#feed a cold starve a fever

[daveydoodle]

Feed a Cold, Starve a Fever | Fact or Fiction

I have a cold and don't feel like eating. 🤔

#feed a cold #starve a fever #I don't feel like eating #just having tea

[spacebarbarianweird]

Fever

Summary: During your post-game adventures, you get sick and Astarion takes care of you.

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Tags: hurt/comfort, f!tav, established relationship, post-game

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Thanks @tragedybunny for being an amazing beta!

It's bone-chilling cold. So close to the Spine of the World, the snow and winds prove as merciless as demons from the Abyss. Tears freeze on your cheeks. Even Astarion, wrapped in his fur cape, shivers; the cold seeping into his undead body. He starves. The dark forest is silent, with no animals around to prey on.

"Astarion," you muffle through the thick scarf, "take a small sip, I beg you."

"No," he refuses yet again, unwilling to risk your life. Hunger and cold torment him, but he stands on his feet. Meanwhile, you, a fragile mortal, teeter on the verge of death in this frozen forest. Your back aches despite Astarion carrying most of the load. Your feet are numb as if submerged in icy water, and your throat burns with pain.

Astarion grabs your hand and lets you lean back on him. The nearest village is still miles away, and there's no chance you'll make it till sunrise. Nights are long, dark, and unforgiving. You need to set up the camp; it might be warmer in daylight.

But Astarion desperately holds on to his sanity, which he might lose if he doesn't feed soon.

"Astarion, please. We need to put up the tent. Sunrise is soon. I will just lay by the fire, and you can eat."

"We still have time, darling, and save your energy," he grits his teeth. The starving monster within him looks at you through Astarion's kind crimson eyes.

"Astarion, take my blood!"

He doesn't reply, leading the way through dark woods. If only there was an animal, even a rat. Looking up, you see the dark skies filled with prickly stars.

"What is it, my sweet?"

Suddenly, you realize you haven't been cold because of the snow and winds. You are cold from within. Your heart, lungs, and bones are freezing, much like what Astarion feels every moment since he died. "Oh, fuck!"

You realize you now lie in the snow, unable to move, as the air in your throat burns with ice.

"Wake up, gods damn you!" Astarion's voice is desperate, betraying that he' is scared to death.

You hear the loud thump when his travel sack drops in the snow. Then he works on your belts, releasing your burden. A moment later, and you rest in his hands.

"Love, I need you to stay awake. You hear me?"

But you can't say anything. The cold rips through your muscles, turning into ice, and you lose consciousness, drowning in cold, dark waters.

So cold, so cold. It's a freezing grip of death on your heart, killing you. You think of Astarion, imagining him beside your lifeless body.

… You hear muffled talking and open your eyes. You aren't dead, that's for sure, but there is complete darkness around you.

And you lie under something weighty.

You try to move but can't, your. whole body shivers. You are almost naked, tucked in animal fur like some barbarian child.

The smell wood and herbs comes to you. And fire.

Then you remember the sun. And how Astarion carried you in his hands. Horror pierces your mind along with cold.

He is dead. He didn't make it till sunrise. It burnt him; he is gone. And the village people probably found you alone in the snow and brought you here.

While you think, you realize there are people in the room. Two people, to be precise.

"It's a freezing fever," the female voice says. "You two would have been complete idiots if you'd decided to put up a camp. She would have been dead by now."

"But now—is she ok?"

Astarion.

You have never felt so much joy in your life. He is alive and here, beside you. You can't comprehend how much strength he had to pull to make it with you in his hands by sunrise.

"She needs to take the potion. And then sleep in warmth."

You feel the familiar weight beside you. Then, two hands get you out of the blankets and make you sit up. Your head is spinning, and you shiver, though you notice sweat on the healer's face.

Astarion smiles at you and brings the bottle with the potion to your lips.

"Drink, love," he says.

"The taste is nasty," the healer shrugs. "Make her drink every last drop."

The potion is genuinely awful, burning your mouth. You start slipping away again, and Astarion tucks you in thick blankets.

"And people say vampires are soulless creatures. They should meet you two.”

When the healer leaves, Astarion lies beside you over the blanket. You wish to hug him but are afraid of his cold skin.

"Are you hungry?" you ask.

You hear a chuckle. "You are at death's door, and you ask about me? "Take mine," you insist.

"Tav, darling, I ain't taking a tiny drop from you until you fully recover. There is prey in the woods. I will find it."

You want to say something else, but the freezing hand of the sickness grips your throat. You feel like you’re naked on ice, in the howling wind.

"Love?"

"It's still… cold…"

Astarion sighs and stands up. You want to cry, to beg him to stay, but you can't say anything as he leaves the room, closing the thick wooden door.

You feel like crying, alone, and freezing. The healer curses, "You, idiot, stay inside!"

You hide under the blanket in the fetal position, trying to save warmth. However, it's difficult since the core of your suffering is still within. What if you are dying? And you are dying all alone in this village without a name in the middle of nowhere.

It's been years since you left Baldur's Gate together, and you can't fall asleep without him by your side. Astarion is safety. Astarion is protection. Whatever enemy is out there to threaten your life and freedom, Astarion is always there with his fangs and daggers. He doesn't sleep—only meditates a bit—and he is your guardian when you are most vulnerable.

But now you are alone. Your mind grasps consciousness with the last bits of strength you have. The thick blankets don't let you move, and you lie like you’re in your very own coffin of ice. It's been a long time since you were left alone, but you know it's still dark outside. And then you realize you aren't alone anymore.

Astarion crawls under the blankets and covers your body with himself, placing his head on your chest. He smells like blood, the hunt, and forest. He has already pulled off all his clothes, and you feel his skin against yours, unexpectedly flaming hot.

You can only wonder how much blood he has drunk. Sure, his body gets warm after feeding, and the more living blood he takes, the more alive he seems. But this is different. You can't see him, but you are somehow sure his skin has temporarily returned to its natural living color.

You wrap your hands around him and stroke the scars. Astarion groans and adjusts himself a bit.

"I've been hunting," he says, sounding drunk. "The healer told me there is a bear attacking villagers, starved and angry. I found and drained it."

"You shouldn't have risked it."

"I wanted you to be warm. I know how it feels to have a freezing grip on the heart. It hurts. All the time."

You press him tighter and kiss his forehead.

With him in your hands, you finally fall asleep. You have a strange dream—a summer day in the beautiful mountains.

And there is Astarion beside you. He smiles, exposing his face to the sunshine. You want to tell him to hide, to run away. But he opens his eyes, and you stare at him in disbelief.

They are green, not red.

… When you wake up, you feel hot. Sweat runs down your back, and the blankets suffocate you. You get out of them like a kitten squeezed by its mother.

"Hello, my sweet. You are so adorable with this bed hair," Astarion sits on the floor with a needle and a thread. You recognize his own shirt in his hands.

"How awful do I look?"

"You look like someone who finally got better. But I suppose you could scare away some kids in that village. Maybe I should tell them you are also a vampire. Food or bath?" he asks.

"Food. I am dying of hunger."

"My sweet, don't tell me about hunger." He mockingly kisses you. He returns soon with a soup bowl. You try to take the plate in your trembling hands, but Astarion forces you to sit still like a baby and starts spoon-feeding you.

"Good girl," he chuckles. "The healer said it would take you weeks to recover, and you made it in three days."

"And you have been here?"

"Don't offend me with such questions."

"Oh, don't be angry."

With a full stomach, you feel much better and lie back on the bed, letting your body fully recover. Astarion studies your face as if seeing it for the first time. Then he lies beside you, allowing you to place your head on his chest. His skin is cold again, but it feels more like him.

"What is on your mind, Astarion?" you ask.

"I want to stay," he says. "Not exactly here, but I can't live like that anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"Living on the road. I can't do that anymore. You obviously can't either. I... listen… I've never had a home. Never had a place to call my own. I want one. I want one with you."

"Didn't you tell me it would be tediously boring?" you inquire. "I wanted to see what life has to offer beyond the city walls." "Astarion, it will be dangerous. No one would want a—"

You bite your tongue. "Sorry."

"Dealing with a nosey neighbor doesn't sound more dangerous than getting some weird sickness in the middle of nowhere. Besides, we can prove to people it's better to have a vampire of their own rather than be threatened by some unhinged vampire lord.”

"Astarion, I am afraid for you. People hate vampires!"

"And I am afraid for you."

You are both silent. You turn to him and nuzzle his collarbone. He wraps his hands around you. Vague memories return, and you suddenly realize you heard the voices while in fever.

"Don't die. Please, don't die. I need you."

A scared voice of a healer. "You are a vampire!"

"Please help her. I won't come inside. I will stay in the woods. Please, please, help her! She is mortal; she is dying!"

You remember being carried to the bed and a strong smell of herbs. "How did you two end up together?", asked the healer.

"She saved me. From myself. Showed me I have a chance to be something different from what I was turned into. Tell me what I can do. Do you need herbs? Ingredients? I will bring you anything."

And then the face of the healer standing above you. She came to check on you in Astarion's absence, and the feverish mind remembered that.

"You are a lucky to have him, girl."

You caress Astarion's cheek. "Would staying in one place make you happy?"

He nods.

"Then, me too." --

Tag list

@tragedybunny @caitlincat-95 @tallymonster @astarionsbeloved @lumienyx @fayeriess @aoirohi @elora-the-slutty-songstress @veillsar @astarion-imagine-archive @micropoe10 @starlight-ipomoea @herstxrgirl @theearthsfinalconfession @ashrio20 @not-so-lost-after-all @vixstarria @wintersire

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 astarion #astarion romance #bg3 #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion fluff #astarion ancunin #astarion fics #astarion x f!tav #astarion x reader #nurturing astarion #astarion fanfic #spacebarbarian fics #astarion angst #astarion hurt #astarion comfort

[corazondebeskar-reads]

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter six

well it’s love, make it hurt series

six: sometimes it just feels better to give in

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Summary: You have cabin fever and a rough morning. The Mandalorian finds a way to cheer you up and pass the time while you travel across the galaxy.

Warnings: bdsm, d/s relationship, established relationship, dom!Din Djarin x sub!reader, soft dom!Din Djarin, kind of intense scene, domestic nonsense, hand feeding, spanking, one (1) pussy slap, oral (m receiving), oral (f receiving), 69, rope bondage, sex pollen (intentional, Din only), Din Djarin removes the helmet but doesn't reveal his face, subspace, aftercare, no y/n

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 8: Sex Pollen/Sexual Competition, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on a03

3 ABY - Winter

It's day five of near-constant travel across the galaxy. You had worked on the way out, filling the carbonite, and now had nothing to do but return.

Yesterday, you had stopped for fuel and food. Taking the long range of bounties would pay off in the end; you had run the numbers, but for now, it meant things were a little tight. Mando never really lingered at the ports, but you hadn’t bothered to enjoy the market or the rusty crimson mountain range. The faster you got back, the faster you got paid.

