l223m0nade

[l223m0nade]

Warmth amidst the snow

OMG it’s finally done. Enjoy (please😡🗣️👉👉‼️)

-PLZ DONT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS!!-

***

In the middle of the woods somewhere between Austria and Azzano, Steve walks the perimeter of the Howling Commandos’ campsite. He’s just finished chopping some wood and decided that it wouldn’t hurt to do another survey of the area just for security measures— and, if he’s being honest, to keep himself sane. It’s been over 24 hours since Bucky and the team had set out through the snowy woods on foot to stake out their next target.

Of course Steve had wanted to go along with them, but they couldn’t risk being spotted by their enemies with Captain America in their arsenal. The plan was for the team to go and scope out a Hydra base and gather enough intel to then coordinate an attack-and-rescue mission. With Steve as their secret weapon, Hydra would be toast. But also, there had to be someone to stay behind and keep an eye on the camp, so why not kill two birds with one stone?

As Steve makes his way back to his tent, he realizes that the entrance had been left open. With his shield on his arm, Steve silently creeps across snow-covered ground and presses his back against a tree. He peeks around the trunk and zones in on the sound of rustling coming from the tent’s interior.

Steve looms closer to the dark green nylon entrance, knees bent and fists at the ready. As soon as the intruder emerges from the tent, Steve swings his arm.

“Jesus!” Bucky swiftly dodges the punch before stumbling back with his hands held up. “Easy there, hotshot, it’s just me!”

Steve immediately lowers his arms and stands up straight. “God, I’m so sorry Buck. I didn’t know you were back.”

“Just got back. The others aren’t that far behind,” Bucky says, swiping his forearm under his nose before sniffling sharply. Besides his boots, cargo pants and olive green thermal, he wears a navy blue blanket around his shoulders like a cloak— a fashion accessory he had no doubt just retrieved from inside the tent. A gust of icy wind blows by, making him shiver and pull the blanket tighter around his body. “Damn, it’s cold as hell.”

“Well, I just finished chopping up some wood. Should I build a fire?” Steve asks, then laughs as Bucky eagerly nods his head. “Alright, one campfire coming right up.”

It takes less than five minutes for Steve to get a good fire going. He puts his hands on his hips before taking a step back to admire his work. Behind him, he hears Bucky sneeze twice— two quiet, soft squeaks muffled into his blanket.

“Bless you,” Steve says without even turning around. Bucky clears his throat before mumbling back a thank you.

After a few seconds, Steve sighs contently and turns to join Bucky on the damp log beside the fire pit.

“Whew, she’s a beaut,” Steve says after sitting down.

“S-s-sure is,” Bucky says, noticeably shivering.

“Still cold?”

Bucky nods, teeth chattering, before giving a couple of light coughs.

“Aww, c’mere,” Steve coos, extending his arm. Bucky takes the invitation and snuggles into Steve’s side.

“You used to fit under my arm,” Bucky says once he gets his body to stop shivering. “I was the one always keeping you warm.”

Steve smiles fondly. “Well, now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

***

It’s the middle of the night, and Steve can’t sleep. Or rather, he can, but every little sound keeps waking him up. He’s still getting used to the whole super-hearing thing that came with the serum. Hell, he’d probably have trouble adjusting if he’d only developed the ability to have two fully functioning ears, considering he’d spent practically his whole life with a fair amount of hearing loss. But this… he swears he can hear the snow falling off the leaves of a tree three miles away.

He sits up and tosses the sleeping bag cover off his legs. It may be the middle of winter and he may be living in a goddamn tent but he’s still somehow warm. Perhaps it’s not the biggest issue, but nonetheless it’s yet another thing he has to get used to. At least he’s been able to keep Bucky warm throughout these bitter cold nights.

Speaking of Bucky…

Steve looks over to the poor guy as he stirs uncomfortably in his sleep. One wouldn’t even need enhanced hearing to pick up on the obvious congestion that’s built up overnight. The sound of his little snores let out between whistling exhales practically fills the tent.

“Aw,” Steve murmurs as he watches Bucky’s pink-tinged nostrils quiver with every inhale and flare upon each exhale. He reaches over and gingerly rubs the crease between his eyebrows.

After a few minutes, Bucky’s nose begins to twitch. Steve removes his hand and waits, but the twitching doesn’t stop. In fact, it only seems to grow more and more intense to the point where the poor thing looks like it’s practically bouncing— until suddenly, Bucky sits up, eyes wide and frantic. He takes in a big, shaky inhale before jolting forward with a desperate sneeze.

“Bless you,” Steve whispers as Bucky snuffles into cupped hands.

“Mmpf…?” He lifts his head and squints, trying to orient his eyes to the dark and clear his mind from sleepy bleariness. “Oh, Steve,” he sighs as if there’d be anyone else laying beside him. “Sorry to wake you.”

Steve shrugs. “I was already awake.”

Bucky nods, and Steve gathers from the way his eyelashes start fluttering closed that he’s gearing up for another sneeze.

“huh-UH’tshh! ‘tshh! ‘tshhiiiew!”

Or rather a few sneezes.

“Bless you!” Steve exclaims. He gently places his hand between Bucky’s shoulder blades while the guy sniffles urgently, palms tented over his nose and mouth. “Sure sounds like a bad cold you got there.”

“Is there ever a good cold?” Bucky huffs while lowering his hands.

“No, certainly not,” Steve hums.

Bucky coughs then sniffles thickly. “Ugh, d’you have a handkerchief somewhere? My nose is just…” he scrunches his face and roughly scrubs at his tender nostrils.

“There should be some…” Steve rolls over and begins rooting through a sack of linens. “Ah! Right here.” He pulls out a red paisley-patterned bandana and holds it up proudly.

Bucky takes the handkerchief and utters a small distracted “thanks,” clearly focusing more on his nose than on anything else. He sniffs harshly before giving his nose another forceful scrub using the knuckle of his index finger. Even in the dark, Steve can make out the frustrated expression on his face.

“God… snnnfk! Keep feelin’ like I have to…” he trails off, taking shaky, measured breaths, his nose approaching the edge of the tipping point. “Hih…” Stiffly, he raises the paisley cloth just a couple inches from his face, eyes narrowing and lips parting slightly. “Hih… hihH— hih’TIH’huhh!”

Bucky’s head bobs into the handkerchief, his sneeze coming out restrained and oddly dry considering the amount of gunk in his sinuses. On all accounts, that was a seriously lackluster sneeze that not only failed to relieve the tickle in his nose but also managed to scrape his already sore throat.

“Bless you..?” Steve offers while the sergeant’s shoulders slump.

“Dammit, Stevie,” Bucky curses hoarsely. “I’m too stuffed up to even fully sneeze.” The added emphasis is apparently too much for his throat, and winds up setting off a coughing fit.

“Shhh, I know, Buck.” Steve pats his back the same way Bucky did for him all those years before the super serum eradicated his asthma and frequent cases of pneumonia. “Easy, now,” he consoles. “Here, take my pillow. Ma always propped me up with a ton of them to help my chest.”

As the coughing gradually stops, Steve hands Bucky a canister of water. Bucky takes a few careful sips before leaning back against the pillows, his whole existence feeling exhausted.

“Thanks, Stevie,” he mumbles.

“It’s no problem, Buck. Cold?” Steve adds when Bucky shivers.

“Little bit,” he smiles shyly.

“Alright, come here.”

Steve pulls Bucky’s sleeping bag and pillows closer to his own, making sure not to jostle him too much. He sidles up and curls around the sick guy, his super soldier body heat warming him up like a toasted marshmallow.

“Much better,” Bucky says before a yawn.

“Go back to sleep now,” Steve smiles, watching Bucky’s eyes fight to stay open. “I’ll be right here in the morning.”

[l223m0nade]

Bucky’s birthday - the 2025 edition!

In the barista au! Where Bucky is a barista and Steve is a doctor.

-PLZ DONT REBLOG TO NON-KINK BLOGS!!-

***

They’ve officially been dating for a couple of months, and Bucky’s birthday is the first major celebration the two will celebrate together. So, in true Steve fashion, he comes up with the perfect itinerary for Bucky’s big day, which of course ends with a romantic dinner at a restaurant on the edge of the park.

Their table has the most beautiful view of a small pond. It really feels like the beginning of spring with the way the water sparkles underneath the 6pm sunlight while the local ducks waddle and swim around lily pads and flora just starting to bloom.

As Steve and Bucky look over the menu, Steve takes note of the decadent coffee and espresso dessert options, which are bound to make Bucky’s barista heart explode.

He’s just about to point them out when he realizes Bucky isn’t reading his menu. Instead, the brunette seems to be distracted by something— no, bothered by something.

“You alright?” Steve asks.

Bucky snaps out of his thousand-yard stare and looks at Steve with furrowed eyebrows. Something about his demeanor makes him look like a deer caught in headlights, like whatever he was distracted by took every ounce of his focus.

“Yeah, yeah. I-I’m good,” he stutters, his breath catching.

Steve can tell that is outright bullshit. He raises a brow as Bucky takes short, hitching breaths, the corner of his lips twitching almost as much as his nose.

“Really?” He smirks. “Cause you look like you’re trying really hard not to sneeze.”

Well, that might be due to the fact that Bucky is trying really hard not to sneeze— and he’s not doing a particularly good job of being subtle about it.

“N-no, I-I—” Bucky tries to say before his nostrils flare, causing his left eyelid to flutter closed while his right eye squints, fighting to stay open.

He only manages to hold out for two seconds before clumsily ducking behind his menu.

“ngkXXt’shu! Hih- hih’gknt! Ugh…” Bucky straightens up, his nose all sniffly and eyes pink and teary at the waterline.

“Bless you,” Steve fondly says while his dinner date sheepishly rubs the underside of his nose with his knuckle. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Bucky tries to brush past it, but he can tell that Steve will not be appeased without an explanation. He sighs resolutely. “I just have some seasonal allergies, okay? That’s all.”

