he stumbled past her towards his seat. She gave him a concerned look but said nothing, moving on down the aisle to check on other passengers.

Noticing Remi standing in the aisle next to him, waiting to slip back into his own seat, the once concerned, kind business man rolled his eyes, once again closing his magazine before rising to his feet and making enough room for the raven haired man to shimmy by him.

The wolf let out a groan as soon as he sat down, trying not to think about how much longer this flight still had left. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, hoping for some relief from the pounding headache and congested sinuses. But no matter how much he tried to relax, the pressure in his nose and behind his eyes only seemed to intensify.

After only a few moments, the wolf groaned softly as he felt another fit of sneezes building in the back of his nose. Just as his jaw fell slack and his long eyelashes fanned his cheeks, the wolf cupped his hands over his face just in time as the forceful explosions burst out of him.

"iit’shHiEW! hh'IETSH’UE! heh’iTTSHH’iEW! ITSCCCHH’ah!! Hih—! Hd'TISHHHh!"

The poor wolf shuddered with each messy sneeze, helplessly spraying his hands with germ laden saliva. The loud sneezes echoed through the quiet cabin, causing several nearby passengers to turn and stare at the miserable canine. He sniffled thickly as he grabbed tissues from his pocket to blow his sore, irritated nose. At this point, he was actually surprised that all of his loud outbursts hadn’t woken his mate even once, although he couldn’t say he wasn’t thankful.

Remi blew his nose wetly, filling the tissue in an instant. He leaned back and sighed, tugging his hood up in an attempt to hide his face.

The man seated next to Remi shook his head in disapproval. He had been growing increasingly annoyed with the ailing canine's noisy sneezing and coughing throughout the short time that the plane had been in the air. As the raven haired male blew his poor, raw nose yet again and crossed his arms over the fold-out tray in front of him, burying his face in the fabric of his coat sleeves, the man finally had enough.

"Excuse me," he called out to a passing flight attendant. "Could I possibly switch seats? The person next to me seems quite ill." He grimaced in disgust as he gestured towards Remi’s crumpled form.

The flight attendant gave a sympathetic nod and began scanning the cabin for an open seat to relocate the disgruntled passenger. "I'll see what I can do, sir," she replied.

"Thank you," he said with relief in his voice, before glaring in Remi’s direction.

The flight attendant soon returned with a new seat assignment for the man, and he quickly gathered up his belongings and moved away from the ailing wolf. Remi didn't even seem to notice, as he was too preoccupied with his miserable state, although after a few moments when he finally lifted his head from his arms to desperately scrub at his streaming nose, he couldn’t help but feel relieved to have the space.

As the plane continued on its journey, Remi's condition only seemed to worsen. His sneezes became more frequent and forceful, and his coughs grew deeper and more persistent. He desperately tried to muffle them with tissues or by coughing into his elbow, but it was no use. The other passengers were starting to shoot him dirty looks, clearly annoyed by his constant noise.

But the wolf couldn't help it. He was feeling absolutely dreadful. His head was throbbing, his throat was raw and scratchy, and his whole body felt achy and exhausted. He tried to close his eyes and sleep off the illness for the rest of the flight, but every time he started to doze off, a desperate sneeze or cough would jolt him awake again.

Eventually against his better judgment, when the same flight attendant came around with her cart full of refreshments, he ordered a small mug of hot tea. If Levi had been awake to see the uncharacteristic events unfold, he would never let the stubborn wolf live it down.

The warmth seemed to provide some relief for a few moments before another fit of sneezes tore thorough his raw throat, hitting him hard.

"Hihh’ISSHh! ihH’ktdSHhh!!! iH’tSSH! " The wolf groaned pitifully through each loud sneeze as he blew through yet another tissue.

The passengers around him were growing increasingly agitated at this point, but Remi couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted this flight to be over so he could go home and crawl into bed.

Remington sighed and slumped back in his seat, completely exhausted. He had used up the last of his tissues and was now resigned to just letting his nose run freely. The wolf glanced over at Levi, still sound asleep despite all of Remi's explosive sneezes.

A fit of harsh coughs suddenly seized Remi's chest. He tried to suppress them but it was no use, a harsh barking cough burst from his lips followed by another and another. He leaned forward, shoulders shaking, as he hacked painfully into his elbow. The wolf curled forward, one hand over his mouth while the other grasped the armrest tightly. The spasm left him gasping for breath, ribs aching. Remi groaned, wiping his watering eyes with the back of his hand before sighing and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the seat. The pounding in his head was relentless and he could feel another round of coughs building in his chest.

The man in the seat across the aisle shot him an irritated glare which the wolf didn't see. He was too focused on trying to catch his breath between coughs.

Finally, the fit eased up, though it left the poor man’s throat feeling like he'd swallowed broken glass. He slumped back in his seat completely spent, wanting nothing more than to be home; not running around the entire state of rural Alaska looking at land to purchase.

Just then, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom announcing their initial descent. They'd be landing soon.

Remington scrubbed a hand over his face for the millionth time.

‘Almost there,’ he told himself, ‘just a little longer…...’

Beside him, Levi finally stirred, blinking sleepily as he woke, looking around the cabin as if he was trying to figure out where he was. The feline rubbed his tired, icy blue eyes, sitting up as a small yawn escaped his lips, stretching his thin arms over his head.

Taken off guard by the sudden movement from his mate, Remi held his breath, sitting completely still in his seat.

In hindsight, he should have had a better cover planned. The smaller male wasn’t a T-Rex; it’s not like the wolf’s immobilization and silence would make him disappear from Levi’s curious gaze.

"Morning, Acushla, you alright?" Levi asked with a soft tilt of his head, frowning with concern at the sight of his mate. Remington looked absolutely miserable; there was no hiding his exhaustion-laced features or the hue of his cheeks and nostrils.

Still, Remi tried to keep up his badly damaged facade.

The wolf nodded, trying to force one of his trademark smirks but wincing as a string of harsh coughs escaped him, sending another wave of pain through his aching body. He squinted his eyes shut as the sound echoed around the cabin, making the other passengers jump and scowl in his direction in annoyance for the millionth time that day. Quickly glancing around sheepishly, he felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment at his lack of control.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he lied, coughing again, albeit quietly this time, into his fist. "Just allergies or something," he added weakly.

The wolf couldn't imagine how he was going to convince Levi of that when he looked - and sounded - so damn sick. But he had to try.

The feline made a skeptical face, rolling his eyes at his mate’s attempt at deception, but he knew better than to challenge the other’s explanation with so many people around. Offhandedly, the leopard took note of the empty aisle seat next to canine that once had a heavier set businessman sitting in it at the beginning of their flight.

While he didn’t verbally acknowledge it, Levi could easily assume the events that unfolded during his nap.

"We're almost there," Levi said gently, reaching over to ruffle Remi's hair that was clearly drenched in sweat with a reassuring smile spreading over his own tired features. "The hotel I got for us isn’t too far from the Anchorage Airport, anyway. We can spend a few days there before we meet with the realtor~"

The wolf seemed too tired to protest or even do much more than acknowledge Levi's touch, his head lolling against the headrest as the leopard’s fingers carded through the thick, raven colored strands.

As they touched down on the tarmac and the aircraft finally rumbled to a stop, they heard the hydraulic brakes hiss and saw the flashing lights reflecting off of their snow covered surroundings, blinking in sync with their tired hearts. With a deep inhale, Remi forced himself to stand up stiffly, grabbing their bags from the overhead bin while Levi stuffed their various belongings that were strewn about between the seats into his messenger bag. The feline meticulously combed through the space, determined to leave with everything they had brought with them, and once he was satisfied that everything was safely put away, the leopard stood up with a cheerful grin and squeezed past the wolf’s large frame to lead the two off of the plane.

Remi felt like he was wading through mud as he made his way down the aisle, trying to match Levi's quick, excited strides. He couldn't help but think the cool air outside would feel glorious against his flushed skin.