It wasn’t as if you would starve. There were reserves; you both knew that. After it became clear neither of you were particularly interested in ending your arrangement, you shifted the way the profits were split in favor of a more communal fund for ship repairs, rations, and medicine. That budget was running low. But both Mando and you had your own caches of credits, earmarked for other purposes.

You regret the quick departure now. You wake up stiff and grouchy, like your body knew it missed out on a leisurely hike full of beautiful sights. After you drag yourself out of bed to stretch, you try to recover the day.

What for, though? There's nothing to do. You're over looking at the stars or the gray walls of the Crest. The datapad only held your attention for a minute or so before the tension in your chest built back up, and you tossed it to the side.

Getting out of bed proves to be another mistake. You burn your caf. When you try to dump it out, you spill a bunch on the floor and have to clean the whole galley to get the smell out. And when you go to rid yourself of the caustic odor and sticky residue, the fresher is exclusively sputtering cold water.

Fuck it.

You dry off and go back to the bunk, not bothering with clothes lest you rip your favorite shirt or trip and fall while putting on trousers. Seemed like the kind of thing that might happen.

You bury yourself in the covers and turn off the light, determined to sleep for the entire day and hope tomorrow was better.

Mando was elbow-deep in the wiring for most of the morning. A long trip was a good chance to update some of the non-critical systems. He was vaguely aware that you were up and puttering around the ship, and as much as he wanted to take a break and greet you, he knew he’d never be able to finish the job.

By the time he finishes and cleans up, securing the panel back to the wall, a couple hours have passed. But you aren’t in the hull eating lunch or fixing your jammed pistol. You aren’t curled up in your chair with a book. Even the refresher is empty (to his slight disappointment. He would have enjoyed the show).

It was unlike you to go back to bed. A deep frown settles as he makes his way to the bunk, and there you are, curled up on your side against the wall. He runs a bare hand up and down your leg, and you stir a little.

“Cyare, you okay?” he says.

“Uh-huh.” It was more of a groan than anything else.

“Are you sick?” His hand tightens a little on your calf, brow furrowing as he reaches up to feel your forehead.

You bat him away (or, at least, he thinks that's what you attempted to do. It was more of a weak flop of your hand before it fell back on the bed). “Nuh-uh. Sleepy. Bad morning.”

He settles on the edge of the bed. “Anything I can do for you, cyar’ika?”

“Nuh-uh. Lemme sleep.”

“Okay.” He sighs and slips back out of the bunk, but leaves the door open. The idea of closing you in there made something grind in his sternum.

He lets you sleep for another hour while he takes a quick rinse in the fresher before preparing a bit of lunch—or, technically, breakfast. Neither of you have eaten yet. At the market yesterday, while you were meticulously restocking and haggling with shopkeepers (he could practically see the credit-per-meal calculations crunching in your head), he had slipped a wrap of boiled tipyip, a crusty loaf of bread, fresh tubers, and a few fruits into the bag. With his own coin, of course, and insisted on carrying the bag.

The idea of you stressing over whether or not you’d have enough food made him physically ill. He trusted you to buy enough rations, but it was unusual for you not to buy at least a few fresh items. You were going to be on the ship for another four days.

Before working together, you had both lived that way. Bounty to bounty, ration to ration. But half the point of taking a partner was to have a better life. And while most of his credits went to making sure his people all had better lives, it hadn’t taken long to soften up with you around. He wanted to be soft with you around, or you’d spend every moment flinching away from the thorns you’d made your nest from.

Osik, he’d done the same thing, but he had the armor. The armor he’d been wearing a lot less lately. The past month or so, he found himself shedding everything but the helmet while you traveled. Never on land or at port, but hurdling through the frigid vastness, he preferred to feel your warmth.

Mando eats while he makes your plate and then, slipping his helmet back into place, climbs into the bed. He settles behind you and wakes you.

“S’it morning?” you mumble.

“No, but it’s time to get up.”

“No,” you whine and cover your head with the blanket.

He shakes his head, grinning beneath the mask. “I’m not asking, cyar’ika.”

You pull the blanket down to your nose and look up at him with big, sad eyes.

“Stop that,” he tugs at the blanket, “or are you trying to be a brat?”

You shake your head.

“C’mere,” he says, patting his lap. You scoot up so your back is against his chest.

“Open,” he says.

You obey immediately, but furrow your brows and strain your head back a little to see what he's up to, given that you are very much not in range of his cock.

He presses a berry into your mouth, which doesn’t seem to clear anything up for you, as you raise an eyebrow at him.

“Eat, cyar’ika,” he says, running a finger over your bottom lip.

You close your eyes for a moment as the juicy berry bursts on your tongue, and then you sit up and whip around to look at him. “Hey—” you started to scold.

“It didn’t come out of the budget,” he says, pulling you back down by the shoulder. A wave of affection spreads as you let him rearrange your body, despite your irritation.

You open your mouth to argue, but he fills it with a slice of longfruit before you can make a sound. You bite down on it like you wished it was his flesh, narrowing your eyes in challenge.

“I’m allowed to spend my credits however I’d like,” he reminds you, pressing a piece of stew-soaked bread to your lips just in case you got any ideas about speaking again. “If I want to spoil you, I can spoil you.”

You cross your arms across your chest but open your mouth willingly for the next bite. He brings his idle arm around yours, basking in the way you loosen a little, forehead smoothing over and exhaling softly.

“That’s it, cyar’ika, just let me take care of you.”

Once you had eaten a decent helping of everything, he brings his other arm around you and closes his eyes, resting his helmet in the crook of your neck.

“Are you still hungry?” he murmurs after a few moments of peace.

You shake your head. You're pleasantly full, warmed by the stew, and feeling lighter from the fresh meal. “Did you eat?”

He nods against your shoulder, wiggling you a little so you're nestled between his long legs, and sighs softly. You take the cue to close your eyes and lean your head against his chest, content to go back to sleep.

You should have known he had other plans when his hands started wandering, but to be fair, it was rare that you lay together without him idly fonding you. It didn’t always lead to anything; he just liked to keep you in a near-constant state of arousal through teasing.

“That way,” Mando had purred in your ear once when you whined, “you’re always wet and ready for me, cyar’ika. That way, I can just… bend you over and slide right in.”

You had nearly cum at the thought alone, and so, he continued to be an absolute menace.

Now, he helps himself to handfuls of your breasts and lazily rolls each nipple between a thumb and forefinger. You concentrate on your breathing, having learned well enough that if you let yourself get worked up too soon, he was more likely to laugh and walk away, to let you marinate in it until you were begging for him.

“Cyar’ika,” he says, pitched low and dangerous in a way that never fails to make you feel like prey. Uh-oh.

“Yes, sir?”

He grins at the tell-tale waver in your voice. “I’d like to try something.”

“Oh no,” you breathe, shuddering.

“Oh no?” he says. “You don’t want to try something? Is that why your poor, empty cunt is dripping all over the bed?”

You whimper and bury your face in your hands. He pries them away immediately, holding both wrists in one hand.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, sir,” you say, knowing how he hated it when you hid from him. You're squirming, now, and can feel his hard cock against your lower back.

“What do you say, cyar’ika? Can I use you? I think you’ll like it.”

You nod without hesitation, despite the way your heart rabbits against your ribcage. You had enjoyed everything he's done so far, but every time he starts with “I’d like to try something,” it usually involves something very intense.

“Let me help you forget all about your bad day.” His hand slides down to your cunt, and your hips buck involuntarily, trying to reach him. He snatches his hand away and laughs. “Be patient,” he warns, before cracking his hand down against your pussy.

You yelp and whine, a pout turning your lips down.

“None of that, sweetheart, or do we need to start with a spanking?” He's teasing, but you hesitate. “We can, if that’ll help.”

You nod, your hands twisting at the sheets to keep them from obscuring his view as you flush from your ears to your chest.

“Such a good girl, telling me what you need. Lay across my lap,” he scoots so his back is flush with the wall. He’s so proud he doesn’t even make you beg for it.

As you settle, he strokes the soft skin of your back, one broad hand splayed across your shoulder blades. “Count for me, baby,” he says before bringing his hand down across your ass.

The strikes are firm but not sharp. Your count comes out in soft moans. He watches as your skin reddens a little, the way your plump flesh bounces. His cock is straining against its linen prison. It was going to have to wait a while, too. He had too much self-control, and it certainly wouldn’t be fair to you if he got to take the edge off before starting his little game.

Not that it was going to be fair to begin with.

You’re sprawled now, limbs askew, head hanging off his lap with your arms dangling.

He pauses. “Are you seriously falling asleep?”

“No,” you lie. “It’s just so nice.”

Ooh, mistake, he thinks, and brings his hand down hard for the last hit. It has the desired effect as you yelp and startle from his lap, betrayal across your face.

“Out,” he said, gesturing to the door and pulling his legs from under you so you have to scramble to make room.

You eye him suspiciously when you land on your old bedroll.

“Something you want to say?” he says, digging around in a cabinet with his back to you.

“No, sir.” You bite your tongue and try to see what he’s doing.

“Sit down, impatient girl,” he scolds.

You sit, legs crossed. You thought about kneeling, but with no indication how long you’d be there, you decided to get comfy instead. It’s then that you notice the ropes on either side of the bedroll, neatly coiled. Waiting.

“Don’t touch,” he says as you reach to feel.

“How do you do that?” you say, flinching back and folding your hands in your lap.

He chuckles. “I know you, cyar’ika. Turn around and face the fresher for a minute.” When you’re settled, he sits down behind you and takes one of the ropes. “Can I tie you up, baby?”

“Please.” It comes out as more of a whine than you mean, but your every muscle aches to find out what it feels like.

“You just sit there and relax.” He pauses. “No sleeping.”

You snort and shake your head. There was no need to worry about that. You’re too wound up now.

He begins to wind the cords around you, softly explaining what he’s doing. You would have been fine just letting him work, but to your surprise, it’s nice to know what’s happening. It helps that his voice is so, so pretty. And soft.

As he ties the diamond harness around your chest, he brushes his hands against your breasts, and you can’t help but squirm. He lets you. You won’t be able to, soon, anyway. He ties it off and shakes some of the ropes, running his finger under them to make sure they aren’t too tight.

“Oh,” you whisper, reaching up to feel the knot against your sternum, cupping your cradled breasts, and following the rope up to where he’s woven it over and under your collar.

He lets you explore for a moment. “How’s everything feel? Any pinching or tingling?”

“No, sir.” Your voice is so quiet he can barely hear it over the hum of the mechanics.

“Hands together behind your head.”

You lift them up, fingers knit, and he adjusts them so your neck is cradled in your palms. “Is that comfortable? Think you’ll be alright with them there for a while?”

You hum.

