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smallandsneezy · 3 years ago

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given the temperature you’re running

giles finds willow fast asleep and sick in the library and takes her home with him. that's it, that's the tweet. (don’t mind me, just publishing all my old fics on here) (ao3)

It was nights like these that Giles was sure he’d never attain one of those work-life balances everyone’s always talking about. As he pushed open the doors to the library, he looked at his watch. 1:34AM. Perfect. The school day would be starting six hours from now, giving him plenty of time to get some extra reading on metaphysics done before the first bell rang.

Suddenly, a soft sniffle came from the corner. Giles leapt a foot in the air, clutching his collar in a panic. What in God’s name could it possibly be this time? He flipped the lights on before edging his way deeper into the library’s depths, wishing he’d brought an extra stake with him.

Oh.

Willow sat at the table, fast asleep among the books. Giles battled the opposing urges of frowning disapprovingly or smiling fondly. Of course it was Willow. He’d left her in pretty much the same position, although on his last time seeing her she’d been far more conscious than she was now. He drew closer.

Her hair was sticking to her face. He frowned, and moved to fix it, before getting distracted with how hot and sweaty her brow was. She groaned in her sleep, almost nuzzling into the hand that sat at her forehead checking her temperature.

Giles quickly ran through the day. Yes, Willow has been quieter than normal, but these kids were so full of hormones that he’d learned to take their mood swings with a grain of salt. He poured back over their afternoon of research, cursing himself when he noticed the quiet coughs and balled up tissues that danced in the periphery. Bloody hell, he was thick.

“Willow?” he said softly, pushing her hair back from her sweaty cheeks.

“Mmmmm.” Her eyes fluttered open, not coming into focus for just a moment too long for Giles to be comfortable.

“Giles? What… what are you doing here?” her voice was croaky, and she made a valiant attempt to clear it but only succeeded in making Giles violently wish he had brought some warm tea with him.

“I could ask you the same question. What have I told you about staying in the library after 11?” His hands had moved from her forehead to her throat, as he felt for… something? Medical knowledge was the one thing he’d never really gotten around to.

“Sorry. I got distracted. I’ll just…go now.” Willow made to stand up, but made it all of half a knee bend before her legs gave out and Giles had to make a mad dive to keep her from slamming her head on the table.

“I don’t think you’ll find that to be happening.” Giles’s mind was going a million miles an hour. What was he supposed to do? Drive her home? Her parents hadn’t noticed she was gone, clearly, and she needed someone to keep an eye on her.

“Willow, aren’t your parents missing you?”

“They’re out of town this week. Work.” She had closed her eyes again, her head lolling to rest on her shoulder.

Bollocks.

“Well… would it… would it be alright… I think you had best stay with me.” Giles decided the name of the game would have to be confidence. He may not have any idea what he’s doing, but Willow didn’t need to know that.

“I…” she broke off to cough, a tight wheezing noise that made his own chest clench. “I couldn’t, I don’t want to put you out.”

“Willow, I insist.” Giles fought down the urge to pick her up and carry her to his car. “Let’s go. Do you have everything?”

She looked listlessly at him, a vague bashful look on her face. “I should stop by my locker. I think I need my inhaler.”

Giles felt his stomach drop out of him.

“Inhaler?” Internally, he catalogued every asthma trigger that they’d been around in the last 24 hours alone- simply the books sitting around her head were a hazard.

“It’s no big deal.”

Giles was quite sure it was actually a very big deal, but decided to save that matter until Willow felt better, or at least didn’t look like she was about to faint.

“Well, we’ll get it and we’ll go to my house. If you’re comfortable with that.” he threw in quickly, wondering if he was being too demanding. Willow let out a sneeze that doubled her over, and Giles decided he wasn’t being nearly demanding enough.

“God bless you. Come along Willow.”

Their drive home was quiet, passing mostly in sneezes and Giles saying “bless you”, it each time coming out more strangled. When they hit a light Giles removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and placed it on Willow’s lap. He took it as a bad sign that she didn’t push back on this.

Normally Giles didn’t mind his car too terribly; it got the job done and him from place to place. Now, with Willow shaking like a leaf beside him, he prayed for a working heater. By the time they pulled into his driveway, Willow had nodded off yet again, her face resting against the window. The heat from her cheeks were fogging up the window around her, making it look like she had a halo. Giles turned the car off and sat for a moment, fighting the urge to let her sleep given the nighttime chill. Willow gave a pronounced shudder, and he decided enough was enough.