Passengers around them shifted and grunted irritably, avoiding eye contact with the visibly sick canine and the leopard who seemed to be inexplicably oblivious to their plight. Some even went as far as pulling their jackets closer around themselves, noses wrinkled in disgust at the readily apparent sickness that clung to Remington like a second skin.

The buzz of the engines faded into silence under the mix of voices of passengers throughout the cabin, bathing them in relative quiet for a moment before the hiss of the exit door opening filled their ears. Levi took lead, shoulders back and head held high, seemingly oblivious to the dirty looks he received for walking alongside his obviously contagious mate. The whiff of engine fumes mixed with with pine trees and sea salt assailed their senses as they pushed through the crowd, waiting for their chance to disembark.

As they approach the exit of the plane, the two men are gently stopped by the same tired looking flight attendant.

"Here, put this on," the attendant offered kindly, yet firmly as she held out a surgical mask to the wolf, who took it wordlessly, too exhausted to protest, and strapped it over his nose and mouth.

His mate’s silent compliance causes Levi to blink in surprise, although he still kept his thoughts to himself. There was always a time and a place with Remington.

“Thank you, Miss.” The leopard smiled gratefully towards her and she nods with a sympathetic expression before allowing the two to exit.

After what seemed like an eternity to Remi, they were finally able to make their way off of the plane, and they stepped down onto the gangway, the wolf’s heavy feet clanking softly against the metal grating. The sound was muffled by the thick rubber soles of his boots as he stumbled down the portable hallway behind Levi in sort of a fog, feeling every ache and pain in his bones from the long, miserable flight.

As they navigate through the bustling terminal and towards the baggage claim, without warning, Remi's steps start to slow down and he began to lag behind slightly.

Suddenly, a harsh “HI’DTSCHIEW! hh—hEhTXSSHhh’ih!” echoed through the massive airport from behind the feline, startling him.

Levi spun around to see his mate’s hand covering his face, and an unproductive, waterlogged sniffle made the leopard‘s eyebrows knit together immediately, his expression filled with worry.

The smaller man hesitated before placing a hand on Remi's forehead with a frown. “Bless you, my love…” Levi whispered gently, his eyebrows furrowing more intensely. After a moment, he tried again.

“You’re sure you’re feeling okay, Acushla? I heard you sneeze a few times on the plane, too…”

Remi feels like he’s burning up, his skin hot to the touch. Pulling down his mask to expose his face, the wolf gives his mate a weak smile, trying to reassure him.

“—I’b fide, just wadt to get goigg…”

#geeziefic #geezieart #remixlevi #ITS SO GENERIC #LIKE NO SHADE AT THE FIC OR ANYTHING JUST #I DONT GET IT

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aller-geez · 2 months ago

Text

Pollenageddon

Written & Illustrated by allergeez ✨ originally written at @sniffli-danni ‘s request for more rexar 🖤

Wasn’t originally going to write smut but it just came out and I’m not sorry 😩😩

Summay: When overworked Kriia Thomas takes a much-needed spa retreat, her chaotic pyro boyfriend Rexar Fang insists he’ll handle things at home. What begins as a secret mission to surprise her by tackling her most loathed household chores spirals into a day of magikal malfunctions, domestic disasters, and one catastrophic allergic encounter with a cursed plant. As pollen fills the air and Rexar struggles to keep his powers in check (and his sneezes from setting the house on fire), Kriia begins to suspect he's up to something. What follows is a hilariously steamy unraveling of secrets, stamina, and increasingly congested seduction. A blend of magikal slice-of-life, romantic mischief, and erotically charged chaos, Pollenageddon proves that nothing says “I love you” like vacuuming stairs and suffering through supernatural hay fever. 8.8k words + NSFW

Content Warnings:

* Explicit sexual content: Includes detailed, graphic depictions of sex with strong kink themes.

* Sneezing fetish / allergy kink: Central to the erotic tone; repeated and emphasized throughout.

* Mild D/s dynamic: Playful domination, power shifts in romantic context.

* Body fluids: Includes messy, snotty sneezing, wet sounds, and explicit use of bodily reactions for erotic effect.

* Magical bodily reactions: Pyrokinetic sneezes, magically induced congestion, pollen-based afflictions.

* Light humiliation / teasing: Especially related to vulnerability and messy sneezing.

* Mild injury / physical strain: Nothing severe, but includes minor bruises, splinters, overexertion.

* Swearing / profanity: Throughout..

Kriia Thomas had been staring at the same infernal piece of paper for the last hour and a half. It wasn’t that the ink was fading—though it was, in streaks that bled into each other like dried blood—but that her eyes simply refused to process another damn syllable. The sun hung over the far end of the estate's east wing, filtered through panes of aged, greenhouse-glass that she still hadn’t gotten around to cleaning. Light pooled on the table like honey left too long in the cold, sticky and slanted, warming her knuckles as she wrote.

Or rather, as she glared at the page, the pen frozen between her fingers, smudging her left pinky with ink for the seventh time today.

A ripple of shadow curled around her ankle of its own accord. She flicked it away with the casual irritation of someone swatting a familiar gnat. “Don’t start with me,” she muttered.

From behind, footsteps padded softly over the hardwood. Plush, unrushed, annoyingly confident. She didn’t need to look to know who they belonged to. The familiar scent of toasted marshmallow and something darker—burnt maple wood, ever-present and subtle—reached her first, followed by the telltale curl of warmth that always hit when he entered a room.

“Working hard or hardly—”

“Don’t you finish that sentence, Rexar.”

Rexar Fang grinned anyway, undeterred as ever. He leaned against the doorframe with all the languid grace of a man who’d never once been made to wait for anything. He was barefoot, shirtless, a towel slung over his shoulder, glistening from a late-morning rinse. His silver hair was still damp, red bangs dripping down his forehead and catching in his lashes. A coffee mug was cradled in one calloused palm—black, with “FANG 4EVER” etched in fading white letters that Kriia had mockingly gifted him last Solstice.

The steam from the mug drifted up, briefly catching in the lazy spirals of smoke that always curled from his nose. She never should’ve found it relaxing. But she did. Worse still, she missed it when he wasn’t around.

“You look like you haven’t moved in three days,” he said, sauntering in without waiting for permission. “Babe, be honest with me—are you trying to physically become paperwork?”

“Shut up.”

“You know, it’s a tragedy that no one’s discovered the dark and sultry beauty of accounting-core. You could really revolutionize—”

She threw a pen at him.

He caught it between two fingers without spilling his coffee and winked at her over the rim of the mug. “Feisty. Love that. Keep going.”

Kriia slumped further into her chair, dragging her fingers down her face, frustration smudged in streaks of dried pen ink along her skin. “I can’t just walk away from all this, Rex. We’re two weeks behind on invoices, the security systems need recalibrating before nightfall, and someone”—she shot him a sharp look—“fried two of the sprinkler circuits because he ‘felt a sneeze coming on’ and didn’t step back.”

“That’s… barely accurate. It was one circuit. Maybe one and a half.”

She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. Her deep purple eyes did all the scathing.

Rexar approached slowly, setting the coffee down beside her with exaggerated care before crouching to her level. “Listen, gloom queen,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You need a break. You're getting snappier than Remi during tax season.”

“I am not—”

He poked her cheek with one finger.

She batted it away. “Rexar—”

“C’mon.” His voice lowered, crooning. “I already arranged it. My family’s estate up near Blueflame Ridge—you know, the one with the natural hot springs and that terrifying koi pond with the aggressive fish you love?”

Kriia blinked. “Wait—the Ridge property? That’s like three hours away.”

“Not if you take the tunnel.”

Her eyebrow twitched. “You want me to crawl through ancient stone rat-tunnels to go take a spa day?”

“No, no.” He held up both hands. “I had the place cleaned. Fresh sheets. Lavender oil. I even set out one of those ugly bathrobes you like, the one that makes you look like a death cult leader’s sugar baby.”

Her lips twitched. Almost.