“Cyar’ika. Need you to stay with me right now and use your words.”

You shake your head a little bit, trying to clear away the haze even though all you want to do is sink into it. “Yes, sir. And yes, I’m comfortable.”

“Good girl. Hold still.” He starts first with your arms, threading the rope around to secure your forearm to your bicep. He winds a cuff around each wrist and gathers your hair into one fist.

You moan, less in pleasure than in contentment, so he takes an extra moment to run his fingers through your hair, pulling it neatly back. He slides a loop around it and braids the excess through, tying the end and securing it to your wrists.

Your breathing is ragged. Every brush of his fingers is sparking straight to your cunt, your thighs damp.

“Relax, baby. I’m only halfway done,” he says. He helps you turn around and gently lowers you until you’re lying flat, face up.

He looks you up and down and scraps some of his plan. He had something more elaborate in mind, but he doesn’t want you to slip into subspace yet, and it doesn’t seem like you can fight it for long.

Instead, he takes one leg and bends it to your chest before tying it there. With the other, he bends it over a low rung of the ladder, and secures it so you’re spread and vulnerable. Finally, he takes the loose ends sprawling from under the bedroll and weaves them across your torso, crisscrossing until he’s satisfied.

He checks each tie meticulously, having you affirm your comfort, before he sits back on his haunches. “Move.”

“What?”

“Wiggle, baby. Squirm around.”

You try. When you find that you can only wiggle in place, but can’t actually get any distance, you moan.

“You like this, cyar’ika?” He doesn’t need to ask. Your cunt, spread wide for him, is soaked. But he likes to make you say it anyway.

“Yes, sir.” You’re flushed, but you couldn’t hide from him if you tried.

“Good girl. You ready to try my idea?”

You open and close your mouth a few times. “This isn’t it?”

“It’s part of it, baby. It’s preparation. But last night at the market, I found something very interesting.” He holds up a small canister. “There’s a plant that grows on the mountainsides there with a peculiar side effect, if inhaled. If I take this, I’ll be insatiable for hours.”

Your breathing is shallow, eyes wide as you stare at the little tin.

“Remember, cyar’ika. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t be upset with you if we don’t use it.”

“What’ll happen if we do?” You’re curious. “You’re already insatiable.”

“No, pretty girl. It’ll leave me hard. I’ll be able to cum over and over. Y’know, like you get to?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”

He laughs. “I was thinking we could play a little game. You like a little competition, right?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod, feeling a little suspicious again. You enjoy when he makes you suffer for his (and your) pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you from getting nervous.

“I want to see which one of us can make the other one cum more.”

“Oh,” that sounds fun, actually, so what’s the catch? “Wait. Hey, hang on. You tied me down.”

He laughs. When he’s like this, it’s just on the side of condescending that makes your clit throb. “You’ll have your mouth. And I’ll have everything else.”

“That’s cheating!”

He runs his hands over your breasts, pinching and squeezing. “That’s the point. Don’t worry, cyar’ika,” he strokes your cheek. “You kind of win either way, don’t you?”

He stands up. “It’s up to you. You say the word, and I’ll put this away. Plenty of other ways I can use you like this.”

You look up at him, a look in your eye he can’t quite place. “I want to.”

“Are you sure?”

“I trust you. And I want to make you cum. A lot.”

He grins. “Greedy thing. I’ll be right back, then.” He doesn’t want to open the container in the same room, doesn’t want to risk dosing you somehow. One of you has to be of sound mind for this, and he knows in his bones that if you use your safeword, he’ll stop. But he’s not sure you’d use it if you needed to, were you to ingest it.

It takes a few minutes, but by the time he returns to you, he feels warm all over. He had been half-hard already from groping you while you were tied up so prettily. But now, he aches.

“Can I blindfold you, cyare?” He’s breathing heavily.

“Please, sir,” you beg immediately, fairly certain of what that will mean. And you’re right.

As soon as the cloth is secure, you hear the soft hiss as he removes the helmet. He doesn’t make you wait, mercifully, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You moan and try to lean up for more, but your tether doesn’t let you.

He smiles, you can feel it against your lips, and you think you might lose your mind. You need him. Now. But he backs away.

He shushes you when you whine at the loss of his warmth, and settles himself over you.

“Oh, stars,” you groan as you realize what’s happening. He lowers his hips, letting the tip of his cock brush over your lips as he bows his head and parts you with his fingers. He dips his cock into your waiting mouth just as he licks the first stripe from your clit to your cunt.

It kicks off a chain reaction. You moan around his cock, and the vibrations pull a moan from him, as well. When you try to take him deeper, you realize you’ve been thoroughly tricked. You’re completely at his mercy, can only have as much of him as he lets you. Meanwhile, he’s teasing a finger at your entrance and sucking softly on your clit.

Suddenly, he pulls away, but slides his cock deeper in your throat. “Oh, and you can cum whenever you want. You don’t need to ask right now.”

Fuck.

It doesn’t take him long to draw the first one out of you. He lets you have his cock the whole time, softly thrusting as you suck and work your tongue. When he finally slides a thick finger in you, all the way to the knuckle, you cum. He moans into your cunt, pushing his cock down deep into your throat. He knows you like to choke on it when you cum, which—you realize later—was actually evil. Because it knocks a second orgasm out of you as you gag and struggle.

He pulls almost completely out, moaning as you suck hard to try to keep the head in your mouth. “That’s two,” he says, but it breaks into another moan as you flick your tongue over the slit. “That’s it, pretty girl, I’m almost there.”

He resumes fucking you with his finger, sliding another one in for good measure. He isn’t going to fight his orgasm. It’s not like he needs to try to hold out, and you deserve to get what you worked so hard for. So he thrusts roughly into you and spills down your throat.

He expects you to count or tease.

But you don’t. You gasp out, “Thank you, sir,” before opening your mouth again to wait for him.

“Dank farrik, cyar’ika,” he groans. “You’re going to kill me.” He slides his still-hard cock back into your mouth, and the way you take him is rapturous.

He resumes licking and nipping at you, kissing and sucking bruises into your thighs. You don’t notice the particulars of what he’s doing. Everything is soft and blissful. You’re only vaguely aware when you cum again, a gentle, rolling thing that makes you shake all over.

The world around you has narrowed. You might be floating, but thankfully, Mando has tied you nice and tight, so you don’t have to worry about it. You always love his cock, but right now, you think you might die if he stopped fucking your face.

The exquisite pleasure is just on the right side of painful. There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like a waterfall. You lose count of how many times he rewards you with his cum, how many times you cum just from feeling him twitch and spurt down your throat. Your jaw aches, and you feel raw all over. It’s bliss.

By the time the drugs wear off, Mando thinks maybe, maybe he’s too old for this. His back aches, and his knees lock up. And he’s so, so tired. But he’s still warm all over, and you’re so soft and beautiful.

You whine when he pulls away, but it’s a weak, soft thing. You’re too far gone, too worn out for more. He gives you another kiss before sliding the helmet back on.

“Cyar’ika, I’m going to take the blindfold off now.” He’s turned out the lights in the hull, but the adjustment might be too much still.

“Mm.” Everything is too heavy to move.

He slips the cloth off your head and warns you to hold still.

As if you would move if you could. That would be so, so much work.

You barely notice as he slides the knife, cutting the rope away from your body. You’re both absolutely filthy, but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t even think about getting cleaned up. Instead, he lifts you up and somehow manages to ease you both into the bunk. He brings the canteen to your lips and makes sure you take slow, easy sips.

Running his hands gently over you, he both checks to make sure skin didn’t break and admires the ridges of the rope where they’ve been tattooed into you. You’re limp, curled toward him, and he thinks you’re already asleep.

But then you nestle closer, pressing soft kisses to his bare chest, and he’s overcome again by gratitude, by awe at what he gets to have with you.

“Hey,” you whisper, later into the night. He stirs a little, too groggy to open his eyes. “Who won?” you ask.

“No idea,” he murmurs, and pulls you back into his chest to sleep.

*title from "My Blue Heaven" by Taking Back Sunday.

#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #kinktober 2023 #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #these two have me in a choke hold I'm sorry #these are so long because I go to write pwp and all the sudden there's feelings and budgets and ship maintenance #corazondebeskar-reads and writes #coming in just under the wire it's still the 8th here #make it hurt verse

[differenteagletragedy]

imagine the boys with an mc that they've never seen sick bc the mc got a really good immune system and then one day the mc is just sick in bed, all loopy, partially not understanding whats going on. So basically an mc that never gets sick but when they do its badddd.

-- Cove is PANICKING.

-- If you're still living at home, then he's going to your moms, his mom, his dad, just trying to figure out what to do.

Cove: Is it "feed a cold, starve a fever"? Why would we starve MC? How high does their temperature need to be before we take them to the doctor? Do we need to go to the emergency room?

-- But honestly, if you're living together, he's doing all that too. He's on google, checking your symptoms like once an hour. Will get soup delivered, he doesn't know how to make it (and he's not going to starve you, that's crazy).

-- By the way, none of the boys are going to keep their distance to avoid getting it lol, they'd all be in way too deep.

-- If you don't understand what's going on, he's going to think that's scary and he'll be tempted to take you to the hospital because you are precious to him. Will definitely call a nurse line or do a telehealth appointment, will also not leave your side until you're more coherent.

-- Tries to be strong for you but cries when you're sleeping because he's scared and he doesn't want you feeling this bad.

-- Derek was built for this though.

-- He's worried, of course, but he's a lot more composed. And he'll know how to make soup.

-- Will also know everything else on how best to treat you. He'll make sure you stay hydrated, will help you to the bathroom. Like he's gently wiping the sweat from your forehead or the snot from your nose lol, you will never have a better nurse in your life.

-- He'll talk to you and try to make you feel better even if you're loopy.

You: I don't ... I need to go to work ... the zebras ... *flails*

Derek: Shhh, honey, the zebras are fine, take another zip of water for me and try to rest.

-- He won't sleep until you're better.

-- Baxter though lol

-- It's not that he doesn't care, ok, he definitely does. He cares so much. He's going to call in at work so he can stay home and tend to you, he might even let you wear some of his fancy pajamas as a little treat.

-- But if you don't understand what's happening, then he's going to have fun with that.

You, a full grown adult with a full time job: If I don't finish my homework for math then I'm gonna flunk and I'll have to repeat the grade ...

Baxter, solemnly: That's terrible, dear.

-- He might go too far, but if he does then he'll feel bad enough to tell you when you get better to you can hang it over his head.

-- He will prepare a broth for you. He seems like a broth guy.

-- Will also lay in bed with you all day, having fun with your loopiness but also keeping an eye on you. Because as much as everyone calls Cove clingy, if he gets you back after the wedding in Step 4, then I hope you are ready for how hard he's going to attach himself to you.