“Aw, Buck!” Steve says as if he’s just been told the worst news ever. “If I’d have known I would’ve gotten us a table indoors.”

“It’s fine, Steve, I promise. It’s so nice out, I’d rather be out here than inside anyway.”

Steve doesn’t look convinced, but he really can’t help it; the urge to go full-on doctor-mode kicks in the second someone around him’s got something going on— especially if that someone is a person he really cares about.

“C’mon, Steve,” Bucky pleads. “It’s my birthday.”

Is he-? Oh no, oh fuck— he’s pulling the puppy eyes. Steve can’t say no to that. Puppy eyes plus birthday guilt tripping is a double whammy that’s sure to bring anyone to their knees. Bucky really pulled out the big guns.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop fussing!” Steve runs his hand through his dirty blonde hair and sighs. “God forbid I want to make sure my best guy is having a good time on his birthday.”

“Stevie,” Bucky coos and grabs Steve’s hand across the table. “You’re too sweet. I promise, I’m having the greatest—” he pauses suddenly. Then his nose scrunches up. He quickly turns into his elbow to sneeze twice, his grip tightening around Steve’s hand with each one.

Something flutters in Steve’s stomach when he feels Bucky squeeze his hand once- “hh’ptchh!!”- and then again- “h’tshhoo!!”- as if the involuntary reflex reinforces the fact that Bucky didn’t want to let go of his hand even while sneezing.

“Bless you! God bless,” Steve blushes, hoping Bucky can’t feel his pulse increasing. He brings Bucky’s hand to his lips and gently kisses his knuckles. “You know, I heard somewhere that birthday sneezes bring good luck.”

Bucky chuckles then lifts his face from his elbow. He shakes his head and sniffles before giving Steve a bashful smile.

“Is that so?”

[l223m0nade]

Someone getting caught in the rain with an already bad headcold? At some point they give up on trying to use the same soiled and wet tissue so they just use their hands. Surely the rain water will wash away anything in time for the next sneeze, right?

[l223m0nade]

Best Laid Plans

My first original piece I've posted here! Around 9k words.

This is VERY self-indulgent so you’ll have to excuse me lol. It’s like.. lizard brain horny. Seriously lol. Slapping NSFW on here for good measure. It’s rare I get embarrassed about my kink nowadays but I feel a little embarrassed about this one. I hope someone else can enjoy it too! 

Best Laid Plans

Summary: A secret agent is going undercover for a few days, and his target has a sneeze fetish. The agency’s best engineer has constructed something to give him an edge.

These are original characters, all in their late twenties and early thirties! This story was inspired by @testingtwns writing. She has such captivating descriptions, spectacular characterizations, and fascinating world lore. This snippet can’t hold a candle to her amazing stories, but I was moved to try writing it after reading hers. (If you would prefer I remove this shoutout, Red, please let me know! Your stuff is just so great!)

(Warnings: Unrealistic science, my cringe attempt at sneeze characterization, Mess Lite™, questionable workplace dynamics, general horny undertones and overtones, accidental boners and feeling pleasure from sneezing).

THIS STORY IS NSFW!

-

It was never a great morning when Agent Omicron found himself in Dr. Anita Voster’s lab. She was a little eccentric, he thought, and like to make mischief. Not a good combination for a scientist. Still, she was the best in the force and the one assigned to his case by the powers that be. He knew why he was reporting to Dr. Voster’s lab and he knew what his bosses would say - The sooner you report to Dr. Voster, the sooner you can begin your work.

Omicron reported to her lab sharply at 0800, shrugged off his suit jacket at her behest, and sat himself down in her vaguely threatening patient chair for the administration of her invention. Dr. Voster was far too giddy in handing over a small container of nasal spray. It looked harmless, but Omicron knew better.

“This,” he said, inspecting the bottle, “will make me sick?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Voster replied. She fetched the bottle from his hand as she spoke, and rolled a plush stool over to sit as they talked. “This virus was engineered specifically to make you sneeze, so think of it like a cold in your nose.”

“Similar to allergies?”

“Yes, if you were allergic to air.”

Omicron sighed. He wasn’t in the business of complaining, but this was going to be challenging. He crossed his arms, trying not to fidget. “How long does it last?”

“Just long enough to see you through the mission. Your symptoms should abate by Thursday.”

So he’d be sick the entire time, essentially. Great. His leg started to bounce.

“Will this slow me down?” he asked. Dr. Voster arched a look over her safety glasses. He clarified himself. “Am I going to feel like shit?”

She smirked at him. “Are you one of those man-cold types?”

Heat swept over his ears and burned the back of his neck, and her smile only widened. He crunched his brows with a glare. “No, I’m just being thorough. If this will compromise my performance in any way, I want to know about it.”

“It won’t,” she chuckled, and he tried not to get defensive at the amusement in her voice. “Like I said, the primary function of this virus is to make you sneeze. You’ll be contending with some nasal congestion, but aside from that you’ll be fine.”

That was easy for her to say. She wasn’t going undercover into enemy territory. He tensed as she snapped on a pair of gloves and looped on a face mask. When she uncapped the bottle, he cleared his throat. “The paperwork said something about me being more ‘suggestible?’ What does that mean?”

She huffed at his air quotes and yanked down her mask. “It means you’ll be vulnerable to psychosomatic triggers. In other words, if you think hard enough about sneezing, you’ll prompt one.”

“That sounds unlikely.”

“We have testing data to support it,” she chastised, and yanked her mask back up. “It was a goal for the formula. We thought you might find it handy to take matters into your own hands if a sneeze wasn’t forthcoming.”

“For.. like, tactically?”

“Yes, strategically. Now, tilt your head and relax.”

He reluctantly settled back into the cushioned chair, sniffing in preparation. One of her latex hands moved to cradle his jaw and keep him still as she nudged the applicator up the right side. It was wide enough to graze the sides of his nostrils, and he felt them flare in response.

“Okay, deep breath..”

Swallowing, he breathed slowly, deeply through his nose. A fffssh from the bottle yielded a mist of curiously warm aerosol that instantly coated the skin. He flinched a wrist up to his mouth to cough in response. It felt suddenly like his nose was running, so he sniffed, sniffed, and sniffed again. A strong flavor coated the back of his throat.

“Why is it salty?”

“Well, we didn’t intentionally flavor it,” she said, already moving to his left nostril. “Probably the saline. We used it as a base. Now, give me another big breath.”

He did as he was told, and again a warm puff of wetness invaded his nose. And another. And another. They performed this three times, alternating sides, and the last one rubbed him wrong. A tiny tickle ignited as his nose began to run. Omicron warded Dr. Voster back with one cautious hand as the other routed to his nose. He anchored his forefinger beneath his nostrils, pressing deliberately against his septum as he parted his lips to breathe. Voster snorted at him as she set the bottle aside.

“I thought that only worked in cartoons.”

“And on me,” he mumbled in a heady voice. 

It took a moment of concentrated effort, but the urge passed. He sniffed, a little wetter this time as he blinked away tears. Agent Omicron was an old hand at holding back sneezes. Sudden, uncontrolled outbursts weren’t great for business when he was out in the field. That, and he generally didn’t like to draw attention to himself even in civilian life. He caught Dr. Voster smiling at him and his brows trenched.

“What now?”

“I’m not into sneezing,” she told him as she capped the bottle, “but that was pretty cute. Your target won’t stand a chance, Mr. Honey Pot.”

He replied with a scowl and one more see-sawing rub beneath his nose. “When does this kick in?”

“Give it twenty-four hours,” she said, and snapped off her gloves. “I’ll check on you then to make sure it took.”

He stood and slipped back into his jacket, straightened his tie. “Isn’t this cutting it a little close? I’m flying out tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but we didn’t want your poor nose suffering anymore than it has to,” she cooed, and punctuated this with a little tap of her knuckle to his septum. He swatted her away.

“Stop.”

“Oohhh,” she pouted, leaning a hip against her workstation. “Always so serious, Agent O.”

Omicron lurked a warning glare her way as he adjusted his sleeve cuffs and shirt collar. “I’ll be back in 2400.”

---

And he was, though he dragged his feet most of the way.

Omicron believed Dr. Voster when she said this nasal spray contained a virus that would cause his nose some hell, but he didn’t quite understand just how.. intense the experience would be. 

He sniffled, a necessary indignity since he woke up this morning, and the slow, deliberate flare of that ever-present irritation beckoned him toward an unavoidable conclusion. Still, Omicron shoved the hard edge of his finger beneath his nose and tilted his head back for another whip-crack sniff. It flared the tickle dangerously, but the steady breakwater against his septum kept him in the clear. His nostrils twitched and he pinched them, rubbing rubbing rubbing until he heard the embarrassing squelch of something wet in his nose.

Another strong sniff, and a weak huhh on his exhale. Shit. He wiped his hand on the side of his pants with a grimace. He’d have to start carrying tissues.

“There he is!” Dr. Voster greeted him with a disarming smile, but he could see the hawklike way she zeroed in on his nose. He tried not to sniffle. “How’s my magnum opus treating you?”

It’s bullying me, Omicron thought, but as he laced his hands properly behind his back, what he said instead was, “It’s working.”

“Oh, is it?” she said. She wasn’t even trying to mask the delight in her voice now as she crowded him back into her exam chair. “Let me take a look.”

He stared hard at the ceiling as she slipped on gloves and wheeled forward on her stool, leaning over him like a dentist. He hated the dentist. A warm trickle of wetness prompted an automatic sniff, and a huffing exhale when that far-back tickle teased him.

“Runny nose?” she chirped, using her thumb to gently coax his nostril open. She held an otoscope with her other hand, using the little light to peer up his nose. Omicron tried not to shrivel in embarrassment as she crooned with sympathy. “Oooh, poor thing. You’re so inflamed..”