He leaned in further, nose brushing hers. “You deserve one day off. I’ll handle things around here. I promise.”

“You’ll burn the place down,” she said flatly, narrowing her eyes like a cat watching a candle.

“Not even a little,” Rexar said, voice smooth as caramel left too long on a warm stove. “I’ve got everything under control.”

Her eyebrow crept up. “You? Control?”

“Mmhm.” He sipped from his mug—way too casually. “I’ve got a whole itinerary. A very responsible, safe, extremely boring day lined up.”

She blinked. “You made an itinerary.”

“Of course I did,” he said, nodding solemnly, smoke curling lazily from his nostrils like the universe punctuating his lie. “Didn’t even use crayons.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“Come on, have a little faith.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek, warm and brief. “I’m just gonna handle a few things around the estate. Nothing explosive. Nothing illegal. Nothing that starts with ‘You know what would be a great idea—’”

Her gaze narrowed. “Wait.”

“Yes, my love?”

“What exactly are you planning to do while I’m gone?”

He froze just a second too long. “I mean... estate stuff.”

“Estate stuff?”

“Y’know. The usual. Papers. Books. Maybe finally deal with that one cupboard that keeps muttering racial slurs in the pantry.”

She gave him a long, flat look. “Rexar.”

He smiled back, too innocent, too symmetrical.

“I swear,” she said slowly, “if I come back and find you waist-deep in gutters or crawling around the chimney again—”

He grabbed the sides of her chair, lifted it an inch off the ground as he leaned in close, voice lowered with fond exasperation. “Kriia. Kriia. My feral, suspicious, gorgeous little menace. Do I look like a man who would voluntarily do hard labor while his girlfriend is luxuriating in a magikal hot spring?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, fair. But this time? No chores. No rooftop heroics. Just me, my papers, some snacks, and maybe a few light musical interludes.”

He stood, lifting her chair with him slightly as he cupped her chin. “Do you trust me?”

“Not at all.”

He laughed, full-bodied and warm. “Perfect. That’s the spirit.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering longer than usual. “Go get naked in the woods for a few hours. I’ll be fine.”

She squinted at him. “...You swear you’ll call if something goes wrong?”

“I’ll call if something goes right.”

“That’s worse.”

He beamed. “I know.”

She sighed, bone-deep, but the exhaustion in her shoulders had already started to unknot. She leaned forward, pressing her face against his bare stomach just briefly—just enough for him to rest a hand in her hair.

“I’m still going to check in.”

“I expect nothing less.”

“Don’t you dare sneeze inside the house.”

“No promises.”

She squinted at him, deadpan.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, the tip of her nose, then her lips. “Now go. Before I’m forced to carry you to the tunnel like a dramatic husband in a soap opera.”

She huffed but allowed herself to smile.

Still, as she stepped through the front door a few minutes later, her eyes lingered on him just a moment too long. And Rexar, left alone in the hallway with only the fading scent of her shampoo and the rapidly cooling coffee, finally let his grin drop.

He turned on his heel, reached into the inside pocket of his cardigan, and pulled out a list.

A very familiar list. Covered in Kriia’s handwriting. Her secret list of nightmare chores.

He unrolled it slowly, eyeing it like a knight about to challenge a dragon.

“Let’s do this.”

The instance the door closed behind her and the last glimmer of morning light vanished from the hall, Rexar Fang let out a long, theatrical exhale.

“Finally,” he muttered, tossing his hair back with all the gravity of a stage actor delivering the death monologue of a tragic hero. The rich, smoky scent trailing from his nostrils caught on the cold stone, curling like ribbon down the corridor. “She’s gone.”

He reached into the hidden inner pocket of his cardigan—dark wool, warm, with faint singe marks on the hem—and retrieved the list. The list. Kriia’s long-forgotten, drunkenly-scrawled List of Utter Shit She Refuses to Do.

He unfolded it with a reverence typically reserved for cursed grimoires or concert setlists. A haphazard scrawl of black ink and ash-charred fingerprints covered the page. In the corner was a little doodle of a crying mushroom wearing boots. Rexar smiled fondly.

He remembered the night perfectly—Kriia, half-drunk and fully irate, slouched sideways in the kitchen wearing a stolen Fang family robe two sizes too big, shouting at no one in particular about how “you can’t clean magik with magik sometimes, okay?! Sometimes a girl’s just gotta crawl into the guts of the house and scrub ancient grime off the ass of a rune stone by hand.”

She’d punctuated the sentence by scribbling furiously onto the paper with her pen, naming every disgusting, cursed, labor-intensive job on the estate she had mentally blocked for six months.

He’d kept the scroll like a love letter. Because of course he had.

Now, alone in the silence of the estate’s main hall, Rexar rolled his shoulders, and squared his stance.

“Alright,” he said, to the ghosts and portraits and ominous ceiling. “Operation: Domestic God is a go.”

Chore 1: Under the Deck – The Drain of Doom

Within fifteen minutes, Rexar was shirtless, kneeling in the wet mulch beneath the north-facing deck, elbow-deep in a drain pipe that smelled like swamp rot and ancient regret. The estate’s plumbing was only semi-sentient, which meant it wouldn’t bite, but it might spit if you startled it.

Something squelched ominously beneath his palm.

He hissed, recoiling. “Nope. No. I don’t get paid enough—well, okay, I do, technically, but still—ugh.”

He reached back in. Pulled. A massive wad of half-decomposed leaves, twigs, and a very angry clump of what looked like lichen slurped free with a disgusting schlrk.

“Glamorous,” he muttered. “So glamorous. This is how rockstars die.”

Chore 2: The Stairway to Hell

Next came vacuuming the stairs—an objectively simple task that still managed to feel like penance. It wasn’t hard, exactly. It just sucked. Literally and metaphorically. The vacuum was old, bulky, and had a cord shorter than his patience. Every single stair meant bending, dragging, switching outlets, wrestling with the hose like it was trying to escape him.

Kriia hated this chore. Hated it so much she’d once dramatically declared it “a soul-eroding spiral of despair,” and Rexar was beginning to understand why.

Chore 3: Power-Washing the South Wall (a.k.a Dodge-the-Runeball)

By late morning, Rexar had lugged the estate’s ancient arcane-powered water pressure system to the south-facing stone wall. This part of the estate was built in the Pre-Blood Accord era and was riddled with protective sigils that sometimes malfunctioned when wet.

Halfway through the job, one fired a spark that singed the edge of his pants.

“Okay!” he shouted upward. “Whichever great-great-grandfang enchanted this shit, your layering runes are sloppy!”

A rune fired again. He barely ducked in time.

“Sloppy and bitter!”

The stone glistened under the midday sun, beads of water steaming on the surface, casting rainbow refractions that danced across his back. His skin was flushed, smudged with soot and dried mud, smoke rising a little thicker from his nose now as the heat from his own body began to build.

It was just as he reached the top of the second story—balancing one foot on the rain gutter and the other on a gargoyle shaped like a disgruntled badger—that his phone buzzed.

The screen lit up, vibrating against the strap of his tool belt.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—shit!”

He scrambled to wedge the hose back into the reel on the wall and ducked out of view, brushing his face frantically with the only clean-ish towel he had—unfortunately still covered in leaf gunk from the drain.

He opened his phone, answering the call.

Kriia’s Face: Glorious, Glowing, and Pissed

Kriia appeared on-screen, lounging in the natural hot springs like a fucking goddess. Her skin was dewy, flushed from the heat, crimson hair wet and slicked back, glowing like molten metal under the golden sun. She sipped delicately from a glass of fruit-infused water, condensation sliding down the sides like something out of an advertorial for luxury witch vacations.

Rexar felt something in his brain short-circuit. Then he smiled lazily, head tilted just so.

“Well, hello.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you sound out of breath?”

“Hmm?” He adjusted the angle so that all she could see was an innocuous grey stone wall behind him. “Oh, just... sorting papers. You know. Big boring archive day.”