“Willow?” He reached out and gently took her shoulder. Willow’s eyes flew open, and she gasped, sending her into a coughing jag. Giles patted her back while he resisted the urge to hold the girl.

When the crackling noise emitting from her lungs had stopped, Willow looked over at him, her face red from exertion.

“Sorry.”

Giles decided that his first order of business after she was feeling better would be finding whoever had left her feeling the need to apologize for being ill.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Here, let’s get you to bed.” He let her walk by herself, albeit reluctantly, and led her into the large bedroom two doors to the right of the entrance way. Thank god he’d never gotten rid of the compulsive need to keep his room clean. He guided her to sit on the foot of the bed and turned to his dressers.

“Here are some clothes you can wear. You should keep warm.” He held out a pair of gray sweatpants and one of his older sweaters, carefully avoiding in his mind the alarm bells going off in his head. Was this unprofessional? Yes. But at the minute he didn’t really care.

Willow has accepted the clothing without question, looking up from the bed doing a thing with her eyes that made her look very young.

“I’m going to go make you some tea and see what medicine I have lying about. Go ahead and get changed and get into bed.”

“No!” The sudden sharpness in her tone startled him, and he immediately stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her.

“Is something wrong?”

“I can’t… I can’t sleep in your bed!” Her voice sounded like she’d swallowed a set of knives, something he couldn’t quite push to the back of his brain even as he considered this point.

“Well, I do understand it might be a tad strange, but given the temperature you’re running-“

“I really appreciate it! I do. I just… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable because of me.”

Giles very nearly laughed aloud.

“Willow, let me assure you that I would be far more uncomfortable letting you sleep on my couch given the current condition you’re in. And besides. My mother would have my head if she knew I made a guest sleep on a pull out sofa, especially,” he paused to allow Willow time to sneeze, taking a box of tissues from his nightstand and placing them in her lap, “if she was under the weather.”

Willow didn’t say anything more, simply began to shed her shoes and jacket, so Giles made his way to his kitchen, already dreading the lack of supplies he was going to find in his meager pantry. As the tea boiled, he put everything that could possibly be helpful out on the kitchen table. To her horrible hacking, which sounded just as painful a room over, he evaluated his loot.

A two year old pack of cough drops, generic. Enough Tylenol to kill a small animal. Honey, of which only a fourth of the bottle remained. He scoffed at himself. Given that his entire job was to protect the Slayer (and by extension, Willow and Xander), his medical supplies were only adequate if they were being used by a rock and roller treating a hangover the night after a concert. He resolved to go out first thing the next morning and pick up a battery of Dayquil and Nyquil, regardless of how expensive the miserable American healthcare system made it.

Tea with the remaining household honey in hand, he returned to his bedroom door. He stood quietly for a moment, listening. Nothing.

“Willow?” His voice sounded weedy and worried and he cursed himself for his incredible lack of ability to be cool in any situation.

“Yeah?” It was a croak, but it was confirmation of consciousness so Giles took it as a win.

“May I come in?”

“Sure thing.”

He slid inside to find Willow already tucked in amongst his covers. His sweater dwarfed her thin frame, and she has already rolled the sleeves up several times to let her hands have any chance at being useful. She was very pale, even more so than normal, with the exception of her cherry red nose and her pink cheeks. Giles felt so overwhelmed with affection for her that for a moment all he could do was stand there and watch her blow her nose.

“Are you sure this is alright?” Her voice was uncertain, almost as though she expected to be kicked out at any moment, and the ideas that brought to Giles’s head made him angry so he decided to push them away to be dealt with at a more convenient time.

“Willow, I swear this is more than alright. Are you feeling fevered still? I have some Tylenol in the kitchen, I just didn’t have the hands with the tea.” He gestured his head in the direction of the nightstand, which held said tea.

“Speaking of which, you should really drink that. It should help your throat, and maybe your chest if we’re lucky.”

Willow complied, wrapping her hands around the mug and taking a sip. She sighed contentedly.

“Giles, you always make the best tea.”

Giles felt himself go pink with pride and pleasure, and quickly went to go find more handkerchiefs to hide how happy he was about having his tea-brewing skills complimented.

He dug through his linen closet for a while, assessing the pros and cons of each type of blanket. Fluffy ones would keep her warm, but she could overheat. A sheet was really the best option, but she had been shivering so much and he resented the idea of withholding anything from her.

