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hockeynoses · 9 months

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Served Just the Way You Like - R/oy x Jam/ie snz fic

Summary: Jamie is sick on game day but thinks he can still play. Roy refuses to let him, but he finds a way he can still be useful – infecting the opposing team with his cold.

Rating: PG-13 (as far as non-snz stuff goes). 4.5k.

Warnings: MESS! Some D/s elements. Malicious contagion via snzing on food. (The results of said contagion are implied, not shown.) If this sounds like too much for you, turn back now! I cannot stress enough how the main part of this fic is just Jamie snzing on the opposing team's catering setup.

Notes: I never thought I'd reach the point where I was comfortable not only writing something like this, but sharing it. So I hope you all enjoy! It took me three months on and off to finish this. And this goes without saying, but I would never condone something like this IRL, and in fact, I would hate it!

The title is a lyric from Table for Two by Joe. What a throwback!

Jamie drives to the club, excited to finally see Roy after a long five days apart. Roy had taken his sister and Phoebe for a long weekend in Germany – a trip to indulge Phoebe’s niche cultural obsessions and because Ruth and Roy are such workaholics that they’d both promised to push each other to go on vacation every so often.

The trip had been planned before Roy and Jamie were even a thing, and Jamie couldn’t go anyway - he had a photoshoot for a brand deal that weekend. It ended up being for the best – Jamie started coming down with something the day Roy left. It’s developed into a real bitch of a head cold – they’d had to put extra makeup on his face for the photoshoot so he didn’t look like he was dying, and he’d been constantly asking for tea to soothe his burning throat.

Missing Roy was a fierce ache that lingered all weekend. He selfishly wanted nothing more than for him to be back home so he could take care of Jamie. But Jamie was trying to be an adult, and that meant he wasn’t allowed to be clingy or call his boyfriend to whine at him while he was enjoying his vacation.

They had only exchanged a few texts over the weekend, Roy sending him pictures when he could. His flight had gotten in late last night, so Roy had gone straight to his own place, barely having time to unpack before he fell asleep.

Jamie had an early night as well, his body aching and exhausted. Still feverish, he’d had a night of fitful sleep, dreading the game the next day.

Now that Roy’s a coach, he has to get to the club earlier on game days, and Jamie usually sleeps in, going about his usual game day routine, heading to the club in the early afternoon.

At last, Jamie rounds the corner and sees the locker room doors, his small waist pack weighing more heavily on him due to how wrung out he’s feeling, though the added weight could be from the packet of tissues and some cough drops he’d stashed into one of the pouches. He’s dreading the game today, but is determined to suck it up and play. It’s his job as a professional athlete, and he doesn’t want to let the team down. He’s pretty sure he’s played through worse.

A whisper of a memory floats through his foggy brain – his dad’s voice, calling him a fuckin’ pansy for complaining of a fever before a game. He’d only been a teenager, but he’d quickly learned to hide any sign of weakness around his father, and by association, around the team.

At least he’ll get to see Roy after such a long weekend away. It’s still fairly early in their relationship and he knows Roy doesn’t mind, but Jamie still feels the need to dial back his neediness sometimes. He knows he can be a lot, and he doesn’t want to scare Roy off by being too much at once. He’s been dying for Roy to come back and take care of him, but they’ve never been in this situation before, and he isn’t sure how Roy will react. Maybe all the bedside manner in the Kent gene pool had gone to his sister.

Before he enters the room, a telltale prickle creeps through his sinuses and he stops in his tracks, bringing a hand up to pinch his nose as a painful stifle tries to force its way out. “ha-kxxSH!” His exhale is a relieved sigh. There’s a good chance that no one heard that. But pinching his nose has turned it an even deeper shade of red, one he can’t do much to hide. And denying himself the release of a sneeze has his sinuses feeling like they’re packed with cement and buzzing unpleasantly.

Once he’s certain there are no more sneezes about to creep up on him, he steels himself and heads into the locker room, greeted by the sound of teammates chatting.

He sets his stuff down on the bench by his locker, turns, and immediately he locks eyes with Roy, who’s been keeping an eye out for him from his desk. If Jamie wasn’t fluent in Roy by now, he would’ve missed the slight quirk of his lips and the way his eyes brighten at the sight of Jamie. It makes Jamie feel properly warm in a way he hasn’t felt in days – a gooey, happy feeling that floods outward from the center of him.

Roy moves first, coming out of his office to greet him. Even though they’re out to the team, a one-armed hug and clap on the back is all they usually allow themselves at work.

“Welcombe back,” Jamie says, voice genuine, as he clings a little longer than mere colleagues would. He can’t help himself; it’s been a shit weekend and he’s allowed this one comfort. He wants nothing more than to sink into Roy’s arms and bury his face in the warmth of his neck. It takes all he has to fight the urge.

“Thanks,” Roy says, rubbing his hand across Jamie’s shoulders before pulling back.

Jamie drinks in the sight of him. “Looks like you godt sombe sudn, Grandad.” He gives him his most charming smile, jealous of the sun that got to kiss Roy’s skin all weekend.

Roy rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Yeah, it was hot as fuck, and Phoebe had us running all over on all sorts of adventures.”

“Looks good odn you,” Jamie says, voice low. The intensity in Roy’s eyes is telling. He’s been missing Jamie just as much, and can’t wait to get his hands on him later tonight.

“You look…” Roy pauses, truly taking him in, “a bit tired, actually.”

“Oi!” Jamie protests, his throat burning with the effort. He whacks Roy’s shoulder with the back of his hand, indignant. “Thad’s dnot a dnice thing to say.”

“I’m saying it as a concerned coach!” Roy argues. “Did you sleep okay last night?”

Before he can answer, Jamie has no choice but to snuffle up some congestion, his runny nose finally getting the best of him. He wipes it with his palm, rubbing the tip of his nose in circles to stave off a developing itch.

“Yeah, bmate, got plendy of sleeb.” The forcefully chipper statement is immediately followed by a shaky inhale, and he snaps his hand up just in time to stifle a telling, “ha-kxxxgt!” into his fist.

“Tartt, if you’re sick-” Roy studies him with a stern look.

“I’b nodt sigck,” he says, betrayed by a marshy sniffle. “Idt’s allergies.”

“You’re not allergic to anything.”

Right, Jamie thinks, as a coach, he’d have had a look at all the players’ medical files.

“People can develop allergies as adults.” His croaky voice turns petulant, aware that he’s fighting a losing battle.

Roy stares at him, knowing that Jamie will give in to the need to break the silence and eventually say something incriminating. He doesn’t have to wait long before Jamie’s nose does it for him. It starts to twitch, his eyelids fluttering closed before he’s forced to cup his hands over his face and curl forward with a massive- “heh… heh’eehhRRRSSHOO!” It coats his palms in enough spray and spit that he has to wipe them on his pants. Jamie looks up sheepishly, embarrassed at having his cover blown so quickly.

“It sounds to me like you’ve caught a hell of a cold.”

“I’b fine.” The corners of Jamie’s mouth pull down in a frustrated pout.

“Where did you even pick this up?”

“I don’t know, bman.” Jamie tries and fails to keep the tired whine out of his voice. A cool hand presses to his forehead and he sighs at the feeling.

“Jesus, you’re burning up.” Roy says. The concern in his voice floods pleasantly through Jamie, always grateful for Roy’s attention. “You can’t play like this.” At that, Jamie snaps back to attention.

“The fucgk I cadn’t! Me legs work jusdt fiiiihh hih’AEESSHH’IUE!” Into his hands again, followed by an irritated cough that’s just starting to move into his chest. A few heads turn their way, and the guys nearest to him take a step back in unison.