The phone trembled slightly as it balanced on the overturned paint bucket he was using as a stand.

“You don’t sort paperwork.”

“I do today.”

Kriia took another slow sip. “Why is your hair wet?”

“Um. Shower. Self-care. You are always telling me to hydrate.”

She peered closer. “Is that soot on your collarbone?”

He leaned out of frame just long enough to rub at it.

“Noooope. Charcoal mask. Very detoxifying.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then—mercifully—Kriia let it go. She sighed, leaned back into the hot spring, and closed her eyes for just a second.

Rexar stared, unable to help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips.

“You’re enjoying yourself?” he asked, softer.

Her mouth quirked. “...Yes. For now.”

“Good.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “You deserve it, you know.”

She looked at him. Just for a second. And that was enough.

Then the screen blurred out again.

He exhaled, slumped against the wall, and let his head thunk back against the hot stone.

“Three down,” he mumbled, dragging a hand down his sweat-streaked face. “Twelve to go.”

The sky had turned a glassy shade of blue, no longer morning-soft but blazing directly overhead, cooking the slate tiles of the estate’s roof into something approximating a stovetop. Rexar braced himself on a crossbeam, halfway up the western tower, a coil of gutter-hooks slung around one shoulder, the other hand jammed into a leather sack full of citrus-scented de-liming tablets that Kriia had insisted were “more eco-friendly.”

He’d abandoned his shirt an hour ago. Now he was slick with sweat, streaked with soot from the wall washing and something that smelled suspiciously like squirrel piss. His hair curled wildly around his face, damp and silver-white and clinging to his temples. His nose twitched.

The air was thick with pine needles and the unmistakable reek of old bird droppings. The gutters hadn’t been cleaned in years, judging by the black sludge clinging to the inside edges like wet compost made of regret. At some point, a whole squirrel family had moved in, padding out their nest with shredded snack wrappers, dryer lint, and—somehow—a sock.

Rexar crouched low on the sloped roof tiles, squinting into the muck. “Alright, guys. You’ve got ten seconds to clear out before I start scooping this crap out by hand.”

There was a chorus of chittering from the downspout. One particularly fat squirrel poked its head over the edge, chewed slowly on a zip tie, and stared at him with unblinking judgment.

“Okay, rude,” Rexar muttered.

He dug into his hoodie pocket and pulled out one of Kriia’s weird snack baggies—half a protein bar and a single, lonely almond. He held it up like an offering. The squirrels paused.

Ten seconds later, he was kneeling beside an abandoned nest, flicking bottle caps into a trash bag. “Bribery,” he sighed. “Gets results.”

He dug in with both hands, scraping away pine muck that crunched like wet leather. The smell hit him first. Mold. Old rain. Dust baked into death by too many summers. And then—something worse. Something ancient and floral, like cursed gardenias left too long in the sun.

He sniffed once.

Then again, sharper.

His breath hitched.

“Oh no—”

He tried to twist, duck his head into his shoulder, but it was too late.

“hhih’tchhxSSHHuh!! hah’ESSHH’IUE!! hh'ieXSHHH!”

A short, sharp spray of sparks shot from his nose, singeing the shingles where he crouched. They fizzled harmlessly against his skin—thank the ancestors for pyromancer physiology—but a few danced dangerously close to the dry pine thatch along the edge of the gutter.

He cringed. “Shit.”

The phone buzzed in his pocket.

Rexar fumbled it out with sap-streaked fingers, balancing one foot on a support beam, the other half-sliding on a slick of runoff slime.

He opened the call.

Kriia Appeared—Regal, Relaxed, Ruthless

She was lying on a deck chair beside the springs now, wrapped in a towel. A thick, green clay mask coated her face, two cucumber slices perched perfectly over her eyes. Somewhere in the background, windchimes jingled, and what sounded like a waterfall burbled soothingly.

“Why do I hear wind?” she asked immediately, flat and suspicious.

“You don’t,” Rexar said, breathless.

He was half-hanging off the gutter, one leg swinging into open air. Behind him, a loose tile clattered off the roof and tumbled into the shrubs with a soft plunk.

She sat up slightly, one cucumber tilting off. “Are you outside?”

“Nope.”

A moment passed.

Then his breath caught again. And again. Shit. Shit.

He twisted away from the camera just in time.

“huhh—gkTSHHkxh! hh’tSSHHHuhhh! ...hhuhh’CHSSHHHhht!”

Three in a row, tight and half-stifled against his arm, each one flaring with small but potent sparks. The third scorched the side of a tile, leaving a black crescent burn and the faint scent of maple smoke.

Kriia didn’t speak.

When he looked back at the screen, her eyebrow was raised.

“...Did you sneeze?”

Rexar cleared his throat. “Must’ve been the wind.”

“You sneezed fire.”

“Wind, babe. Spicy wind.”

The call ended before she could answer—because his grip slipped entirely and he dropped, landing ass-first in a haystack two stories below.

“Ow.”

Chimney: Dusty Hell Dimension

The chimney had always been Kriia’s least favorite architectural feature. Ornate as hell, etched with serpent carvings and crowned with a brass smoke-fan that whistled ominously when the temperature dropped below freezing. The inside, however, was a soot-streaked nightmare.

Rexar climbed in halfway, dragging a bristle wand behind him. Within three minutes, he was coughing black dust from his lungs, hair and chest smeared with soot, and vaguely wondering if one of the stones was trying to bite him.

“Why,” he muttered, voice hoarse, “did I think this would be fun?”

He was halfway through re-anchoring a rock in the wall when his phone buzzed again.

“No, no—fuck—gimme one sec—”

He scrambled out of the fireplace alcove, coughing up soot as he ducked behind the nearest curtain—an overly dramatic velvet number in the drawing room that smelled faintly of dust and old perfume. Wiping his face with the back of his wrist, he took a moment to catch his breath and assess the damage: hair wild, cheeks streaked with ash, one sock missing.

With a muttered curse, he smoothed his hair back, tugged his shirt straight, and slapped a bit of water from the nearby plant onto his face. It helped. Kind of. At least he no longer looked like he’d just wrestled a chimney.

The video call came through. He took one last breath, forced on a half-decent smile, and answered.

Kriia. Again. This Time: Steam Goddess Mode

She was in the middle of a steamy stone chamber, towel wrapped snug around her chest, a matching wrap around her head. Steam coiled around her like silk. Her cheeks were flushed. Droplets clung to her collarbones.

Rexar froze.

And short-circuited.

And maybe forgot language for a second.

Her lip curled just slightly. “You look... different.”

“I—uh. Yeah. Just moved into the study. Paperwork sorting. You know.” He was clearly behind a curtain.

She tilted her head. “You’re not... hiding anything from me, are you?”

“No, no.” He cleared his throat. “Not at all.”

Then his nose twitched again. And again.

His shoulders jerked thrice. “huh’tCHhh—! HIIH’NKXSHH! H’KngxsstSH!” He caught them into his hand with an explosive spark and immediately muted the call.

Kriia watched the image flicker.

Unmuted.

Her smirk had grown.

“Bless you.”

“Wasn’t a sneeze,” he said, far too quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

“Dusty archive. Dry air. Airborne mites.”

“Sure, Rex.”

“You look incredible, by the way.”

“Flattery won’t save you if you’re lying to me.”

He grinned, a little breathless. “Wanna bet?”

She sighed, adjusting the towel around her chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re gorgeous.”

“Mmhm.”

She let it go. For now.

The called winked out again.

Rexar sagged back into the wall tapestry, now utterly blackened with soot from his skin. He was drenched in sweat, bruised from the haystack fall, and still had chimney soot in his teeth.

He coughed, and sparks fizzled between his lips.

"Three more chores," he groaned. "Then... the greenhouse."

He had no idea that that was where it would all fall apart.

By midafternoon, the sun burned overhead like a curse, high and unyielding, baking the estate’s fields into golden glass and casting sharp shadows across the wild perimeter of the west gardens. The air shimmered with heat. Distant insects buzzed like badly tuned violins.