#our life beginnings and always #our life #olba #cove holden #derek suarez #baxter ward #our life cove #our life derek #our life baxter #our life headcannons

[pixelatedraindrops]

A little drabble scenario idea I put together for @snivyartjpeg’s Kokolight Vampire AU 💜💚🦇

To Care for a Sick Vampire

Yuma seems to be even more tired/weak than usual one day and Vivia notices that something is wrong with him. He asks him if he wants to feed on any of his blood to possibly re-energize him. But to Vivia’s surprise, Yuma refuses the offer outright.

“You look tired, Yuma… Are you…hungry? Do you need to feed? I will provide for you anytime you ask…”

“…No.”

This concerns Vivia but then he notices how pale and sickly Yuma looks, even more than usual. He puts his hand to Yuma’s cheek, but it wasn’t warm. Of course not, he’s a vampire. They probably don’t get fevers to begin with since vampire blood runs cold. But he definitely wasn’t well, that much was certain.

Vivia decides to slice the palm of his hand with his large boxknife he keeps in his pocket and places it in front of Yuma’s face.

“You…need to eat, Yuma… Even if it’s just a little bit…otherwise…you won’t feel any better…”

Yuma looks hesitant at first but then complies as the scent of Vivia’s blood does tempt his urges despite his weak state. He leans his head down slowly and weakly licks and laps the fresh cut on Vivia’s palm. He does it very slowly, but he has a small expression of relief. Even if he wasn’t well, he did still want to eat. But he didn’t want to consume large amounts of blood in this state, in his fear of possibly losing himself due to the weakness and sickly feeling that he felt.

He didn’t want to cause any further trouble for the agency, especially the Chief now that his secret was out to him. He also didn’t want to unexpectedly hurt anyone if his blood urges had gone out of control. It wasn’t safe for him to be blood drunk right now.

At least, that was his worry since he didn’t really understand how his vampiric urges worked due to his amnesia. But he didn’t want to take any chances if his current state wasn’t in good condition. He couldn’t risk causing any more trouble for everyone.

Even if that meant… starving himself.

Thankfully, this small amount of blood that Vivia provided for him seemed to suffice well enough. He stops lapping the cut, looking up to his tall human partner above him.

“…Thank you…Vivia…”

After a very small feeding, he transforms into his little lilac bat form and he tries to fly. But he was still too weak as he falls downward face down toward the floor. But Vivia catches him in his hands just in time.

“You’re too weak, Yuma… I will offer more to you…after you rest for a bit…”

Yuma spends the rest of the day resting/sleeping on Vivia’s hair/lap/shoulder/arms. The poor thing was trembling the whole time. And Vivia continued to feed Yuma very small amounts of his blood whenever he looked too weak, to which the tiny sickly bat would slowly lap up like a delicate little newborn kitten. Over time, Vivia ends up with multiple cuts on his left arm.

Later, Yakou enters the sub safely after seeing that the two were not doing anything TOO weird while they were alone. Seeing Yuma in bat form probably meant they were done. But then he looks to Vivia in shock noticing his left arm is covered in bloody self inflicted wounds.

“Vivia!? What happened to your arm?! Okay, what kind of crazy blood ritual did you two do this time?!”

Vivia gently places his right uninjured hand to where Yuma lay, and a soft weak sounding squeak came from the tiny little bat as he was touched. Yakou also settled his freakout down as he heard the weak bat’s cry.

“Yuma is…not feeling well so…I’m giving him only small amounts of my blood for now… But the blood of the cuts…don’t stay fresh forever…”

“Oh, I see… well that’s not good. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Just…leave Yuma to me, Chief…”

Yakou didn’t argue. After all, he had no idea how to care for a sick vampire.

“Okay, but don’t you dare die from blood loss, you hear me?!”

Vivia smiled without saying a word further.