“Wasn’t that the idea?” he sighed, and sniffled again. A spark somewhere in his sinuses caused him a hard blink.

“Yes, but it must tickle so much..”

In response to her words, another spark snapped inside him. Like striking flint to burn kindling. Another reflexive sniffle. His eyes began to water. 

“It must feel like something fuzzy is stuck up there,” she was saying, rubbing her thumb softly against the quivering edge of his nostril. “Every time you breathe, this fluffy thing, lodged in place and too far for you to reach..”

The frantic efforts of the virus continued, tenacious now in its purpose. The fuse caught, as did Omicron’s next inhale. His chest hitched with a stutter. He tried to reach up, finger extended and ready, but Voster caught his wrist and pinned it back down to the chair arm.

“It must be new for you, to be so out of control. This thing inside you, tickling so sweetly, growing unbearable, and there’s nothing you can do but submit.”

That tantalizing feeling got worse. The line of gunpowder trailing through his pulsing nostrils lit up with an unstoppable blaze. It raced through him, and Omicron couldn’t do anything but give it fuel. He gasped hugely, his chest straining against the buttons of his shirt. The exhale crashed out of him clumsily, unrelieved.

“H-HUHhh..”

Dr. Voster leaned away, but set her otoscope aside to pin his other wrist when he reflexively raised it to ward off what was coming. “Don’t fight it, Omicron. That tickle nestled in your nose was built for this. Listen to it. You two are a team, remember?”

Omicron couldn’t even open his eyes, the sensation held him so powerfully. It felt alive, calculated, somehow vying for control. He snatched in another soft breath, breathed it out on a moan, and then gasped again. His lungs strained to accommodate as that demanding tickle wanted more.. more..

He huffed out another helpless groan. “HHUHhhh..”

His hands flinched toward his face, but met resistance. A tear surfed down his cheek and got caught in his stubble. He gasped- gasped-! “.. hH-hiIHH-!”

The sensation crested, and finally, overcame him.

“HHZZZSSSCHOOO!!”

The force of it threw him forward. It was the loudest, strongest sneeze he’d ever sneezed, but somehow it didn’t feel big enough. Cool, tingling aftermath quickly gathered a second storm. This time, Omicron didn’t do anything but breathe into it.

“..hhHI’JJIZZSHHUE!”

Another uncharacteristically enormous sneeze. His wrists were free, but he didn’t even bother to cover his mouth or muffle into his elbow. Usually he’d rather disintegrate than sneeze freely even in his own home, but.. this tickle.. he just wanted to let it.. let it do.. 

“HEH’CHIZSHOoo!”

.. do whatever it wanted. And what it wanted was complete and utter domination. Omicron sniffled helplessly, half-aware he was leaking out of more than one orifice but too punch-drunk to do much about it. His breath caught fitfully in his throat and he-.. 

“-idzhih.. HID’ISSsshoo!.. huhh..”

Omicron leaned over to press hands over his eyes, his palms coming away wet. He was normally a one-and-done guy, with fairly normal-sized sneezes; this many at this size had him light-headed. His breath hitched again, quick like the strike of a viper, before he let it go on a sigh. And another, just the same. It felt like hiccups. He didn’t dare touch his nose, too wary of setting off the wrath of this thing deep inside him. Instead he just sniffled pitifully, catching his breath.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He glanced askance to a sheepish looking Dr. Voster who was offering a box of tissues. He snatched several, still too dazed to be properly embarrassed as he blew a wet, crackling sound into the wad of them. It took a few rounds, but when he finished he cleared his throat and blinked at her with teary eyes.

“What the fuck, Anita.”

“Sorry,” she winced, and she actually did seem sorry. “I wanted to test the ‘suggestible’ variable and you reacted more strongly than I anticipated. Also, um.. bless you, by the way.”

He sat back against the seat with a stuffy sniffle, arms crossed, and now that he was more aware of himself, valiantly fighting down the urge to blush. “Yes, well. You were just doing your job, so I can’t be mad.”

She hedged a nervous smile. “Can’t be, or shouldn’t be?”

He gusted a long sigh, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose when somehow even the rumble of his own voice stirred the residual dust of another sinus-deep tickle. “Do you need to test anything else, or can I go?”

His voice had lost most of its resonance from the sneeze attack as the congestion set it -- not yet enough to blunt his consonants but enough to dull the overall sound. Moisture skated down the side of his nose and Omicron wrinkled it with another snuffle that moved nothing at all. How could his nose be both dripping and completely blocked? He indulged a rub this time, soothing his nostrils to stillness with the tempering back-and-forth of his index finger.

The doctor’s voice broke the quiet. “How does it feel?”

Omicron peered up at her, finger still held to his upper lip. “Pardon?”

“Your nose,” she clarified, but not by much. “How does it feel?” He scoffed and stood to leave. She stood to stop him, holding both hands out as if to placate him. “I’m not teasing you. I really do need to know. Are you in pain?”

“No,” he said, chest lifting with another short sniff. He pressed harder against his septum, rubbing in earnest now as the tickle began gathering momentum. It stalled against the wrangling touch, but didn’t back down. “No pain.”

“But it does tickle?”

“I believe we’ve estahh..hkrrrm!” He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “.. established that, yes.”

She eyed him, her gaze trailing down to the finger glued beneath his nose. “You shouldn’t try to hold them off, Omicron. It might be why your sneezing earlier was so extreme.”

All this talk of sneezing was just emboldening the tickle. It’s like the sensation was surging forward, eager to answer to the call of its name. His eyes fluttered closed and he pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to try and waylay another gasping breath. His nostrils pulsed against his finger, prompting him to pinch them instead, but still they tried to flare against his grip. He heard Dr. Voster sigh.

“I don’t know why they picked you for this mission,” she muttered, just loud enough to be heard. “If you’re too shy to sneeze, you’re going to lose your target pretty much instantly.”

His eyes sliced open, as defiant as his nose still squirming between his fingers. His voice was bottled back in his throat completely. “I’b dnot shy, I’b.. I’b jhhss.. hooh..”

The tickle hijacked his voice, tremoring it on a snatchy inhale. It prickled ominously behind his eyes, insistent, and Omicron stayed perfectly still in an effort to tame it. Even with his nose plugged and his fervent attempts to rub the sensation away, the tickle persisted. It dragged another breath in on a soft gasp, out on another dreading utterance.

“.. H-Ihih!.. ohh..”

“You’re so stubborn,” said Dr. Voster, and he could hear her rolling her eyes. He’d known her for years, and while he tried to rise above her goading taunts, there always came a point when she got to him.

Omicron let go of his nose and took as long and deep of a breath as he could through his trembling nostrils. The tickle welcomed it, greedily advancing, and rather than prolong the fight Omicron simply braced his hands on his knees to keep his balance as the sensation built inside him. As Dr. Voster so strangely asserted during his last volley, he and this virus were a team. He wouldn’t see the success of this mission without it.

It was this thought that compelled him to breathe again, a sniff that coasted directly into a gasp. He waited, hovering on the edge of it, but the sneeze backed away just before he could snatch it. Omicron squinted up at Dr. Voster, who was watching him with bald interest.

“Iihhff… hoo..” He sniffled, abandoning all dignity as he snubbed the wet edges of his nostrils against the sleeve of his suit. “If I let this tiH.. tiihckle ha..uuHUhh.. have its way ev..” 

His eyes fluttered closed, and he snatched in a series of chuffing breaths. Each was a shrill gasp followed by a bleating exhale, utterly beyond his power to stop. The crescendo carried him into increasingly higher and faster octaves, before the sneeze ripped out of him with gusto.

“HAH’CHIZSHOO!-ohhhh..” He swayed on his feet, panting at the ground, and was shocked to find in the tingling aftermath how good that felt. It made it easier to let the next one swell and crash out of him. “..HIH’SSschoo!- fuck mbe..”

Omicron rarely swore, but the power and sheer abandon of these sneezes were so unlike his usual that he couldn’t help it. Through the haze of another rising tickle, he tried to hurry through the rest of his thoughts before he completely forgot what he was saying.

“If I let it have.. hahve it’s wayiiiiee..ig’GIZZSCHue!!-hah... I’ll be sdnee.. sdiizz.. HIZZSSSHOO!!..ughh, sdeezig for..fuh! UH!hhh.. for days.” He finished on a sigh, unrelieved, one hand now holding desperately onto the chair so he didn’t end up on his knees.

Dr. Voster didn’t immediately speak and when he finally blinked away blurry tears, he found her biting her lip with a worried crease between her eyes. “.. Do you always sneeze like this when you catch a cold?”

Even the very word caused his nose to buzz. His willpower was all but shredded, so he clamped onto the chair with his other hand and threw his head down with a body-shaking, “IID’DZZSSSSSTTH!!”

It was an unfortunate sneeze, one that painted his tie and the seat of the chair with its aftermath. Omicron didn’t have the energy to blush about it; honestly, this was all Anita’s fault so if he happened to catch her furniture in the crossfire of his helpless sneezing fit he.. heeeeeeee-

“HEEZZZSHOOO!!” He stumbled forward into a suspended tray of implements that crashed to the ground in a tremendous clatter. Omicron paid it no mind, tilting his head back to the fluorescent lights in an effort to keep his running nose at bay. “Bloody hell, won’t it st.. uh.. ohh.. hH!”

A bridge of pressure appeared beneath his septum, pressing firmly against it. He cracked his eyes open to find Dr. Voster beside him, her finger fearlessly anchored beneath his flaring nostrils. They threatened another revolt, under the tickle’s full command. That enduring, swelling force inside Omicron begged again for release and he gasped loudly against Dr. Voster.

“..hihHIT-!”

“Nope, nope, nope,” she muttered, pressing even harder against his nose. “Work with me here..”