When he came back, Willow was asleep. Her chest made soft crackling noises as she breathed, but she looked better than she had an hour ago when he’d found her asleep at the desk. Giles felt the tension in his shoulders unwind, just a little bit. He crept softly up to the bed, laying the blanket he’d decided on over top of his covers. He stood for a moment, just watching her breathe. Only after she rolled over to curl up even tighter did her realize that he still had metaphysics reading to be done. The book was likely still in the library, never even touched. He looked at Willow again.

Worth it.

Giles placed a soft kiss to Willow’s temple and shut the door quietly.

#shout out to buffy for getting me through the pandemic and for highlighting my daddy issues #fic #btvs

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smallandsneezy · 3 years ago

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I posted 495 times in 2021

11 posts created (2%)

484 posts reblogged (98%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 44.0 posts.

I added 38 tags in 2021

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#pre serum steve fic - 5 posts

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Longest Tag: 91 characters

#shout out to buffy for getting me through the pandemic and for highlighting my daddy issues

My Top Posts in 2021

“perfectly fide”

Remus had been drowsily grading papers when Snape came in with his dose of Wolfsbane potion. As the door shut loudly behind the hook nosed potions master, Remus snapped to attention, preparing to apologize instinctually, but he halted when he saw how his visitor looked.

“Severus… Are you quite alright?”

Actually, Severus was sure he had never felt worse. There was a clammy sweat across his waxy brow, and deep within his sinuses was an itch that forebode of a display that he wasn’t eager to have in front of one of his childhood tormentors. (ao3)

“Severus… Are you quite alright?”

“Perfectly fide,” he said stuffily, beginning to move across the room. He made it nearly to Remus’s desk, potion in hand, before he suddenly whirled, set down the goblet of Wolfsbane on a nearby desk, and bent over with his large nose in his hands.

“Heh… heh… heISHIEW! HA’TSCHOO!!””

Snape tried to straighten and turn to Lupin, already angrily reaching for a handkerchief, but he turned away from him again, his nose twitching so badly that Remus could see it even from where he sat.

“Huh-tsh! Ehhhh… Eh-TSCHEW! HE’CKSHIEW!”

Remus began to stand from his desk, concern wrinkling his brow, but Snape furiously waved him away, bending over again for one final wet “HEhh...ATSCHIEW!”

“God bless you.”

Remus was up now, and across the room, draping his arm around the shoulder of his old enemy to steady him. Severus angrily shoved it off, and scrubbed at his oversized nose. Remus bit at his lower lip, hesitating before reaching into his robe and offering a tattered handkerchief. The ill man gave a disparaging laugh, presumably about how woebegone the offering was, but broke into a coughing fit, and Remus gently took his shoulders again and guided him to his own desk.

They both sat in silence for a moment, allowing Severus to catch his breath before he dryly groused “I didn’t bring that potion all the way over here for my health.”

“Oh! Oh.” Remus jumped up and went to retrieve the goblet, draining it before he returned to Severus.

“Thank you for this. I really appreciate it. I really do.” At that point Remus paused politely, seeing Severus’s nostrils flare and knowing that he had something more pressing at that moment to deal with than what Remus was about to say.

Snape gazed out into space, his nostrils flaring furiously and his eyes glazed.

“Hae’ekkSHIEWW!” Snape buried himself in Lupin’s patched hankie, his face bright red. Remus winced. This had to be horrible for him, losing control like this in front of someone who he hated so deeply.

Remus waited until he was sure that Severus was done before continuing.

“God bless you. But, really, I could’ve just dropped by and gotten it myself. With you in this state… you should be in bed, if not with Poppy. Really, Severus. You could’ve collapsed on the way over here!” Almost without realizing he was doing it, Remus reached out to feel Serverus’s forehead. He had only just started to feel the dry heat there before Severus ducked away, his nose as angrily red as his eyes.

“I certainly don’t need a lecture from you on the subject. I’ll be going now, if you could let go of me.” Severus rose unsteadily from the chair with a great sniffle, grabbing on to the table for support. Remus got up with him, his eyes wide with worry.

“Severus…”

Snape spared a glance down at him (they had never been this close before, and in the abstract Snape had been aware that Lupin was small, but it was different like this, with Remus coming up to his chin and his small frame being swallowed up by his own shadow).

“Please let me help you back to your quarters. I swear, I won’t say a word, I’ll never mention it again. I just… I can’t in good conscious let you walk alone through the castle like this.”

Severus stood motionless for a moment, clearly trying to put together a scathing retort, but distracted by the tickle in his nose, which wiggled as though it was its own living entity. He held it off for as long as he could, but eventually he turned from Remus with a “URshHH!”.