And Rexar Fang, shirtless and defiant, stood at the threshold of the greenhouse like he was about to fight a God.

His shoulders glistened with sweat. Not shimmered. Glistened. Rivulets of salt-slick moisture ran down the sharp ridges of his spine, collecting at the dip of his back and beading along the fine trail of silver hair that arrowed from his navel to the waistband of his half-unbuttoned work pants. His hands were filthy. His cheek was streaked with ash. A cut just above his left brow had dried, smudged over from when the damn squirrel bit him.

Still, he grinned.

The heavy glass doors hissed open. Humid, sweetly pungent air blasted him in the face. Floral. Dense. Clinging. The greenhouse was a living beast in summer—overgrown, feral, dripping from every fern and vine like it was breathing on its own.

“Home stretch,” he muttered. “Last one. You’ve got this.”

He stepped inside.

Sunlight pierced the glass roof in tight, hot beams, illuminating floating pollen like a haze of gold-dust fireflies. Something chirped once, deep in the belly of a tropical planter.

Rexar flexed his fingers, tying his shirt around his head like a ragged bandana, shoving his bangs back. His torso gleamed, the smattering of red freckles across his shoulders catching the light like warpaint. Smoke curled lazily from his nostrils as the ambient heat pushed his body into a low burn.

He waded into the foliage.

The grime on the walls was years old—built-up spatter from failed potions, plant vomit, storm silt. He licked a knuckle, pressed his palm to the glass, and began scrubbing.

“Bet she'd get flustered seeing me like this,” he muttered under his breath, amused. “Mmmh... all wet and covered in algae... sweaty arms, panting, shirtless... yeah, she’d want me real bad.”

He chuckled. A smug, nasal thing. He was mid-wipe, elbow-deep in moss when he shifted slightly, bumped a shelf behind him—

—and knocked a small, golden-stemmed plant off balance.

The bloom trembled.

A soft fwump sounded.

The plant exploded.

A full cloud of fine, shimmering pollen burst into the air like someone had popped a glitter grenade right in his face.

Rexar froze.

“...Uh oh.”

His breath hitched immediately.

Not just from the stench—a sweet, overwhelming scent like sugar-dusted clove—but from the instant assault on his sinuses.

He blinked. Twice.

“Don’t you dare—”

“hh’ihhh’tSCHUHHhh! Ehh’TCHSSHHhuuhh!! HuhHh'EGNT’TCHHhhUHHhh!!”

Three. Full force. Sparks exploded from his nose in brilliant arcs, fire flaring in all directions before dying out midair. A nearby orchid went up in smoke before he could stomp it out.

“FUCK!”

He staggered back, eyes watering, nose crimson. “Damn it—no, no, no—fuck, hold it together—”

His phone buzzed.

He growled low in his throat and yanked it open, trying desperately to brush pollen off his face and out of his hair.

Kriia: Suspicious, Radiant, Impossibly Calm

She was seated in a shade cabana now, face freshly scrubbed, her hair damp and curling softly at her jaw. Her expression was unreadable, but her voice was pure frost.

“Where are you?”

Rexar froze for a heartbeat.

Then smiled.

Poorly.

“Me? Nowhere suspicious. Just—uh—not the greenhouse.”

Her brow lifted. “Really.”

“Yup.” He coughed into his elbow. The sound crackled. His nose twitched violently.

“Because it sort of looks like you’re—”

He turned, caught the next sneeze in the crook of his arm.

“hehh’TCHZuhh!! hh’GnXxtCHuh!! n’GCHZZhh!”

Sparks scattered across the glass wall behind him. One of the vines recoiled in alarm.

Kriia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Rex—”

“Oh no,” he said quickly, tapping the screen. “Bad signal. Some kind of interference? The reception’s... choppy—!”

He cut the call.

The greenhouse was boiling. His sinuses burned, nose glowing red, eyes constantly tearing as more spores floated down from the shattered Sniffle bloom. Every breath was war.

But Rexar Fang did not quit.

“Fuckin’... shadow goblin... goddess of guilt... I’m not stopping now,” he rasped, crouching again to wipe more algae from the window.

His shirt-headband sagged over one eye. He was panting, shirtless and gleaming like some fallen sun deity crawling through jungle hell.

Pollen clung to his curls, smeared along his jawline. His mouth parted with every breath, shaky and uneven.

“huhHuhh—TSCHHHuhh!! hh’GxCHuhh!! Hehh’tSCHH’zzUhh!!”

Three more. Each one worse. Each one setting off sparks that fizzled against his bare chest, the sweat sizzling on impact.

“Steady,” he croaked, clutching the scrub cloth. “Focus. Come on, Fang. You’re hotter than this.”

He pressed a forearm to his upper lip and forced himself upright again.

Another wall down.

Another corner cleared.

The spores thickened in the air.

His body trembled now, feverish from the effort of keeping the flames stifled. His muscles ached. His nose dripped.

And still—he scrubbed.

Another explosion of itch rolled through him and he slammed a shoulder into the wall, bracing himself.

“hehh—hhhehhh-TSCHSHHUUHH!! Nnn’GNT’CHSHUUhh!! hh’HET’TSCHZZHH!”

He let the last one out against the floor, a tongue of fire licking out onto the damp moss tiles, leaving a black scorch mark that hissed before dying.

He stood for a moment, heaving.

Then wiped his nose on the back of his hand and slumped to his knees in the corner of the greenhouse.

Every inch of him itched.

He was flushed, ragged, eyes glassy, sweat running in furious streaks down his spine, and he could still hear Kriia’s voice in his head—soft, warning, fondly exasperated.

She was going to kill him.

He laughed weakly.

Then sneezed again.

“hehh’tSCHHHuhhh!! hhuh’TSCHZZHuhhh!! HhHhh’GCHHssHH!!”

Three more.

Pollen burst up from the floor in retaliation.

The greenhouse stood behind him like a vanquished titan—humid, shimmering, its doors now propped open to let the pollen fog breathe out into the sweltering yard. Rexar trudged across the grass, shirtless, half-drenched, and coated in streaks of wet soot, old grime, and unmistakable golden flecks of pollen dust that still clung to every wild strand of his silver-red hair.

His shirt, or what remained of it, was tied loosely around his forehead like a defeated flag, damp with sweat and warped from the heat. The pollen had seeped into everything—his nose, his throat, the lines of his jaw where perspiration carved glowing trails through the gold dust.

He stopped just before the veranda, dragged his forearm across his face, and leaned on one of the carved banisters.

His phone buzzed in his back pocket.

He stared at it, debated throwing it into the koi pond.

Instead, he pulled it out, thumbed screen, and lifted it to eye level.

Kriia: Cool, Controlled, Clocking Everything

She was reclined again—this time beneath a shady awning of hanging wisteria. Her hair was up, cheeks flushed, wrapped in a deep purple towel that complimented the sheen of her freshly-oiled shoulders. A drink glimmered in her hand, half-melted ice swirling gently.

But it was her eyes that stopped him cold.

Because this time, she didn’t speak right away.

She just stared.

Rexar, by contrast, looked like he’d lost a bar fight with a botanical god.

He sniffled sharply. The sound wasn’t cute. It was wet, raw, and completely incriminating.

Kriia tilted her head.

“Hi,” he rasped. “You look gorgeous.”

“You look like you got into a fistfight with an anthill….”

He grinned, crooked and congested. “Greenhouse humidity. Great for the pores.”

“You sound like a dying frog.”

“Sexy frog, though. Right?”

“You’re glistening.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but his breath faltered. Eyes squeezed shut, chest rising—

“hhuhH’TCHSHHuhh!! hh’tCHHHzzh!! Hehh’TCHHHUUuhh!”

Three again. No escaping it.

He caught them into the crook of his arm, shoulders trembling, then gave a soft, audible whimper.

Kriia’s expression didn’t move, but her lips parted just slightly.

He sniffed again, frustrated, and muttered something under his breath before grabbing the sweat-soaked shirt still tied around his head. He yanked it off with one hand and lifted it to his face, pressing hard as he blew his nose into the ruined fabric. The sound was obscene—wet, full, dragging—and left him wincing.

He dropped the shirt out of frame like a bomb.

Kriia’s eye twitched. Just a flicker.

“You good?” she asked tightly.

“Never better,” he croaked.

“Really.”

Rexar sagged down onto the steps leading into the estate, still visible in frame, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. He sniffled again—shorter this time. “I did your list.”

Pause.

“What?”

“Your list.” He looked up, smiling like it hurt. “The Horrific Horrors of Household Hell. Been working through it all day.”

“...Rexar.”

“Even the squirrel nest.”

“I told you not to—”

“You never really told me not to. You just said you’d die before doing it yourself. So, really, I figured I was performing an act of love.”

She stared at him, stunned. Then her face softened for half a heartbeat. But only that.

“Rexar,” she said again, slowly, “why are you sneezing so much?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Something in the greenhouse definitely didn’t like me.”

Kriia’s eyes narrowed. “Was it yellow and fluffy? Sitting near the orchid shelf?”

He blinked. “Maybe—hh’ECHHhhzzH!! et’CHXIEW!! Fuck!—maybe! Why? Hehh— heT’CHXOO!!”

Her lips twitched. “That’s my Sniffle Thistle. It bloomed last week.”

Silence.

He stared at her.

“You were gonna use it on me?”

“Eventually.”

Another beat.

Then he laughed. A short, broken thing, hoarse and almost giddy. “You were gonna use a weaponized pollen bomb on me on purpose?”

She smiled faintly. “Not today.”

“You maniac.”

“You like it.”

He wheezed another laugh, bending slightly, curls sagging over his eyes as he tried not to combust. “I fucking do, that’s the worst part.”

“You’re going inside,” she said firmly.

“I’m already inside the yard.”

“Shower. Now.”

“Fine, fine.” He stood, groaned as his back cracked, then turned the phone slightly so she could see the trailing smoke from his tear ducts. “But just for the record—if the whole place goes up, it’s your Sniffle Thistle’s fault.”

“You shouldn’t have knocked it over.”

“You shouldn’t have left me alone with it!”

“Shower,” she repeated, though there was a distinct fondness rising in her tone. “And then sit your fiery helpless ass down. I’m coming home.”

“I am not helpless,” he mumbled.

“No,” she said. “You’re Superman. And you just got your ass kicked by a flower.”

“...Yeah. Fair.”

The front door creaked open with all the melodrama of a haunted house—mostly thanks to the shitty old hinges that no one had oiled in years. A gust of cool evening air swept into the overly warm house, cutting through the lingering heat like a breath of fresh sarcasm.

Kriia stepped over the threshold, barefoot and glowing from the inside out. Her hair was freshly brushed, loose and soft against her shoulders, the wisteria scent of her post-spa oils clinging to her like shadowed perfume. She wore her comfiest oversized hoodie—his hoodie, technically, one that still smelled faintly of smoke and sweat and old cologne—and a pair of tiny, black shorts that peeked out only when she moved fast enough.

She did not announce herself. She didn’t have to.

Rexar's scent was everywhere—smoke and sugar, singed pine and something warm, familiar. It led her down the hall like a trail of invisible breadcrumbs. She followed it past the scorched curtain in the drawing room, and into the great room—

Where she found him.

Sprawled sideways across the velvet chaise like a goddamn fever dream.

He was bundled in a maroon robe that had slipped open at the thigh, one arm flopped dramatically off the side like a swooning duchess, hair still damp and curling, faint trails of steam lifting off his skin. His nose was red—cartoon red—and he clutched a crumpled towel in one hand like it had wronged him personally. The fireplace behind him crackled gently, casting flickers of gold over the length of his long, stretched-out body.

And he was sneezing.

“hhuh’TCHhhuhh!! hhuh’gSCHhhzz! Hhhuhh-hh’TSCHHUHH!”

Each fit rocked him slightly. His whole torso jerked, then slumped again as he groaned into the towel.

“Oh my gods,” Kriia breathed, a hand flying to her mouth, “you look like a tragic romantic painting.”

Rexar squinted one bleary eye open. “Welcome home,” he rasped. “The plants won.”

Kriia walked in, soft-footed and slow, crouching at his side. “Did you shower?”

“Yes.”

“Did you moisturize?”

He squinted harder. “I... rinsed.”

“Did you at least wipe the soot off your back?”

“Define ‘wipe.’”

She reached up and ran her fingers gently down the slope of his spine, and sure enough, a faint smear of black came away on her hand.

He smirked. “See? Souvenir.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Adorable.” He sniffled, loudly, and lifted the towel to his face again. “huhh... hhuhHh... hh’TCHHHuh! hhHH’KtCHZZhuhhh! h’HhhTSCHHuhhh!! ughhhhh...”

Kriia’s lips twitched. “That’s six in the last five minutes.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

She dragged the sleeve of her hoodie across his forehead, brushing his curls back as she smiled. “Only when you’re this pathetic.”

“I’m very pathetic right now.”

“Mmhm.”

He leaned into her hand. She cupped his cheek, letting her thumb brush the edge of his red nose. He whimpered.

“You're flushed,” she said softly.

“I always flush when you touch me.”

She laughed. “Shut up.”

He closed his eyes again, nuzzling into her palm, but his breath hitched mid-snuggle.

She watched, delighted, as his whole face crumpled.

“hhuhhh—hh’KTSHHHzz!! Hhuh’kGHHTZhh!! NhhTSCHHuhhh!!”

“Nine,” she said sweetly.

He groaned. “It hurts to exist.”

“That’s what happens when you go twelve rounds with a Sniffle Thistle.”

He coughed once, then sniffed again. “You really were gonna use that thing on me?”

She smirked. “Only if you misbehaved.”

“Babe. I always misbehave.”

“Exactly.”

He tugged her closer by the sleeve, pulling her half onto the chaise with him. She let him, settling against his chest, careful not to smother him—too much.

“You’re gonna get pollen all over me,” she warned.

“I am pollen at this point.”

“Gross.”

“Sexy.”

“Grooooss.”

He nuzzled her neck. She squeaked when his nose brushed her skin—still warm, still wet.

“Rexar,” she warned. “Do not sneeze on me.”

“I would never.” He sniffled thickly. “huhhuhhh—hhuhhh’TSCHHhhuhhh!!”

Right beside her shoulder. A small spark singed the air.

“Rexar!”

“Sorry!” He grabbed the towel, face red, eyes fluttering. “They sneak up on me, I swear!—hhuhh-hhhuhh’TCHHHzzh! hhEHh’tKSSCHHhhuh!!”

She melted a little every time he did it. She hated how much she did.

“You’re the worst,” she murmured, kissing the tip of his flaming nose.

“You’re in love with me,” he croaked.

“I’m infested with you.”

He smiled, dazed, snotty, completely smitten. “Still wanna marry me?”

“Ask again when you’re not leaking.”

“Romance is dead.”

She curled up against him anyway, dragging the blanket over both of them, planting a kiss in the damp space under his jaw where his skin tasted like smoke and salt.

And Rexar, still sneezing intermittently, still too warm and too soft, exhaled with the sort of contentment that only comes from a job horrifically well done and a girlfriend who would probably kill him for it later—but snuggle him first.

“Hey babygirl?” he whispered, half-asleep.

“Yeah?”

“I’m not doin’ that fuckin’ list again.”

“Mm.”

“…Unless you ask real nice.”

“Shut up.”

And he did. Eventually. Right after one last set of sneezes.

“huhh’TSCHHUhh!! hhuhHh’kTSCHzzh!! hhuhh’CHHSHhhuhh!!”

She kissed the crown of his head.

“Good boy.”