Omicron had no idea if she was talking to him, or the virus, but both struggled to comply. The maddening prickle became tortuous. His nose cried out for relief, as the tickle played his sinuses like a fine instrument. Holding it back now seemed impossible. And to be frank, he was still a bit irked with Anita. He flicked his gaze up to the lights, sensitive enough that the bright flash of them set alight the simmering fuse inside him.

And, because he was a gentleman, he did try to warn her. “.. caahh.. cahhdd..”

“O, don’t you dare. I know you have more control than this, just-”

He heaved his way through an ominous buildup, letting the tickle dictate the pace of his breath until it brought him to the brink. His chest inflated, pressing against Dr. Voster as she fought to the end to keep him together. She pressed hard enough that he half-wondered if his nose would bruise, but no amount of pressure could tide it back. He threw both of them forward with a sneeze scraped up from the depths of his lungs.

“HAAAZZSCHHOOOO!!-ooohhhhh..” 

His knees felt a bit weak after that one, but for the first time since he’d woken up that morning, his nose tingled with welcome relief. It would be brief, he was certain, but he’d take the reprieve while he had it. The satisfaction of the fit filled his head with a pleased emptiness as he teetered his way around the edge of the chair and dropped to sit there. He tried to catch his breath.

“Agent Omicron, I swear to god,” groused Dr. Voster. He cracked his eyes open to see her ripping out more than a dozen tissues to throw at him. “You did that on purpose.”

He gathered them up and groaned wetly into the white bouquet. His voice was an achy croak. “I had no control over that, I promise you..”

Dr. Voster washed her hands at the sink and joined him on her stool when she finished. By that time, he’d managed to make himself somewhat presentable. His suit was a bit of a lost cause, but with luck the stains would dry into something less noticeable before his flight.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she said, and there was a serious quality to her question. “Do you always sneeze like this when you catch cold?”

Omicron shook his head, bringing another bunch of tissues to his face to blow. ‘Sore throat’ may not have been an intended symptom, but it soon would be if he kept shouting sneezes on the hour. He massaged his sinuses through the thin paper, already hopelessly stuffed up as he tried to suck in a sniffle. It just made him cough.

Dr. Voster was muttering beside him. “.. may have hit you harder than intended..”

“Whad was that?” he asked. He didn’t bother masking the reproach in his tone. She sighed and adjusted her glasses.

“I said, I may have underestimated how reactive you’d be,” she admitted. “You rarely sneeze, so I thought your sinuses weren’t sensitive.”

“I have to sdneeze all the time,” Omicron admitted in turn with a sawing rub beneath his nostrils. “I’b just good at holding themb back.”

Dr. Voster stared at him a moment, then bent over her knees with a sound of pure frustration. “Omicron. You should have TOLD me that in the INTAKE INTERVIEW.”

Omicron startled in his seat, sputtering with insult. “Are you tryi’g to make this mby fault? I answered all your questions honestly!”

“I asked you if you sneeze a lot when you’re sick and you said no!!”

“Thad’s because I DON’D!” 

His throat didn’t take kindly to the treatment and he turned away to cough. He yanked out more tissues, determined to free his consonants with a noseblow. Nothing moved, and all he got was another threatening jab from the tickle for his trouble. Oh, please not again, he thought, blinking at the sensation.

“Then what do you call this, O? Are you sneezing for fun?”

Anita’s voice called him briefly back to his ire. “I almost never sneeze this much when I’m sick! In fact I sdneeze more when I’m well, I-..”

He stopped, and Dr. Voster watched him with bare worry as he wrestled with what could be another punishing sneezing fit. Omicron learned his lesson from before, and he didn’t try to fight it at all. Just gave himself over to the feverish tickling until it snagged his breath in one fell swoop.

“H-ih.. TZSshoo!” 

He waited briefly for another, but none came and Omicron could have wept with relief. That was far closer to what he’d expected at the start of this experiment. He wiped his nose with a tissue and was unsurprised to find the skin was already getting sore. His skin was prone to chafing with too much friction, which was just as inconvenient as it sounded.

Dr. Voster frowned at him. “Was that..?”

“My usual, yes,” Omicron verified with a sigh. He was numb to the embarrassment of discussing this by now.

“Okay.” Dr. Voster folded her hands in her lap and with a deep breath, marshaled herself. “Okay, okay. This.. is salvageable. I just have to create an antidote, or maybe a diluting agent, and then maybe I can administer a weaker dose before..” She glanced at her watch and hung her head in defeat. “.. you leave in less than an hour.”

Omicron gave her a half-lidded stare over his tissues. “You didn’t create an antidote?”

Dr. Voster threw her arms up and shot up from her chair to pace. “No, Omicron! No, I didn’t. It’s a cold. It’s a harmless, nose-oriented cold at that. Barely a case of the sniffles. But apparently you have the most delicate sinuses of all mankind because my dose was too strong and now you’re-”

She glanced over at Omicron to find him in a state of sneezy limbo, no longer listening as his nostrils twitched their way to a consuming finale. He stuttered a few breaths, each exhale a sound of unwitting surprise when the sneeze didn’t come. It took longer than Omicron wanted, but he finally got it.

“DZSSSH!” Another pitchy gasp, the corners of his mouth flinching upward in the barest hint of a relieved smile as he vented one down on his lap. “TSSschoo!! ahhh, tha’g you..”

Omicron wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, the tickle or his nose, but each succinct release felt wonderful and left him spent in a way that relaxed him. It seemed if he didn’t try to stop them, they would come in much more manageable waves. Hmm.. maybe that meant if he held them off, he could get another one of those punishing volleys when he needed one. It would depend on the target’s preferences.

“Omicron, are you listening?”

He glanced up to find a fretful Dr. Voster, her hair loose from her ponytail and lab coat a little askew. He sniffed. “No, sorry. What did you say?”

“I’m going to recommend we ground you,” she said. Omicron froze, uncertain if he heard right, but jumped to his feet when she snatched up her phone. “We can’t risk this compromising you.”

He tried to grab her phone from her, but she dodged. “What are you talking about? I thought that was the point.”

“The point was to give you a reliable way to sneeze,” she clarified, quickly typing something out with her thumbs. “Not make you a liabilit-HEY!”

Omicron managed to liberate her phone and held it high above to keep it out of reach as he tried to reason with her. He sniffed again when he felt his nose begin to run, and blinked against the throbbing reply of his nose-tickle. “Listen, Anita, I’ve been training for this mission for months. It’s our only chance t.. to..”

Her eyes narrowed as his fluttered. “You have to sneeze right now, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, but I’m telling you I’m hh!UHhh..” He sniffled again, fighting for composure. “.. I’m learning to work with it, alright?”

“If you can go thirty seconds without sneezing, I’ll believe you.”

Omicron swallowed. Thirty seconds yesterday would have been nothing, but today? His nostrils flared at even the suggestion. If he wasn’t certain viruses had no capacity for thought, let alone emotion, he would claim this tickle had a mind of its own and a chip on its shoulder. It was always simmering somewhere in the recesses of his sinuses, but the moment he committed to staving it off, it surged forward with pure intention.

Somehow, he could tell he’d be in for another seismic sneezing fit if he tried any tricks to keep it back, so he let his eyes fold shut. Rather than increments of jumping breaths, this sneeze was a smooth slide into fruition. He drew in a dreamy breath and felt his nostrils ease wide. Then-

“HETZChuu!” It was cleansing, a reset that cleared his mind. He welcomed another. “h-hHEH!h.. ohhH!hh..” 

The urge abandoned him, and of course the moment he wanted to sneeze, he couldn’t. Clearing his throat, he realized with a measure of chagrin that when he sneezed, he hadn’t done more than turn his head. Where had his manners gone? The urges were so immediate, he could scarcely think of anything else.

Dr. Voster snatched the phone from his hand. “That wasn’t even fifteen seconds! I’m calling HQ.”

“Anita!” he growled, and darted forward. The two of them ended up in a spontaneous spar. While Dr. Voster was rarely on the field, she was trained in hand-to-hand as well as he was. They exchanged a series of blocks, strikes, kicks, dodges, and by the time Omicron wrestled her into a hold on the linoleum, they were both breathless. Splayed out on her back, he huffed heavy breaths into her hair. The silken strands ruffled in the gusts.

She threw him a dirty look from the corner of her eye. “Let me go, Omicron.”

“Not until you let go of this notion that I’m incapable of fulfilling this mission, Anita,” he leveled back at her. “It’s unlike you to worry like this.”

Her glare darkened; she didn’t like his choice of words, but didn’t deny it. “I oversensitized you. It will be my fault if you collapse in an uncontrollable sneezing fit and get captured by the enemy.”

He scoffed. “Is that all? I didn’t sneeze once during our spar and, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you in a lock on the ground. Not to mention the mission is information extraction. If I attract unwanted attention, that would be my own mistake.”

She said nothing in return, which prompted Omicron to slide off of her. Together they sat up, still sitting on the floor together. She tucked hair behind her ear, refusing to look at him. He sighed. “Anita..”

She shot him a side glance. “.. are you seriously going through with it?”

“Of course,” he replied, twitching his nose to one side. The tickle rippled, and he sniffled in response. Out of habit he reached up to rest his finger beneath. “If the target enjoys this as much as sources claim, th-h!.. then it’ll beeeeh-”

He tucked his finger more tightly to his septum, only realizing his mistake after the tickle churned restlessly against the tender, tortured edges of his sinuses. “Oh, fuck mHH-.. HIH!hh.. uhh… UH..”

Dr. Voster made a noise of exasperation and he caught the sound of tissues getting snatched from the box. As he gasped and groaned his way through another incredible buildup, a flurry of softness enveloped his squirming nose. He cupped his hand over hers as he flinched forward into their shared grip.

“iiiIHH’GGZSSCHOO!..oohhh, uhduther-..” He caught his breath in a desperate gasp, straight from the bottom of his belly. When he crunched forward, he heard a couple seams rip in his shirt. “AAHHDZZSCHOO!!”