“Bless you,” Remus said softly. “Please, Severus.”

Snape decided to allow it, decided to permit Lupin to slip his slender arm beneath his own and help him to his chamber. And if, in the midst of a particularly wet sneeze Snape misted him, Lupin decided that he need to didn’t acknowledge it.

—

“Huh-tschiew!”

Severus looked up from his chair in the teacher’s lounge to see Remus, a handkerchief over his nose, looking surprised at himself and bright red with embarrassment. Severus opened his mouth, his eyebrows raised, but shut it again as Remus pinched his nose shut.

“Hh’itschGNXX! Ht’kshhX!”

They were alone in the teacher’s lounge, and Severus told himself that was the only reason that he asked.

“Are you feeling alright, Lupin?”

Remus gave a sheepish smile, rubbing at his nose with his hankie in a way that made him look much younger, more like the teenager that Severus had known all that time ago.

“Fine, fine. Sorry. It’s just a bit of the moon hanging on, you kno- hih-tschiew!” Remus blinked, his eyes the slightest bit glazed. “Sorry. Excuse me.”

They both knew perfectly well that it wasn’t the moon hanging on, that Remus had caught Severus’s cold and it looked a million times worse on his haggard frame. Snape fought to keep his face clear of concern. He returned his eyes to his book, pretending casualty when he said “If you need to stop by, I have a personal stash of Pepper-Up in my office.”

He didn’t need to look up to know that Remus was smiling when he gave a stuffed up thank you. Just like Remus didn’t need a note to know who the freshly laundered handkerchiefs on his desk were from later that day.

6 notes • Posted 2021-07-15 23:31:43 GMT

back here again

Steve is de-serumed in battle and promptly catches the flu. Tony flips out, but tries to pretend he’s not because he’s got to keep that charade of nonchalance going. Steve also says some things about being chronically ill that may or may not have to do with my own health at the moment. i straight up don’t even ship these two, i don’t know WHAT i was going through when i wrote this (ao3)

“Bruce is going to figure it out. It’s fine.” Steve kept repeating it, over and over again. Every time he coughed, every time a wheeze escaped his frail chest.

“It’s fine.”

Tony almost believed him. Then Steve spiked a fever, and Tony remembered that sometimes even Captain America could lie with the best of them.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, had only gone downstairs with the intention of making a cup of coffee and visiting Bruce to see how the re-seruming of Steve Rogers was going, when he heard a rattling cough from the living room.

“Steve? Steve, is that you?” He slid into the dark room, looking around. He didn’t see anyone. A barking cough came from the couch.

“Lights to thirty percent,” Tony said, quickly moving around the couch to see Steve. When the lights went up, he almost gasped aloud.

Steve sat up from where he’d been curled up in a ball. His skin was milk white, except for a high flush that ran across his cheeks and nose. His eyes were damp, just like his brow. Now that he was a little closer to him, Tony could hear every breath rattling in Steve’s chest, like a train thundering down its tracks. He was so… small. Tony normally wasn’t particularly of the care-taking type, but Steve’s too big sweater and sad eyes made something in him wrinkle up with a need to hug him. Steve sniffled a little, and in his fevered-haze lifted his sweater sleeve to wipe his nose. It was a familiar periwinkle, bringing out his eyes. Tony blinked.

“Is that my sweater? I’m going to have to burn that thing now that you’ve contaminated it!” Tony’s bravado shook as he sank to his knees beside the couch to see him better.

“Haven’t contaminated it. S’fine,” Steve mumbled, his eyelids fluttering. They were so pale he could see every vein that ran through them, and Tony’s heart tugged. He gingerly lifted his wrist to Steve’s forehead, wincing at the heat.

“I could probably fry an egg on your forehead. That’s how high your fever is right now.”

“Don’t have a fever,” Steve grumbled, standing up from the couch. The blanket hung off his thin frame, almost toppling him.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Tony reached for him, tried to get him to sit down, but it turned out that Steve was just as stubborn at 95 pounds as he was at 220. He jutted out his chin, wobbling a little bit.

“I’m fine. Bruce will fix it.” On the last word, Steve’s voice broke and he started coughing, almost tumbling forward. Tony gently reached out and held his shoulders, just enough to keep him steady.

“I know. You’re right. You’re fine and Bruce is going to fix it. Please just sit down. You’re swaying on your feet right now.”

Steve blinked at him mulishly before slowly sitting back down on the couch and glaring up at him.

Okay, Tony thought. Now we’re getting somewhere.

“Alright. Where’d you put the inhaler that medical gave you?”