A few hours later, Rexar woke up tangled in too many blankets, one leg shoved halfway off the side of the couch, his robe bunched at his hips and his hair stuck to the side of his face like wet kelp. The fire had long since dimmed to a low, soft glow. His nose, however, was still bright red and twitching like a live wire.

He barely had time to register the moonlight trickling through the heavy drapes before—

“hhuh’TSCHHHuhh!! Hh’Huhh’TCHZZhh!! HhHh—CHHhhuhhh!!”

Three, ragged, each one yanking his abs tight and dragging a sleepy moan from his throat.

From the doorway, Kriia leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyes dark.

She was in one of his t-shirts again. Just his t-shirt. It slouched off one shoulder and clung to the soft curve of her thighs. Her legs were bare, skin still sun-kissed from the spa, and her purple eyes were fixed squarely on him like he was both a masterpiece and a walking fire hazard.

He sniffled.

Her fingers twitched against her arm.

“You look like you’ve been mauled by a flower.”

He grinned, bleary but sharp. “Still handsome, though?”

She tilted her head. “Somehow.”

Rexar pulled himself upright with a groan, scrubbing at his hair, stretching his arms until his back cracked audibly. He sneezed into his elbow again—sharp, stifled, the sparks barely escaping the velvet of his robe.

She watched, silent.

“You’re staring,” he rasped.

“No I’m not.”

“You’re trying not to enjoy it.”

She scoffed, but her thighs pressed together just slightly.

“Am I... snuffing out your denial?” he teased, rising to his feet and padding barefoot across the hardwood toward her.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Kriia?” he purred, voice like smoke slipping through keyholes. “Don’t come closer?” Another sneeze overtook him, twisting his face just before he made it to her.

“hhuh’TCHHHHuhhh!! Huh’gCHHZhhuh!! hh’TSCHCHhhuhh!!”

His nose brushed her shoulder mid-fit, heat blooming on her skin.

She shuddered.

“I hate you,” she murmured, lips twitching.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “You’re soaked.”

She smacked his chest. “I am not—”

He slipped his hand between her thighs.

“Oh,” he said, reverent. “You are.”

Kriia froze. Just a second. Long enough for the truth to settle under her skin like heat from a slow-building fever.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked innocently, even as his fingers flexed slightly, pressing the heat of his palm tighter between her legs. His thumb stroked—just once, feather-light through the cotton of her underwear—and her hips twitched.

“Rexar—”

“You’ve been staring at me all night,” he murmured, crowding in close again. His breath was hot against her cheek, still carrying the edge of congestion, the ghost of a fire just behind his voice. “Pretending it wasn’t driving you crazy… the sneezing, the mess, the way I’ve been barely holding it together while still getting your entire list done—”

“You were not—”

“et’tCHOO!! hah’ESSHH’IUE! huh’TSCHHHuhhh!!”

He sneezed mid-sentence, stifled low into her shoulder as his hand ground up between her thighs. The sound made her gasp, sparks pricking faintly along her skin.

She shoved him.

He didn’t move.

Instead, he kissed her neck—slow, open-mouthed, his breath catching against her collarbone. Another hitch. Another trembling breath. He groaned.

“I’m still itchy,” he whispered, congested and low, as if she didn’t know. “My nose is gonna run all over you if you don’t stop me.”

She bared her teeth. “You say that like I’m supposed to flinch.”

He chuckled hoarsely and pulled her in tighter, hand now slipping beneath her waistband. Her breath hitched this time, a sound sharp and traitorous.

“You’re dripping,” he groaned, kissing the corner of her mouth. “So sensitive. What, the sneeze-kink kicking in now? Or just me being a sweaty, pollen-covered disaster?”

“I hate you.”

“Liar.”

Then he picked her up.

Not a bridal sweep. Not a reckless grab.

Just both hands at the backs of her thighs, lifting her up with that quiet, reverent strength he never showed unless he was about to do something utterly filthy in the softest way possible. Her legs wrapped around his waist automatically, one arm gripping the back of his neck, the other twisting in the collar of his robe.

He carried her.

Through the hallway, slow and focused, one kiss at a time up the length of her throat. Sneezed again into her shoulder mid-stride, breath stifled, one-handed as his other arm held her tight.

“hhuh’tCHHHzzuh!—ngh, fuck—sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

“I really, really am not.. Hihhh— Hihh’EXTSH’ue! hH’EiSCH’iiew!!”

He bumped the bedroom door open with his shoulder and set her down in the middle of their ridiculous velvet-covered bed. The sheets were half-askew from earlier. The pillow with her initials stitched in silver thread still carried the faint print of her cheek from the morning.

He took a moment to look at her. To drink her in.

Then he peeled her shirt up and off with both hands, dragging the fabric slow over her arms, her chest, her head, until she sat bare in the amber glow, flushed and goosepimpled and already breathless.

She lay back slowly, her thighs falling open, her hair a halo of red against the pillows, and stared at him with half-lidded eyes.

He let the robe fall off his shoulders.

Then knelt between her legs.

He had her spread across the bed, thighs parted, every inch of her flushed and glistening in the amber light. The window was cracked just enough for the wind to breeze through, teasing her nipples to stiff peaks, stirring the scent of flowers and smoke from his skin.

Rexar knelt between her legs, panting, trembling slightly with each building sneeze he fought back. His nose was twitching, breath hitching again—

He nuzzled against her inner thigh. “Fuck, babe… ‘m gonna… hhuh’GXTCHHHuhh!! Huhh… hh’GCHHzzuhh!! Huh’TCHHHHHuhhh!!”

Three more. Each one fired into the sheets, chest jerking, sparks dying against the damp heat of her skin. She whimpered, fingers curling in the sheets.

“Gods, Rex—”

“You like that?” he murmured against her slick heat, nose dragging along her folds. “Like how itchy I am for you? How fuckin’ full my nose is from that damn thistle you left blooming for me?”

Her hips bucked.

He grinned, and sneezed again—right into her, catching it low into her inner thigh, sparks sizzling against the dampness there. She choked on a cry.

“Breathe through it,” he whispered, voice ruined and hoarse and so goddamn loving. “Let me wreck you.”

She tried. She really tried.

But he had his mouth on her then, tongue sliding up through her folds with unbearable slowness. Every kiss was shaky with congestion, with suppressed breath, and every few seconds he paused—

“hhuh’GCHHHuhhh!! hh’TSCHCHuhhh!! Hehh’kGTCHZzuhhh!!”

—and her whole body lit up when the sparks ghosted over her slick, trembling skin. She bit her knuckles, trying to hold it in.

“Stop pretending you don’t love this,” he murmured, mouth wet with her. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, babygirl, and you’re twitching every time I sneeze—”

She let out a sobbing laugh. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“No,” he said, licking again, voice gone breathless and raw, “you’re gonna cum for me.”

She did. Hard. Her whole body curled, thighs squeezing around his head as he sneezed again, stifled into her core this time, sparks flickering like a climax of their own.

She gasped, choked, tried to push him back, but he stayed there—tongue still languid, still lapping at every aftershock like he hadn’t just been dragged under by her tremble. One hand anchored on her thigh, the other smoothing soothing circles into her hipbone.

“Babe—fuck—Rex—too much—”

He growled, hoarse and sweet and utterly devoted. “No such thing.”

His nose rubbed up along the swollen, oversensitive skin again and her entire body jerked.

“huh’TCHHHuhhh!! hhuh’NGCHZZhhuhh!! hhuhHh’kTSCHzzh!”

Another set. He barely lifted his face in time. The wet heat of each stifled sneeze splashed between her thighs, glowing sparks fizzing harmlessly in the slickness still coating her skin. She whimpered and twitched.

“Still sensitive?” he murmured, nuzzling her hip, sniffling shamelessly. “You’re shaking.”

She tried to glare at him. “And you’re still fully clothed.”

“Easily fixed,” he croaked.