“I guess I should said bless you,” grumbled Dr. Voster. She wiggled the tissues around his nose, which remained twitchy. He had yet to open his eyes. “Are you done?”

He shook his head.

“One more?”

He paused to consider, then nodded. And after another terrific gasp, the force of his doubling-over wrenched their hands down toward his lap. “EEHTTZZSSSCHOOO!!.. ohhh, wow..” 

Omicron nearly shivered at the pleasant, tingling aftermath. Why did they always feel so good? The bigger the better, even if they winded him. Dr. Voster left him with the tissues as he muzzily blew his nose. He kept his head down for a moment to let the dizziness ease, so he was still facing his lap when he opened his eyes.

Oh. That was new. Side effect of the virus, perhaps..? 

Omicron darted his eyes to the doctor, but she was already up on her feet and brushing off her coat. She hadn’t seen - his first and only stroke of luck today. Because if she thought his violent sneezing was grounds for calling off the mission, his sudden sneeze-induced half-chub would definitely warrant a mortifying and career-destroying advisory call to HQ. He rushed to adjust himself as she turned away, and then both of them jumped when the door opened.

“ - yes, yes, just tell them to fax it,” Agent Delta was saying, attention still focused on someone else in the hall. Omicron scrambled to his feet, standing at attention as Dr. Voster filed beside him, just as Delta turned to them both. He clapped his hands together. “Ah, there they are! Case 28947!”

That was the case number to which they were assigned, and the very case that would see Omicron leaving for the airport in the next.. his eyes flew to the clock on the wall.. twelve minutes. That’s probably why Delta was here. 

“How’s our experiment? A success?” He strolled over to Omicron, over whom he held a few inches. Omicron stood his ground, resolving not to drop his eyes when Delta jovially scanned his features. His gaze lingered on Omicron’s nose. “Looks like it was.”

“It was.” Dr. Voster and Omicron briefly locked eyes before she continued. “It’s.. functioning as intended.”

“Really?” asked Delta, impressed. Dr. Foster preened under that look, in spite of the circumstances. The senior agent looked between the two of them with a polite smile. “I suppose you wouldn’t mind me testing it as well?”

Again Omicron and Anita met eyes. This time, Omicron cleared his throat and nodded his reply. “If you wish, sir.”

Delta scratched his cheek thoughtfully, studying Omicron in silence until the shorter agent couldn’t help but sniff. He also couldn’t help the need to briefly wrinkle his nose afterward. Delta grinned.

“From how it was described, it must tickle pretty bad in there, huh?” he said, nodding to Omicron’s nose. It must be blushed pink by now, if not darker. He waited for Delta to continue, and then realized that his superior was waiting for an answer.

Much as it humiliated him to say it, he replied, “It does, sir.”

“Mmm,” Delta hummed thoughtfully, and to the man’s credit he sounded a little sympathetic. “It must feel like.. hm, how did your poetic literature put it, Doctor? What was it?.. Liiike..”

Dr. Voster, who was busy putting her hair back up into its customary ponytail, darted an apologetic glance toward Omicron. Well, it wasn’t her fault. Omicron knew what literature Delta referenced and it was only part of protocol for her to write something thorough for their records.

“Like feathers.”

“That’s right, like feathers,” Delta continued, shifting on his feet in front of Omicron. His eyes never left his subordinate’s face. “Constantly and tirelessly petting the inside of one’s nose.”

The words seemed hypnotic to Omicron because he could feel it. He could feel those feathers, stroking so gently and repeatedly against the far depths of his sinuses. Somewhere deep, somewhere too far to scratch. They were careful with the fragile nerves there, but dauntless in their purpose. To make him sneeze. And sneeze.. And sneeze…

Omicron’s eyes fluttered shut, his breath deepening as his nostrils flared softly to the siren call of those thoughts. His hands remained firmly clasped behind him.

Delta continued as if he didn’t notice. “Yes. An ever-present irritation in the most sensitive depths, coaxed to greater and greater strength by your breath. Isn’t that ironic? That you yourself are the catalyst to this growing fire inside you, cursed to fan the flames even in sleep.”

Did it start while I was asleep last night? Omicron wondered. Because when he woke, it was to an itchy nose. So itchy in fact he snorted, sniffed, and rubbed it with such single-mindedness he nearly forgot he was due to Dr. Voster’s lab today. He breathed now, a slow and reverent inhale that squeaked around his blocked sinuses and added speed to the stroking sensation of those silken feathers.

His lips parted, his chest jumping with a sudden breath. He sighed it out, the ghost of a moan carried on his exhale.

“And once it starts, it is nigh impossible to stop. That tickle won’t let you. No matter how badly you might want a reprieve, those feathers are mindless. You can’t reason with them. They’ll just keep at their work, teasing and teasing that aching flesh until..”

The tickle buoyed him through a catching gasp. Omicron sighed again, his voice carrying, wanting. Another cresting gasp, the wave of something reachable, and then he fell short again. His nostrils pulsed plaintively, begging what dwelled inside to give him relief. But Omicron didn’t mind this limbo, this torture. He knew what came after would be well worth the wait.

“.. agitating.. working you over.. beckoning you with a relentless tickle.. until you can take it no longer.”

His chest swelled, and what he thought might be another forsaken gasp turned into the exclamation of climax. “HAH-.. BBZSSSSCHHUUHH!”

The first one came, because of course there would be more, and he snatched an arm around his middle when there was a strong, delicious undulation of pleasure deep in his gut. He groaned, his voice deep and gravelly and unfamiliar to his ears.

“Whoa!” came Delta’s exclamation. He sounded shocked. “That sure was something. Omicron, bless-”

“HEH-.. BBZSSSHHOO!.. nnnnghh.” 

These were smooth as butter - one big, long, scooping breath and then a knee-shaking release. He sniffled thickly, wetly, with his eyes shut in concentration. Omicron wanted another, and this time the tickle delivered. Those invisible feathers rustled like wheat in a windstorm, and he caught himself grinning as he gasped another huge breath. 

“HHHH!.. EHDZZSSSHUUE!!”

He swayed forward as another cramp of ecstasy swirled in his gut, and Omicron felt a strong hand brace his shoulder to keep him from tipping over.

“Is he okay?” was one faint voice.

“Yes, just-” came another.

Omicron sneezed.

“HIIH!.. IIHTDZZSSSHHHTT!! .. fuck.”

That one was particularly wet, fired haphazardly at the floor like the rest. It also contracted in a burst of stars behind his groin so intense that Omicron became instantly and fearfully aware that he would actually come in his pants if he kept this up. And holy shit he didn’t want that to happen. Not here. Not now. 

He jerked his free hand out, holding it expectantly toward the voices. With tremendous effort, he tried to be understood. “Tiih.. Tiizzusss.. HUH-”

“One second, one second!!” he heard Anita’s tempering assurances over the rush of blood in his ears. 

And the rush of ticklish sensation through his nose. He couldn’t get the visual of feathers out of his head. Delta, damn him. All Omicron could see behind the dark of his wet eyelids was a field of pristine, white, downy feathers positioned diabolically against every inch of his nasal walls. The tips of them wavered each time he hitched a stuttery inhale, and huffed a helpless exhale. They were devoid of life beyond that which he gave it, breathing intent into them as they swayed against swollen, irritated flesh. He could picture his nasal membranes flinching helplessly against the onslaught, crying out to him for relief. And he would give it-

“hH-.. uHH’TZZZSSSHHOOOO!!”

The feathers fluttered wildly and his nose calmed with a prickling balm, sated. Until he sniffled against the slogging block of congestion in his nose and what little air there was eeked through and-.. the feathers trembled, dragging their soft tips gingerly against his quivering flesh, an endless torment, so subtle yet compounding in its simplicity because he could feel the echoes of that tantalizing sensation all through his nose and as he snuffled against the feeling, the feathers trembled again as if in eagerness, excitement, their tendrils tracing long worn paths on fraught nerves as the aching pressure built and built in his nose, deep inside, and oh-.. ohh-

“hHHHHH-”

“Oh no you don’t.” 

The sudden presence of a hand over his nose surprised him, frightened the sneeze away, and Omicron felt an irrational pang of frustration when his gasp escaped from him with a gutteral hhuhh unrelieved. He realized in retrospect that the voice was Dr. Voster, and the hand belonged to her too. He also realized, in a wash of cold sweat, that he was achingly hard where his prick was tucked into his belt.

“Blow your nose, Omicron.”

He struggled to comply. A hitching breath got out of his control, only emboldening the tickle, and again he thought of the feathers. They were everywhere, impossible to blow out, and they’d just keep… keep-

“RRZZSSSSCHH’HOO!”

It tore out of him with a passion, and the pleasure washed over him so fiercely he would have gone to his knees had Delta not stepped in to catch him. Omicron panicked, bursting into motion to put distance between himself and the others. They let him go, only for him to stumble backwards onto his ass. The impact shook an impending sneeze out the queue, and Omicron had a moment to collect his bearings.

He quickly got to his hands and knees, trying to keep his crotch pointed to the floor. He was still painfully hard, but thankfully he hadn’t managed to sneeze himself into orgasm. Now that he had his wits, he realized he still had the wad of tissues in his hand. He brought them to his face and blew as hard as he could, concentrating only on the act of getting something out rather than thinking too hard about what was happening inside.

Adrenaline and humiliation were quick and quiet boner killers; any residual arousal swirling in his thoughts extinguished as he assessed his situation. He was somewhat sweaty, stained with a few of his own sneezes, and his damn nose still tickled. Omicron threw caution to the wind and rubbed it with fast, punishing pressure against his septum, as if to admonish it. Rather than chance a sniffle, he breathed only through his mouth as he climbed to his feet.

Both Dr. Voster and Agent Delta regarded him warily. Omicron straightened his vest, his jacket, and smoothed back his hair where it had fallen into his eyes. 