Steve sighed, his lungs crackling like Pop Rocks. “It’s in the kitchen.”

“Well, I’m going to go get it, okay? Just stay here a second.”

Steve wasn’t looking at Tony anymore, he was looking just past him.

“Okay.”

Tony reached out to touch him, to pat his hand or something, but thought better of it and hurried off to the kitchen. The moment he got there he whispered, “F.R.I.D.A.Y?”

“Yes?” The female voice rang out through the kitchen, and Tony flinched.

“Jeez, lower the volume, would’ya? I need you to tell Bruce that Steve is in the living room and he is really sick. Tell him he’s running a fever and I need him to come up here right now.”

There was a brief pause.

“He’s on his way.”

Tony gave a sigh of relief and seized the inhaler from the counter.

When he got back, Steve was crying. Fuck.

“Steve! Steve, Steve, what’s wrong?” Tony frantically sat down on the couch next to him, wrapping his arms around him without hesitation. He could feel Steve’s ribs through the sweater, could feel every shuddering breath and the way it racked his frail frame.

“I hate this. I hate being this way.” Steve’s voice was no more than a whisper. “It was bad enough when I didn’t know what it was like to be strong. But now I know. Now I know how it feels to be able to breathe properly, and how it is to take care of people and not be a burden. And now I’m back here again. Tony, I can’t do this again.”

Tony bit his lip so hard he tasted a little bit of blood. He was not equipped for this. What was he supposed to do?

He settled for rubbing Steve’s back, and calmly and softly speaking in his ear.

“You’re not a burden. You never could be. You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.”

Tony stayed that way for a while, rocking Steve back and forth, until he heard a sleepy snuffle and looked down. Steve had fallen asleep curled up in his arms. Tony closed his eyes for a minute and just sat there.

A throat was cleared from the doorway. Tony’s eyes shot open.

“Is he alright?” Bruce whispered, brandishing a needle and a nebulizer from his respective hands.

Tony looked down at Steve’s blond bed-head.

“No. No, he’s not.”

8 notes • Posted 2021-07-14 18:41:14 GMT

take good care of you

IT’S A FIC (happy steve rogers day from your local chronically ill american)

Bucky and Steve are fighting about Steve trying to get into the military again, but then Steve sneezes and how could Bucky possibly be mad when Steve’s nose is dripping like that? (ps Bucky may or may not have The Kink but that’s none of my affair). ao3

Bucky paced back and forth, a dangerous mix of angry and anxious. He heard Steve cough as he entered their hallway, long before he heard his footsteps at their door. They were heavy hacks, rattling in Steve’s thin chest, and Bucky’s stomach dropped to the bottom floor of their building, leaving him up in their kitchen feeling like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Steve struggled with the lock for a second, and Bucky instinctively moved forward to help. He only held himself back to allow time to compose himself.

When Steve came into the kitchen, he looked even worse than he had that morning when Bucky had left for the docks. The dark circles under his eyes were like bruises on his pale skin, the only color on his face besides the cherry red of his nose and the high flush of his cheeks.

“Well, am I looking at a member of the United States military?” Buck asked darkly.

Steve shot him a glare, the effect of which was lessened by his dripping nose.

“Probably cause they could hear your fucking wheezing as soon as you came in the door! What the hell were you thinking, Steve? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you enjoy having double pneumonia, is that it?”

Steve took a second to cough hard, reaching out to balance himself on the table before answering.

“Buck, I don’t know what the big fucking deal is. I’m just trying to do my part, like everybody else.”

“Well that’s just it, Steve! You aren’t like everybody else!”

Bucky could see the exact minute his words hit Steve, watched the way his shoulders went from high and tense to low and resigned, and was going to say something else when Steve sneezed.

“Hehh-aATSCHIEW!!” It was a huge wet thing, and Steve had only barely managed to cover it by yanking his collar over his face, leaving spray so heavy that Bucky could see all of it on the shirt. All the fight that Bucky had ever had in his whole life left him all at once.

“Stevie… Bless you, baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He stepped towards the blond, his hands raised in surrender, only for Steve to start crying. Bucky felt his heart break into a thousand tiny pieces. He rushed towards him, gathering him in his arms and rocking him. Steve had gone almost totally limp, his sobs racking his whole body. Buck could feel the fever coming off him in waves, and ran his hand through Steve’s hair. It was wet with sweat, as wet as Bucky’s shirt was coming to be with the way Steve’s nose was gushing onto it, and Bucky picked Steve up, cradling him like a baby. They’d done this a thousand times, and it always ended with them both in Bucky’s bed.

Bucky gently took off Steve’s shirt, which was more handkerchief than clothing by then, and buttoned him into one of his before taking off his own, which if possible was even more drenched than Steve’s had been. Before he could put on another flannel, Steve sneezed again, ducking forward with the force of it. It was more spray than voice, and Bucky let it land on his bare stomach with a shudder of pleasure.

“Oh.” Steve’s voice was small and dismayed, and he reached out to wipe it away, but Bucky caught his hands and crawled on top of him.

“After all this, I don’t know how you could think I care about you sneezing on me.” Steve flushed a bit at this, but was more focused on his twitching nose than Bucky’s implications. Bucky noticed this, and smiled.

“Poor Stevie. All itchy and tickly.” He reached out and rubbed his finger against Steve’s septum, feeling the chapped skin and enjoying the way that it radiated heat.

“B-Buck…” Steve gasped, his nose running more furiously than ever.

“Yes?” Bucky said innocently, taking his fingernail and tracing Steve’s nostrils with them.

“Guh...Gonna…”

“What, baby doll? Are you gonna-”

As the word sneeze left Buck’s mouth, the real thing left Steve’s.

“Huh-RESHIEWWWW!”

Even for Steve, this was quite the sneeze. A heavy mixture of mist and runny nose landed in Bucky’s hand. At this point, it was practically a handful. Steve groaned, stuffy and embarrassed, and Bucky felt something in the bottom of his stomach crawl.

“That was a good one.” His voice was low and a little strained, but he told himself that Steve wouldn’t be able to tell.

From the look on Steve’s face, he could tell. Even as his nose continued to stream, he looked a little pleased with himself. Bucky felt a burn in his chest that felt like being seen, and he let it warm him in his entirety before he put a shirt on, choosing a thin one so that if Stevie ran out of time to cover again he’d know it.

He shoved Steve a bit, encouraging the blond to make room for him in the bed before slipping behind him. For a moment the room was quiet and still besides Steve’s congested sniffles and the throbbing of Buck’s front as he pressed against the blond’s thin frame.

When Bucky could stand it no longer, he gently rolled Steve over to face him.

“You’re so stuffed up, sweetheart. Let me help.”

He gently but firmly ran his hands along Steve’s cheekbones, feeling the congestion loosen the slightest bit under his touch. “My poor baby.”

“ ‘S not that bad Buck…”

“I’ll be the judge of that, hotshot.”

He admiringly ran a finger down the bridge of Steve’s nose, relishing the way it practically shook with irritation.

“Don’t worry, baby doll. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

26 notes • Posted 2021-07-04 03:44:39 GMT

terrible and wanting

steve and buck go on a camping trip to upstate new york and have to share a sleeping bag. too bad steve is wildly allergic to pretty much the whole state and bucky is wildly attracted to his every sniffle. (ao3)

(WEE WOO WEE WOO it’s another bucky w a snz kink fic who’s surprised not me)

“heh-SHIEW! HAH-SHIEEEW!” Steve sniffed so hard it made his head hurt a bit. “Whose idea was it to come out here anyway?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep his front far away from Steve’s tight tiny ass, the same tiny ass that was shaking and shifting with every sneeze. Already his dick was twitching, just about as much as Steve’s nose was. “I think that one was you, bud.”

They had started out face to face, eyelashes touching each other’s cheeks, but after Steve had sprayed him a few times, each time going a bright red that made things even worse for Bucky, they had settled into a spooning position, one they were well familiar with but typically didn’t do outside of their Brooklyn apartment. Just about now, Bucky missed that apartment terribly. What the fuck had he been thinking? They were city boys, really, and always had been, and he knew that even the tiniest bit of pollen made Stevie sneeze his little head off. And maybe he had been looking forward to that a little bit, but then they went and forgot a second sleeping bag, and it was early fall but still pretty cold and the second Steve had started to shiver Bucky had lost all willpower.

“heh-SHIEWSHIEW!” Steve practically ground into his dick, the force of his sneeze shaking his whole body. Bucky closed his eyes and started praying to the good Lord above that Steve was too distracted by his nose to notice the hard object sticking into his back. He didn’t even like nature! It was just that Steve had looked at him with those eyes, and that little “please Buck, just for the weekend”, and he really had had no choice in the matter.

“Bless you, Stevie.” Despite his gritted teeth, it came out soft and fond, like it always did.

“Th-th- heh… heh… huh…”

Oh, for the love of Christ.

Steve was hitching wildly now, both arms coming up out of the sleeping bag to help along the effort, rubbing his nose wildly. Bucky could hear the congestion move as he shoved at it, sniffling and building up just to lose it at the last minute.

“Big… big itch…” Steve gasped out, and now Bucky was sure that he was playing with him. The blond curled into himself, pressing harder against Bucky’s cock and he shook his head with abandon, as though that could somehow get the itch out.

“HAHSHEEEEEEW!!!” It came out big and wet and rocked Steve into him, and without Bucky’s permission a moan left his mouth.

Bucky froze.

It was all silent now, with the exception of Steve sniffing, and for just a moment he was able to pretend he hadn’t made that noise, terrible and wanting and everything he’d ever kept hidden from Steve and everybody else.

“Buck?”

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

Steve’s voice was husky and low with congestion and arousal. “Is there something you wanna tell me about?”

Mark the date. James Buchanan Barnes was about to die, right here in this seventeen year old sleeping bag in the middle of Schenectady. He shut his eyes hard.

“Buck.” He could feel Steve shifting, rolling over so they could be face to face again. He kept his eyes closed.

“Bucky.” Steve poked under his left rib, right where he knew he was ticklish, and Bucky had no choice but to open his eyes. His stomach was now a bottomless pit, and any hopes of salvaging this situation were falling right towards its floor.

“Are you…” he paused to sniff, reaching up to scrub at his nose a bit, and Bucky considered risking it all just to rub it for him. “Are you gonna tell me what’s got you all hot and bothered? Cause I can guess, but it isn’t nearly as fun.”

It was over anyways, so Bucky went for broke.

“It’s your sneezes, Stevie. They’re… I don’t know! I can’t help it. They just… they take you over so totally, you know? Something about the way they make you shake… I’ve liked them ever since we were kids.”

He closed his eyes and prepared for Steve to kick him out of their sleeping bag and tell him to have his stuff out of the apartment before he got back.

“huh…”

God was really and truly fucking with him. On purpose. That was the only explanation. He opened his eyes, telling himself it was instinct, and was shocked to find Steve smiling, even as his face was half slack with the oncoming sneeze and his nose was running half way down to his lip.

“I…hehSHIEW!” Bucky felt the moisture land on his face, a mist settling softly in the air around them, and held in a whimper.

“I’m glad, Buck. Cause… huh… I’m still so i-i-itchy.”

38 notes • Posted 2021-07-31 05:17:32 GMT

my hero

Bucky falls in to an icy pond and Steve saves him. they both catch a cold in the process.

one thousand words of pure fluff and pre-serum stucky. (you may have seen this on snz tumblr b4 but we don’t have to talk about my past anxiety deletions) (ao3)

“Buck, wait up!” Steve yelped as Bucky flew onto the ice, moving like standing on a frozen surface on two tiny blades came as easy to him as breathing. Steve pulled at his laces, or tried to, but his thin fingers shook with the chill. It was February, and despite it being unusually warm for the time of year, he still felt his chest constricting with every breath of cold air.

Bucky was doing spins, albeit haphazardly, in the center, giggling like a little kid. His dark hair was everywhere, his eyes wild and his cheeks were terribly flushed, and Steve loved him so much.

“Steve, hurry up! Watch, I’m gonna try a flip.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Steve muttered, buttoning his third sweater and preparing to add a coat, the wooly one that his mom had found for him in a thrift shop.

Bucky beamed fondly, before spinning a little too hard and landing on his ass. Steve’s head shot up at the cracking noise, and his eyes met Bucky’s, whose were wide with fear. And suddenly Bucky was gone. The ice must have thinned over the week of forty degree weather, because there was a Bucky Barnes sized hole in the center of their pond. Steve scrambled up, searching frantically, and for a brief terrible moment all he could see was cold blue water with a layer of frost on top of it. Then a hand flew up and slammed against the ice, and Steve breathed again. Immediately he ran out onto the ice, which admittedly was a horrible idea, because he tumbled and slid to the very edge of the hole on his stomach. He plunged his hand in, searching frantically for any sign of Bucky. He soon found one, as Bucky’s hand grasped his and Steve pulled with all his might, to no avail. Bucky’s arms were now on the ice, and his head was above water. His lips were blue and everything else was stark white, but he was breathing and it gave Steve another burst of energy. He started yelling, screaming for help in a terrible voice he didn’t recognize, while he looked around frantically, searching for something, anything he could use to pull him out. He settled on a rotten fence a bit down the way, and he locked eyes with Bucky.

“Hold on, Buck. I’ll be right back.”

Steve might’ve just been on the verge of an asthma attack but the adrenaline seemed to work even better than his rescue inhaler, because he ran like one of the sprinters from their high school track team. He reached the fence in no time, and yanked at the board until it fell loose. Dragging it over to the middle of the pond, in the back of his head marveling at how it didn’t crack more (Later, in a quiet moment, he realized his body weight was significantly less than Bucky’s. Even holding the giant board he still was less of a burden for the melting ice.) he shoved it into the water. Bucky’s blue tinged fingers gripped it, and Steve used all of his ninety nine pounds of might to pull on the log. Bucky’s top half emerged from the water, and he managed it the rest of the way. He pulled himself out with his arms and then lay flat on the ice, gasping like he’d never had a breath of air before.

“Buck. Bucky. Bucky.” Steve started to pull his body towards the snowy bank, and with a little help from Buck got him to a sitting position on the damp bench. Immediately Steve started to pull his clothes off, unbuttoning soaking wet pants and a shirt. Bucky looked at his face, his eyes wet with something that wasn’t pond water.

“F-Finally t-t-taking some initiative, soldier.” This was chattered out between clattering teeth, Bucky’s whole body shaking. He gave a weak little chuckle, and then a louder sob.

“Shh. Shhhh. It’s okay sweetheart. You’re safe now.” Steve murmured under his breath, finally getting the rest of Bucky’s clothes off and starting to layer his own onto his quivering frame. A light blue button up, a patched up green sweater, his wool coat. Soon, all that was left on Steve was a thin shirt and his underwear. Normally wearing so little would make him self-conscious, but right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Bucky started to protest, but Steve silenced him with a single look.

“Come on, darlin’. Let’s go home.” Steve’s drawl wasn’t from an accent, but from a lack of concentration on his words. Right now, the only thing on his mind was getting Bucky home and keeping him from getting hypothermic.

….

“huhh’EShoo.”

“Bless you Buck.” Steve croaked out.

“eeeHishh… kkksh’Ishoo.” Bucky blew into his hankie hard and then smiled softly at Steve, a face made if anything more attractive by his red nose.

“Thanks Steve. Do you want me to make you some tea, for your throat?”

“You won’t be doing anything except resting in this bed, tough guy. I’m fide. Don’t you worry about me, I’m not the one who’s sick.” Even as he said it, Steve’s nose twitched, and he scrubbed at it harshly. He was trying to look casual about it, but Bucky knew Steve and he also knew that this need to sneeze was anything but casual.

“You sure about that, darlin’?” Bucky teased, leaning over to look Steve square in the eyes from his side of the bed. Steve’s lip twitched, but he tried to keep a straight and serious face even as his nose wiggled and he started to wheezily hitch.

“Y-y-yes. I’m sure.” he whispered, clearly using every bit of his willpower to control himself. Bucky smiled fondly at him and then poked the tip of his nose. Instantly Steve flew forward, his nose in one hand.

“eeeK’hish. hh’ISHh. iKKshieu, eck’Tschieu.” Bucky ruefully placed a clean handkerchief in Steve’s flailing hand.

“Bless you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” He paused for Steve to sneeze a few more times, his thin frame quivering with the force of it.

“Bless you. Still gonna pretend you aren’t even a little under the weather?”

Steve looked up, his nose bright red and glistening. Bucky handed him another handkerchief (one of his last clean ones, he would have to do laundry pretty soon if Steve kept up like this), and Steve swiped at his nose with it roughly before responding.

“It’s not too bad. You fell in an icy pond, nearly died, and might be on your way to pneumonia if you don’t rest a bit.” Steve’s grandiose speech used up the remainder of his voice and his energy, and by the end of it he had slumped against his pillow and was gearing up for another sneezing fit. That decided it for Bucky. He climbed out from under the covers and walked to Steve’s side of the bed, allowing for a brief fit of stifled sneezes before kissing his sweaty forehead.

“Stevie, this ain’t nothing but a head cold. Don’t you fuss about me. It’d be a hell of a lot worse if it wasn’t for you. You’re the man of the hour.” Bucky crooned, wrapping Steve in a sorry looking blanket and dropping what really was his last handkerchief on his lap. Steve pretended to give a sigh and attempted a half-hearted eye roll, but Bucky couldn’t ignore the proud smile and the pleased flush on his cheeks.

“My hero.”

40 notes • Posted 2021-07-23 17:39:12 GMT

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