“Jamie, you’re clearly not well enough to play. And as your coach, that’s my call to make.” Roy says firmly, voice deep with authority. He places a placating hand on his shoulder. “It would be irresponsible of me to let you play right now.”

Jamie’s gaze cuts downward, feeling like an unruly child being scolded. He drags the back of his hand under his nose and gives a thick sniffle, still fighting against his runny nose.

“Christ, you even look contagious. Do you want to get the whole team sick? You should have told me sooner.”

“You were on vacatiodn! I didn’t wadnt to mbake a big deal oudt of idt.” His dad’s comments filter through his head again, and he decides he’s not going to have that conversation in the middle of a crowded locker room.

“You still could have told Ted or Beard. Or texted me this morning. I wouldn’t have been mad, Jamie.”

“I’b sor- ehh…hih’TTSSHOO!” The inner elbow of his very expensive hoodie gets a generous spritzing.

“Hmm? What was that?” Roy asks with raised eyebrows.

“I said I’b – ggsh’IISHIEW! SNF. I’b sorry!” He has to wipe his nose on his sleeve before he can show his face again. It seems like each day of this horrid cold has brought with it increasingly messy sneezes, with no end in sight.

“Good boy,” Roy offers, a dash of condescension mixed in with his genuine tone. It affects Jamie all the same, warming him down to his toes. He should be embarrassed, but he’s too worn down to care. He almost sways with the relief of it - or maybe that’s the fever he hasn’t managed to shake. Roy drapes an arm across his shoulders, holding him in place.

“Let’s get you out of here. God knows we don’t need a fucking virus taking down the entire team at this point in the season, with the league table being as it is.”

A spark of an idea lights up Roy’s face at that, and he pauses, considering. Once again taking in Jamie’s sorry state – his cheeks ruddy with fever, his glassy eyes, and his poor raw nose. So clearly full of cold and extremely contagious. Having made up his mind, Roy gestures to Ted and Beard that he’s taking Jamie home, and that he’ll be back in time for the match. Business taken care of, he turns back to Jamie.

“Follow me,” Roy says as he manhandles him out of the room and down the hallway. Jamie has to muffle a few sneezes into the collar of his hoodie along the way, Roy holding him steady through each one. He’s so out of it that it takes him a while to realize they’re not taking the usual route out of the stadium.

“Where we goin’?” he asks, groggily wiping at the clear mess seeping out of one nostril.

“Just trust me. And try not to draw too much attention to yourself,” Roy says, as though that’s something that comes naturally to Jamie.

Roy uses his employee badge to get them into a door deep within the maze of the staff-only areas of the stadium. Opening it slowly, he scans the room to make sure it’s empty before pulling Jamie inside.

“Whadt are we doin’ ‘ere?” Jamie asks, blinking hazily. They’re in the lounge area for the visiting team; he recognizes it from when he played here with City. It’s outfitted with a full kitchen, dining tables, couches, TVs – the works.

It should still be about 30 minutes before the opposing team arrives, but the room has already been prepared for them. The fridge is stocked; silverware, plates, and glasses are all arranged on one end of the long counter, and the catering team has set out trays of food on beds of ice to keep them cool. There’s a tray of sushi, a gorgeous charcuterie board, a large bowl of salad, and some cold cuts for sandwiches, among other hot dishes being kept warm by small heaters under their covered metal trays.

“I have an idea,” Roy says with an evil glint in his eye. Jamie recognizes that look from training and knows well enough to be very, very afraid.

“…What?”

“You’re gonna contaminate their food and get all these fuckers sick, like the plague rat you are.” Roy shares an intense, secretive grin with Jamie, clearly proud of himself.

A shocked grimace pulls at Jamie’s features.

“Roy, that’s sigck. We cadn’t…” His breath scissors in and out. “We c-cadn’t do that! Hih…ha-ESSSHH’uh!”

“Of course we can.” Roy’s strong fingers give Jamie’s shoulder a shake, caught up in the excitement of his plan. “Think of the standings, mate! If a bunch of their best players are out the next couple of weeks, their numbers are gonna tank and we’ll move up a couple spots!”

Jamie stares at him in awe. “You really - hah…ha’XXGSH’uu! You really are a sadist.” Roy pins him with a knowing look. A flush prickles across Jamie’s cheeks and neck, and there’s a tug of heat in his core. Roy follows his lead, crowding into his space. He thrusts his fingers into Jamie’s thick hair.

“Well, you’re the one who showed up for a game that you’re obviously too sick to play, and you risked getting the rest of the team sick, so now I’m the one making the decisions.” He pulls Jamie closer to him, tugging gently on his hair. The words are growled softly against his cheek like a secret. “Which means I get to use you however I want, and you’re gonna let me.”

Jamie chokes on a moan, breath catching in his throat. Roy pulls back, his eyes flashing dark.

“Yeah?” Roy asks, giving him an out if he needs it. They’ve been together long enough that they can read each other clearly. Even though they might have their communication issues outside the bedroom, sex and its related power dynamics have always been something that they’re really, really good at.

“Yeah,” comes Jamie’s answering rasp. His eyes are needy, reverent. He can trust Roy. Roy will take care of him. And he gets to be useful. He can still help the team win, even in this twisted roundabout way that Roy’s found.

He’s afforded the soft brushing of Roy’s fingers against his cheek before he’s abruptly caught by the elbow and firmly escorted towards the long counter with trays of food on it.

“Right then,” Roy surveys the room, creating a plan of attack. “We should probably hit all the cold stuff first… not bother with the hot trays since they’re probably warm enough to burn off the germs… or something. Right?”

“Fugk iihh- hep’TIISSHuh!” Jamie sneezes down into his cupped hands, held inches away from his face. “Ugh. Fugk if I know.” He glances at his moist palms before swiping them dry on his pants.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Don’t waste all those sneezes before we even start.”

“Sorry, Jesus.” Jamie’s brows furrow in a little pout as he wipes his damp, squishy nose on the side of his hand.

Roy, anxious to get started and with an eye on the clock, grabs Jamie’s arm with gentle authority and steers his body towards the tray on the end of the counter. It looks like a lovely house salad, Jamie thinks absently, staring down at it. When he glances back at Roy, the other man is watching him expectantly.

“Alright, go for it.”

“I cadn’t just… do it odn commband!”

“Now’s not the time for performance anxiety, Tartt.”

“Ha-ha. You’re bloody hilari-hihh!” He sucks in a sharp inhale as the fuzzy sensation in his nose starts up again. “ihh...hih…ha’iigg’SHH’IUE!” On instinct, he turns his head down, bringing his elbow up in an aborted attempt to cover. About half the sneeze escapes and mists the salad below, the rest of it ends up on the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Christ’s sake, the whole point is to not cover!” Shifting behind him, Roy gathers Jamie’s arms together behind him before clamping a large hand over both wrists. Heat thrums through Jamie’s veins, his awareness narrowing to the squeezing pressure of Roy’s hands. He fights the urge to squirm.

“Try again.” The husky command rings low in his ear. It vibrates through him, sending shivers across his skin.

His cheeks tinge pink to match his chapped nose, which is currently running freely onto his upper lip. His hand jerks in Roy’s grip, his brain on autopilot trying to get him to clean himself up. He settles for a desperate sniff, scrunching his nose up in an unsuccessful attempt. He’s so congested he can barely get any air through.

It sets off a new round of tingling, so itchy and persistent that he shakes his head to try and dispel it. His chest expands as his breath stutters and his brain goes pleasantly fuzzy. “heh…ha’EESHHH’OO! Ha’ITTCHH’uh!” The full-bodied sneezes burst from him, showering the salad with a hearty amount of mist. He blinks woozily, catching his breath as they watch it settle.

“Good job,” Roy says, and Jamie’s shoulders melt. He lets Roy shuffle them a step or two over so they’re standing in front of the tray of sushi.

“This next.” Roy taps the tray before moving out of the way.

“Give be a binute, Jesus,” Jamie whines, twin trails of mess clinging to his cupid’s bow. Roy surprises him by blowing a breath of cool air across his nose, and it turns out that, yeah, he really is that ridiculously sensitive right now. “Fu-uhhh-ck…” Jamie fights against it for a moment before remembering their purpose. His nose is stuffed so full right now, he just knows it’s going to be a fucking mess.

Tears spring to his eyes as his nostrils flare, the plaguing itch too intense to control. “Eh…hih…” His chest swells with a gasp before the air is blasted from his lungs – “AEEEISHH’IEW! Huh…Ha’AEEESHUH!” as he barks two huge, wet, cold-laden sneezes down over the waiting food.

It takes him a minute to come back to himself, his breath sounding heavy in his own ears. Roy presses bodily into him, rubbing a reassuring hand across his shoulders.

“Impressive,” he offers, generous with his praise. It only adds to the floaty feeling shimmering through Jamie’s body.

“Christ, look at you. Such a mess.” Roy says, velvety and raw.

Jamie’s face grows hot, humiliatingly conscious of Roy’s scrutiny. He’s sure his face is a disaster. Can feel the remnants of spit and spray all the way past his curved, parted lips down to his chin. He must look like a walking biohazard.

“Roy…” Jamie gives a waterlogged snuffle. “Cadn I have a tissue?”

Roy seems to enjoy Jamie’s struggle to recapture his composure.

“No.” Roy’s fingers clamp over his chin. He brushes a kiss to Jamie’s temple. The gruffness of his voice shoots straight to Jamie’s cock when he says, “I’ll clean you up when we’re done. Right now, I want you messy.”

A soft whine escapes him. “Roy…”

“Such a pretty boy.” Roy’s hand comes down over the back of his neck possessively. “I can’t help but want to see you looking like a right fucking mess sometimes.” His words slink down Jamie’s spine and pool low in his gut.

As Roy moves them further down the line, Jamie’s nose surprises him with a sudden, “hih’EGGSSH’iew!” that mostly ends up glistening on the stainless-steel counter.

“Use your aim, you Muppet. Or do you need me to do everything?” Roy asks with no real heat behind it.

His fingers thread back into Jamie’s frosted tips and he tugs, firmly pulling Jamie’s head back and positioning him right where he wants him - directly over the painstakingly arranged charcuterie board. It really is gorgeous - If Jamie wasn’t feeling so poorly, he’d want to dig in. He braces his arms on the table, his hands finally free of Roy’s hold. Apparently Roy had decided he was trustworthy enough to have his arms back.

“S-sorr-ehh…ha-eh’kkgh’ISHHOO!” The sneeze rockets through him. His muscles tense as he curls forward with the force of it, dousing the food below with a heavy amount of viscous, virulent spray. He moans, catching his breath. That one nearly tore his throat raw. He sags into Roy’s solid form, the achy torment of the past few days starting to catch up with him.

“I almost feel bad for these poor fucks.” Roy says, his arm a firm, comforting presence around Jamie’s waist. “There’s no way they’re not gonna catch this.”

“Mmm,” Jamie hums in response. Resting his fever-warm forehead against Roy’s neck, he sniffs up some of the gunk in his nose, the miserable, squelching sound of it echoing through the room. The bottom half of his face is still in a right state, but he isn’t about to wipe it on Roy’s shirt. He’s being good, and Roy promised he would clean him up after they’re done.

“I bet these fuckers’ll be so smug when they hear our star striker isn’t playing tonight.” Roy smirks. “But they’re gonna find out the hard way that you’re still our secret weapon.” A hand squeezes Jamie’s bicep and gives him an encouraging shake.

Jamie pulls back, his exhausted eyes smiling at Roy, basking in the praise that helps him find his second wind. Roy’s grin is wicked, confident in the success of his plan.

“Ugh, I dodn’t feel good,” Jamie says as he continues to lean on Roy for support.

“Good. Probably means you’re more contagious.” Then he softens. “Just a couple more and we’ll get you out of here.”

Jamie groans but lets himself be pulled along to the next tray made up of various cold cuts and sliced cheeses for sandwiches.

“Get this,” Roy directs, arranging Jamie until he’s directly in front of it. He hardly has to work at all to get another tickle started up. Taking a couple deep sniffs is enough to irritate the sludge that’s packed in his sinuses, begging to be released. His vision goes blurry as the itch builds and builds. His wet nostrils flare as his mouth falls open, his hitching breaths finally reaching a peak. “iihhh- hih’GGKSSHH’IUE!” He’s thrown forward with it, covering the food in an unrestrained torrent, the mist and spit visible as it settles. The dish takes it all.

“Guh…” Jamie leans back, tilting his head back to stop his sinuses from draining down onto the food. The bottom half of his face is a glossy mess. Roy snakes a hand into his hair again and pulls so his throat is exposed.

"You look wrecked...” Roy says, and a needy sound escapes Jamie’s throat. “Love it when you look a wreck for me."

“Roy,” he breathes out.

“I leave for four days and look what a mess you’ve become.” Roy’s teasing voice burns hot in the shell of his ear. “Next time you’re gonna tell me when you’re feeling poorly. Doesn’t matter if I’m clear across the world.”

“Yeah… Yeah, ‘course I will.”

“Promise?”

“Prombise.”

There’s a pause, and Jamie’s eyes search Roy’s face, his throat tight.

“Idt was five days,” he says.

“What?”

“You said you were godne for four days. Idt was five.”

Roy stares at him for a moment, his expression softening. “Counting down the days, were you?” He chuckles, a deep sound that reverberates through Jamie. “Fuck… Love it when you get all needy.”

And really, Jamie can’t help but go all melty at that.

“You gonna let me take care of you when we get home?”

“Uh huh,” he breathes through his mouth.

“There’s a good boy. I’ll handle everything; have you feelin’ better in no time.”

Jamie makes a little sound and curls into Roy for a hug. He feels Roy reach his arms around Jamie’s waist and squeeze him tight.

“Vacation was nice, but I missed your constant yammering in my ear,” Roy says into Jamie’s hair. Jamie laughs weakly – a wet thing that turns into a cough.

“Come on, just one more, then we’ll get you home.” Roy turns them to the tray of silverware laid out at the end of the table. “Finish ‘em off.” He brushes the hair from Jamie’s forehead as he takes in his clearly contagious mess of a face.

Jamie leans forward, willing to do anything Roy says at this point. He can feel a monster of a sneeze building, and tries to sniff through his clogged sinuses to help it along. Nostrils twitching, he rubs the tip of his nose in circles, his hand coming away wet with snot. Fuck, it’s going to feel so good to just get this crud out. “hah… Cobme ond… ihh… huh’IGG’SSHHAH! Hih’ZZSHHHUUHH’UE!” The sneezes shudder through him as he sprays the silverware with all the filth that has built up in his head. Roy holds him steady with an arm around him as they watch it settle, their mission accomplished.

“Good job, babe.” Roy gives his middle a squeeze, looking nearby at the basket of sandwich buns. “I should shove your face in one of these, but I’ll be nice and let you have a tissue. Since you’ve been so good for me.”

Jamie sags into him and groans – in relief, pleasure, exhaustion – he isn’t sure which.

“Oh, you’re so out of it.” Amusement shines in Roy’s eyes, along with a quiet sort of love. “Here, let me.” He grabs a napkin from the pile on the table and gives the bottom of Jamie’s face a cursory wipe before cupping it around his nose. “Blow.”

Jamie obeys, blearily filling the tissue with the muck leftover in his sinuses. It seems to never end. After several blows, he finishes, not quite gasping for breath. He still can’t breathe through his nose, but he feels about a hundred times better than he did a moment ago.

“You may be a mess,” Roy grunts at him, his lip curling up into a smirk. “But you’re my fucking mess.” He kisses Jamie’s forehead and pockets the soggy napkin. Despite the aches in his body, Jamie feels like he’s floating. He’s so gone on Roy, it would almost be pathetic if he wasn’t sure that Roy was equally as obsessed with him.

“Take mbe hombe?” Jamie asks, hand skimming down Roy’s arm to toy with his fingers. Roy threads them together.

“Of course, love. Let’s go,” he says before pulling Jamie along, leading the way as they make their escape into the echoing halls of the club.

#snzblr #snz fic #snz fics #snzfics #snzfic #tw: contagion #cw: contagion #jam/ie ta/rtt

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alans-snz · 6 months

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Ahem...so I finished C/el/ls A/t W/or/k, and let me just say that in the subbed version of it, there's an episode where an over-release of histamine makes my beloved U/-1/1/46 snz, and I was pleasantly surprised. It's relatively subtle, not very clear to pick up since he and the other main character were also literally getting electrocuted (to signify itchiness). It actually didn't make it into the English dub, so I'm very glad I watch in Japanese with subs. When I saw when the "Achoo!" pop up on the screen as it zoomed in on an itchy 1/1/46, I was like "WAAAAH SO MY BOI MAY TECHNICALLY BE A C/EL/L BUT CAUSE HE IS A PERSONIFICATION HE CAN IN FACT SNZ!"

I'm simping over a wh/i/te bl/o/od c/el/l. But can you blame me? Everything he does, he looks so hot and/or adorable while doing it. Just look at this gorgeous man. (Besides, if we think about it, he's also literally fighting every second of every day to keep me healthy, so why wouldn't I simp?)

#snz #al/an rambles #Wh/i/te Bl/o/od C/el/l #U/-1/1/46 #C/el/ls A/t W/or/k

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nobodybetterlookatme · 9 months

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Lmao whenever I see one of you guys in my notes on my main blog I'm literally just like 👀

#not snz #I'm like 👀 in the best possible way tho #tho tbh idk how some of y'all find me lmaooo #like i know i follow from my main and like/comment with it sometimes #but some of y'all i still haven't worked up the courage to follow or talk to or whatever #and you guys still find me lmaoo #like we love to see it but damn ahskalsl #anyway if any of you also look at my main hiiiii sorry I'm a freak there lmao #you guys are always more than welcome to poke around there tho if you want lmao

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mariailoveyou-guerin · 5 months

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Polin stans will always be better superior bc other cast get covers photoshoot but you’ll never see a Nic Luke stan being mad the same way Kanthony Simone Kate fans were of Charithra getting 1 cover/press it’s crazy even India Corey QC stans didnt do this when Arsema got covers

it really was just racism+ phobia because why was they so mad Charithra Nic/Luke getting 1 tiny cover/press but you wont see a single QC India Corey stan mad Arsema got it or polin Luke/nic fans when Hannah rest of cast are getting covers photoshoot press left right on polin szn!

and why should (even have the right to speak on it?) we it’s so weird it’s a whole cast show ofc they can/should do press covers photoshoot without us having any say but the way kanthony Simone Kate stans did Luke charithra for getting few press interviews + 1 tiny cover insane

the fact they thought they had any right to even speak like I could never have the audacity to speak on why an actor doing their job was getting covers photoshoots or doing press in assemble show I could never but kanthony Simone kaye stans they truly insane to have such audacity

I say can as if I have any right to give permission or as if they asking us N/L polin stans for permission! but the audacity that kanthony Kate simone stans had over Charithra nic even like when all they got where few press interviews on show they are on and 1.5 cover each! SICK!

Anyways just wanna say I’m so proud of polin stan for being mature enough not to stoop so low and childish as how kanthony stan acted during their fav snz such getting mad or demanding things of people actors they have no right to demand and get mad at people for doing their job!

proud of polin stans for being smart enough not to be having a tantrum every 5s seeing the other actors in the show their favs are in doing covers photoshoot and press just bc it’s polin szn bc that’s crazy miserable people sh*t like Kate Simone kanthony stans! Keep up polins 👍🏾

‪Like imagine if we Nic Luke polin stans had a tantrum if anytime an actor other then szn main had a cover or photoshoot or did press saying sh*t how dare they its not their season theyr just background character😂it would be so childish and very much miserable big loser behaviour‬

‪the funny sad pathetic thing is even tho it’s polin season/show they still acting like they did during their fav szn getting mad at actors doing press/covers photoshoot for that show actors other then their favs still even when it’s not their fav season anymore truly children all of them every Kate Simone kanthony stans! ‬

#polin #colin bridgerton #luke newton #nicola coughlan #charithra chandran #edwina sharma #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kanthony #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #hannah dodd #india amarteifio #corey mylchreest #arsema thomas #lady danbury #queen charlotte

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guppygiggles · 8 months

Text

⚠️ MINORS and no-age blogs DNI ⚠️

I make intimate and romantic content that is not intended for children. If you don't have your age in your bio or pinned, I will block you. Just because I don't make sexual/graphic/explicit content does not mean my content is child-friendly.

Also -- and I can't even believe I have to say this -- do not reblog my art with any language that promotes incest or ships involving minors.

Hello! I'm Casper. I make tickling art and fics featuring my OCs and my friends' OCs.

My three main OCs are Avery Nimbus, Casper Reid, and Finnegan Reed. Here's an art piece featuring the three of them together!

I also have a sideblog for sneezing, which is here. Please be aware that my snz blog contains suggestive and NSFW content that is not tagged consistently.

Tag Directory

#fluffyart - my art

#fluffychatter - my text posts

#notfluffytickles - block this tag if you don't want to see my vent art. Even when I use this tag, I always put art that is scary, sad, or strange under a cut, just in case.

#fluffyspice - sometimes, the art I make between Casper and Avery is more on the suggestive side. This might involve one or both of them being shirtless, kisses on tickle spots, expressions of pleasure from being tickled, hypnosis, or suggestive language. When I use this tag, I will also state in the tags why I have used it. I will not use this tag for art that involves bondage without any other suggestive elements.

Fic Directory

My main fic is called "Like Real People Do." It is a love story between my sona, Casper, and the sweet cloud-man named Avery Nimbus.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

I also have an AU called "Sea and Sky" which is meant to be more freeform and episodic, and as such, can be read in any order. It takes place in a fantasy world where more races than just cloudfolk and humans exist. In this world, Finnegan, Avery, and Casper live in Avery's lighthouse together and get up to all kinds of fluffy and tickly shenanigans.

Summer Fluff (Lee!Finnegan, upperbody)

Nightmares (No tickling, hurt + comfort)

What's in a Name? (Lee!Finnegan, upperbody)

Let's get physical! (Fluff, tickling for all three!)

Here are some brainrot-fueled oneshots between Casper and Avery that don't really take place in either universe. I usually write these for comfort.

Tickle Ramble (Lee!Avery, foot-focused)

Say it! (Lee!Casper, upperbody, heavy hurt + comfort)

Test Subject (Lee!Casper, upperbody)

Right Here~? (Lee!Casper, upperbody, heavy underarm focus)

Fluffy Panic (Lee!Reader, Ler!Avery)

Sometimes, I like to write teases directed at nobody in particular. Here's a directory of those!

The way I wanna get you~

You're so cute!

Morning tickles

Morning tickles (for early risers)

A love letter to shy lees

Ler brainrot

A love letter to lees in general!

Favorite spots

Under the chin~?

Ask me again...

Love letter to tickling

Comic Directory

Where it all started. I made my first comic in January of 2024, a few weeks after I started drawing. My art style was very inconsistent (and clearly still is), but I will include these here as I think they are important to the history of this blog.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

FAQ

Generally, I like getting asks! I do try to answer most of them, but I have also provided some answers to frequent questions under the cut.

Who can interact:

Adults! SFW and NSFW blogs can interact.

Who cannot interact:

Minors! I make content that is romantic, intimate, and sometimes suggestive. I am not comfortable with minors interacting with me. Please respect this.

Spam likes:

I actually don't mind this, provided you are an adult and your bio/pinned says so. Just be aware that I am definitely going to notice if you do this, and I am going to block you ASAP if you're a minor or I don't see an age.

Requests:

As much as I would love to take requests, unfortunately, I do not have time right now.

DMs:

If you're an adult, yes! I love making friends! I am happily married though, so please don't come at me with that kind of intent, haha. I am also really bad at remembering to respond... I have a full-time job and social life. Please don't take it personally.

Art Trades:

If you are interested in an art trade, feel free to DM me! I am generally open to trades and will usually try to work something out with you, provided I am not in a busy season at my job.

Commissions:

I do not take commissions and I have no plans to, I'm sorry.

Drawing/Writing my characters:

I love when people draw or write my characters! Here are my boundary sheets for Avery and Casper. If something is not covered here that you'd like to clarify, feel free to ask!

What I will post/reblog:

Art and fics featuring romantic tickles, platonic/friendly tickles, kissing, cuddling, fluff. There will be light bondage/restraints, like hands being pinned down, and sometimes intimate/suggestive/adult themes. Heavily suggestive posts will be tagged #fluffyspice.

What I will not post/reblog:

Genital nudity, real-life tickling gifs/photos, and any kind of content involving these things: sex acts, minors, and/or familial tickling. I also do not make fanart unless it is of someone's OC (I will reblog it, though, whether I'm familiar with the fanbase or not... haha).

The only exception to this is if I draw my own characters as kids. If I do, it will be for lore purposes only and will never include tickling.

Blogs I like to follow:

Other tickling art/fic blogs run by adults. If your blog is mostly IRL gifs/photos of tickling, especially if it's NSFW, I probably won't follow you back, as I prefer art and fics to real-life content. No offense intended, it just isn't for me.

My personal etiquette:

I read and abide by the DNI of every blog I interact with. I expect my boundaries to be respected, too. If I interacted with you in a way you didn't like, please message me and I will apologize and fix it. Or, if you're more comfortable, just block me -- no hard feelings.

Other places I can be found:

Twitter and Tiktok!

Final thoughts:

Reminder, this is a sideblog, so if I follow you it will be from my main. I'm not going to say what it is here, but my icon has a picture of Avery!

If you read all this, well you're just a peach aren't you? 💙 Thanks!

#fluffychatter

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suddencolds · 2 months

Note

Not sure if you’ve answered this before or not (I’m so sorry if you have - I cannot find it)

Any V+Y sick and sneeze head cannons?

Hi anon!! Thank you for asking!! :D

Honestly I'm not sure what a headcanon means in this context (if I think something abt my characters, is it a headcanon, or is it just canon??) HAHA but taken to mean anything that I haven't officially written/acknowledged in the main series thus far, here are some thoughts I've posted to the OC server way back in March:

re: yves + how his snz sounds -

his snz is very vocal :') like you can hear his voice in the hitches and in last syllable especially,

usually the kind of loud snz that scrapes against his throat (+ can be a little painful if his throat is already hurting)

in general he loves to talk through buildups + talks as much as usual (if not more) when he's sick (this combined w ^ the first bullet point makes him wear his voice out very quickly, esp when he's ill)

really bad w stifling 😭 if he even so much as attempts to stifle, it's usually not very quiet and almost always results in a headache, so he usually doesn't even bother

good with covering actually, because he's pretty cognizant of himself + his surroundings in general; i write him snzing into the crook of his arm pretty often, and he turns away a lot from whoever he's talking to 🥹 but even when he can't manage to, he usually tries to cover in a way that's considerate to others

re: vincent + how his snz sounds -

his snz is generally a lot quieter (by virtue of just not being as vocal), but like. it can be equally forceful in terms of how it affects him physically

^ always a full body ordeal… he often like, jerks forward to accommodate the force of the snz (e.g. pitching forward at the waist)

likes to sneeze into tented/steepled hands (idk. i know this is probably not the best idea for a variety of reasons but i just think it's such a cute way to cover 😵‍💫 esp in fiction). + sometimes sneezes into a cupped hand, into a clenched fist, or into his wrist

very airy snzes with harsh consonants :') like you can def hear the flow of air. his buildups are usually like not too long except when hes suffering from allergies >:) then he'll have longer + more 'dramatic' fits

always defaults to stifling (smh) even when it is inadvisable (almost always) bc he doesn't like to draw attention to himself/it's a learned habit atp

If there's anything specific you're wondering, feel free to ask and I'll try to come up with a more specific response :D ❤️

#ask #thank you for the ask!!#scheduling this for when i'm out bc sometimes i feel embarrassed that i have too much to say?#afljkshjflaf i hope this is interesting to someone!

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sherbet-shivers · 5 months

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A Minor Malfunction Part 1/3

We need to ignore that this is 6 years late ashgdahls (I only just got to play D/etroit: B/ecome H/uman and my love for sweet baby boy Co/nnor is alive)! Also figured snz is still snz, so even if you don’t care for the fandom you might enjoy the main course anyway lol

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs — no need to drag vanillas into this! This is also my first time posting to tumblr at all, so formatting tips are always welcome <3**

Blurb: Connor suffers a little virus (Part 2 here and Part 3 here)

Characters: Co/nnor R/K800 (-centric because he’s babygirl) and H/ank A/nderson

Length: 4k+ words

TW: cursing, minor robot discrimination; no spoilers

“You’re quiet tonight, Connor,” Hank observes between sips of his drink. His name triggers the Android to lift his head and meet his partner’s gaze, which studies him conspicuously.

Connor smiles a bit stiffly. “You usually prefer me quiet, Lieutenant.”

His investigative partner groans. “Yeah, when you’re barking up my ass,” he scoffs, though his voice lacks any hints of malice. The two had been working a handful of Deviant cases together and Hank’s introductory disdain had subtly been reduced to something warmer. Teasing had become their shared language, which was a preferred change of pace from where they’d started; not to mention a great way to lighten the mood between all the rumors of homicide and an Android uprising. Still, in spite of their growing closeness, Connor doubted Hank considered him a true partner, let alone a friend, but at least the two were no longer arguing like they had been a few weeks prior.

“So,” Hank starts again, “what’s going on with you?”

Connor makes a face, even tilting his head a bit before glimpsing side to side. “Nothing, as we’re currently idle in a bar.”

“No shit, smartass. I mean what’s going on, as in why are you acting all funny?”

“Funny?” Connor sifts through his memory, trying to recall a recent instance in which he’d been humorous by Hank’s standards. To no one’s surprise, he comes up empty. “I don’t recall acting funny. Why? Do you want to hear a joke?”

“Wha-? No! Christ, nevermind; just forget I said anything you weirdo,” Hank dismisses.

Connor didn’t mind the rejection (nothing was personal to machines), but he was programmed to follow orders; thus, he re-quiets, following Hank’s lead.

However, just because he’s silent, doesn’t mean he’s inactive. An Android’s life was rarely dull given there was a full 24 hours in day to take advantage of. As much as Hank said he loved naps, Connor couldn’t imagine wasting precious work hours to sleep.

Even now they were technically “freed” of their investigative duties, but Connor still had plenty of personal maintenance to attend to. It was the daily obligation of an RX800 model like himself (all AI models really), and so he promptly runs a survey of his internal diagnostics. Aside from making his masters happy, it was an Android’s priority to ensure that everything about them is up to date and code — ranging from their adaptive software to the state of their hard drive.

At the same time, he decides to trace through the entirety of his memories, still determined to figure out what Hank meant when he said “acting funny”. Funny…the word repeats in Connor’s head. Human emotions and terms were somewhat difficult to diagnose on his own, though Hank’s recent company had introduced Connor to a wide collection of colorful language. So many terms denoted so many different meanings, many of which were subjective and therefore wildly confusing to a purely calculative mind. So when Hank said Connor was “acting funny”, what exactly did that mean? His type of humor was unique (and apt to change given his BAC), so maybe what he found funny wasn’t what Connor had originally filtered for. Or maybe…the term meant something entirely different altogether? But, then what did that mean? Questions like these are what made humans so fascinating and troubling according to Connor’s programming. He could run himself in circles for hours asking the same questions, constantly seeking meaning, searching for answers, decoding Hank’s unusual phrases-

Suddenly, an alarm goes off in Connor’s system, alerting him to some kind of error in his software. It’s honestly startling, catching the Android surprisingly off-guard for once. This…hadn’t ever happened before; at least, not while he was without a suitable guardian or engineer nearby. Thankfully he’s already wired to know exactly how to respond, and thus promptly performs a system-wide scan to diagnose the error in question. Within seconds, his answer is received, though to his misfortune, it’s little more conclusive.

Code: C5Y0091-24BC. Classification: Unauthorized Bio-Component Breach By Unknown Digital Error. Software Virus Suspected. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. CyberLife has been automatically contacted. Expect an update within 24 hours.

A single blink has Connor back in reality, surrounded by the musky odors characteristic of the many bars he and Hank frequently hopped. Hank is muttering something about the game with Jimmy’s bartender, but Connor hardly hears them.

Virus? Malfunction? How could that be possible? Connor had experienced software issues in the past, but many were easily patched or otherwise resolved by his masters, sometimes within seconds! So this was…unusual to say the least. He’d been warned of course to stay vigilant against hackers, obvious glitches, chain mail, pirated sites, FaceBook and other shady threats — it’s why he ran diagnostics multiple times a day. So how could this have happened? How could he have been so negligent to have missed something?

At least CyberLife had been notified, which meant he’d only have to wait a few hours for his orders on how to proceed; but until then, what was he expected to do? He was hesitant to trust himself, especially after being branded by his own system as potentially defective.

Malfunction. The word echoes through his system and encourages Connor to continue searching his recent stored memories. He weaves through the past effortlessly in search of anything that could stand out or explain his current predicament…and that’s when he’s reminded of what Hank said not more than two minutes ago. Funny. Had he really slipped up so poorly even he hadn’t noticed something but Hank did? What did it mean if a trained AI couldn’t catch a mistake while a human so easily could?

Connor chooses not to answer that question as he comes across a particular gap in his memory — one he hadn’t noticed until now. It was short — a blackout lasting no more than four seconds — but that may as well have been an eternity if it meant there was an absence of crucial information. Rewinding prior to the lull in time, Connor revisits a particular scene during he and Hank’s investigation earlier that same day.

The two of them had been assigned to a Deviant case involving an unnamed MJ100. The dog sitter had been out walking two corgis, both belonging to its owner when it was confronted by a group of six human protesters. After being cornered, the Android was jumped, pushed to the ground, and kicked repeatedly, enduring damage to its left ocular component and minor denting targeting its knee attachment on the same side. Its gait was consequently deemed unstable as it tried to pick itself up. As it could not recalculate its balance, it was knocked down a second time; and on its third attempt, the Android had defied its programming and resorted to fighting off its aggressors using heavy handed tactics and a nearby blunt object (presumably one of the protester’s sign boards). It then attempted to flee the scene but made it less than a block away before being tackled and deactivated by a local officer.

Weirdly enough, the next few details are a bit scrambled within Connor’s hard drive. All that is clear is that while investigating the Android’s body and calculating the damage, Connor’s vision goes dark — particularly after coming into direct contact with its bio components. It’s a startling discovery, and his vision only seems to return a few seconds later after Hank snaps at him to answer a question he’d claimed to have repeated once before.

Following that instance, minor things that should’ve caught Connor’s attention had gone completely unnoticed. His temperatures were running high and low interchangeably by several degrees, his system wasn’t adequately flushing out debris causing congestion within his gears, and even his processing speed — which usually ran above peak performance — was barely keeping up with that of a model two series back.

How had he missed all that? Surely he would’ve recalled Hank repeating himself, if not the obvious lull in time and all the issues impairing his components. Why couldn’t he put together a simple sequence of events? Just how damaging was this virus? What happened to him within that lost period?

“Hey!”

Connor glimpses at Hank, who is snapping in his line of sight. The old detective snorts once he realizes Connor has come to.

“Jesus, I guess even robots can be space cadets now, huh?” He muses as he slaps a wadded up stack of bills onto the counter and slides them over to the standing bartender. “I’m heading home to feed my dog. You’d better go back to the station and recharge yourself, Blinky. That fucking disc in your temple is going crazy.”

Without any further pleasantries, Hank takes off towards the door and exits the bar through a cloud of cigarette smoke. Connor meant to pay for his drinks and a ride home, but he supposed that’d have to wait until tomorrow. For now, it was probably best he follow his partner’s commands. After all, he was made to heed directions, and eager to run another diagnostic scan undisturbed.

Going in the opposite direction of his partner, Connor starts his way back to the police station downtown, occupying his walk by fumbling with the trademark silver coin he carries in his pocket. Hopefully all he needed for a fresh start was an overnight rebooting.

…

Connor Model Prototype RX800 — Serial Number: 313 248 317. Functionality: Below Average. Code: C5Y0091-24BC. Classification: Unauthorized Bio-Component Breach By Digital Error 2B9YD77158G. Software Virus Confirmed. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Self-Repairs Update Initialized. Time Remaining: 62 Hours, 58 Minutes, And 23 Seconds. System performance is being automatically monitored by and reported to CyberLife HQ.

The alert rouses him from his sleep mode. It wasn’t the best news to start the day with, but then again, neither was this creeping sensation bothering his nose and tickling his chest. He attempts another scan to source out the cause, but is immediately interrupted by a sudden, involuntary gasp. The reaction quickly proves out of his control; because in spite of trying to fight and diagnose it, his efforts prove futile as his chest inflates, mouth parts, and he’s bent at the waist with an unexpected-

“Ah’HTSHh’iew!” And another? “Iihy’YDTZSH’shH! Hh-?!” And another?? “hK’SCH’uh!”

He shakes his head and sniffles instinctively, more than a little surprised and uneasy following such an aggressive series of outbursts. He didn’t like that one bit, and could only assume that a reflex like that attested to the true extent of his malfunction. Not only that, but the annoying fluttering feeling in his face hadn’t been remotely relieved; if anything, it’d been stirred and hurled through his system like a shock of irritating static. He wasn’t familiar with automatic overrides to his manual settings, and didn’t wish to experience that again if he could help it.

Straightening his back, he ignores the blank gazes from his fellow policing Androids, who are similarly parked in their charging stations in rows running to his left and right.

“Excuse me,” Connor murmurs, not that any of his companions could feel offended by his unusual behavior. He’d only said it out of sheer obligation, though perhaps somewhere deep in his system he was also preventing being viewed as a threat…as unfortunately impaired.

A malfunction.

For the sake of preserving his public image, he would commit himself to being as discreet as possible. He wasn’t a malfunction, and he would set himself to prove it. He just had to get through the next two days without drawing unwanted attention or affording any more hiccups. He could do that.

Right?

…

For the first time since his creation and introduction to the public eye, Connor was experiencing…doubts. The virus he’d contracted was proving to be more difficult to supersede the more hours that went on. The rate of his degradation was…less than optimal, to say the least. For one, his bio-components (as predicted) were suffering unfamiliar glitches all over. His movements were sluggish despite a full night’s charge, and his data processing was running at a measly 73% speed — even slower than last night. His internal temperatures were rising and falling like a seesaw; the balance constantly tipped between too hot and too cold. It was starting to affect his bio regulators, which couldn’t decide if he needed to start letting off steam or shiver through the morning. Thankfully, these ailments weren’t too difficult to hide so long as he was diligent in monitoring them and constantly tracking their progression. As soon as something was apt to change, he was quick to process a solution in order to appear as normal and high functioning as possible.

What he couldn’t predict nor control was the sudden influx of outbursts.

It’d only been a handful of hours since he “woke”, and even less time since the station opened up to its human staff; and already, Connor was slipping up here and there. As an Android, people paid him little attention (which actually worked in his favor), but that didn’t mean he wasn’t concerned over being reported by a fellow Android or a stray, observant human. After all, he’d discovered that no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t do much to prevent-

“Iiy’aASCH’hiEW!”

That. He despised the act itself, and grew frustrated every time it took him by surprise. Why was it so difficult to challenge or prepare for? If he had just a little more notice, he could stop himself or at least attempt to override its command. However, every time he tried, he just couldn’t. He was being outplayed by an infraction, a glitch — a minor one at that! — and that only added to the frustration gnawing at his senses.

As if the lack of control alone wasn’t bad enough, he was also starting to tire of the persistent, crawling itch tracing his nose and teasing at the inner cavity. It was terribly irritating, prompting him to pinch and rub at his face, or sweep a knuckle under the sensitive (and offending) appendage. But doing so often only relit the flame, like a match reigniting a fire so close to dying, but reluctant to fade out. Even now, just as he earns some relief thanks to a series of sniffling and scrubbing, he feels that ember kicking up again; tickling and teasing against his inner sinuses until he’s forced to-

“eE’SHYIU’Uui! ‘dSHH!…ha’hh-! uH’-!”

The final one teases him, so much so he isn’t even certain it’s the last one. He’s aware he must look ridiculous — an Android caught in a hysteric limbo, interrupted by a dysfunction that it’d never succumb to before, let alone conceived. He tries desperately to fight it — to prove he can use sheer logic to overcome his own reflex, but the itch is just too overwhelming, causing his eyes to squint and lips to quiver. So after a few good seconds of rebelling against the inevitable, he hastily pardons himself to the station’s supply closet, locks the door behind him, and surrenders to his system.

In his clumsy haste however, he had managed to knock over a few spare broomsticks, and even rattled a small tower of cardboard boxes. His vision was immediately clouded by a puff of gray, but he didn’t have much time to observe or clean up the mess since he was already too busy-

“ae’ESHHEW’ww! Aa’KSCH’yIEW! T’tdSSH’yiEW!”

Was it getting worse?! Between hitching breaths Connor struggles to perform another scan. He interrupts himself twice, but ultimately the result comes back, reading out in bold text: Environmental Irritant Level: High. Bio-Receptor Reactivity: High. System Override: Automatic. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 57 Hours, 22 Minutes, And 19 Seconds. System performance is being automatically monitored by and reported to CyberLife H-

“HHh’ITSH’hUuii! Ahh…h’ah-! H’-! H’PTzsSH’IEWw!”

They were stumbling out of him in pairs and triples now, every fittish burst triggering glitches in his sight and sending shivers down his core. He tries to keep them quiet by smothering his nose into his palm, but air manages to slip out anyway, making hisses of noise he’s starting to find…embarrassing? Perhaps shameful was a more accurate term, on second thought.

Still caught between sneezing or not sneezing, he squints through bubbling gasps and hones in on his immediate area. His specs focus in on the particles of dust scattered around him; no doubt disturbed by his sudden entrance. His system classifies the debris as a common irritant. Ah. So that’s what was setting him off worse than before.

He shakes his head and scrubs at his nose with a free knuckle. Here he thought he’d finally found some reprieve only to cause himself another problem. He should’ve expected this or pre-calculated the chances of this happening, but of course little was working in his favor with a bugged out tactical unit.

“Hih’PTSHH’ieew! Ah’haaH-…!”

Seriously? How long did this usually last?

“h’H-…! Nnng…oH’H-!…oh…”

Connor lets out an artificial sigh, his nose twitching aggressively and mouth uncurling from a snarl. The itch hasn’t quite dissipated, but at least the urge to sneeze has retreated for the time being. As he scratches at his face and sniffs testily, he makes a mental note-to-self to avoid any more stale or dirty areas over the next two days.

He had to get out of here, before someone noticed he went missing or worse, caught him in the act of hiding. Reluctant to get dragged into another fit but eager to escape, he raises his arm and buries his nose against his sleeve — a courtesy he believes humans are commonly accustomed to when they suffer similar ailments. He then tends to the supplies around him, returning them to their exact state before he’d made a wreck of things. Once adequately tidied (both he and the closet space), Connor tentatively unlocks the closet and exits the shroud of its privacy.

The immediate change in lighting is too fast for his eyes to process, causing a temporary blindness that stings his circuits and scatters pixels across his vision. He grimaces unconsciously as he heads towards his desk, and to his surprise, the commanding officer is waiting for him when he approaches.

“There you are RX800. We’ve got a new report about a Deviant downtown. I want you to pull Hank from wherever the fuck he is and go investigate.”

The chief slips a manilla folder into Connor’s hands then readjusts the belt around his gut. Connor busies himself with downloading the walls of text in his hands, then blinks up at his boss with an automated smile.

“Of course, Chief Fowler. I’ll be sure to retrieve Mr. Anderson, and we will investigate the scene immediately.”

His response is somewhat obvious, but still, the chief approves of his confirmation, nodding as he starts to brush past the bot. Connor glimpses down at the data in his hands again, when suddenly, his captain pauses and waves for his attention. Promptly, Connor swivels on his heel.

“You look different, RX,” the officer acknowledges, more skeptical than worried. “More…,” he ponders for the words, eventually settling on, “blue.”

Blue? Connor couldn’t tell what his commander meant, at least not with his processing unit so slow to react. Did he mean sad — as in the human emotional equivalent of blue? Taking a guess, Connor puts on his best smile in spite of his state and shakes his head.

“I assure you I’m normal, Captain. Fully functioning and eager to follow your directives!”

He hopes his summery tone is enough to dissuade his captain’s lingering stare — which it ultimately does — however, instead of looking appeased, his commander only looks more confused before resuming his strut in the other direction. Connor shuffles uncomfortably where he remains, glimpsing side to side self-consciously in case other people have witnessed his untimely encounter with the chief. Thankfully nobody seems to notice, but in the midst of his search, Connor manages to catch a glimpse at his own reflection against Hank’s black computer screen. He leans a bit closer to get a better look at himself, and what he finds puts his erroneous state into further perspective.

His hair is disheveled, the corners of his eyes tainted with faint webs of static, and his cheeks and nose are dusted a blue color eerily similar to that of his Thirium — his blue blood. That’s probably what Fowler was talking about; and if that wasn’t already damning enough, Connor could only imagine what Hank would say (or think) when he fetched him.

Connor smooths back his hair and pats at his cheeks. He’d have to be extra cautious with Hank if he wanted to dodge his attention. It’d be a difficult task given the detective had already picked up on his mild dysfunction the night prior, but Connor was always committed to giving his best effort. Sure, it may slow down his rate of update, but likely by a negligible amount.

Confident in his ability to disguise his condition, Connor tucks the Chief’s folder under his arm and heads down the nearest hallway towards the station’s south exit. This would work, and it would be worth it.

Anything was worth it if it meant sparing Hank’s judgment.

…

By the time Connor reaches Hank’s house, he’s damp with rainwater. He’d made longer treks in the rain in the past, but this time, he’d failed to take into account how the weather would affect his weakened system. Currently his internal temperature sat at an unusual low of 57 degrees Fahrenheit, and his whole body was shaking to make up for the cold. In the short amount of time that had passed, optimization had dropped to 66%.

The only positive was he’d somehow managed to relieve the blue tint in his face, and the repeated fits of sneezing had died down significantly now that he was surrounded by fresh air. If he was fortunate, that’s how it’d remain for the next several hours.

The Android climbs the front porch, then knocks at Hank’s door (always in threes). As usual, he’s first greeted by Sumo’s barking followed by the muffled sounds of Hank cursing out his unexpected (but still somehow predictable) return visitor.

“Goddammit, not today you walking nuisance!”

At least he knows it’s him.

“Apologies Lieutenant, but I’ve been given direct orders by Chief Fowler to come get you. He wants us to investigate another Deviant case immediately.”

There’s no response. Connor didn’t usually grovel, but he had work to do, and it was starting to get pretty cold out there in the rain.

“P-Please,” Connor pleads, unintentionally stuttering thanks to the shivers wracking his system. “You know I can’t do this without you, Lieutenant.”

There’s another pause of silence, only this time it’s followed by a characteristic groan and the sound of footsteps approaching the porch. Right on cue, Connor takes a step back just as Hank flings open the door and motions him inside.

“Get your ass in here and give me fifteen minutes, huh? I need to change and sober up a bit.”

Connor nods as he follows Hank inside, getting no more than a few feet into the living room before he’s bombarded by Sumo, who licks at his shins and threatens to knock him over given his massive size.

“Sumo down!” Hank orders as he heads towards his bedroom, though the friendly Saint Bernard pays his master no mind.

Connor giggles as he kneels to Sumo’s height and proceeds to pet behind his ears. “Good boy, Sumo,” he consoles. Freeing one hand, Connor fishes in his pockets until he comes across a particular texture, revealing a hidden stash of spare treats he carries solely for occasions like this. He palms the biscuits over for Sumo’s pleasure, and smiles fondly as the hound licks them from his grasp.

“You better not be feeding him again, Connor!” Hank calls from the other room.

“Of course not, sir!” Connor answers, cooing as Sumo’s tongue tickles his fingers. The more he visited Hank’s home, the more he looked forward to seeing Sumo’s goofy smile. He was starting to see why humans adored animals — especially good boys like Sumo.

“Riiiight,” Hank drawls in return. He’s been a detective for over 20 years, so why an Android attempted lying to him about his own dog, he seriously didn’t know. “Hey, Connor!”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“Remind me later to tell Fowler to kiss my ass next time he sends me out into the rain. Swear that fucker doesn’t ever need me until the weather is shit,” he adds beneath a grumble.

“Will do,” Connor answers, still mildly distracted by the fluffy lump of love curled by his feet.

After a few more minutes, Hank emerges from his bedroom, dressed in a darkened leather coat, distressed blue jeans, and boots well past their wear. It complimented his grizzled aesthetic, which Connor was starting to find charming the more time they spent together. Hank must catch the way he’s staring, because he furrows his brows and gnaws at his bottom lip; a habit indicating some level of self-consciousness.

“What? I got something on my face?” Hank asks. It wouldn’t be the first time he left the house with pizza stains and booze clinging to his beard.

“No,” Connor replies, frankly. “I like your outfit. You look handsome, Lieutenant.”

Hank looks more perturbed than complimented, but regardless he says nothing but “Christ” under his breath as he brushes past Connor and swipes his house keys off his computer desk. As he does, the faint blush of his cheeks are exposed by the soft glow of his laptop’s LED. Connor smiles, rising to his feet and reaching for the door handle. Swinging it open, he beckons for Hank to lead the way.

Hank obliges the kind offer, but halts midstep just as he’s about to pass the pseudo-doorman.

“What’s on your face?” he asks after glimpsing Connor up and down.

The Android shuffles in place. “I-I don’t know what you mean,” he answers somewhat meekly.

Hank doesn’t believe him for a second, that much was obvious with the way he stiffens his jaw and narrows his eyes. Still, he chooses not to elaborate, and simply relents to looking back at Sumo, who has sidled up against his leg as a goodbye gesture. Hank gives the pup one last parting pat on the head before stepping out into the morose outdoors.

“Hold down the fort, Sumo. This won’t take long,” Hank sighs. “I’m not wasting more than four hours out in this goddamn shit.”

He starts down the front steps while Connor turns to close the door behind them. As the Android does so however, a dreadfully familiar tickle takes him by surprise, gracing him with barely enough time to tuck his nose into his collar — a sloppy and hurried attempt to suppress a mini fit.

“iihH’MFFSH’ui! ih’zZSHH! dtsSH’yiew!”

He sniffles carefully as he rises from his jacket and shakes his head free of the bothersome itch.

“Connor! The Hell are you doing?” Hank calls from the sidewalk.

“Nothing; sorry! I'm coming, Lieutenant!”

Sumo whimpers at the Android and paws at his leg, as though he senses something is wrong with his second best friend. To relieve the dog’s distress, Connor cups Sumo’s chin and scratches it one last time.

“I’m alright, Sumo. Be a good boy, okay? I promise I’ll bring Hank back home soon.”

With that said, Connor closes the door, tugs the handle to make sure it’s locked, then races after his Lieutenant. As he closes in on his side, another alert crowds his interface, reading: Functionality: Moderately Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-39BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Low. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 55 Hours, 50 Minutes, And 50 Seconds. System performance is being automatically monitored by and reported to CyberLife HQ.

He sniffs discreetly and steals a final pinch at his nose. For one of the few times since they’d met, Connor agreed with Hank completely.

Hopefully this is all over soon.

#snz #snzfic #snzblr #snz kink #d/etroit: b/ecome h/uman #co/nnor R/K800 #h/ank a/nderson #whump-ish #full-time lurker spotted

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