“Pardod be,” he rasped, still breathless. He coughed into his fist to clear his throat.

Delta’s features eased into genuine concern. The man’s flippant nature notwithstanding, he did care about his people. “Agent, are you alright?”

“Of course,” insisted Omicron. He cleared his throat again. “Just fine. Why?”

“Well, that just..” Delta looked over to Dr. Voster, who was refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “.. it seemed very intense, don’t you think? Doctor?”

The doctor startled at her name, then reached to adjust her glasses. She looked now at Omicron, her expression as hard and firm as her voice. “Yes, I agree. And I would recommend..”

Here, Omicron bit his tongue. If Anita really did want to rat him out, he’d only dig his own grave if he tried to deflect. But then her eyes softened.

“.. that Agent Omicron desist from triggering the suggestion impulse until this initial sensitivity wears off.”

Tension left his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly in relief.

Delta rubbed the back of his neck, contrite. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize it was an issue. You should have told me!”

“I wasn’t aware it was a pattern until you tried it, sir,” said Dr. Voster. She crossed her arms and nodded toward Omicron. “And with all due respect, sir, you should really apologize to Agent O.”

Delta turned to him with dewy puppy-dog eyes and Omicron wanted to evaporate out of embarrassment. He didn’t do well with anything sentimental and at times his superior was pure sentimentality. “Forgive me, Omicron. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’m sure that wasn’t comfortable.”

On the contrary, thought Omicron, but admitting anything even close to the truth made his tongue wither. His cheeks burned, and to add further indignity, he sniffled. The brief, tickling swell prompted him to thumb the end of his nose to encourage good behavior. 

“Not at all, sir. Please don’t trouble yourself over it.”

Delta clapped him companionably on the shoulder, and when he turned toward Dr. Voster, Omicron leaned around him to throw a scathing look her way. She only smiled. That prompted apology was likely just her getting some revenge. To be frank, the new complication of sneeze-induced arousal would absolutely complicate the mission, but Omicron begged to be given a case like this for months. More than a year, even. He’d take the risk rather than give this up.

Besides, it wasn’t his fault his nose couldn’t calm down. He didn’t conduct a half-baked intake interview and design an overpowered tickle virus, so why should he be the one to suffer the consequences? Beyond those he was already suffering, he supposed.

Once again, thinking too much about it summoned the tickle forth. Omicron refused to get stuck in another self-perpetuated sneeze-cycle, so he focused only on the wall as the urge lapped at the edges of his sinuses. Oh, the ones that made him wait were the worst.

“.. to it that we grab your luggage on the way to the jet,” Delta was saying. He still had his hand on Omicron’s shoulder and squeezed when he got no response. “You already packed right?”

Omicron took a breath to reply, but it hitched in his throat. Then rushed out with a soft uhh that he couldn’t suppress. Gone were the days when he could quietly build up to a sneeze; it seemed this virus wanted everybody to know as soon as his nose started to tickle. He fought to keep his eyes open, and his ears from flushing red.

“.. yeh..hssirr..”

Delta’s smile tilted back into concerned territory, and he rubbed Omicron’s shoulder. “Looking a little sneezy, Agent. Try not to knock yourself down this time.”

Omicron huffed a laugh that trembled into a gasping inhale, a fitful exhale, an even more urgent inhale-.. “-uUHH!” and then left him on a frustrated sigh. He rubbed his face with both hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. Then his head shot up in alarm. “Oh-.. ah, sir-...”

Agent Delta only laughed, booming and cheerful as he slid his arm further across Omicron’s shoulders to give him a jostling side-hug. “Don’t worry, Agent. These are extenuating circumstances, I’ll let that it slide.”

Omicron nodded as he was jerked around by Delta’s strength, reaching up to push his hair back when it fell out of style again. His nose was still tingling, unrelieved, and he scrunched it with exasperation. Sneeze or don’t sneeze, won’t you? 

“Off we go!” crowed Delta, escorting Omicron toward the door while still under his arm. He looked back to Dr. Voster. “I’ll be with him on the flight, so we’ll let you know if there are any case developments.”

He tightened his hold when he said this, and Omicron fought down a flash of annoyance that Delta probably meant any developments with Agent Omicron’s nose. Speaking of which… 

Omicron let his eyes roll shut as Delta led him into the hall, their footsteps echoing down the corridor. He was saying something, probably about the jet, but Omicron let the words wash over him just as he let the tickle wash through his nose. Wary of what might happen, he strayed away from thinking too much about feathers. Instead, he thought of dust motes. A dandelion seed. Something small and irritating and hopelessly stuck somewhere deep inside him. Whatever it was, this thing wanted to escape. It squirmed and twisted, fluttered its wings or flicked its tail. The throbbing urgency of Omicron’s tender pink membranes wouldn’t deter it, neither would the gradual unsteadiness of his breath. He exhaled, yearning.

“..uh-..”

The invader redoubled its efforts, writhing against his most sensitive places. He couldn’t-.. he..

“.. huhh-..”

If only he could reason with it, but on a baser level, Omicron didn’t want to. He wanted it to flap and struggle, tickle and itch, uncontrollable and impossible to satiate. Fan the flames of this urge so feverish that he couldn’t do anything but-

“HAH-!”

Omicron found himself smiling again, delirious as he breathed into this unstoppable force. He was completely helpless to its thrall. This thing in him, nuzzling and ruffling and bothering his nose so fervently, dotingly, sweeping him up with its caress. He.. oh-.. oh-!

“S’combi’g-” He gasped out, if only just to himself. The breathy word preceded an absolutely euphoric sneeze. “WRIZZSSSSHUUU’uoohhhh…”

Omicron stayed as he was, one hand cupped to his nose and the other bracing his middle. Another dagger of pleasure had stabbed him through, but it was fast to dissipate as he sniffled into his palm. The way his nose tingled signaled a temporary relief. Omicron couldn’t decide if he was disappointed by this or not.

“Goodness, bless you!” Omicron jumped. Delta stood beside him, both hands in his pockets now, looking amused. Omicron had forgotten he was there. “That was a big one! Sounds like you worked your way up to it.”

Why was Omicron cursed with the chattiest superior Agent in the force? He snuffled again behind his hand, by habit searching his pockets for a handkerchief or a restaurant napkin, anything. He paused when Delta extended a travel pack of tissues. 

“Thought you might need these, so I brought a few packs along.”

“.. Tha’g you.” 

Omicron took it with grace, turning around so he could use both hands. He blew his nose yet again, dismayed with the sheer amount of moisture he was capable of producing. At this rate he’d need to stay hydrated. Once he finished up, he turned back to Delta to find him extending a small bottle of hand sanitizer. He eyed the other man.

“You can’t actually catch this, sir.”

“I know, Agent, but the public won’t know that,” he said, as carefree as ever. “And even if you’re not actually sick, better to keep your hands clean, mm? And maybe try the vampire trick too.” Here he demonstrated by lifting his elbow and tucking his nose in. 

Omicron burned with the embarrassment of having his lackadaisical sneezing addressed in such an obvious way. Normally he was very thorough with his hygiene practices. He sneezed into his elbow or better, a handkerchief if he had one. He washed his hands frequently and properly. Something about this tickle just emptied his head of all sense when it came over him. It was a miracle he’d managed to even cup a hand to his mouth just now. He didn’t remember doing that.

So he could only nod, his cheeks burning, as he took the bottle and copiously applied. The stringent scent bloomed in the air. Delta could probably tell he was upset because he gave the shorter agent a lighthearted slap on the back. “You’re usually very conscientious. Just a gentle reminder, agent.”

Omicron nodded again, this time with a yip of surprise as his eyes slammed closed. Suddenly his nose was frenzied, filled to the brim with that strong, alcoholic smell. It burned, so sharp it brought tears to his eyes as he rushed his elbow to his face. Unlike the other sneezes of this morning, this itch wasn’t indulgent. It was almost brutal. 

“Chssh-! Tschh!” Even without muffling into his jacket, they would have been small. Smaller than his normal sneezes, even. They were fittish, barely letting him up for air. “Itschh! HHtschh!.. uh-.. TSSH’hee!!.. fucking hell..”

It only lasted seconds, over as suddenly as it began, and Omicron picked his head up blearily. He sniffled, coughing again at the remaining scent on his hands as he fished out another tissue and nursed his nose. Stupid thing was so needy now, he couldn’t even use hand sanitizer without a complaint. Belatedly he realized he’d cursed in front of his superior again.

When he looked at Delta, the man was regarding him thoughtfully. Not his usual fond musing sort of look either. The kind of discerning expression that awarded him the rank he currently held. Omicron’s blinked at him, wide eyed over the edge of his tissues.

“S-Sorry for sweari’g, sir..”

Delta stirred from wherever he’d been, and dropped into a polite smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That’s alright, Omicron, I honestly don’t mind. But, I’ll ask this again: are you alright?”

Omicron blinked at him again, owlish. “Me, sir?”

Delta chuffed an airy chuckle. “Yes, agent, you. You’re sure this..” He warred over his words, trying to pick the best ones. “I know you’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity, but are you sure? About this?”

Omicron bristled, and he was certain Delta could tell. He finished up with his nose, balling up the tissue and foregoing hand sanitizer this time. “Respectfully, why wouldn’t I be sure, sir?”

“This science isn’t exact,” Delta told him. His voice was lower now, the proper tone of a superior officer. “Dr. Voster is a genius, but this is the first time we’ve tried something like this. There’s bound to be a margin of error. So I’m asking you again, Agent Omicron..” Here he fixed his subordinate with a firm stare. “.. are you sure about doing this right now, as you are, in this state?”

Omicron didn’t have to think about it. He merely drew himself up to a force-standard posture and looked Delta in the eyes without flinching. “Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Delta held his stare, but when Omicron didn’t buckle, he sagged where he stood. With a long sigh, he once again patted Omicron’s shoulder. “Alright, agent. But if you change your mind or if you become compromised, you must be honest and tell me immediately. Am I understood?”