It looked like it was now Vivia’s turn to look after and take care of his weak little vampire partner for the day. Time to repay the favor for all the times he looked after him.

~~~~~

#rain code #yuma kokohead #vivia twilight #yakou furio #kokolight #vampire au #pixelfics #sickfic #sicknario #vivia is my second caretaker of choice behind yakou for yuma #the size difference is way too good #yuma being tiny sickly and weak #and vivia being his tall protector #i just love it so much <3 #so I came up w this little idea #idk if this counts as a fic tbh its more like a summary #sorry if I got any vampiric lore wrong I admit im no expert #I have to put yuma through it again #who do you all think I am? x’D #vivia taking care of bat yuma like a person takes care of their sick pet #he’s your responsibility now vivia you can’t be lazy this time lol

[merakiui]

I had a dream... even in my sleep I'm a slut.

Squid game au where you and Scaramouche are the last two players alive. You don't know what tomorrow's game will be, but only one of you can leave there alive.

Scara's a mess. You're an easy picking for someone like him. No matter what the game is, he can definitely beat you. He's older, smarter, and despite his small stature, he's much, much stronger than you.

Scaramouche is hungry.

He's guaranteed the win. All that money is his. He can pay off his debts, get that pesky doctor off his ass. He can purge the past, he can start life anew with enough money to grant him endless power. He'll be akin to a god!

This is what he's always wanted... isn't it?

Then why does he feel so... dissatisfied?

Scaramouche is starving.

He keeps bleeding through all the tissues pressed against his side in a makeshift bandage. No one knows he's injured. Especially not you. He could never let you see how fragile his imperfect body can truly be.

But the bleeding just won't stop, and the suit hanging on the door of the bathroom stall seems to be dancing to and fro in his blurry vision.

He thinks of you, waiting for him at the dining table for your last meal together. If he pretends hard enough, it's almost like he's getting ready for a date with the girl he won't admit he's obsessed with.

So he rips his track suit to shreds, pulling out as much of the stitching as he can. He'd kept the needle from the dalgona challenge, just in case, but never thought he'd need to use it like this. He bites his lip til blood runs down his chin, salty streams stain his doll-like face as he stitches the gaping wound shut.

A short nap on the cold tiles should quell his fever. You'll understand if he's just a little late to his date.

Scaramouche is famished.

When he finally arrives at the dinner table, he sits across from you. He'd never seen you all dressed up before. He deeply inhales your soothing sight, he drowns himself in your beauty, allowing it to wash away the memory of all the blood that stained the bathroom floor.

He doesn't talk much. It's never been his thing, and you've never minded. Maybe you even liked it. Why else would you cling to his side for the entirety of the games?

Scaramouche is ravenous.

He devours the steak in front of him. You're a bit hesitant, and he knows it's because your stomach churns at the sight of it. It's a sick game, really, he'll admit that. Making you kill each other and then feeding you a huge slab of meat? He has to persuade you to eat.

"You need it for tomorrow. If you don’t eat, you'll feel even sicker."

It almost sounded like he cared about you.

Even after he's done, his appetite isn't soothed, so he just sits and watches you struggle with the meal, playing with the steak knife to occupy his hands.

He's not as grateful as he thought he'd be when the organisers announce that he'll be allowed to keep it.

That night, Scaramouche approaches your bed. The knife is in his pocket. He'll make quick work of you. It will save him the time and effort of playing another game tomorrow, and it truly is the kinder option. After all, you hate these games. Why not save you from it all. It won't hurt. You'll be dead before you even realise you're in pain. He truly has a kind and benevolent soul, taking pity on you like this.

It's the right thing. It's what you need, and more importantly, what he wants. It's right.

Then why can't he do it?

You're not asleep. You feel him over you, a menacing aura consuming you. And then somehow, vanishes just as quickly as it appeared. The bed dips.

"Scara?"

He doesn't respond.

You sit up, looking at him. There's hardly any light in the room, but if you look hard enough, you'd swear his eyes were glowing.

"Scara? Are you okay?"

"No one else knows the name Kunikuzushi. You should thank me."

"Maybe I should just go back to calling you the hat guy."

Right. He slides the knife under your bed, the clinking sound lost under the chuckle he lets out. He forgot you were a snide little shit.

That night, the two of you talk. You talk and talk and talk, about anything and everything. He has a beautiful voice, you realise, and he tells you everything. He doesn't mind. His past will die with you tonight after all.

You tell him everything, and Scaramouche decides that you're the most tragically beautiful character he's ever read of. He loves you.

That knight you and the hat guy, Scaramouche, Kunikuzushi, tangle your legs and desperately fuck each other, swallowing each other's moans and whimpers as he kisses you senseless.

At one point, you manage to choke out, "Are you gonna fuck me til I'm too tired to fight back and then kill me?"

"Maybe I should."

Somehow, you're not scared.

That night when you're fast asleep, Scaramouche sits on the edge of the bed, watching you.

He's no longer hungry.

He kisses you, whispers an "I love you" that will never reach your ears and then fishes the knife from under your bed.

He goes back to the bathroom. The blood is gone. No matter. There will be more soon.

ANON, OMG.... SENDING YOU ALL MY LOVE AAAAAA!!!! SQUID GAME!SCARA IS MY BELOVED AND I CHERISH HIM!!! THIS ASK HAS ME CLAWING AT THE WALLS AND BITING MY FIST WOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

#genshin chit chat #meraki faves #BIG FAVE SO FAVE AMAZING FAVE THE MOST FAVE OTL #I NEED HIM SO CARNALLY #SPECIFICALLY I NEED SQUID GAME SCARA AAAAAA #i miss talking about genshin x squid game orz orz orz

[danytherelentless]

The Silent Wolf

Jon Snow x fem!reader

summary: winters are hard but Northern wolves endure.

warnings: implied/non descriptive smut

This is just a short practice piece whilst I get back into the habit of writing again. It's not that good, but I still wanted to post it.

It is winter, and there is not enough food to put on the table. Even during summer, you could find food to be scarce in the North, but in winter, the coldest of the Kingdoms suffered most from famine.

The snow had not fallen for three days now, a welcome reprieve. And in this reprieve, you decided it would be best for your family to have one less mouth to feed, an act not uncommon in the worst of winters, unfortunately.

You arose before anyone else, stepping over the three sleeping brothers which you shared a bed with, and began to gather your belongings and nothing more.

You leave before anyone has awoken, quiet and sneakily, and do not turn back as you walk beyond the clearing and past the treeline. It is dark, and you have no light, but you do not have high expectations of survival. If the cold does not pick you off, some animal will, or some bandit or other. Perhaps, if you lived long enough, you would starve if you could not find enough food. Alas, you had your pack with furs on your back and a bow strung across your shoulder, axe and knife at your hip so you would endure for as long as you could, and you did not simply plan to just give up.

It was four lonely months in the woods, enduring snows and storms a plenty, when particularly violent snowstorm hits. The most violent you'd experienced yet. You were as prepared as you could be and made camp in your small, lonesome tent, and spent days in the dark, nibbling at your food rations and water, pushing away the quickly mounting snow in your waking hours and going mad all the while. You already were mad, you supposed.

You fall victim to a fever and are unaware of anything happening around you anymore. But you do dream. A dream of spring and a giant wolf with white fur and red eyes. Of a handsome, dark haired stranger with stone, solemn eyes. There are younger ones as well, happy and smiling, and they look just like him. They laugh and run in the green field, the sun bright overhead.

You awake beneath a roof. Furs are stuck to your clammy skin, clothes no longer covering you. You feel panic and quickly sit up. Your head is woozy, dizzying as you try to make sense of your surrounding.

Two piercing red eyes are staring at you, a silent watcher at the foot of where you sleep. A giant mammoth creature of white fur. A direwolf.

You cannot breath in it's presence, cannot find the air to fill your lungs as it stares you down so intensely.

It is only when the cabin door bursts open allowing flurries of white snow in that you look away. A man dressed in the storm steps in and slams the door shut behind him, turning the few locks to it and baring it. A prison? You wouldn't mind a prison. Perhaps without the giant wolf, however.

The tall stranger pulls down the cover to his face, a handsome one. The one of your dreams. He pulls off his fur hood and shakes out his dark curls and slowly pulls away at his layers, unaware of your staring. He was sent by the Gods, surely?

He looks to you finally with those dark eyes, a solemn and tragically beautiful face. You try not to look shocked or guilt ridden. You try to speak then, but words cannot find you.

He turns away, walks over to the lit fire on the opposite side of the cabin and stokes it, adds some more wood. The albino wolf prowls over, remarkably graceful. The cabin is larger than the one you have lived in your entire life, and he seems to fit quite well.

Both wolf and master are silent, and ignore you as he sits before the hearth and heats food. He brings some to you in your weakened state once it is readied, before returning to his place, staring into the flames.

A day passes, and he has slept by side of the fire, leaving you to his bed unless he comes to give you food.

A second passes and you are well enough to stand up and slowly put on your own clothes once again, freshly washed, you notice. He watches you as you do so, the first man to ever see you naked, though you'd shared a bed and room with some of your brothers.

The third day, you dare to sit by the fire when the giant wolf is gone. You wait with bated breath for him to speak, for him to make a move towards you, and you struggle to feel any fear. Oh, you should, you know that. Men are vile creatures and you are at his mercy. Yet you have been deprived of any human contact for months, and it's made your rather careless.

You return to the bed in the evening, and it is after you have eaten that he prowls towards you, pulling off his tunic. You know he wants your body from that look in his eyes, that he wants you. And who are you to refuse? Has he not saved your life, has he not given you shelter? In times of winter that is as good as marriage vows spoken before the eyes of a weirwood tree.

He mounts you atop his furs and rolls his naked hips into yours with deep thrusts, and though it hurts, you cannot help but pull him closer. His flesh is warm and you so cold, a dragon made flesh. His head burrows in the crux of your neck and he bites down and you love it.

He claims you over and over again until you no longer feel any sense of loneliness. He sleeps naked next to you that night in his own bed for the first time since you'd awoken here.

The Old Gods must have granted you your dream of spring before winter has even met it's end. And perhaps with your handsome stranger, you would see the sun shine on a green field once again.

comments are looked upon fondly here, so don't be a stranger :)

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #jon snow #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #asoiaf x reader #game of thrones #got #got x reader #got x you

[wormwoodandhoney]

top 5 quotes about magic

And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it. - Roald Dahl

Books are a uniquely portable magic. - Stephen King

But all the magic I have known / I've had to make myself. - Shel Silverstein

This is how you begin in this world. These are the lessons to be learned. Drink chamomile tea to calm the spirit. Feed a cold and starve a fever. Read as many books as you can. Always choose courage. Never watch another woman burn. Know that love is the only answer. - Alice Hoffman

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper. - WB Yeats

#ask game

[yukizaldi]

I Got You

(MattyxReader)

This is my first fic I’m writing. Might write more. Starting with a sick fic because fuck it why not since I like fluffy stuff.

Basically you came down with a shitty ass fever and your bestie takes care of you

Warnings: pure fluffy content, evil cold, touch starved, friends to lovers

(Trust me when I say it’s really cute, also don’t mind me adding time skips bc my thumbs can be lazy sometimes and so is my brain)

Waking up to a cold is never good isn’t it? That feeling when you feel like your body is betraying you because the muscles are sore and you can’t really do anything other than to stay in bed is a pain. I really wish my bestie is here right now.

My bestie, Matty! Why didn’t I think that before?

I ring him up while I suffer in bed with the evil fever. “Bestie, everything ok?” He asks.

“Can you come over please? I’m really lonely at home right now.” I croak, my voice raspy from the soreness of my throat. He tells me, “I’m on my way now, darlin’.”

When he arrives…

He enters my room only to see me like death is about to reap my ass out of my body. Pale as shit, everything hurts. He placed his lips on my forehead, his cold touch against my hot skin.

“You’re burning up, my love,” his voice said softly. I open my eyes to see him in front of me, those curls, those beautiful eyes, the chest tattoo peaking a teeny tiny bit from under his shirt. Usually whenever he comes over, I’m all smiles, but in this case, now, I’m very weak to do anything.

“You’re here,” I say as I reach his hand. “I feel like absolute shit.”

“I know, love.”

He lays himself on the other side of the bed as he wraps an arm around me. He always does this when I’m having trouble sleeping, waking up from nightmares, or whenever I’m sick, just like today.

“Anything I can do for you, my love?” He asks as he kisses my forehead. I nestle into him, though part of me worries he would get sick too. “Stay, please.” My voice is almost gone at this point.

“M’not gonna leave you, darling. I’m always here for you, even when you’re like this.” He whispers against my hair, his fingers gently stroking it. A tiny shiver escapes my body from his soothing movements. I feel his heartbeat in his chest as I play with his fingers from his free hand. He hums a calming melody, lulling me to sleep. I love hearing his voice, especially when he sings. Phone call or physically. I had fallen asleep once it ended.

Two hours later…

Gone is he. I had awaken, the fever dying down a little. I think about my feelings over everything. Matty’s the sweetest guy I’ve known for a long time. Though he may be busy with tour or work, he’s always here for me. I have developed a crush on him over the years. I always waited for a kiss on the forehead, his little thumb strokes that I like. I always wonder what it’s like to kiss him on the lips… My face turned red. Why am I thinking about that?! I’ve been trying to hide it for so long. When can I tell him?

He has returned to my room with only his joggers on, his bare chest revealing the tattoo I like. He sits down on my side with the tray in his hand as he places it on my lap. “Brought you the broccoli soup you like and chamomile tea. Along with painkillers for later on.” He smiles at me. My heart warms up seeing him smile like that. What a sweetheart he is.

Matty gently places the bowl on my hands only to realize I’m still weak from the fever. The pains haven’t disappeared yet. I whimper from the pain as he lift the bowl from my hands, placing it back on the tray and strokes my arms. “Shhhhhhh,” he whispers. “It’s okay. It’s okay, darlin.’ I got you.”

He takes the spoon to feed me. It’s strange to some people but believe me when I say this. This is the most sweetest thing a man can do. Even if the other is being fed like a baby. The princess treatment, even when not asked, is really the best treatment ever for me and I feel so grateful for that. Content with what I’ve eaten, he hands me the tea as I take sips of it. I went straight for the throat, basically kissing him on the cheek as if to say thank you for taking care of me. Before thinking what to say, he gently claims my lips with his own. Soft and passionate it is. His lips are so gentle against mine. I can’t stop thinking about how good it feels to have his arms around me as we kiss. We pulled away as our foreheads connect. “I love you so much,” I whisper. “You have no idea how long I wanted to be with you. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

“I love you too, my love. I would love to be your boyfriend.” He whispers back. I nod and nestle into his bare chest. We both lay on the bed in each other’s arms. “Wonder what the guys gonna react now that we’re together.”

I think they’ll be happy for us.” I reply. I yawn all of a sudden, thinking the food and the tea made me sleepy. He chuckles at my sleepy eyes. “So adorable when you’re cuddled up with me in these blankets,” he coos as he strokes my head. “I promise to always be there for you and love you forever.” I smile at him.

“I know this is gonna sound weird,” I began. “but will you sing me a lullaby? Please?” It earned another smile from him.

“Not weird at all. I think it’s cute you would like that. You don’t mind any song do you?” He asks. I shook my head and tell him that I don’t mind any song.

“In case I fall asleep, goodnight in advance, babe.”

“Goodnight in advance, darlin.’”

He continues stroking my head and begins singing softly.

Now is the hour

When we must say goodbye

Soon you'll be waiting

Far across the sea

I love the vibrations from his chest when he sings. I play with his fingers a while.

While you're away

Then, remember me

When you return

You'll find me, waiting here

I feel my eyes begin to close. I begin to drift off to sleep as Matty sings the final chorus.

Now is the hour

When we must say goodbye

When you return

You'll find me, waiting here

#Spotify #the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy fluff #my first ever fic don’t judge me plz

[captainkirkk]

✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

BNHA

Razzmatazz by xylophones

Izuku has plans for everything.

He plans out what to say to the cashier when ordering coffee, he plans out his homework before even opening his textbook. He has a whole ten-year plan for how he’s going to get into UA’s hero course and get his hero license fully quirkless. He plans for every wild, unlikely scenario he can think of because his anxiety gets so bad if he doesn’t go through every possible outcome, every way his life could landslide into disaster–– but Izuku never planned for this.

For once, he doesn’t have a plan and he doesn’t have time to think of one. All he can see is Yagi-san’s lined, kind face looking resigned as he stares down the villain in his shop. Yagi-san, who is the closest thing to a father figure Izuku has ever had.

Izuku doesn’t think. He just moves.

(Or: Izuku saves the number one hero, gets a hero license way earlier than anyone wanted, realizes that maybe hero society isn’t as great as he thought it was, and everything just kind of falls apart from there.)

DC/Danny Phantom

Speed Dial by apotheosis_avaritia

"Please don't tell me you have the fucking King of Ghosts on speed dial."

close enough to be whole again by hailsatanacab

“If you ever find yourself in danger, go to Bruce Wayne. He will help you.” His mother had loved him, in her own way. If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have helped him escape. If she hadn’t, she would have dragged him back to the League of Assassins, to Grandfather. If she hadn’t, he’d be dead. She loved him, but she loved the League more. Jack and Maddie Fenton loved him too, they did, but they loved their work more. They loved their work more. -- After his parents react poorly to his reveal, Danny escapes to the only person he thinks can help him - Bruce Wayne. He doesn't know what to expect when he gets there, but it has to be better than where he is, surely? He certainly doesn't expect to be reunited with his long lost twin brother Damian. It's funny how things work out that way. Danny is 16 years old, not Phantom Planet compliant

DC (Batfamily)

Warm My Heart in the Sun by SilverSkiesAtMidnight

The valet opens the door as he places a ticket under the windshield, a hot breeze lazily snaking its way into the backseat. Then, he climbs out and shuts the door behind him, and the air falls as still as a crumpled quilt. He doesn’t so much as glance at the backseat window as he walks away, leaving Tim alone to wait. And that’s… that’s probably fine! His parents did say that going to a gala with them was something for big kids to do, and he already knows big kids are supposed to be able to be able to be apart from their parents without throwing a fit, so maybe this is why. Maybe waiting like this is part of every grown-up event, and that’s why he needed to be a big boy before he could come with them. So yes. He can be a big boy. He can wait, alone. It’s even kind of exciting! He’s not sure he’s ever been completely alone, without even a nanny nearby. He just… well, he wishes they could have left the AC on while he waits.

- Day 15 - FEED A COLD, STARVE A FEVER delirium | fever dreams | bees

wrong number by adelfie

There’s a few rings, then the phone picks up. “Wayne Residence.” That’s funny, Tim thinks, Mrs. Mac doesn’t sound like herself. -- On a hot July evening while home alone, eight-year-old Tim gets a fever. He means to ask Mrs. Mac for help — but ends up accidentally calling Alfred Pennyworth. Somehow, even in sickness, he wins all the hearts of the Wayne family in one fell swoop. Stranger things

Harrington’s Upside Down Training by PrettyRacing

Welcome to Harrington's Upside Down Training!

Look, Eddie has had a crush on Steve Harrington for, like, four years.  Steve Harrington is the only reason Eddie passed gym last year, because the grade was for participation and Eddie showed up every day that semester to watch Steve Harrington get all sweaty and all that glorious hair flop around.  Eddie is but a man.  Who is he to pass up another chance to watch Steve get all sweaty, perhaps shirtless this time?  And maybe proving to his freshman pupils that Steve Harrington is truly an asshole would be the cherry on top. 

Eddie is just here to ogle Steve Harrington and hopefully expose him as an asshole to his impressionable Hellfire freshmen. Things do not go according to plan.

Holding out for a Hero by ReginaNocis

“He was acting like an entitled jerk,” Will said quietly, looking at the ground. “Like he didn’t do anything wrong. Like there’s no reason you wouldn’t want to talk to him.” “Who was?” Steve pressed gently, frowning. He couldn’t really think of anyone he wouldn’t speak to. Not anyone who might be calling here. Will’s answer was too quiet to be heard. “... Who?” “Your father,” he repeated a little louder, starting to look miserable. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have hung up the phone like that, but… he really hurt you, Steve! He shouldn’t get whatever he wants just because he thinks he’s some big important person. You’re important, not him. I know I should have given you the phone, but I don’t want him to be able to hurt you anymore!” “Oh…” ~ AKA: 5 times the party defended Steve from his parents, and 1 time Steve defended himself.

Star Wars three rules (back straight, head forward) by queen_rowenas

Senator Almen continues on as though nothing is wrong. “Mand’alor, may I introduce you to Senator Organa’s brother, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker.” Leia can feel all of her hard work crumbling, whatever trust she had formed with the Mandalorians shattering before her as the Mand’alor slowly stands to his feet. Great, she thinks numbly, Another galactic war on my hands. (Leia Organa has never been one to back down from a challenge. Although advising the new Mand’alor in his introduction to the Senate and also trying to keep her Jedi brother from causing an intergalactic incident could prove to be a bigger challenge than expected.)

Clone Wars

in those quiet ways by lux_arcana

Day 1: adverse effects / wiping the others tears away

Obi-Wan, after a long moment, finally managed to strangle his vocal cords and force them back under his control. “Cody,” he said again. “Cody, I’m not - I’m fine. It’s a side effect. I really am -“ he took a breath, and sobbed on the exhale, emotions tangling up and threatening to choke him once again. “I know this does seem like I’m lying, but I really am fine.”

Cody’s eyebrows twitched.

“Sir, avoiding your emotions isn’t healthy.”

 Obi-Wan just barely resisted the urge to slam his head against the wall.

#been meaning to upload this for ages now #just been so busy #so!! i hope you guys enjoy #despite the wait #weekly fic round up #my posts #my fics #stranger things recs #sw recs #dc recs #dp recs #bnha recs #reread razzmatazz in a frenzy like a week back and it was just as good as i first remember #do you ever read a fic that you want to EAT because it's so tasty

[swerveintoshame]

Midnight vampire snz thoughts

Mild blood and mess mention!

I’m sure someone has already thought of this but, consider

A horribly stuffy, cold ridden vampire having to frequently pull away from your neck during a feeding session to take a breath, unable to breathe through their nose. You can practically hear the congestion in the small raspy breaths they take, trying to take caution to not trigger themselves into another coughing fit.

Still, it’s starve a fever feed a cold isn’t it? and they most certainly still need to feed they think to themselves as they pathetically sniffle, attempting to keep the snot from running down their face long enough to finish their feeding session, the thought of accidentally sullying your precious neck absolutely humiliating.

#snz #monstersnz #vampiresnz #definitely not related to anything recent 😳 #blood tw #lemme know if I need to add tags other than a blood warning #snzblr #snzario #snz kink

[mimilind]

Stranger of the Falls - Part 3

Pairing: Boromir x Reader

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 1700

Warnings: Graphic injury, blood

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

※※※

3. Healing

The man had not eaten anything substantial for two days so the strong potion kicked in almost immediately. You made use of his temporary lack of awareness to feed him a large bowl of nourishing broth and a jug of water, and he wolfed everything down hungrily. 

You waited until Maja had fetched Ludde before you began. A bouncing, playful puppy distracting you was the last thing you needed.

Then you uncovered the swollen area. Bracing yourself for the pain you must inflict – the drugs could never take away it entirely, just make it more bearable – you willed your hand to be steady and forced the hole open so you could sink the knife into it.

The sharp blade cut easily through muscle and flesh.

“Hurtsh!” he slurred, tears breaking out in his eyes and sweat on his forehead. 

“I am sorry; I know it hurts. I dare not give you more poppy extract but you may have mead if you like?”

He nodded. 

A large jug of mead later you continued. 

His fingers feebly scratched the mattress and you knew he forced himself to be still. A low, strained groan slipped from his clenched teeth.

Cold sweat had broken out on you as well now and your shoulders became stiff from the effort. Each grunt, each gasp from your patient felt like a slap in your face.

Yet you continued.

You had cut out most of the festering tissue but there was so much blood. You could not see the shard. But it must be there, this inflammation was much beyond a normal arrow wound.

You used a wad of your new bog moss to soak up blood. There… at last! Something black, deep down. With a pair of thin pliers you tried to pinch the edge, groping through the frayed tissue.

The man howled and his whole body tensed. “Uuuckk!” He was panting heavily, sweat trickling down his forehead.

You tried again. And again. His groans and writhing limbs made you want to cry, but you did not. You continued, and finally you caught the splinter. 

“I have it,” you mumbled. “This was the worst. The worst is over now…”

Slowly you pulled it out, afraid to break it in more pieces.

“Nnnggg…” He clenched his hands into fists.

You wanted to cry again, this time with relief. Wiping your damp forehead, you coated the wound with a generous amount of ointment and covered it with clean bog moss and linen.

Främling was breathing calmer. He looked exhausted and dizzy from poppy seed and pain. Before he dozed off completely you fed him a bowl of rich broth with potatoes mashed into it.

Not long afterwards he was fast asleep.

He slept soundly all night. You did too, completely drained, both mentally and physically.

In the morning the fever was gone, but Främling did not seem happy about that at all. On the contrary, he looked murderous, and when you brought a bowl of morning broth he actually managed to sweep it out of your hands. The earthen bowl cracked in halves, spilling its contents on the floor.

“You tricked me,” he growled in a slightly less slurred voice than yesterday. “Tricked me to eat. Uck you!”

“I did not trick you,” you bit back, suddenly angry. “I gave you broth and you ate. It is my task to feed patients if they cannot eat themselves. I already told you, I will not idly watch you die!”

He scowled darkly at you.

You forced yourself to calm down. He was entitled to be annoyed at being helpless in your hands. Yet, he was so much better already; it must have taken quite some force to swat the bowl away. He would be up and walking soon, you were sure of it.

With a softer voice you tried to reason with him. “See, I understand you are upset; I would be, too. But starving yourself to death is not the way. It is a difficult, slow, painful method. You are a strong man in your prime and your body will not allow you to kill it that easily. It will work against you, undermining your resolve until you are so weak you cannot resist the food offered. And that will set you back to square one. The same cycle will repeat itself and it will only be painful and frustrating for both of us.” You started to clean up the mess on the floor and threw away the shards. “You need to accept I will do my best to keep you alive, and your own body will do the same. When you are fit to leave from here, it is up to you what you do with your life, but until that day comes I will give you food and treat your wounds.”

You brought another bowl of broth, holding it out so he was sure to feel the aroma. “Come on,” you coaxed. “I am a good cook. You liked it yesterday, did you not?”

He looked at the bowl. His stomach made an encouraging sound. Then he looked at you with an air of defeat – and self-loathing.

“You win,” he said bitterly, opening his mouth.

Spoon by spoon he quickly emptied the bowl. His ability to swallow appeared to be restored, and though he opened the left side of his mouth more, he could move both sides now.

When he was done you fetched another one, mashing down potatoes and bread in it to make it thicker. He gulped that down too, obviously ravenous. 

He looked expectantly at you.

“I think this will have to do for now or your stomach will hurt.” Instead you fetched the mead and held the flagon to his lips. He managed to take hold of it himself and emptied it too.

When he was done he burped unapologetically and leaned back, looking unusually content. As if he had finally come to terms with the situation and would allow you to have your way.

Well, that was a relief, for sure!

You decided to use his new cooperation and let him help you change the bloodied sheets. It was a bit tricky to manage with him still lying in the bed, but when it was done you both were relieved to be rid of the evidence of last night’s painful operation.

Afterwards you fetched a bowl and began to wash his face, using a soft cloth and warm water from the stove. He seemed to enjoy it. His face became relaxed and the furrows in his forehead smoothened out. 

You admired it while you worked. Such dark hair, beard and eyebrows were so unusual around here. His lashes were dark too. They rested peacefully against his cheeks.

He was strikingly handsome. 

You moved on to the part of his torso that wasn’t bandaged. Now that you paid attention, you noticed many small scars, healed nicks and cuts from past sword fights. A trail of dark hair disappeared under the linen bandages. You followed the length of his arms with the cloth, fighting down an inappropriate twinge at the feeling of his defined muscles. This close, his scent wafted up; soap, warm skin, and something masculine. You liked it.

When you reached his flat stomach you hesitated. Suddenly it did not seem as routine to clean his private parts, but…

“No.”

You looked at his face and met his stern gaze. Secretly relieved, you pulled the blanket back up. “Right. Enough washing for today.” Instead you took a bone comb and began to ease the knots out of his long hair. 

He closed his eyes again. 

It made you glad that he liked what you did, and you prolonged the moment needlessly. When you finally put the comb down his hair shone.

“You have beautiful hair,” you said without thinking. You instantly regretted it and felt your cheeks heat up. You were his healer and not supposed to think about any part of him in any other way than strictly medical.

Thankfully he did not react with anger over your blunder; he just looked at you with his clear, gray eyes.

You tried to hide your embarrassment with small talk. “It feels strange to keep calling you ‘stranger’. What is your name?”

He did not reply.

“Why the secrecy?”

Still nothing.

“You know, with your mobility returning, you need to practice speaking.”

He gave you a sharp look. “I do not.” He spoke without even a hint of inarticulacy, clearly making an effort to pronounce the words correctly.

His stubbornness made you want to laugh, and something in his eyes told you he was equally amused. But he did not move a muscle in his face.

※

Your patient obediently ate anything you offered him during the rest of that day, and looked increasingly less weak. With the poison gone from the wound you felt hopeful he would soon be up and walking.

Meanwhile, you went on your usual rounds in the village. Visiting the elderly, providing potions and small talk, changing the bandages of a bedridden grandfather, checking on Maja’s mother Sigrid who was pregnant again, making sure she followed the nourishing diet you had prescribed. She was over forty and needed to be extra careful. 

In the evening, when you as usual slumped down in your chair, you felt him staring at you.

“What is wrong?”

“No bed?” he asked.

“I sleep well in the chair, it is no trouble.”

He frowned and indicated the bed he lay on. “Yoursh?”

“Well yes, but…”

He moved back, wincing slightly, until there was an empty space beside him. “Lie down.”

“I cannot; you are hurt, what if–”

“Lie,” he repeated. He said it in the voice of a man used to commanding others and not accepting no for an answer.

You obeyed.

Though you tried to stay at the edge, you acutely felt his warmth along your side. His scent filled your nostrils.

You fidgeted with the fraying hem of the blanket. This was awkward. How did he expect you to sleep like this? 

“So… It pleases me we are on speaking terms,” you said, trying to hide your nervousness. “I wonder, were you an army officer? You seem like someone who gives orders.”

He did not reply.

“A sergeant, perhaps?”

“No.”

“A captain?”

Silence.

“Where are you from? You came down the river; are you an exiled northern prince?”

He sighed and put his hand over your mouth. “Shut up and shleep.”

You lifted it with some effort. “Rude. But I am glad you are so much stronger already and your speech sounds almost normal. That is good news, indeed.”

“Jusht be quiet.” He turned his back to you.

※※※

A/N:

Why do people never have an extra bed in fics? :D

※※※

Parts: [ < Previous Part ] [ Next Part > ] [ Masterlist ]

Full story: [ AO3 ]

#boromir #boromir x reader #boromir x oc #boromir x you #boromir fanfiction #lotr #lotr fanfiction #lotr fanfic #hurt/comfort #healing #heroism #boromir lives au #reader insert #Stranger of the Falls

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

My Head Is Stripped

First posted: August 7, 2019

Focuses on: Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent

Favorite bookmark: "things that make me happy"

Tier: Middle-ish

This is my “behind the scenes” series where I indulge myself horribly by annotating my fics. Link to the fic itself above. Thoughts below the cut.

I am a deeply unhappy sick person. I rarely get sick, so when I do finally succumb, I am miserable and I, regrettably, make no effort to keep the misery from spreading. (Germs, yes. Misery, no.)

Clark's rambling, grumbly, petulant opening thoughts are very me.

Clark tightened his grip on his fabric shield and shuffled toward the sound. X-ray vision felt like too much work, so he leaned in and pressed his eye to the peephole. He wiped the moisture from his eye and tried again.

This fic was, if I remember correctly, one of those that was incredibly easy to write because it was less like creating and more like dictating. I sat back and watched them do their thing and just had to find the right ways to describe what was happening—or, in the case of Clark choosing to look through the peephole, explain why what I was seeing happen did actually make sense to be happening.

When the door opened, Bruce Wayne blinked at him. Just once. It was Bruce’s way of showing deliberate surprise, like taking a beat.

It's a very cat mannerism of him and I love it. I think I've used it in other fics, too.

Bruce Wayne didn’t look like he had ever wanted to discorporate in his life. Artfully tousled hair, tastefully expensive clothes without so much as a wrinkle, a good, healthy tan—even his shoes were shiny. Clark wanted to punt him into the sun.

Like I said, he's a crankypants.

Or the way Clark’s gripe came out closer to Dank ew, Wod’s Greadess Dedekdiv, wad gab id away?

I sat on my bed in my room quietly sounding this one out to figure out how to write it phonetically.

“I didn’t think you could get sick.” Bruce made a dismissive gesture down the length of Clark’s body, then turned away.

This specific line came back to BITE ME in a later fic in this series. We have elected to roundly ignore the error.

“Feed a cold, Clark.” “What?” Clark asked, though the word was muffled by the couch curtain. “Feed a cold, starve a fever. It’s a saying.”

I had to google it. I can never remember which goes with which.

Something cold and hard touched his face. Clark jerked and cracked open one eye. A thermometer hovered in front of his face. “Where?” Clark croaked. “I don’t have one.” “It’s mine.” At Clark’s look, Bruce shrugged. “Kids. Someone’s always sick at my house. Besides, I said I thought it was code, not that I was sure.”

Another moment for explanations, knowing Bruce absolutely would insist on taking Clark's temperature but also clocking that Clark would never own one and it felt a bridge too far to be like "oh it's on his belt next to the shark repellent spray."

Cool fingertips ghosted behind Clark’s ear, lingering just long enough to gauge the heat of his skin, then disappeared as Bruce retreated into the kitchen. “You don’t feel warm. Leave it in until it beeps, then tell me what the display says.”

He's such a dad. And no toxic masculinity here folks!!!

In the kitchen, Bruce was silent and Clark could picture Bruce’s long, flat-browed look. Barry called it his Don’t be stupid look.

That's what my friends called my dad's look. And mine. It's an inherited trait.

Also, Bruce mentions the thermometer's blue button which was literally just me describing my thermometer at the time, thank you, Target.

When the thermometer beeped, Clark pulled it out and squinted at the display. “Thirty-six? That doesn’t seem right.” “It’s in Celsius. You don’t have a fever. Good. How did you get sick?”

I thiiiiiink the chat had been having a discussion before about Alfred keeping the Manor stocked and this being his preferred thermometer brand. Or maybe just what Bruce was used to reading.

“You weren’t even there,” Clark whined, returning to the matter of the sickly translator.

No, because it wouldn't have happened if Bruce had been there.

There was a tug on Clark’s quilt, and the bare foot that had fallen off the end of the couch was tucked back in.

Such a daaaaaaaad! I was so delighted mentally picturing Bruce in his true element, sleeves rolled up, puttering from living room to kitchen and back as he got Clark's crap in order.

“Uhhh…” Clark struggled to sit up and keep himself fully wrapped in the quilt. “Head. Hurts. Feels… full? Like, full.” “Use your words, Mr. Reporter.”

Bruce grunted. Use your words… Ha.

I love them.

“I understand the saying is ‘Game recognizes game.’” Bruce gave another shrug. “I have the experience.”

I was dyyyyyyyinggggggg to use that line and the comments section rewarded me for the choice.

“Budge over,” he instructed, nudging Clark to the end of the couch so he could sit and rest the tray on the coffee table. Clark scooted and mentally added the phrase to his running list of words that made Bruce sound like Alfred.

I did make sure to weave that back in again in... N&N, I think? Yeah. In one of the Tim chapters.

“Bruce, I don’t think some salt and heat are going to fix this,” Clark mumbled.

Clark is so ANNOYING to make sick when he's not also robbed of his invulnerability. So many things we do to comfort sick people don't WORK if your skin doesn't respond to heat or cold or pressure!!

Bruce frowned down at the quilt. “Your layers are wrong. Where’s your linen closet?”

Bruce is correct, it is VITAL to get your layers right, or you'll overheat or freeze at just the wrong time and there might be too much PRESSURE and if that happens you'll just want to lay down and die because you're already sick and everything is the worst.

Bruce placed Clark’s head on his thigh just above his knee and said, “I’m going to place some eucalyptus oil under your nose. It’s an irritant to human skin, but it shouldn’t bother you, and the smell will help.”

I genuinely did not know eucalyptus oil was an irritant before writing this fic. My mom used to put it in a diffuser when we were sick, and I liked the smell a lot. Clark would likely not own a diffuser and it would be bulky for Bruce to carry.

A calloused thumb swiped gently at the corners of Clark’s eyes without comment, as if the tears were nothing more than the product of sinuses gone mad.

I just really needed them to be soft together, okay

Bruce’s hands, steady and sure, began to gently press against his face. “Facial massage can relieve sinus pressure,” Bruce explained. Clark doubted that any amount of pressing and massaging could ease pressure in a skull built to withstand an atomic bomb. And maybe it didn’t, but the contact felt good, and when Bruce’s blunted fingers scraped upward and began running through Clark’s hair, he sighed again and let himself relax against Bruce’s soft Italian slacks.

This was me DESPERATELY wanting Bruce to play with Clark's hair because that's all I want when I'm miserable and sick, and justifying making it happen any possible way I could. My dad, when he was trying to get us to sleep, would trace his finger across our brows, down the bridge of our nose, and across our cheekbones in a loop, too, and I wanted to add a little of that.

Clark half-expected a gruff “Goodnight, Clark-boy” from his pa.

My mom tells me this is a reference to The Waltons. It's a TV show.

Instead, Clark was enfolded in the subtle musk of Bruce’s aftershave as lips pressed to his forehead.

I wrote this whole thing so I get a little treat for me.

And in the cruelest of ironies, I posted this and not two weeks afterwards was sick and so so so so so so sad I didn't have a Bruce to take care of me.

#fanfic bts brain dump #superbros #bruce wayne #clark kent #fanfic #batfic #world's finest

[corvid-language-library]

Feed a cold starve a fever is such bullshit. Feed both. You need the nutrients, you need the water content from that food, you need the salts, you need the energy.

(Just don't eat big meals bc your body will heat up in a process called postprandial thermogenesis, and you don't want that if you're already running too hot. Cool foods with high water content like fruit or ice cream if you can stomach it are great!)

#chough chatterings #running a 37.8 degree fever but feeling much better after force-feeding myself plain onigiri and some apple #i have a kiwi ice lolly in the freezer for later and also some microwaveable plain rices and a loaf of white bread #the white bread is to absorb water in my stomach in the event of feeling nauseus again so i'm less likely to throw up

[sneezydarliing]

My piece for the 2023 snalintines exchange for @selfindulgentsuffering ! Hope you enjoy, and a huge thanks to everyone in the server for putting this together. 

Starve a cold, feed a fever

word count; 1,584

It begins the night before. 

The second Alhaitham opens his eyes he's thrown forward, sent into a coughing fit so harsh that he knows smothering his mouth with the blanket won't do anything against alerting his probably still-awake roomate. By the time he’s able to catch his breath, His door is already being opened, and he’s greeted with Kaveh rushing towards him, a worried expression on his face.  

“Love? You okay?” His roomate holds out a cup of water, and as Alhaitham takes it silently he can’t help but recognize the sweater hanging loosely off of the other’s frame. He eyes it, then returns his gaze to Kaveh, who huffs. “It was all I could find, okay? Jeez, come in here all worried and all you can do is be grumpy.” He walks out, continuing to mumble to himself about “being ungrateful” and how he’ll never come check on him again even though they both know better. 

The silence is welcomed. Alhaitham can feel an uncomfortable pressure beginning to build in his skull, and sweat prickles the back of his neck even though he feels fine temperature-wise. But surely it’s nothing. Sumeru’s grand scribe does not get sick. He returns to sleep with this thought in mind, brushing off what is easily a half hour of tossing and turning, occasionally muffling more coughs into his blankets. 

It gets worse in the morning. This discomfort has switched to a painful throbbing, and every move sends his head spinning. He essentially stumbles into the main room, where his roommate is currently making himself breakfast, humming idly along to some song that must have been on the radio. He was still wearing his shirt. The sound of Alhaitham’s fumbling brings him back to earth, and he looks up with an irritated expression, squabble not forgotten. 

“You look great this morning.” His tone is heavy with sarcasm, and Al Haitham scowls. “And you probably slept better than me. Your tossing and turning kept me up-” “hHI-Chht!” Kaveh freezes, interrupted from his angry rambling. “Archons bless you.” The saying is an unconscious habit, coming out of his mouth before he can even think of it. As Al-haithan sniffles wetly, he stops and looks at him a little closer. 

“Are you sick?” The frown on Alhaitham’s face deepens. He storms to the coffee table, grabbing his set of keys, and quickly slips on his shoes. He’s almost out the door before Kaveh gets an actual response in the form of a gravely “No.” He gets the ingredients for soup out anyway, huffing to himself. 

       As Alhaitham walks to the Akademiya, part of him regrets leaving at all. Every noise sends a jolt of pain through his head, his throat has begun to feel like gravel, and the first sneeze seemed to have set off some sort of chain reaction, because now he can't go five minutes without another one. There is no other way to put it, he was miserable. 

   It must have shown. Younger students looked at him with mingled concern and curiosity, and he heard whispers about how people should "try to leave him alone today." By the time he got to his office, he was exhausted. 

   Work ticks by at an excruciatingly slow rate, yet he can barely get anything done. It takes easily 5 times of reading anything for it to cut through the fogginess of his brain, and he finds himself spending more time with his head against the desk to help soothe his headache than doing anything else. Every conversation he tries to have ends in a coughing fit, and at some point people stop coming in at all. The rumor of the Grand Scribe's illness must have spread. 

Eventually, he decides to go into the library. Nothing will get done regardless, so he might as well pass the time somehow. Browsing the shelfs, searching for one of the few titles he had yet to read, left him putting how awful he felt to the back of his mind for a moment, able to focus on the moment, at least until the sneezing returned. 

Perhaps it was the dust. Many of the books had lived more than double his lifetime, and the careful tending of them could only do so much. Either way, it was exhausting. He flips a page. "hI’tsCHht-uh! nGt!." Wipes the irritated tears from his eyes, tries to continue, but the cycle seems persistent on repeating. 

"hiDt-CHt!" a stranger offers a blessing. Others glare. He still can't find himself absorbing anything on the page, and it's too hot in the room even though everyone else in there is bundled up. He swallows, trying not to wince at the pain. 6 more hours until he can leave. 

At some point, he returns to his office in a haze. The lack of staring eyes brings him some comfort, but he's reminded more of the work that needs to be done. The papers pile up on his desk, and it seems he can barely go any time without somebody bringing in more. Until somebody hesitates. 

They avert their eyes, fidgeting nervously. Alhaitham resists the urge to tell them to spit it out so he can go back to resting his head on the table. Finally, they speak.  "Are you feeling alright, sir?" He bites back a snappy response. 

"I'm fine." He croaks out, voice sounding much worse than he remembers. The sudden intake of air sends him muffling coughs into his sleeve as the younger student stands awkwardly, clearly unconvinced. 

"Uhm, maybe it'd be best to head home?" Their tone is sheepish and well meaning, but Alhaitham still wants to point out the mounds of work that needs to get done. He resorts to glaring. The student doesn't budge. "Who sent you here?" He asks, running his hands down his face, somehow even more exhausted. 

"Kaveh did. He said not to leave until you go home, sir." He sighs deeper than he knew he was able to. He silently weighs his options. No work will get done either way at this rate, and returning home does sound nice. Maybe he'll let Kaveh win. Just this once. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll leave." The student smiles, clearly satisfied. "I hope you feel better soon, sir." The words are lost to Alhaitham, though, as he suddenly finds himself gasping, head tilted. 

"nGt! hiDt-SHhih! "Archons bless you!" He can't help but groan a little as he stands, the world spinning around him, and he's left gripping the table for support. The walk home continues in the same fashion, stumbling around at a snail's pace until he's unlocking the door, met with the back of his roommate's head in the kitchen. 

"tSCHh’uh!" He sighs, pawing at his nose. Kaveh jumps slightly, apparently startled out of some focus. "You're home early." He comments as he turns to face him, revealing a cutting board strewn with vegetables. Bastard, Alhaitham thinks. But he decides to play along. 

"I got sent home." He explains half heartedly, flopping onto the couch. "Well, no wonder. You look awful." Alhaitham can't muster up anything to say in retort, so he just brings up a hand to block the light from his eyes. He can almost feel Kaveh's disapproving look. 

"Go rest in your room. I'll bring you some medicine." Alhaitham doesn’t bother to respond. His nose itches. "What hurts? I can call the doctor over to check you out." He shakes his head. Falling asleep here sounds pleasant enough, but Kaveh will surely shoo him out. "C'mon, go to your own room. It'll be more comfortable.. I can't drag you myself." 

"hI’tsCHhi!" Kaveh sighs. "Archons bless you. Need a tissue?" He shakes his head, sniffling. He can hear his roomate huff in exasperation as he approaches, and is suddenly hauled to his feet. He opens his mouth to protest, but he freezes at the hand on his forehead. He finds himself lost in Kaveh's expression, the way his frown deepens into an almost-pout, like it does when he's stuck on work. 

"You have a fever." Alhaitham hums again. He's led by his arm to his own bedroom, barely noticing as Kaveh removes his ear pieces, too focused on the way he hums, the way he runs a hand through his hair as he searches for something- pajamas, probably. Alhaitham sneezes again, and Kaveh blesses him again. Eventually, he seems to find what he's looking for, handing Al Haitham clothes. He just takes them, not even having the energy to change. 

Kaveh makes a noise of agitation, but Alhaitham feels as he carefully undresses him. "It's no wonder you're ill, sleeping in these thin clothes all the time." He can't help but feel a bit bad, so he sloppily gets to work on his pants, putting the new clothes on himself. He looks up once he's done, and Kaveh gives him a satisfied look that quickly switches to sternness. 

"I'm gonna go buy some medicine, so don't you dare move." He nods, punctuated by a quiet sniffle. He hardly notices when his roomate leaves, leaning his head against the cold wall for comfort. And, once Kaveh returns, it is to that very sight, Alhaitham snoring quietly, mouth slightly agape. He resists the urge to laugh as he sets the bottle of medicine on the desk by the bed, moving his bangs to give him a gentle kiss. "Feel better, darling." He says as he closes the door, despite knowing Alhaitham won't hear it. He can't bring himself to mind. 

#snz stuff #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #sneeze #sneeze stuff #snz #gen/shin #ali writes #sneezing #have this in queue which ive never done before i really hope it works

[yeastinfectionvale]

It had been a week since Luca had been taken away to what Valentino prayed was safety.

In a last ditch attempt to quarantine the infected, the remaining European powers had erected tall walls of Steel, welded shut to keep the Reaper Virus at bay. Valentino had grown closer to Dovi, the soldier from the helicopter. The pair had taken over fortifying the main area of Tavullia. With Uccio's help the pair had formed a sort of isolated society in the chaos.

Pockets of infection were barely contained to households. Vale gathering healthy bodies as enforcers, keeping everyone inside as they provided food, water and crude medical attention.

But food was scarce, too scarce for the amount of mouths they needed to feed. Vale couldn't sleep, hearing the cries of the young children starving in their beds. Many turned to prayer, the chapel warm with candles of hope. Winter was harsh and many died to the cold. It was a cruel answer to their prayers. Those who didn't pass to the Reaper Virus or the cold either succumbed to starvation or in their desperation had taken their own lives.

Spring came and with great dedication, a green-thumbed survivor was able to tend to a few edible plants in their home. They brought their efforts to Vale, als both gratitude to the man and a pledge for his rule over the village. Valentino was grateful for their alleigence and helped them set up their plants in a much larger area, volunteers at their disposal for tending to the crops.

Many came to the ranch, seeking resources, volunteers and advice. Valentino and Uccio provided resources and advice as Dovi went to provide manpower. Slowly Tavullia turned from a survivor camp to a fully functional settlement, nearly resembling what was before.

Then came the outsiders. They had trade with others, none staying in Tavullia. Until a handful of survivors decided to make it their new home.

First came Bez, a small pack of personal items on his back and a small dog circling his legs, one he later explained had followed him after he fed the poor thing. Valentino fed the boy the first warm meal he had in weeks and after some tears, Bez revealed how his family succumbed to the virus and how he had been wandering the countryside with his dog Rubix. Valentino sheltered him at the ranch, Dovi taking him on patrol around the gates.

Then came Pecco. He wasn't in great shape. He collapsed on the border of Tavullia, Bez finding him on the floor. He had a high fever due to an infected gash on his thigh. Valentino against Uccio's advice took the boy in, tending to him as he slowly recovered. Bez and Pecco were attached at the hip, patrolling together under Dovi's watchful eye.

Then came Mig, Celin and Franky. Mig pulled Franky and Celin on a dolly, the two so malnourished that they couldn't walk. Franky and Celin slept a good chunk of a month away, waking only to eat. Mig explained how he had found Franky clutching Celin in his arms, a small knife in his hands, keeping danger away. Franky had met Celin the day before the outbreak started at a holiday resort. He watched the outbreak begin, listening to Celin's parents beg his own to care for their son. Franky's parents couldn't keep their promise but he vowed to.

The four young boys brought the ranch back to life, Vale's heart clenching as he imagined his brother among them. He prayed that Luca was somewhere similar, safe and warm with a full belly.

#zoo wee mama #Adora and writing #My brother oh my brother