Shh... i'm daydreaming about women (with colds)

B’s in the middle of cooking dinner. They quickly glance over everything on the stove: Yes, it looks okay to leave simmering for a few minutes. Luckily, everything they need is right at hand: One cupboard door for a bottle of painkillers, quietly shaken out; another for a tall glass, filled with water at the sink.

“Here.“ Quiet, tipping the pills into A’s palm and then following it up with the water. A groans in relief. “Want me to turn the lights down?“

“Fuck, could you?“ A breathes it like they’re too far gone to have thought to ask. They press the cool glass against their temple, still hunched forward, curling in on themself like that will protect them against the pain.

B lets their fingers brush over the back of A’s hand, and then goes to turn down the lights. Checks on supper. Eight minutes before the timer goes off. They’ll have to keep an eye on that. Get to the kitchen to turn it off before it starts to beep. With the time they’ve got, though, they come back to A and let their hands settle on their shoulders. Maybe they perch on the back of the couch; maybe they stand behind it, pressing in close. Either way, they start in with a gentle shoulder massage, going deeper when A, slurred, asks for more.

“You okay?” B finally asks, still keeping their voice low. It’s obvious what the answer is, but they know from experience that A just needs some space to tell them what’s going on on their own. Trying to rush it will just shut them down.

“Just a tension headache.” Eyes scrunched shut. “Work sucked.”

“Mmm?” Leaving space, again.

A scrubs their eyes with the heel of their hand and it all comes tumbling out, everything that had gone wrong at work, “and I just couldn’t take it today, I don’t know why, I didn’t even have a headache then,“ and “the drive home was hell, I could barely keep my eyes on the road“ and “I just wanted to get home. To you.”

Maybe that’s a new confession, slipping out in a moment of vulnerability, or maybe it’s a familiar expression of long-standing care. Either way, B just lets them talk, and keeps up the massage, moving onto their neck, their scalp, and then down to their collarbone, encouraging them to sit up, to lean back against the back of the couch, to let their shoulders come down and back. One eye on the stove, and it’s time to get up, to do the next step in cooking, to keep the food from burning and the timer from going off. B eases off of the massage and pulls A in for a hug, arms wrapped around their shoulders from behind; gentle, gentle.

“Lie down,“ B murmurs. “I’ll let you know when dinner’s done.“

“Yeah, okay.” Pliant, letting themself be guided down. B glances at the timer again, and comes around the front of the couch. Down to A’s level. Their eyes can’t hide their concern. 

“Hey.“ Quiet, hand still moving on their shoulder, their upper arm. Palm coming up to caress their jaw. “You sure this is just a tension headache? You feel pretty warm.“

A shrugs– “I think so”– and shivers a little, and sighs. “I dunno. Maybe not.“

And oh, they feel so unwell, suddenly. A chill rips up their spine like a flame catching kindling on fire. A steady fever, one that’s been brewing unnoticed all day, spikes. They’re left shuddering under their blankets, but at least they aren’t wet anymore. And their comforter is so soft, and fluffy - they wrap it around themselves and screw their aching eyes shut. When their lover gets home, it’s all they can do to not audibly moan due to the quiet click of the bedroom door shutting in an otherwise blissfully quiet home.

“Babe? I’m home.”

“Oh g-god. I don’t feel good.”

“Shit. What’s up, honey?”

They’re unable to articulate the many ways in which they’re beginning to feel like garbage, so when their lover leans down to press a cool hand against their forehead, they catch their wrist with their own icy one, fingers stiffly curling against it.

even on a normal day, as lovely and fun as A generally is, they take a hot minute to warm up to people and feel comfortable in new social situations or with big groups of people they don't really know well. so it doesn't strike B as overly odd when A seems quite reserved when they arrive to the outing together.

however as time ticks by A is looking more and more disinterested and doesn't appear to be putting in much effort to get to know B's friends, maybe even seeming a bit impatient/blunt + short and they're starting to notice and it's a bit of an awkward vibe.

A excuses themself to go to the bathroom and B's friends shoot them a sort of "what's going on?" look. B's feeling disappointed that the whole situation isn't going better, so gets up to follow A into the bathroom with the intention of asking what the hell's gotten into them.

B finds A leaning against the sinks, and out of the dim bar enviroment and under the harsh fluorescent lighting A looks... really pale. have they always been that pale? they glance up at B with a look so shiny and pitiful it actually sparks a small ache in B's chest. clearly something is wrong, and B wonders how they didnt notice?

it comes out that A hasn't been feeling well all afternoon, but didn't want to cancel because they knew how much this meant to B, they didnt want to let anyone down, and A genuinely wanted to meet the people that were important to them.

I made a tier list for sneeze tropes! (Some of these aren’t necessarily snz, but for this tier list take all tropes in the context of the kink.)

Here is the link: https://tiermaker.com/create/snz-tropes-627013?hide=true (Note: this template is hidden, meaning only people with the link will find it! No chance of vanillas wandering onto it by accident. If you have trouble accessing it, shoot me an ask and we can troubleshoot.)

And I’ll go ahead and make it a tag game! I’m tagging @hiddenst0rms​ / @hurt-care​ / @gay-for-the-snz​ / @ohgodnonotthis​ / @salamanderskin​ / @shelikescolds​ / @sickhaze​ / and if I haven’t tagged you but you want to do it, you can say I tagged you! When you complete it, tag a couple other sneople (sneeze people).

tagging @clockworkflicker @mai-blossom @siickdays @honeysnz ♡

I’ll tag @sanquintina​, @bluechoo​, @da-illest​, and anyone else who wants to do this

A/N: howdy! so i’ve decided to write and post this fic in separate parts because i want to write each ‘season’ as i get to/experience them in my rewatch (so i’ve just finished s1 and i’m at the very start of s2) but here’s part one! premise of the project can be found here [x]

(( also if by any chance you’re interested in appropriate accompanying music, last year i compiled my own jim/pam playlist here!! [x] ))

pls don’t reblog to non-kink blogs!!

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Season 1 (June 2005);

Jim tended to notice things.

The documentary crew picked up on that right from the beginning. They always turned to him to capture his reaction to the often ridiculous, unorthodox things constantly happening around him in their completely orthodox-looking office. If Michael or Dwight said something inappropriate or borderline sociopathic, they knew that at the very least Jim would notice the wrongness of it all. They’d call him into the conference room for his little talking heads and know that they were going to hear a rational, more often than not astute (even if sarcastically witty) explanation of whatever strange events were unfolding.

So yeah, Jim noticed things. Especially when it came to Pam.

In the years since they’d met he’d noticed a whole lot about her. Had found it impossible not to; silly stuff. Like her favourite flavour of yogurt, for example. Or the way her nose scrunches up all cutely when she finds something super funny, compared to when something’s just merely amusing. Even the difference in her posture when she’s actually working compared to when she’s just pretending to when Michael does a random sweep of the room (usually looking for someone to irritate, rather than anything manager-like, but still).

He noticed the previous day when she looked kind of run down, movements/expressions a little sluggish, and she kept clearing her throat with what looked like winces while they were discussing yet another one of Angela’s cat parties. It was scheduled for this Saturday and Jim had gotten an invite, Pam hadn’t. She didn’t even like Angela all that much, but still claimed to be offended at being left out. He’d just laughed and joked that he should throw a rival party at the exact same time that she definitely was invited to. But he couldn’t ignore the little niggle of concern in the back of his head telling him that something was off with her.