He kissed up her belly, slow and reverent, dragging his stubble across every line of tension. Then up—sternum, throat, mouth. She pulled him in with both hands, kissing him filthy, still tasting herself on his tongue. His nose rubbed against her cheek, still twitching.

He rolled his hips forward against her thigh. She felt the heat, the pulse, the twitch behind the cotton. He was burning up. Sniffling. Twitchy. Holding back.

Not for long.

“Inside,” she growled. “Now.”

He didn’t argue.

He reached down, shoved his underwear low with a shaky hand, and groaned as he pressed the tip against her entrance. Her walls were still fluttering, still soaking. She could feel the thickness of him, the gentle quiver of his muscles as he lined himself up, the hitch in his breath—

He buried his face in her neck and sneezed hard, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her thigh with reverent desperation. Sparks danced across her shoulder, and then—he pushed in.

Slow.

Thick.

Stretching her open with maddening control.

He was inside her now, slow and deep, his hips grinding in that maddening rhythm she could never fully prepare for. His chest hovered over hers, hot and damp and flexing every time he sneezed—

“hhuh’TCHHHuhhh!! hhhh’nkCHZZhhuh!! hhuh’ETSCHHHHhhuhhh!!”

—right above her, into her neck, his voice cracked and reverent as he buried his face there.

“I’m trying not to burn the sheets,” he gasped, every thrust making her tremble.

“You won’t,” she panted, fingers tangled in his hair.

“I will,” he moaned, nuzzling her collarbone, voice so sweet it shattered her. “You’re too fuckin’ pretty. It’s distracting.”

She clenched around him at that.

He groaned so deep it shook her.

“You feel that?” he murmured, sniffling as he rocked into her again. “That heat? That’s me, Princess. That’s all me.”

Her hips rose to meet him.

“I can’t—” she gasped, “Rex—Rexar—”

He leaned in, forehead pressed to hers, nose flaring again.

“hhuh’TSCHHhhuhhh!! hhhH’TCHSSHHuhhh!! Hehh… Hhuh’tCHZZhhhuhh!!”

He barely caught them in time, twisting just enough to stifle the burning edge into the pillow beside her, fire crackling harmlessly across her shoulder in faint, dying sparks. She felt every jolt of it—his breath shaking, muscles clenching, body flushed and twitching over hers like he was coming apart at the seams.

And then—he kissed her.

Desperate. Open-mouthed. Hot and trembling. A kiss like he was trying to breathe her in, like her mouth was the only steady thing he had left to hold onto. His nose brushed hers, still twitching faintly, his chest rising in that shaky, rhythm-breaking way she was starting to recognize.

She barely got the breath to whimper before he thrust into her again—long, hard, a full-body push that made her cry out, hips jerking, fingers fisting in the sheets as her whole body fluttered around him. He gasped her name into her neck, his voice wrecked and thick and reverent. She felt him surge, the ragged rhythm falling apart as he spilled inside her with one final, guttural exhale—

“hhuh’GCHHHuhhh!! H’eSTCH’iu!— Hh—! Hahh—! HaH’tTSCHhiew!!”

The next few seconds blurred—slick heat, tangled limbs, and his chest trembling with aftershocks. And then—

He was still inside her.

Still moving.

Still falling apart in the most controlled way imaginable.

Slow and deep now, maddeningly so, his hips rolling with that familiar rhythm that always wrecked her, grinding down in lazy, claiming strokes that made her head tip back against the pillow. His chest hovered just over hers, broad and sweat-damp, flexing with every breath, every hitch—every time he failed to fully smother the itch clawing through him.

The sneezes tore from him helplessly, each one jerking through his body, forcing his hips deeper every time he lost control. She moaned under him, soft and broken, each sound pulled out of her with every sudden thrust, with every trembling exhale he tried to bury in her skin.

Her hands roamed over his back, nails skimming over the ridges of sweat-slicked muscle, over the faint shiver that ran down his spine as he tried—gods, he tried—to keep it together. But it was slipping. She could feel it in every ragged breath, every shaky grind of his hips, every desperate mutter of her name between fits.

And she loved it.

He was trying to hold it together for her, as always. But his breath kept hitching, his rhythm faltering with every wet, pollen-torn inhale.

Still, he moved. Deep. Steady. Worshipful.

Their bodies met in slow, rhythmic rolls, the slick heat between her thighs welcoming every inch of him, drawing him deeper with each stroke. The friction was perfect. Her legs wrapped tight around his waist, heels digging into his back as he pressed flush against her, their bellies slick and sliding together with each grind of his hips.

“Fuck, Kriia,” he rasped, his voice frayed and needy. “You feel—hhuh’tCHSSHHuh!—so fucking good.”

She moaned beneath him, dragged her hands through his curls, brushed the damp fringe from his forehead. “Keep going. Don’t stop.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” he groaned. His thrusts grew harder for a moment, his control briefly buckling under the weight of her voice. “Not ‘til you fall apart again.”

She clenched around him at that, and he felt it—gasped into her throat and bucked, nearly losing it right then. His body was fire and velvet and trembling devotion, every movement driven by how she sounded, how she felt, how her nails raked down his spine and how her breath hitched every time his nose brushed her cheek.

“hhuh’TCHHHuhhh!!” Right into her neck again. Sparks danced over her collarbone. She gasped, hips jerking up to meet him.

“Rex—!”

“I know, I know,” he panted, nose twitching again, red and swollen and running. “Just hold onto me. Wanna make you—fuck—hhuh’GKCHHzzuhh!—wanna make you come so hard you forget your name.”

Her eyes fluttered. Her body was already shivering, already close.

“I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can. For me, baby. One more.”

His hand slid between them, thumb pressing against her clit, stroking in tight circles as he kept fucking her through his own wheezing, sneezing fits, sparks flying in tiny bursts every time he lost control of a breath. The overstimulation made her twitch violently—pleasure gathering in that sharp, slow-coiling place inside her, the one he always found like he had a map written in her skin.

She was whimpering now, soft and breathy and utterly undone, mouth open in helpless little cries as he kept murmuring, kept thrusting, kept praising.

“So good for me… fuck, you’re perfect… hhuh’TSCHHHuhh!—gonna make me come if you keep squeezing like that—”

She cried out as it hit her.

Her back arched. Her legs locked. She shook beneath him, every nerve ending lit and drenched, voice cracking as the orgasm tore through her. He caught her with both arms, held her down as her body bucked against his, thrusting deeper into her with every pulse of her climax, every flutter of those tight inner muscles drawing him in like they knew he belonged there.

He didn’t last a second longer.

His rhythm stuttered once, then broke completely as he groaned her name and spilled into her in hot, endless pulses. His whole body trembled, chest pressed to hers, sweat dripping from his nose as he buried his face into her neck again.

He sneezed one more triple—“hhuhh’TCHhhzzh! hehh—! Hihh’EXTSH’ue! HIIH’NKXSHH!”—as he collapsed gently over her, mouth still panting against her shoulder, body twitching with aftershocks.

They stayed like that for a long time.

Not speaking. Not moving. Just breathing.

Her fingers combed slowly through his hair, brushing sweat-damp curls from his temple, dragging down his spine in lazy strokes. His arms cradled her close like she was something precious, something fragile even though she’d just taken him apart with nothing but her thighs and a breathy curse.

Rexar sniffled.

She kissed his forehead.

“Still with me?” she whispered.

“Mmm…” He half-laughed, half-moaned. “Just barely. My soul is in the Sniffle Thistle now.”

She snorted. “Dramatic.”

He nuzzled into her breast, voice muffled. “You love it.”

“I tolerate it.”

He smirked against her skin. “I love you.”

She froze for a moment—just a breath—and then tucked his face tighter against her chest.

“…I love you too, dumbass.”

He exhaled. Content.

Then sneezed again. Soft. Muffled against her skin.

“et’tCHOO!! hah’ESSHH’IUE! huh’TSCHHHuhhh!”

She ran a hand through his hair again. “Bless you.”

His reply was a barely-audible: “For you babygirl… always.”

The End ✨

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