Omicron just barely managed to resist twitching his nose; he could feel it wanting attention, but didn’t want to give Delta any reason to doubt him. “Of course, sir.”

Delta gave him a jaunty thumbs up, back to his usual lofty cheer. “Grand! I’ll take you at your word.” He turned away, beginning to stride down the corridor with expectation Omicron would follow. “Now, we ought to get a move on. They’ve got the jet idling and you know how they are about the fuel budget..”

Agent Delta carried on, blind to his subordinate keeping step behind him. Omicron absently, then more purposefully, rubbed his nose. The skin was starting to sting, no doubt ready to peel by tomorrow like sunburn. The tickle stretched languidly, lazily working Omicron up to another toe-curling sneeze. The hedonist in him wanted to welcome it.

However, he had nearly twelve hours on a jet to contend with, surrounded by other personnel. And he was certain now after that little conversation with Delta that the man would be watching Omicron carefully from here on out. If he noticed anything suspicious, he’d ground the mission and take Omicron off the case without remorse. He couldn’t let it happen, not after how hard he’d fought for this.

His nostrils flared against his finger, a premature warning to what was brewing. But Omicron knew, and he was prepared for the impending battle. It wouldn’t be easy, but he fully intended to negotiate with his nose and keep sneezing to nil on the flight. Almost nil, if he couldn’t hold out. Again his nostrils flared, as if playfully chiding him. You’re not in control, his nose seemed to say. I am.

Well, thought Omicron as he stepped out of the jet bay and into the sunshine. The jet sat waiting on the tarmac, a flurry of activity around it. We’ll just see about that.

/tbc??

I’m not sure if I’ll continue it, but I hope you had fun reading!!

[l223m0nade]

Guys with loud sneezes this, dudes with explosive sneezes that

Men with the daintiest, softest little sneezes that almost come out as whispers. Yet, filled with such desperation that leaves them convulsing with each one as they try to muffle it, despite it already being near silent.

Just the smallest, most delicate, tickly little sneezes that leave them breathless and sniffling pitifully as they hitch softly in preparation for more.

** when they’re muffled against a partner’s hands, and they can the tiny little breaths behind them, only utterly unsatisfying, tender sneezes that leave their nose itching for a proper release.

[l223m0nade]

arguably the hottest thing i can imagine is kissing someone when they're mid-hitch and feeling them squirm against you, still trying to hold back, cause they don't want to sneeze on you-

[l223m0nade]

Read it and read it again. Stop trying to define everything by colonial binaries and dictating other people’s identity. Stop using the language that TERFs and other transphobes brought and build in our communities. Fight this rhetoric. Embrace the irrationality of queerness. In the end, we’re the ones keeping our community alive. We have to stand up for each other and fight queerphobia, even when it comes from those within the community. Thank you, Alitsanosga for writing all of this out and sharing. 

[l223m0nade]

Part 2 of my coffee shop au! (click here for part 1)

(I realized I never like gave Steve an occupation in the first part so I decided that he is a nurse in this au which is also totally not influenced by the fact that I needed a reason for him to not be phased by Bucky being sick anyways enjoy.)

-plz don’t reblog to non-kink blogs!!-

***

The next day, Steve enters the coffee shop and immediately notices Bucky’s absence. It’d be hard not to, considering he’s pretty much the only reason why Steve even goes there.

Taking a seat at an empty table, he pulls out his phone, scrolls through his contacts, then takes a deep breath as he types out a text message.

Steve: May I please order the usual?

Is that too weird? Is he being suave and smooth or just really cringey? Will Bucky have any idea what he’s even talking about??

Steve quickly counts backwards from three then hits send. He immediately slams his phone face-down and releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Fuck, he can’t believe he just did that.

He anxiously alternates between bouncing his knee and biting his nail as he waits for Bucky to text back. About 5 minutes later his phone buzzes, causing him to jump out of his skin. He scrambles to pick it up.

Bucky: oh god. i should’ve known

A feeling of relief and giddiness washes over Steve. Bucky’s being playful. Phew. Steve smiles as he texts back.

Steve: You home sick?

The three dots appear as Bucky writes his response.

Bucky: more like slowly dying

Steve: Sounds like a good time.

Bucky: yeah it’s a real party

Perhaps it’s pure adrenaline or the fact that he’s so down bad for him, but Steve can’t stop himself.

Steve has requested Bucky’s location

Bucky: absolutely not. i’m disgusting rn

Steve: Well lucky for you, nothing grosses me out because of my line of work.

Bucky: oh fuck i forgot. you do medical stuff right

Steve: Indeed I do.

Bucky: can I call you doctor?

Steve: Only if I can make a house call 😏

Bucky: …

Bucky: fuck it. could be the fever talking but come on over

Bucky: doctor 😏

***

In about 30 minutes, Steve’s standing outside Bucky’s apartment and gently knocking on his door. His heart pounds as he waits.

“aH’tCHh! Ugh, god. Just a secodd!”

There’s the sound of nose blowing and a bit of shuffling before Bucky answers the door. When he does, it’s with a white knit blanket draped around his shoulders and a tissue box tucked under his arm. His nose has taken on a drastic shade of red compared to the pink flush from yesterday, and judging from the crumpled tissues balled in his hand and the teary, squinting eyes, Steve must’ve caught him in the middle of a sneezing fit.

“H-hold od,” Bucky stutters, his nose trembling. “G-gotta f-finish— hEh— finish s-s-snee’zzzeh-heH— ohfuck—” Bucky lifts his elbow with a dramatic inhale and half-closes the door to shield himself from Steve’s sight. “EH-tsh’mpf— chh— chh— hUH’tsshhh-yiieewww!!”

“Bless you!” Steve exclaims. “Good grief, you really are dying.”

He hears Bucky blow his nose before sniffling and groaning out a pitiful “told ya.”

Steve chuckles. “May I come in?”

“That depedds,” Bucky says.

“On what?”

The door flies back open and Bucky stands there apprehensively, looking at Steve with an expression that reads: ‘I’ve accepted my fate.’

“Od whether or dot I wadda embarrass myself even more just to see you.”

Steve feels a surge of endearment strike him like a bolt of lightning, softening his insides and sending heat through his cheeks.

“Aw, you don’t need to be embarrassed, you’re sick. And besides…” he holds up a plastic bag. “It would be a shame to let this soup go to waste.”

There’s a moment of silence as Bucky looks between Steve and the food. Then he sighs.

“What kind of soup?”

***

“Y’kdow, this really isn’t how I pictured this.”

“Pictured what?”

“You add I hangi’g out, ssddff, outside of the coffee shop for the first tibe.”

Steve and Bucky sit on the sofa, watching mindless television while the latter coughs and sneezes to his heart’s content. The white knit blanket has migrated from his shoulders to his legs, knees pulled in close. Steve rests his feet on the coffee table and keeps a protective arm around the back of the couch, being very attentive to Bucky’s symptoms.

“What, this isn’t what you imagined for a first date?”

“Dot at— hIh’DSSHH-iuhh!!” Bucky snaps forward into a couple tissues, which have been practically attached to his hands at all times. His sneezes have been so unpredictable that he’d rather be safe than sorry. “Ugh, ‘scuse me. There’s dothing robantic about this.”

“God bless you,” Steve pouts, giving Bucky’s thigh a squeeze. He waits for Bucky to finish snuffling into his tissues before reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “I guess that means we’ll just have to see each other again,” he leans closer, “and make sure it’s romantic.”

“I wadda kiss you so bad,” Bucky whispers. “But I bight sneeze again.”

Steve chuckles before pressing a quick kiss against his cheek. Bucky smiles, feeling his nostrils begin to quiver.

“Heh… hih…” he grabs a few new tissues from the box in his lap and waits for the sneeze to crest. He looks up at the light, eyes watering and lips parted, breaths coming in shaky little hitches, nose tingling as if he’s just chugged a carbonated drink… but nothing happens. The tickle hasn’t even disappeared, yet Bucky’s nose seems to be in a stalemate.

“You okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky gives a shaky thumbs up before placing a crooked index finger beneath his chapped nose. He begins to rub at his nostrils like there’s no tomorrow, coaxing the tickle out.

“EEIIISHHH!!”

Oh god, that was a big one.

“Bless y-” Steve starts, but little does he know that Bucky’s far from done.

“EH’ishhh!! SnfSnnnfffSnf! huh’tshiew— tshiew— tsh— chh— chh— chh— ahh’dtshhUUU!!”

“Aw, Bucky,” Steve coos, having started rubbing his back halfway through the fit like the saint he is. “God bless you. Can I do anything for you?”

Bucky shakes his head and tries to regain control over his sinuses, but his throat is so raw that every time he swallows he has to cough, and when he coughs he winds up triggering these itchy, stuffy sneezes— which starts the cycle all over again.

“Sorry- n’gxxt!! h’ngkkt!! Sorry, fuck.”

“You’re alright,” hums Steve. “Bless you and bless you.”

At this point, tissues have been abandoned in favor of sneezing into his blanket.

“You don’t have t-to- eh’xschH!! B’uh-huh-bless mbe e- heh’GXXT!! Oh god… every time I- ngk’tiew! Sneeze.”

A new look settles on Steve’s face, one that Bucky isn’t familiar with: furrowed brows, stern eyes, deep frown. He’s worried.

“Do you feel like it’s slowing down at all?”

“N’do,” Bucky replies. His revs back, breath hitching wildly, then curls forward with six consecutive “ishH!” sneezes.

When he lifts his head, Steve carefully presses the tips of his fingers against the bridge of his nose then above his cheekbones. “You’re really inflamed.”

