MY CAT DOESN’T FEEL WELL SO MY DAD IS SINGING TO HIM
WHAT IS WHITE AND BLACK AND DELICIOUS?
MY COLD GLASS OF DICKS
INCORRECT MY PENIS INSIDE DIAMONDS DROOG IS BLACK AND WHITE AND DELICIOUS. ;)
You thought that Mr.Egbert was in love with the lady he mentioned, nor you ever had any sexual interaction with him.
#ONLY ONE IN HERE EXCEPT FOR THE PARAS
See? It’s just Kool-Aid!
Paras keep lookin at me ima hide under the table
I’m just sitting in the commoms and the paras are like let’s go let’s go
While this one kid keeps yelling its 59
((So I’m really sorry that this took so long and I will make an effort to not take this long to write a request again. Also, you can thank my fellow mod Solitaire from Sneezestuck for helping me with this fic because I was having serious writer’s block, heh. Hope you enjoy!))
“If you’d just stayed back at the hideout …” Droog had been going on like this since the four of you skedaddled into the van. He insisted on driving because ‘all of that sneezing is going to get us killed’. Not that you’re complaining really, it’s nice to just sit back, relax, and try to keep your nose from dripping everywhere. For the love of god you didn’t know that you had that much snot in you.
“If you would just shut the fuck up.” You shoot back, giving him a glare that probably would have been a lot more threatening had you not looked like a pathetic idiot.
You have your head tilted back to avoid any mishaps. After your previous sneezing fit, your nose is not giving you a break. When you’re not sneezing your nose is running, and your sleeve is starting to get uncomfortably damp from all of the rubbing.
A simple stakeout had turned into a full blown gun fight because of your fucking nose giving away your position. Had you been a different person who actually gave a shit, you would have felt guilty for putting the other three in danger, but really they’re used to danger. What they’re not used to, apparently, is seeing their boss have a sneezing fit and almost get shot because of it.
Droog shrugged “I’m just sayin’.”
Your response is a painful grunt as you close your eyes and allow yourself to drift off.
After you’d been shaken awake rather violently thanks to Boxcars, you’re inside the underground hideout ready to start telling the gang what to do next time when you’re finally over this horrible cold (well, you didn’t say that last part. Your health is none of their fucking business.)
You plop down onto a recliner-your recliner, to be more specific- and begin growling about all the shit your crew needs to get done before they get themselves killed. Droog counteracts this comment with a quiet mumble, something along the lines of ‘going out like that almost got you killed’.
Before you have time to respond, that horrible tickle swirls around in you sinuses one more. You don’t carry a kerchief, why would you? You haven’t felt this shitty in over a decade and there is no logical reason to carry around a handkerchief. Until now, God damn it.
“Hhhhh …” When your breath starts hitching, you know it’s too late to do anything about it. You just hope that the aftermath isn’t too humiliating. “Hih- oh for the love of- hihhh!” that is when you feel a soft piece of fabric pressed into the hand that isn’t hovering above your nose.
Out of curiosity, you look at the fabric, a handkerchief, and see its owner standing in front of you.
“hhhASTCHUH!” you’ve never been more thankful for a handkerchief than you are at this moment.
As you mop up your nose, Droog makes a noise that you identify as a chuckle. What a dick.
“I won’t need that back.” The smug amusement dripping from his voice is enough for you to thrust your knife into several areas on your body, or it would have been if you wanted to get up, which you don’t. Ever. At this moment you are perfectly content staying seated here until you drown in your own snot.
“You oughtta go to bed.” he tells you.
You roll your eyes. Droog is not your God damn mother.
You make sure to tell him that, to which he just scoffs.
He sits in his own chair and switches on the shitty TV none of you have bothered to replace.
You nod off throughout the hour, and Droog somehow manages to nag you about going to bed so much, that you actually do it. Well, it wasn’t nagging. Diamonds Droog doesn’t nag, he makes comments which could best be described as passive aggressive. Personally you would prefer nagging to that, but he’s your wife just about as much as he is your mother.
You don’t bother to change out of your clothes before you climb in bed, pulling the blanket over your shoulders. You haven’t noticed before, but it’s really cold down here in this hole. And loud. Every time a car drives by, the pressure in your skull gets worse. That fucking sound is driving you insane.
You have to hold Droog’s handkerchief to your nose just to keep your nose from running onto your pillow. Eventually you do fall asleep, after tossing and turning and trying to make your one blanket work for you.
You don’t wake up until you hear a sneeze e outside your door, and you recognize the voice so well. The sneeze is followed by several sniffled and you know he’s caught whatever you have. You laugh, because you’ve got his fucking handkerchief, and from what he tells you, he won’t need it back.