Bucky grabs onto Steve’s forearm and ducks beneath, releasing a spraying sneeze down the front of his own shirt. “hrrr’ISHHuhh!! Fuck…”

“That one certainly deserves a bless you.” Steve pats Bucky’s back then gets up from the couch. “I’m going to get a few things for you. I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”

“I’ll b-be here.”

***

Steve doesn’t have to go far to find what he needs, just a quick trip to Bucky’s main bathroom to raid his medicine cabinet and soak a couple hand towels in water. He was pleasantly surprised to find a sinus rinse kit, which will really help with clearing out the congestion and preventing an infection. He then stops by the kitchen to warm one of the towels in the microwave, boil a pot of tea and prepare a glass of orange juice.

“Alright, the doctor is in,” Steve says as he returns to the living room with his armful of supplies and remedies.

“Yayy…” Bucky weakly cheers, his voice cracking. His chest bounces with a handful of coughs that immediately lead into a harsh sneeze, which he barely catches in his elbow. “hhrrr’EHH’KKTTSHHhh!!! Guh… jeez…” he coughs and sniffles wetly. “That did’ndt eved soudd like mbe.”

“Bless you. You’re just so stuffed up, honey.” Oh fuck. Steve’s eyes widen upon realizing what he just said. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to call you that, the pet name just slipped out and—”

“It’s okay,” Bucky smiles. “I liked it. It’s really, snf, really sweet. I jus’ hope you don’dt call all your patients ‘honey’.”

Cheeks hot and blushing, Steve cracks a smile. “No, no,” he sets his supplies on the table, “just the cute ones.”

Bucky actually laughs at that, though it winds up turning into a few more painful coughs.

Steve clicks his tongue and picks up the heated towel. “Here, close your eyes and let me lay this over your face. It’ll help with the swelling.”

The sick guy lies back and lets Steve do his thing. When the warm cloth gets pressed to the bridge of his nose, he lets out an audible sigh.

“Feel good?” Steve asks.

“Mhmb…” Bucky mumbles.

“Good. I’m going to go heat the other towel up. Unfortunately these get cold pretty quickly.”

Bucky sleepily hums. Steve feels relieved that he’s been able to offer him some comfort.

After a couple minutes, Bucky removes the towel and squints at the light.

“It’s cold,” he says, sitting up to grab a tissue and blow his nose.

“The other one’s almost done,” Steve replies softly.

He takes a seat on the couch and admires the cute barista, who he can’t believe actually likes him back. And yes, he finds Bucky cute and strikingly gorgeous even with his red nose and slick, swollen nostrils, tired, red-rimmed eyes and chapped lips. He even thinks he looks adorable when he’s about to sneeze, with the way his face slackens as his eyes get all misty, but it’s especially endearing when his nose twitches like a baby bunny and his breaths get all gaspy and—

“huh… uHhh— uhh’USHHHoo! Fuck, s-s-scuse m-eh- eH’GxxT! EEHH’rrrsscchh!! EH’yiiSSCHhh!! huh- huh- hUH— huhh’TSH’ISSHoo!!!!”

“Wow,” Steve remarks. “Bless you times… however many that was.”

With his nose cupped in his hands, Bucky blinks away tears from his lashes and sighs heavily. “Think it was five. Ssnnrrfff!”

“Bless you five times, then.”

While Bucky gets himself cleaned up and situated (or as much as he can be with his raging cold), Steve goes to fetch the newly warmed towel from the microwave.

As he returns to the living room, Bucky looks up at him with a bashful expression. “I just wanted to thank you. For taking care of mbe add, snfSNF, putting up with mby germs. I owe you more than a cup of coffee.”

For the umpteenth time that day, Steve feels his heart melt into his shoes.

“Bucky, I wouldn’t want anything else than to be with you. I’m kicking myself for being too nervous to have done this sooner— though not this, necessarily. I’d obviously want you healthy and not sick— but it’s not a problem that you are, I just feel bad that—”

Steve is interrupted by a very sniffly kiss being pressed against his neck.

“I know,” Bucky says, then leans against Steve’s shoulder. “I know.”

[l223m0nade]

There is a somewhat sadistic pleasure in ticking a helpless submissive to the point of sneezing and then putting you finger under their nose to stop it.

I must be a self masochist for liking that. Why would I want to stop a sneeze. Crazy I know.

[l223m0nade]

my very first online kink exploration in maybe 2003: typing those six letters into Google

sneeze

[l223m0nade]

I just learned that back on the 1600s Pope Urban VIII banned snuff in Vatican because it caused sneezing, and sneezing was just too sinful a delight, resembling orgasm.

Honestly anyone who calls this fetish absurd is just absurd themself.

(also now thinking about young men of religion smuggling snuff into Vatican on 1600s and sharing it with their friends in a secret absolutely not an orgy.)

[l223m0nade]

thinking about a very shy sickie who blushes when they get a kiss to the cheek & a “bless you” after they sneeze, who gets frazzled when offered cuddles & hugs despite their cold because they’re not used to being taken care of like that. a sickie for the first time receiving so much physical love & comfort when sick & absolutely melting into all of it because it feels so good

[l223m0nade]

In which Bucky’s a barista and Steve’s a very loyal customer.

-PLZ don’t reblog to non-kink blogs!!-

***

Steve comes into the same coffee shop at the same time nearly every day, but it’s less of a coffee addiction and more of a barista obsession. You see, Steve is absolutely down bad, absolutely smitten. It’s not just that the guy is drop dead gorgeous with his longish brown hair, soft blue-grey eyes and left arm covered in tattoos, but he’s kind, funny and a genuinely good person. It’s honestly not fair.

The cute barista— whose name he’s come to know is Bucky— knows Steve’s order by heart. Getting his usual coffee from the cafe is definitely the highlight of Steve’s day, but at some point he’d like to see Bucky beyond the coffee shop setting.

Today is when things start to change.

Steve hears the familiar chime from the door as he enters the coffee shop. As usual, he stands in line and watches Bucky as he works (in a totally not creepy way, of course), only something doesn’t seem quite right; Bucky moves as if his limbs are weighing him down, executing his actions in a heavy and imprecise manner that is the direct opposite of his usual efficient form. A few times Steve catches him scrubbing his nose with the back of his wrist, against his forearm or shoulder. As he gets closer, Steve notices the periodic sniffles along with a faint pink flush outlining the guy’s nostrils.

When Steve gets to the front of the line, Bucky barely notices. He sluggishly puts a lid over a latte and doesn’t even look up when he says: “what can I get for you today?”

“Can I please have the usual?” Steve asks and Bucky’s eyes widen as he immediately lifts his head.

“Crap,” he mutters. He sniffs and quickly rubs his nose against his shoulder, gathers his composure then looks back at Steve with a renewed wave of energy. “I didn’t realize it was you. Of course, I’ll have that coming right up.”

Although Bucky eagerly types Steve’s order into the kiosk, there’s a faint crease between his brows and a deeply exhausted quality in his face that Steve can’t quite ignore.

“Are you alright?” He asks, sounding genuinely concerned. “You seem a little... out of it.”

Bucky shrugs as he continues at the register. “It’s just been busy today, you know, with the cold weather and the… th-the new menu changes…” he trails off, eyebrows furrowing as a hazy look settles on his face. “Ah-… and…”

Steve watches as Bucky struggles to keep an even expression, fighting his eyes from fluttering shut and his breath from hitching. He holds out for a few valiant seconds until his pinkish nose suddenly gives a big twitch, then he hastily grapples for his shirt collar.

Dipping away as best as he can, Bucky uses his free hand to grab ahold of the counter to keep himself steady as the sneeze forces itself from his nose. It’s a big “Ahh’TSHHUU!!” that’s embarrassingly loud despite his attempt at suppressing it into the fabric of his shirt.

All at once a chorus of blessings fills the small coffee shop: “Bless you!” “Gesundheit!” “God bless!” “Salut!”

Bucky sheepishly emerges from his t-shirt with blushing cheeks and a liquid sniffle. He reaches next to the register for the hand sanitizer.

“Sorry. ‘dsnnff!! Just got a nose tickle or somethin’,” he says, voice noticeably huskier. He wrinkles his nose like it’s still bothering him as he settles back into work mode. “That’ll be $5.39.”

“Coming down with a cold, huh?” Steve asks while handing Bucky his credit card, trying to sound nonchalant about it despite the nagging feeling of concern in his chest.

Bucky clears his throat and shifts his gaze down at the register. “Uh, somethin’ like that,” he mumbles. He processes the transaction and gives Steve his card without meeting his eyes. He can feel Steve’s gaze searing into him. “Receipt?”

Steve shakes his head. “That’s okay. You just take care of yourself, hm? You’ve got my number if you ever need anything.”

Bucky forces himself to look up and face those crystal blue eyes that are so obviously soft with genuine concern and care. For him. He awkwardly sniffles and nods, gives a little cough too.

Neither of them ever bring up the fact that they have each other’s contact saved in their phones. It had been months since they’d exchanged numbers, but when no one made the first move, it turned into this unmentioned thing... at least until now.

Steve flashes one last warm smile before turning away. Bucky waits till he’s out of earshot before ducking behind the counter to sneeze again.

***

{To Be Continued…}

[l223m0nade]

Your Stucky AU fic is my favorite thing on this website. I can't stop rereading it - your characterizations are perfect and the concept itself is GENIUS. The only thing that could possibly be better is a sequel with sneezy Steve <3 Hope u had a great holiday season!

*opera voice*

YOU MADE MY DAAAAAAAAAAAY

[l223m0nade]

if you would be so kind as to reblog this if you feel insecure about your writing skills.

[l223m0nade]

wheres that post talking abt ppl still being competent while being sick because yes. but also. when being sick makes ppl worse at their jobs/hobbies. fumbling and slow and foggy and apologetic. yeah thats good stuff. u can work thru the cold but u cant deny ur off ur game

[l223m0nade]

Question for the talk therapy seekers in the house: