#tepid bath

[faofinn]

22 & 23. Common Cold/Flu & Tepid Bath

These two fit so well together we couldn't help but do a combined little ficlet

@sicktember

Hars hadn't been feeling well for a while. After adding in a few too many late nights and even more bad decisions, it well and truly reared its head.

 He'd been unable to settle overnight, tossing and turning, somehow both too hot and too cold. 

Steve was worried about Harrison too. He could see him getting more and more run down, late nights and too much alcohol. He’d not long been part of the family, the adoption papers having only come through a couple of months ago. 

When Monday rolled around, he got dressed as usual, intending to go to college. He struggled to actually dress, ending up with his shirt on backwards and two socks on the same foot. He didn't seem to notice, and headed downstairs for breakfast, apparently missing the fact it was almost lunchtime. 

From his position on the sofa, Steve looked up from his laptop. Harrison looked a state, hair a mess, clothes all over the place, bags under his eyes. 

“Where are you off to?” He asked, trying not to grin. 

"College." He said simply, attempting to pack a lunch. 

“What time is your first lesson?”

"Same as always." He grumbled. "You know that."

“Have you checked the time?”

"My alarm went off."

“And you’re wearing that?”

"It's clean."

“It’s inside out. And it’s nearly 1pm.”

"Is not." He wasn't entirely paying attention to Steve's conversation, and headed to the front door, still determined he was leaving. 

“Go back to bed, Harrison.”

"I've got college." He said firmly, struggling with the door. 

“You’ve already missed the entire morning. I called you in sick at 8.”

"Because I can't get out of the house!" He argued, frustrated. "What have you done to the door?"

“It’s locked, because you’re sick and you need to go back to bed.”

"I'm not sick! It's just a cold or something. I just need to go to college."

“Do you remember what happened last time you got sick and it was ignored?”

"Wasn't even sick then." He grumbled, though gave up with the door. 

“Go back to bed, Harrison. I’ll bring you something to eat.”

"Just half an hour, that's all."

“Sure, if that’s what you want.”

"Yeah." He sniffed, his determination and energy gone.

“Go on, to bed with you. I’ll make you a hot chocolate.”

"Thank you." He gave a weak smile. Steve always knew how to make it better. Bed sounded great, and he dropped his backpack on the floor, slowly padding upstairs. 

Steve shook his head fondly, going to the kitchen to make Harrison’s hot chocolate. He’d want it, and hopefully it would make him feel better. The last thing Steve wanted was him getting any worse - the admission the last time he’d been sick had been absolutely terrifying.

Harrison didn't bother changing out of his clothes, though shuffled out of his jeans. He wrapped himself up in his duvet and blankets, his little excursion downstairs having tired him out and made him cold to the bone. 

Steve came up after a few minutes, knocking on the door before he pushed it open and headed inside. “Hot chocolate. Have you had any meds?”

Harrison was barely visible through his cocoon, but he shook his head. He’d had none in his room, and hadn't wanted to go downstairs or disturb Steve. 

Steve tutted. “I’ll go and get some.”

"Do you have to?"

“It’ll make you feel better.”

"Okay." He said quietly, taking Steve's bribe of hot chocolate. 

"I'll be right back." Steve promised, grabbing some paracetamol and a thermometer while he was there. A bottle of water wouldn't harm either, so he brought one up with him, knocking again before entering. 

"Hars? Got you some meds and some water to take them with."

Harrison jumped slightly, having drifted with the silence. He reached for his chocolate again, swallowing the meds with a grimace. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Can I take your temperature? You look really flushed."

"Do you have to?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so." Steve said gently, sitting on the side of the bed. 

Harrison sighed heavily. "Okay."

Steve patted Harrison's leg, shooting him an encouraging smile. He was quick to check his temperature, frowning at the numbers. 

"Let me check the other ear." He'd hoped it was a mistake, but he knew it wouldn't be much different. 

Unfortunately, it was even higher than the first, and he sighed heavily. They really didn't need him being this sick again. 

"That bad?" There was a flash of panic across Harrison's face. 

"You've just got a fever, kid. Just means your body is fighting off what it needs to do. But, it does mean you can't be swamped by your duvets. I can get you a sheet instead?" He offered. 

Fear settled in his features. "No. I need the duvet. I need my blankets."

"Hey, it's okay. It's just to keep your temperature down. Just like taking a cool shower or bath, it just makes sure you're not going to overheat." Steve kept it simple, aware Harrison wasn't entirely firing on all cylinders. "Tell you what, eh? You can keep your duvet but you need to keep it at your feet or by your side. You're not allowed to wrap yourself up in it, okay?"

Harrison hesitated. Steve had just told him he wasn't allowed it, he hadn't dragged it from his grip, hurt him to try and get them away. He took a deep breath, and slowly pushed it to his feet. 

"There you go. Thank you, Harrison. I know it's not nice to take it off when you feel rubbish. I'll let you get some more sleep, okay?"

"'kay." Harrison nodded, snuggling under the blanket he'd been allowed. "Thank you."

Steve left Harrison to sleep, hoping that just being under the thin blanket would be enough to stop him getting hotter. He really was worried about the kid, all too aware how it had ended before. His chest seemed okay, at least, just the fever that was concerning. Surely the sleep would help, as would the meds and the water. It was just a waiting game, hoping his body would fight off whatever he’d picked up. Didn’t help that he’d been so run down, the alcohol certainly not helping him. 

A few hours later, Steve returned. Harrison had been quiet, hopefully sleeping, and he knocked on the door again before he stepped inside. 

“Harrison?” He asked gently. 

He stirred slightly, squinting at Steve. He didn’t quite understand why he was so insistent on pestering him. 

“Can I check your temp again?”

"No."

“Please?”

"No." He whined. "I wanna sleep."

“It’ll take two seconds, and then you can sleep again.”

He groaned, pulling the sheet over his head. "No."

“Come on, Harrison.”

"Steve, please."

“I just want to check it’s come down.”

"It has."

“I don’t know unless I check.”

"Fine." Harrison was always more agreeable when Steve was around, and he couldn’t help but try and do what he wanted.

“Thank you.” Steve said gently, pulling the blanket back. 

The lack of blanket made it so much colder, the small pocket of warmth quickly dissipated. He whined despite himself, burying his face in his pillow as he curled up tighter.

“I know.” Steve soothed. “Just check your temp, won’t take long.” He said as he did it. 

"It's better?"

“Afraid not.” Steve said. It was worse, but he wasn’t about to tell Harrison that, he didn’t want to panic the poor kid. 

"Oh. Okay. More sleep, then."

“How are you feeling?” 

"Cold."

He hummed. “Your temperature is pretty high.”

"That's okay."

“No, it’s not.”

"I'll fix it."

“Oh?”

"Yeah." He settled back down. "It's all fixed now."

“Not sure I share your confidence.”

"That's a shame."

“Here, let me check again.”

"You just checked."

“I need to double check.”

"No you don't."

“I do.”

"I'm asleep."

“Funny, talking whilst you’re asleep.”

"You can check it later."

“If you’re asleep I could just do it now.”

"No."

Steve huffed. “You’re not well.”

He couldn't help the tears that started falling. "I'm sorry."

“Hey, don’t cry.”

"'m cold and you won't let me sleep an' you keep taking my blankets."

“Alright, I know. But you’re far too warm.”

"I'm not."

“You really are.”

Harrison shivered as if to prove his point, managing to push himself up and into Steve's side. 

Steve wrapped his arm around him. “I know you feel miserable.”

"A lot."

“Yeah. You’ve got a bad temp.”

"I'm cold." He murmured, snuggling in properly.

Steve sighed, patting him on the shoulder. “Alright. Get some sleep. I’ll pop back later.”

"No." He said quickly. "Don't go."

Steve softened. “Oh. I’ll stay.”

Harrison gave a quiet, happy noise. "Thank you."

Steve settled down to sit with him, still worried but glad Harrison wanted his comfort. 

Harrison slept for a while, only growing increasingly warm by Steve's side. At first, it was quiet, but soon enough the nightmares leached into his dreams. He struggled against the sheets, whimpering and crying quietly. Nothing changed, and his nightmares only grew worse, the fever only adding more power to them. He woke with a shout, trying to make himself smaller, to keep himself safe.

Steve hated Harrison’s nightmares. He felt so powerless to do anything about them, unable to wake him and worried as he got hotter and hotter. He managed to get the blanket off of him, hoping that would at least help, but he doubted it would make much of a difference. 

“Harrison?” He said gently, once he’d shouted himself awake. “It’s alright, you’re okay.”

He fought against Steve, torn between trying to get away and trying to disappear into the bed. His cries and pleads didn't make sense, talking to people that weren't there.

He was much, much worse than before. Steve’s stomach twisted with nerves and he sighed. “Alright. We really ought to get you cooled down.”

Harrison pushed at Steve's hands, uncoordinated and weak. He was already cold, and couldn't understand how Steve didn't get it. He was supposed to be smart.

Harrison’s skin was so hot it almost burned. Steve didn’t have much of a choice, he needed to cool him down, else he was going to end up in hospital again. Harrison was too agitated for him to bother with trying to take another temperature, and instead he just scooped him up in his arms and carried him to the bathroom. 

His heart almost stopped as Steve carried him onto the bathroom, suddenly gaining strength. He writhed and fought against Steve's arms, begging him to stop. After everything, Steve was going to kill him. 

Luckily Steve was stronger than Harrison, still skinny and weak. He kept him close to his chest, his heart breaking as the teenager fought him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m gonna help, I swear.”

Harrison gripped tightly onto Steve's shirt, tears streaming down his face. He'd turned to begging, trying anything to stop it.

Steve hated it, apologising constantly as he turned the tap on and waited for it to warm up a little before he set Harrison in the tub.  Clearly he was upset, and ordinarily he’d never push him this hard to do something that was this upsetting, but it needed doing. He let the water run over his legs, cupping his hands to trail it over his back. “It’s okay, I promise you’re going to be okay.”

Harrison screamed as the water touched him, trying his best to arch away from it, his hands clawing at Steve's chest. He couldn’t breathe, and each drop of water burned his skin. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please." He begged, his words split by sobs. "Dad, please, I'm sorry. I'll be good. Please."

Steve’s throat tightened, and he tried his best to keep Harrison’s face from getting wet. He knew he’d fucked up, he’d hit a trigger or something, clearly that he knew nothing about. It must have been his old family, his biological family, and Steve hadn’t had any information. But Harrison needed this, else he was going to get much, much sicker. After a while he stopped the running water, just leaving the teenager sat in the tub. He did his best to keep the water moving over him, where he could avoid clawed hands and kicking legs. Steve himself was soaked, his T-shirt clinging to him, but he pushed on. He needed to get Harrison’s temperature down. “It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re okay, you’ve not done anything wrong. Cooling you down, kid. Cooling you down.”

His words didn't register with Harrison, still fueled by adrenaline and terror. He continued to try his best to scramble out, grabbing at Steve where he could. Steve kept putting water on him, kept him trapped in the bath. He was obviously just dragging it out, making sure Harrison knew how much trouble he'd caused, how much he deserved the punishment. 

Steve hated it, the way Harrison grabbed a t him and tried to free himself. It seemed to be working, though, the boy’s skin wasn’t so warm to touch, he seemed slightly more with it. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I just want to help you. I promise I’m helping you.”

Eventually, his strength died down. He didn't have the energy to fight any more, and slowly resigned himself to whatever was coming. 

When he stopped, he expected punishment, to be pushed under and held there, but it didn't come. 

The hands on him no longer burned, and he slowly realised they weren't pushing him down but keeping him up, out of the water. They were slow and gentle, each move careful and considered. Gradually, his sobbing stopped, though his breath continued to catch in his throat. He couldn't help himself as he collapsed into Steve, unable to hold himself up any longer. 

“Well done, that’s it. You’re alright, I’m not trying to hurt you. Just helping you cool down, yeah?” He said gently, stroking through his hair. “I’m sorry. You’re going to be okay, Harrison I’ve got you. Just breathe. It’s okay.”

#sicktember 2022 #sicktember day 22 #sicktember day 23 #common cold/flu #tepid bath #harrison is very very triggered by baths #whump prompt #whump writing #whump #harrison #steve cunningham #dad!steve #steve doesn't know harrison's triggers #which is unfortunate really #hars never does anything by halves #if he's sick he gotta be *sick* #triggered hars #ptsd #past child abuse tw #referenced child abuse #triggered #nightmares #poor hars im sorry bby #steve feels really bad

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

@sicktember #23: Tepid Bath

Fandom: Marvel (Spider-Man: No Way Home)

Characters: Peter One (Tom Holland), Peter Two (Tobey Maguire), Peter Three (Andrew Garfield)

~

“I know you don’t feel like getting up, man, but we’ve gotta get your fever down and you need some fresh clothes,” Peter Three sighed, using the back of his hand to brush stray beads of sweat from Peter Two’s hot forehead.

Even as he instinctively leaned into the touch, he swallowed roughly and muttered something reluctant, inaudible to anyone without enhanced ears.

“Hey, hey, you’re not a burden! I got you up and at ‘em well enough the first time we met, remember? I don’t mind doing it again. Easy-peasy.”

The journey to the bathroom was both a patient and precarious one, Two’s arm heavy over his shoulders as he stumbled for balance. More than once they had to stop so he could plant a hand on the wall and wait for the dizziness to subside so by the time they got there, Peter One had the bath full and ready.

“I tried to make it nice for you. I used one of those cocoa butter bath bombs, although since it’s lukewarm it kinda just fizzed around instead of melting but it still smells good! Wait, can you—oh, I wasn’t even thinking about the whole loss of taste and smell thing—”

Two’s attempt to shrug it off became a shudder, goosebumps trailing his achy arms as he lifted them for Three to get his shirt. “That’ll be f-fine. It’s the t-thought that counts, right? Thank you…”

It could only have been a few minutes but by the time they had him down to his boxers, his face had drained of what little color remained and he was swaying on his feet. Water sloshed over the side onto the rug as he staggered and fairly collapsed into the bath, a sharp inhale and then a wet cough echoing on the bathroom walls. Glassy blue eyes flickered wearily.

“Et voilà. Spa day,” Peter Three concluded softly, cupping some bubbles and lightly ruffling them into Peter Two’s damp hair.

#sicktember #sicktember 2022 #no.23 #tepid bath #sickfic #whump #fanfiction #marvel #spiderman #spider man no way home #peter parker #peter two #peter three #tobey maguire #andrew garfield #tom holland #caretaking #hurt comfort #triple drabble

[nywcgirl]

#sicktember 2022 #day 23 #fever #tepid bath #H/C Bingo #Macgyver 2016 #begging

[sirotras]

BLESSED by rng first try TWO NIGHTS in a ROW (NOT CLICKBAIT)

#meredith plays ff14 #god when i tell you i was NOT expecting this to drop. much less get a 99 on the roll for it???? #cella tanyir #i was gonna run thru copied factory twice tonight but partway thru i was like. actually. im too tired for this. and then getting this???? #and after the bath i took earlier was truly so tepid and unpleasant.... this makes up for it

[nonasbirthday]

Harrowhark's appearance would absolutely kill a 17th century Massachusetts Puritan on sight but you know what? They would respect her bathing habits. Taking nasty sad little baths in 2 inches of tepid water. Poor girl has never felt a pleasant sensation in her life and she's not about to start now. Hot water?? absolutely not, if your pores open up that's how the demons get in.

#i did in fact ask google about this. google says the puritans didn't even do the two inches of tepid water #they just changed their underclothes instead of bathing. gross. but i'm keeping the joke anyways. begone historical accuracy #the locked tomb #harrow the ninth #harrowhark nonagesimus #harrow the ninth spoilers #nonasbirthday

[blackswaneuroparedux]

As a bathtub lined with white porcelain, When the hot water gives out or goes tepid, So is the slow cooling of our chivalrous passion, O my much praised but-not-altogether-satisfactory lady.

- Ezra Pound, The Bath Tub

#pound #ezra pound #poem #the bath tub #bath #femme #beauty #literature #love goes tepid #when romance cools

[deermouth]

dj evaporative cooling on the beat

#we have ac technically but its window acs #i spent a lot of time outside today on shrooms (birthday shrooms) and then went and sat in a tepid/cool bath for like an hour and a half #dj evaporative cooling on thaaaaa beat!!!!!!!!! #txt

[wyn-n-tonic]

For 1500$ a month, I personally believe my hot water should work for more than two weeks at a time.

And the owners of my apartment complex are Jewish and they give all staff, regardless of faith, time off on Jewish holidays and I love that. I LOVE THAT. But leaving nobody on property at all is extremely unprofessional and unsafe and also my apartment building hasn’t had hot water all weekend and we will not have anybody on property to bring it up to until Wednesday and I am losing my mind because I just want a hot bath. So I guess I’ll go boil water on the stove like the fucking peasant I am.

#seriously the water is just tepid and I just want to cry #my bones hurt so bad I just want a bath

[windfighter]

A bath for the fever

Kouji woke up before Junpei for the first time in a week. He stretched and blinked in the darkness. The sun wasn’t even up yet. Proof that he was a hundred percent healthy, or at least close to it. He tiptoed out of the bedroom to let Junpei sleep some more.

First task of the day – coffee. Kouji sat on the countertop while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, then grabbed a cup and sat down in the couch. He checked the mail on his phone while drinking it. A couple of mails from his friend Rickard Allan Coon, 20 from Frenci, one from Ruki. A few inquiries from people following his blog who were wondering where he’d been the last week.

He wrote a quick blog-post about just waking up free from the flu and ready to see the sights of Italy. He’d probably stay at home one more day to relax with Junpei first, but after that he could take his bike somewhere. He still had a couple of articles he needed to write as well. He sent a mail to Frenci to let them know he was still alive, before grabbing his cup of coffee and heading to the study Junpei had made for him.

The study was way too big to be a work room in Kouji’s opinion. It had been used as a piano-room before he moved in, but Junpei had said something about the acoustics in the room being wrong anyway and moved it to the living room instead. Kouji didn’t understand enough about acoustics to protest and it was great to have a room he could retreat to when he needed to work.

He booted up the laptop and sat down to write for a few hours.

------------------

Kouji’s stomach protested the lack of breakfast and Kouji saved the article he was writing. He grabbed the cup with now cold coffee and left the study, pouring himself a new cup before returning to the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Junpei’s shoulder.

”Hey”, he whispered.

Junpei blinked awake. Kouji leaned down and kissed Junpei’s cheek. It was warm and Kouji frowned.

”...did I give you the flu?” he asked.

”Might have”, Junpei answered and sat up with a groan. ”Feel like crap.”

”You kinda look like crap”, Kouji said even if it wasn’t quite true.

Junpei rolled his eyes and laughed. His cheeks were red with a fever flush and there was a layer of sweat across his forehead.

”Always the romantic, aren’t you?” he asked.

Kouji laughed as well.

”Want me to get a bath started for you?”

Junpei leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

”Might as well give it a try. Did you feel this urgh as well?”

”I’d answer that if I was a mindreader”, Kouji said and stood up again. ”...where are we ordering breakfast from?”

Junpei let out a vocal keysmash and Kouji snorted at the sound.

”I can still cook”, Junpei said and pushed the cover off himself. Kouji shook his head and stopped Junpei from rushing out of the bed.

”I know you can”, he squeezed Junpei’s shoulder. ”You don’t have to, we can order something. Maybe from Izumi’s restaurant?”

”She doesn’t serve breakfast.”

Junpei yawned and rubbed his eyes. Kouji shrugged.

”I don’t mind pizza for breakfast.” ”That’s why you’re banned from the kitchen.”

Junpei laid down again and Kouji ruffled his hair.

”I’m banned because I poisoned Kouichi. I’ll call Izumi and then I’ll get your bath started.”

”I do not like getting sick now that you’re finally back home”, Junpei whined.

”I didn’t either”, Kouji admitted, ”but I don’t have any travels coming up, so we have lots of time to spend together for now.”

Kouji stood up, sipped on the coffee and watched Junpei curl up under the cover again. He smiled and left the bedroom. He called Izumi’s restaurant and was lucky enough that Izumi answered the phone. It was still one hour until they were supposed to open.

”I will murder you in your sleep”, Izumi greeted him.

”Hello to you too”, Kouji answered and put his cup down on the kitchen table before reaching for a glass. ”Sorry for calling this early.”

”...Sorry for threatening to murder you, I thought it was another telemarketer. What’s up?”

”Junpei’s sick, so I need to order something for breakfast. Probably also lunch and dinner, but one meal at the time.”

”We don’t serve breakfast here, you know that.”

Kouji poured orange juice in the glass and brought it for Junpei.

”Pizza’s fine”, he told Izumi. ”You know what we like.”

Junpei accepted the glass and smiled at him. Kouji blushed and hurried back out again. People usually weren’t grateful when he tried to take care of them.

”We don’t start the ovens for another hour”, Izumi said. ”Is that okay?”

Kouji’s stomach loudly protested the lack of food and he sipped on the coffee.

”Yeah, it’s great. Gives Junpei some time to wake up as well.”

”Tell him I hope he feels better soon. And you, how are you feeling?”

”Mostly good. I don’t think I could run a marathon yet, but it’s not like I need to.”

”You take it easy as well”, Izumi’s voice was stern. ”We all know how absolutely terrible you are at taking care of yourself.”

”Comes from all the trauma”, Kouji said with a laugh. ”I’ll talk to you later.”

”See you.”

Kouji ended the call, put the phone on the table next to the coffee cup and headed to the bathroom instead.

The bathroom was small for such a big apartment, but it still had enough room for a bathtub big enough for three, an overly luxorious sink and a fancy toilet, along with three closets for towels, bathrobes and bathsupplies. There was a showerhead attatched to the bathtub and most of the time Kouji prefered using that to actually taking a bath, but sometimes it was nice to really soak in the tub.

He opened the faucet, made sure the water was the right temperature – just slightly lower than regular body temperature – and then waited for the tub to fill. He sat down on the toilet, leaned back and pulled his hands over his face. His head was starting to hurt a little. He sighed, decided the best course of action was to ignore it and stood up.

Junpei was looking at something on his phone when Kouji returned to the bedroom. He looked up when Kouji entered and smiled. Kouji felt warm inside.

”Hey. Thanks for the juice earlier”, Junpei said.

”Mfm”, Kouji answered and fell down in the bed, burying his face in Junpei’s shoulder. So much for pretending his head wasn’t hurting. ”Izumi tells you to feel better soon.”

”With my perfect partner caring for me I will in no time”, Junpei answered and kissed Kouji’s head.

Kouji snorted and hit Junpei’s leg.

”I can’t even make you breakfast in bed. Bath’s filling up, time to get up.”

”Are you sure about that?” Junpei asked and wrapped his arms around Kouji.

Kouji really wanted to stay there. Where did all that energy he had when he woke up go? He tensed his muscles, relaxed them again and easily broke free from Junpei’s grip.

”If we don’t the bathroom might get drenched.”

He stood up. Junpei shivered when he removed himself from the cover and Kouji realized they hadn’t even checked Junpei’s fever yet. What if it was high enough that they needed to go to the hospital? Kouji really didn’t know what to do in that situation. Junpei stood up as well and put a hand on Kouji's shoulder.

”Kouji?” he asked.

Kouji’s head was hurting worse and he massaged his forehead.

”Sorry”, he said. ”I’m not used to caring for sick people. To the bath with you.”

He shoved Junpei out of the bedroom and Junpei winked and disappeared to the bathroom. Kouji grabbed the coffee cup and took a sip. His stomach protested and he poured the rest into the sink. He put the cup into the dishwasher and checked the time. About another hour before breakfast would arrive. He grabbed an apple and headed to the bathroom as well. He put the apple on the sink.

”Want some company?” he asked as Junpei was about to slide into the water.

”Tub’s big enough for two”, Junpei answered. ”Water’s a bit cold though”, he teased.

”Mhm”, Kouji answered and undressed. ”Needs to be so your fever doesn’t get higher.”

Junpei slid into the water and Kouji sat down on the edge of the bathtub.

”Scooch over, I want this corner”, he said.

Junpei changed position and Kouji also slipped into the water. He shivered from the cold water and leaned back with a sigh.

”You need help washing your hair?” Junpei offered.

Kouji frowned.

”You’re the sick one, I should be pampering you, not the other way around.”

”Uhu”, Junpei said. ”You can wash my hair afterwards if you want to.”

Kouji slid down under the water and splashed some on Junpei before breaching the surface again. He grabbed the shampoo and told Junpei to turn around so he could get his hair washed. Junpei did as told and Kouji gently massaged the the shampoo into his hair.

”You’re so good at this”, Junpei said as he relaxed into the touch.

Kouji didn’t know what to say and worked in silence. He washed Junpei’s back as well before helping him rinse the shampoo out. Junpei washed the rest of himself and Kouji leaned against the edge of the bathtub and closed his eyes.

”Headache?” Junpei asked after a while.

”I’m fine”, Kouji answered. ”Perfectly healthy.”

”So a headache. Have you eaten?”

Kouji gestured at the uneaten apple on the sink. Junpei shook his head, but didn’t comment on it.

”Come on, let me wash your hair and then we’ll cuddle up on the couch and wait for breakfast.”

Kouji turned his back to Junpei and Junpei got to work on washing Kouji’s hair and back. Kouji felt like he’d fall asleep at any second.

”Might still have a teeny bit of fever myself”, he admitted when Junpei started rinsing his hair.

”You need to eat healthier”, Junpei said and gave Kouji a hug. Kouji shrugged.

”It’s hard when I’m in the field, but I’ll try not to drag it home to you next time.”

He stretched and got out of the water. Junpei was watching him.

”You’re beautiful”, Junpei said and leaned against the edge of the tub.

Kouji grabbed a towel, kissed Junpei and handed him the towel. He didn’t know what to say. He grabbed another towel and dried himself off before wrapping himself in a bathrobe. Junpei did the same, grabbed the apple and handed it to Kouji.

”Come on, eat something.”

Kouji took a bite from the apple. Junpei went back to the bedroom to grab his phone and Kouji fetched his own from the kitchen. He started a fresh brew of coffee, took another bite of the apple and sank down in the couch in the living room. Junpei joined him not even a minute later.

The world’s most perfect boyfriend is sick, Kouji tweeted out, so I’ll be postponing any travels another week

Junpei yawned and Kouji tickled him.

”You can nap after breakfast”, he said.

Speaking of breakfast, the doorbell rang. Junpei made a move to get up, but Kouji was quicker and gestured for him to stay. Kouji grabbed one of the wallets on the table by the door, paid for the pizzas and returned with them to the living room. Junpei had found a program for them to watch while they ate and Kouji sank back into the couch, put the pizzas on the table and grabbed a slice to eat. Junpei put a blanked over their legs before grabbing a slice as well and Kouji smiled. Being sick sucked, but being sick together wasn’t quite as bad. Junpei leaned against him as they ate and after that he pulled Kouji down so his head was in Junpei’s lap. Kouji attempted to protest and Junpei put a hand over Kouji’s mouth.

”You’re somehow still worse than I am”, he said. ”We can take care of the trash later, get some rest.”

Kouji licked Junpei’s hand and Junpei removed it from Kouji’s mouth.

”We could move to the bed instead”, Kouji suggested.

”You sure you’re up for walking aaaalllll the way over there?” Junpei teased.

It was a valid question since Kouji had been bad enough to not be able to do that for a couple of days, but Kouji still rolled his eyes. He stood up, grabbed the pizzaboxes and the half-eaten apple.

”Go to bed”, he told Junpei. ”I’ll be there in a second.”

Junpei shivered, but still stood up instead of wrapping himself in the blanket and curling up on the couch. Kouji hoped Junpei wouldn’t even get half as sick as he had gotten. Junpei looked intensly at Kouji and Kouji was suddenly very aware of how tired he felt. He nodded towards the bedroom.

”Bed”, he said. ”I’m just going to throw this and then I’ll come as well, promise.”

Junpei raised his hands as a sign that he wasn’t going to argue, although Kouji could tell he really wanted to. Kouji went to the kitchen, threw the boxes and apple in the trash and boiled some water. He made a cup of tea with honey and ginger and hoped he hadn’t failed completely at mixing it before he went to the bedroom. Junpei was sitting in the bed, cover wrapped around his shoulders. He raised an eyebrow when Kouji arrived and Kouji handed him the tea.

”To hopefully help you fight the flu”, Kouji said.

Junpei took a sip and laughed.

”That is so sweet, wow. How did you manage?”

”I’m an expert at all things food-related”, Kouji answered and sat down in the bed as well.

Junpei finished the tea and laid down, pulling Kouji down as well. Kouji curled up against Junpei and pulled a cover over both of them.

”Sorry you caught my flu”, he mumbled and closed his eyes.

”I’ll be fine”, Junpei answered. ”Get some sleep.”

”You too. Sleep well.”

Kouji laid awake for a while, listened to Junpei’s breaths and heartbeats to relax. Junpei fell asleep after a few minutes and Kouji considered getting up. There was a lot to do – clean the bathtub, do laundry, write articles, make sure they had food until Junpei was well again – but instead he closed his eyes and fell asleep to the sound of Junpei’s heart. His duties could wait until they were both feeling better.

#my writing #digimon frontier #junpei shibayama #kouji minamoto #sicktember 2022 #future fic #sick kouji #sick junpei #junji #koupei #I have no idea what their shipname is haha #prompt: tepid bath #ngl I had no idea what a tepid bath before this #learning so much this month #I started another story for this prompt first but that one just wouldn't work #this one worked better #kouji gets to be the caregiver for once :3

[brittapcrrys]

Was hoping the promethazine would knock me the fuck out (50/50 odds anytime I take it) so boo to that not happening, but it has taken a lot of the sting out of the hives, and I feel very chill so for now that's good enough

#i havent had hives in years then at 1am today fucking. patches all over #used to happen all the time as a kid and sometimes as a teen and bc its not common anymore #i didnt have ANY of the meds or creams or washes for it overnight it was badddd #going 2 have flashbacks when i shower later tho. got a tibe of the pine-tar based shower gel #used to have tepid baths with a pinetarsol liquid added to soothe rashes so #its such a strong scent and like yeah its good bc i remember it helping soothe unbearable pain and itching #but its a bad memory sometimes bc its associayed with that disomforr and sitress in the first place #oh im mistyping all over the ahop ok thr meds are having Some Effect djdjfjf

[justinempire]

(Justin Empire) The Tepid Bath

#SoundCloud #music #Justin Empire #The #Tepid #Bath

[heich0e]

choso strikes me as a boyfriend who talks to you outside the bathroom door while you're in the bath. then, over time, with the door slightly ajar, then properly open, and eventually with him sitting right next to the tub to talk with you. he's blushy and nervous at first, trying to avert his gaze because he isn't trying to be a pervert, he just wants to talk to you. you find it so charming, sinking down in the warm water to hide your sly little smile under the layer of bubbles that's rapidly dissipating along the surface. he gets used to it eventually; padding into the washroom and bringing you your towel like second nature, and you find yourself missing that pretty pink blush that used to curl across his cheeks each time he crossed the tiled threshold. so one day you lean your body up against the edge of the porcelain basin, extremely conscious of the way that choso is suddenly focused (too focused) on your face and nothing else, and you smile as you reach out for him and ask if he wants to get into the bath too. the flush that runs from the tips of his ears all the way down his chest—soon soapy and pressed against your back—can't possibly be blamed on the tepid bathwater.

#choso x reader #jjk hcs #writing

[targaryen-dynasty]

PRECIOUS DELIGHTS.

Prev. Part | Next Part

Maegor Targaryen x pregnant!niece!Reader

WORDS: 2.4 K

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; canon typical incest/targcest (uncle and niece), p in v, pregnancy sex, lactation kink (finally found the perfect plot to add this!!), size kink, breeding kink, soft Maegor Targaryen (yes, that's a warning lmao)

NOTES: You know I'll never let the chance of writing some uncle and niece Targcest slip. So, here it is. The bathtub scene is inspired by the one of Vizzy and Aemma. This is based on this request, and I bless my Maegor squat for planting this plot in my brain. @borikenlove @fairysluna @connorsui

Moons had passed since the maesters informed your uncle-husband Maegor that you were with child, and thereafter, you were confined to your chambers. Three stillborn children were born to him before the announcement came, and thus, your husband was more than determined to not make it four. 

Several of your ladies-in-waiting tended to your every wish ever since, doting on you and keeping you satisfied and well cared for. So it seemed, at least. 

The handmaids could only do so much, but your body longed for something they couldn’t give you, for someone, despite your middle being heavily swollen carrying a pureblooded Targaryen offspring. With the end of your pregnancy creeping closer and closer, Maegor’s visits became rare, and the doors to your chambers opened scarcely to welcome anyone other than a maester or maid. Everytime you asked them to call for your husband, the same excuse followed: ‘he is meeting with the small council.’ 

When the doors to your chambers opened around the Hour of the Eel, and the clicking of the lock pulled you out of your slumber, you were ready to scold your maid Talisa for disturbing the quiet hours of your bath, but the approaching footsteps were eerily heavy and clearly didn’t belong to her. With how well protected your chambers were, main entrance and secret passageway alike, there was only one man they could belong to. 

“You spend more time in that bath than I do on the Throne,” his raspy voice rang out. 

You blinked a few times, raising a hand from below the warm water to rub your eyes, before Maegor’s paw came to rest upon your other one on the rim of the earthenware tub. “How would you know that?” you asked, your purple eyes meeting his own as he crouched down next to the tub. “You hardly visit me anymore.”

He dipped two of his thick fingers into the water, and couldn’t stop to trail his eyes over the curve of your breasts that slightly emerged from the opaque water. “It’s tepid,” he remarked, not paying any attention to your previous words. 

“The maester’s will not allow it any warmer,” you said, “and since this is the only place I can find comfort these days, I bow to their orders.”

“Don’t they know dragons prefer heat?” Maegor asked to which you just hummed. “After this miserable pregnancy, I wouldn’t be surprised if I hatched an actual dragon,” you said, looking to the side. The pregnancy itself wasn’t as miserable as you claimed, however, it was the dungeon you had found yourself in, not allowed to leave your chambers nor set one foot in front of the other for longer than a few moments. But not even that stopped you from hearing the castle’s rumors, and you knew the majority of the people around you blamed Maegor for the failed pregnancies of his other wives, yet Maegor had told you on more than one occasion that it was the doing of his third wife, Tyanna of the Tower. 

Maegor caressed your hair with his other hand, unusually tender, and a part of you begged to be with child even longer, because he had become a different man around you, less cold and rough, and it actually seemed he genuinely cared for you–if it wasn’t for you being locked up on his orders. 

He hadn’t retorted anything to your comment, merely fidgeting with your slender fingers and massaging the palm of your hand, before pressing a tender kiss to the back of it. “Please, let me out, Maegor. I want to walk the Keep,” you eventually whispered, wide, pleading eyes searching his for any sign of sympathy. “Have dozens of guards escort me on the walk, seven hells, escort me yourself, but you know better than to chain a dragon up.” 

You leaned toward your husband, clasping his large hand in both your small ones, and watched his brow furrow with what you could muster as uncertainty–something you hadn’t seen on his face before. Your chin rested on your joined hands, a soft ‘please’ leaving your lips. 

Maegor sighed, “you know I can’t do that.” 

“Birth is unpleasant enough as it is, so, why shall I prepare for it with a woeful pregnancy?”

Pity was written all over his features as he bowed his head closer to yours, and though you spotted it on his face for the first time, you loathed the sight. It made you feel weak, vulnerable and even worthless, knowing you had no say in anything that concerned your own body. 

“I can’t risk exposing you to any danger,” Maegor eventually confessed after a pregnant pause, “not if it means I could lose you or the boy, or both of you at once.” The boy. He had proclaimed the babe to be a boy very early into the pregnancy, and consistently pointed out that he had never been more certain of anything. In his dream, the boy wore the crown of his father, the Conqueror, and would wield his sword when he was older. But you knew nothing would cause the babe to grow a cock, if it didn’t already possess one. 

His forehead dipped against yours, and the proximity caused you both to close your eyes and release a deep sigh. You understood his reasoning, especially after he had lost three children and a wife before, which still didn’t mean you agreed to his methods of keeping you safe. 

Your arms wrapped around his thick neck, his heavy shoulders supporting them, and without having to say anything, Maegor knew what it was you wanted–or needed. His hands grabbed your upper body just under your armpits, effortlessly lifting you out of the bath with a tenderness that was borderline frightening. 

He was careful with your swollen bump, and immediately placed one hand on your arse and the other on the small of your back as you bound your legs around his waist. With your head resting against your upper arm, he pressed his lips to the side of your face, and carried you into the chambers to gently place you down on the bed.

There were rarely any moments you weren’t in the mood for him, but with the built up aching in your core, and his soft demeanor towards you, you were desperate. 

Maegor kneeled between your parted legs, one hand resting on your knee, while the other one ran over the swell of your stomach. Before the pregnancy, his paws covered your stomach in its entirety, yet, however, they seemed more fitting in comparison to it.

“Look at you,” his voice was reverential and raspy, and the purple of his eyes was almost non-existent, drinking in the sight of you lying bare in front of him. His hand trailed up to cup your heavy breast, teasing the darkened bud to the point a few droplets of milk leaked out of it. Your breasts were sensitive to the touch, and a pathetic moan left your lips, which grew in volume as the bull of a man leaned forward to lick over your teased bud, gathering the liquid with his tongue. 

You released a shaky breath at that, your mouth agape, and your eyes were wide. “I need you, husband,” the words a throaty whisper, and your own despair had you rutting your hips against the front of his breeches as far as your bump allowed you to. 

His lips had latched around your bud, suckling on it, and he let you rub yourself against him to a certain point, a large hand on your hip applying just a bit of pressure to keep your movements limited and shallow, barely giving you enough friction. It prompted you to whine in despair, despite the relief his mouth brought to your breast. 

“Gods, please, fuck me,” you whined, and Maegor slightly tilted his head to meet your eyes, the cocked eyebrow indicating that he was surprised by your choice of words, since you hadn’t used a term like that before. He pulled back from you with a lewd pop, licking his lips to collect every drop of your milk that had spilled past them. 

“You want my cock?” he teased, and started to pay attention to your other breast, dragging his tongue around the perky bud, before wrapping his lips around it to release some of the tension from you. 

Your hands disappeared into the short strands of his silver hair, and your back arched against his body, shoving your breasts into his face. “Yes, please,” you breathed, “give it to me.” One hand fisted his hair and the other cupped his face in a lousy attempt to push him off you, yet Maegor didn’t budge. How could he, with you using so little force?

Even though there was no urgency in any of his movements, Maegor merely reached between your bodies, as he kept his lips on your breast, to undo the laces in the front of his breeches and not undress any further, freeing his hard cock that stood to full attention. You blamed it on his inability to part from you, having been without you long enough already. 

When he withdrew his mouth from you, he pressed a fervent kiss to your lips that stood in stark contrast to his previous actions, though you welcomed it with a matching ferocity. 

“How could I ever resist you?” he asked, making you blush. “Not if you look like this, swollen with my child under your heart.” There was a possessiveness in his tone that alone had you moaning, and you bit your bottom lip as you looked at him with pleading eyes, nodding eagerly. 

Being soft and gentle was unlike Maegor, especially when it came to the pleasures of fucking, and watching him move his bulky frame to lie on his side right next to you, draping your leg over his hips as he angled them just so his cock prodded at your entrance made you feel appreciated. He saw you, and paid attention to anything other than himself, to your current state, because in any other setting, he would’ve flipped you onto your stomach, pounding you into oblivion without much preparation. 

The position allowed you to lie on your back, one leg raised without you having to do that much, without struggling to keep them up and parted. He was close to you, his massive size in comparison to yours allowing him to embrace you almost completely, one hand possessively placed on your bump while the other supported the back of your head. 

His cock breached your tight entrance, pushing in with little resistance thanks to your arousal. While you braced yourself for the stinging pain of the stretch, you fisted the bedcovers with one hand, and grabbed his waist with the other, his flexing muscles tensing and relaxing beneath your palm. 

Despite his carefulness, he was pushing into you all the way until his cock was enveloped by you like Dark Sister by its sheathing. You clenched around on him, and Maegor inhaled a sharp breath that didn’t go unnoticed by you, even though your heartbeat was pounding in your ears. 

“As soon as this boy is born,” Maegor rasped, drawing his hips back to the point only the tip stayed inside, shoving his cock right back into you, “I am going to fill you up again, breeding you, so you’re always round with my child.” His words were interspersed with grunts and groans, and he moved quick enough for your voice to catch in your throat. 

You clung to his waist, digging your nails into his flesh tight enough it would surely leave some bruises in the morrow despite him still wearing a tunic, but you didn’t care–not when he gave you the pleasurable pain you had waited for for so many moons. 

“You were made for me,” he grunted, “made to carry my children–to give me my heir.” 

Your back arched, and your hand released the covers to rest atop his on your belly, grasping his fingers and squeezing them tightly. “G–Gods, yes,” you hiccuped, your eyes closing for a moment. 

It was a race for completion, and Maegor seemed to have lost some of his initial inhibitions, pounding into you as fervently as the position allowed. He fisted the silver hair in the nape of your neck in a feeble attempt to keep his urges at bay, he mostly did, and as much as you wanted to whine and squirm away from the sting at the back of your head, you couldn’t–not when he was making you feel so good at the same time.

“I shall fuck you all day once the babe is born. You’ll be dripping with my seed,” he groaned. “Is that what you want?”

“Y-Yes, husband, yes, please!”

Your fingers clung to his thumb as his hand trailed down to the apex between your legs, his thick digits swirling around the bud that made you writhe beneath his touch. Not long after, you toppled over the edge of your peak, moans loud enough to let the whole Keep know how well your husband was tending to your needs escaping your throat. 

His precious, silver hair stuck to his forehead as he fucked you through your peak, until he reached his completion, too. When his cock spent itself inside of you, Maegor shuddered, the movements of his fingers seizing. “Good girl,” he growled through gritted teeth, “take everything I give you.”

Judging by how long his peak took its toll on your husband’s body, you were certain you would’ve been with his child after that–if you weren’t carrying his offspring already. It seemed that he hadn’t been indulging himself with his other wives for as long as you had. 

When both your breathing slowed down, and his cock had grown flaccid again, Maegor bent a bit closer toward you to lap up droplets of milk that had leaked out of your buds from the force of your peak. 

You gasped at that, still as sensitive as before, if not a bit more, and smoothed out his dampened hair. “Might you stay for a bit?” you asked almost shyly, as you were afraid to be rejected by him. 

Maegor looked up at you, the purple of his eyes reflecting in the dim light of the candles lit around you. “I will stay all night.”

General Taglist: @watercolorskyy @nothingqueens @urmomsgirlfriend1

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x you #hotd fanfic #hotd imagine #hotd smut #maegor i targaryen #maegor targaryen #maegor the cruel #maegor x reader #maegor imagine #maegor targaryen x reader #maegor x y/n #maegor x you #maegor targaryen x you #house of the dragon fic #house of the dragon fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon smut #maegor smut #maegor targaryen smut #house of the dragon maegor #hotd maegor #house of the dragon x reader

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

#astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #dadstarion #astarion x tav #astarion headcanons #astarion x f!tav #baldur's gate astarion #astarion ancunin #to the best worst dad #astarion father of the year every year #emicha writes #idk how this turned out this long #I just put my daddy issues to work #I'm thinking about writing more casual one shot length pieces like this more often though #btw anyone else who only got real gold jewellery as a child? #having a grandma who told them fake jewellery isn't good for your skin? #and now that you're an adult you're left with a certain standard for jewellery but no money to actually pay for it? #because that's really funny ha! #I'll sleep better knowing the ancunin brood will just steal their jewellery even when they're not destitute

[dancingbirdie]

Idk if you’re taking requests but if so could you do bottom Astarion with an afab Tav?

Hi hi! Thanks for giving me the opportunity to write more plotless smut! Hope you enjoy xoxoxo.

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

Take What You Need

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x fem!Reader

Words: 1K

Warnings/Tags: top!fem!Reader, bottom!Astarion, penetrative sex, penis-in-vagina sex, soft fluffy lovemaking, plotless smut, sweet domestic bliss

Summary: You and Astarion share an uninterrupted bath time, complete with fluff, smut and domestic bliss.

*****

The bath water had grown tepid, not that either of you noticed. You were too lost in the moment, too love drunk within this brief escape to heaven. How the two of you had managed to carve out such sacred time alone was a true stroke of luck. There weren’t many opportunities these days to spend time like this. 

Neither of you were about to waste this gift. 

Straddling Astarion between your thighs, you had an incomparable view of his delicate, pointed features. His lean, muscled chest. The sharpness of his jawline. His beautiful carmine eyes, how they darted about, taking in every inch of you poised above him. You marveled at how the water drops, peppered throughout his dampened curls, glistened in the dancing candlelight. He was stunning, in a tragically gorgeous sort of way. 

“A copper for your thoughts,” he murmured, lifting your hand from the water and drawing your wrist to his lips. His nostrils flared slightly as he breathed in your scent, felt the thrumming of your pulse beneath the thin skin. 

“Are you sure you want to know?” you smirked, watching him lavish open-mouthed kisses against your wrist. “They’re rather lascivious.” 

You felt him twitch and begin to harden beneath you once more. That burning desire deep within you didn’t need rekindling, but his subtle movements caused the blood in your veins to quicken nevertheless. Your hips answered him with a gesture of their own, canting down to rut against him. 

“Again already, darling? Greed is a deadly sin, you know,” he crooned, dipping his other hand beneath the water to touch you where you so desperately craved. His thumb easily found that sensitive spot at the apex of your thighs and caressed it with a deft stroke. 

“And I’m your supplicant, begging for absolution,” you breathed, rocking yourself into his hand. 

His throaty chuckle at your retort had goosebumps skittering across your exposed chest. You let loose an unabashedly loud moan as he leaned forward to capture your breast in his mouth. He sucked, hard, as his other hand released your wrist to capture your other nipple between his thumb and finger. Between that and his continued ministrations beneath the water, you couldn’t help as your head lolled back, mind inundated with the luxury of Astarion touching you everywhere, everywhere that mattered. 

He released your breast with a soft pop, lifting his head to take in your now fully-bared neck. 

“I adore when you get this worked up. You look delicious enough to eat,” he breathed against your chest. 

You knew what he was asking without really asking. You were all too happy to comply. 

“Use me,” you whispered, eyes clenched shut as his thumb continued to flick against you, maddeningly slow. You could feel the blunt tip of him poised at your entrance, just barely parting your folds. “Take what you need.”

Astarion laughed darkly at your wanton reply. “So charitable. I could say the very same to you.”

You lifted your head up to stare at him, confused. 

Giving you a devious little grin, he guided one of the hands you had braced on the side of the tub down beneath the water, to where his length stood at attention. 

“Take what you need,” he parroted your words, although they sounded so much sweeter coming from his silken voice. 

Needing no further encouragement, you repositioned him beneath you and speared yourself atop him. Both of you groaned at the sensation of him stretching you once more, that delicious tightness giving way to the even headier sense of absolute fullness. 

Your hands came to rest flat against his chest as you began to move, rocking up and down atop him. Your thighs burned after a few moments, exhausted from your earlier travels, but the dull ache only encouraged you to piston your hips harder. 

The rhythm you had found almost toppled as Astarion pulled you in closer, mouth descending upon your neck as his fangs broke the delicate skin there. That familiar icy feeling flooded your head and upper torso, the perfect contrast to the growing heat pooling in your stomach. You lifted a hand to cup the back of his head, keeping him close as he fed from you. 

In your lust-dulled gaze, you registered the ripples your movements were creating in the water. It was a marvelous sight. An echo of your lovers’ embrace. A dance made possible only through the two you, joining and parting, joining and parting, over and over. 

“I want to taste you as you come, darling,” Astarion murmured against your neck, breaking your focus on the rippling water. He paused his feasting long enough to slip a hand between you and resumed playing with your clit. 

The added sensation all but overloaded your mind. You whined out a garbled reply, your hips bucking with even more fervor. He met you swipe for swipe, matching pace easily as he bit down once more on your neck. 

You knew you wouldn’t last long. It was futile to resist that call to unravel, to explode, to freefall. With a final, frenzied jerk of your hips, you stuttered to a halt as your release barreled through you, taking with it any sense of time and spatial awareness. 

You barely registered Astarion’s euphoric groan as he took in the taste of your blood, as his hands clutched at your hips, hard enough to bruise. Pumping into you once, twice more, he found release of his own and clutched you tightly against him. You were a boneless thing, slouching atop him, fingertips grazing the surface of the water. 

After a few moments of blissful silence, Astarion began to stir beneath you. Gathering you in his arms, you could feel his preparation to stand. 

“Going somewhere?” you murmured sleepily. 

“Taking you to bed, darling, before you fall ill in this cold bathwater,” he returned, kissing your temple and rising from the water with ease. 

“After all that transpired here, it would be a heavenly way to die I think,” you yawned, wrapping your arms and legs more tightly around him. 

His laugh, true and full and delightedly boyish, was the last thing you remembered before falling into a peaceful sleep.  

#astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #dancingbirdiewrites #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion fic #astarion smut #astarion x f!reader #astarion baldurs gate #tav x astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 smut #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic prompt

[dhampling]

lifeblood 18+ (astarion x fem!reader)

As you step closer and drop the basket on the ground he throws a palm up at you. Short, ragged groans. “That… tea. It’s done something to me. The old wretch.” - astarion discovers an aphrodisiac during a trip to the night market, and only one thing is on his mind. cw: breeding, afab reader, mommy kink (brief), sex pollen, comfort, sexual frustration, zero plot, p in v wc: 2.5k, if there are errors no there aren't; enjoy!

The Night Market is particularly vibrant this evening, people and creatures of all description wandering the streets browsing various wares - and so when Astarion feverishly takes your hand and pulls you away from your browsing in a staggered gait; your immediate thoughts are all telling you to watch for danger.

Wicker basket in arm, flailing as he weaves you both through the tepid mulling crowds - a harsh whisper when you scramble close enough to ask ‘what is it?’ - he’s unrelenting in his pursuit, eyes searching off to each alley and aside between stalls. It’s not until he finds a gated passage a little along that his momentum stops and he drops to his knees to pick the lock; then jumps up and pulls you through with a harsh grasp on your upper arm.

You await the slam. The frantic recollection of whatever it is that has him so wary, the whispers and heads over the gate as you duck your way back home from wherever you’ve now ended up.

Had he been caught thieving? Surely not.

Instead though, he surprises you.

He begins to fiddle with the laces of his trousers. Panting. Brow furrowed into a crease and typically-deft fingers losing hold of the lacing with a pained yowl.

“What is this?”

As you step closer and drop the basket on the ground he throws a palm up at you. Short, ragged groans.

“That… tea. It’s done something to me. The old wretch.”

You bypass his hand and bring the back of your own to his forehead, feeling a clammy sweat atop his brow and a slight heat broiling. The tea you’d turned down around half an hour ago, before you’d split for your own respective market gains.

“Gods - Astarion, the aphrodisiac? Of course it has - you okay?”

As you speak he brings your wrist to his nose and huffs it. A haggard wail. Snorts the salt of your skin and gives a strangled curse. He finishes the laces of his trousers and works to free his cock, looking from it to you in a desperate plea.

“Here? Now? What in the hells is going on?!”

“I can smell it. You. You’re so…’

Another huff. His other hand bounces his cock in his palm, spidery strings of prespill linking pale skin.

‘Fertile. Like a cat in heat. Gods, I- I don’t know what this is.”

His hips rut with insatiable want into the air. 

“How do you feel?”

You take him in one hand while wrapping the other around his shoulder in a soothing sail. A few gentle pumps to bring the skin around the head down; a thumb down his slit, literally leaking now. He sobs. 

“I’m burning.’

He writhes against the wooden gate, still standing. Tender cries from his wet, wanting mouth.

‘It’s painful. I- I need you. Please.”

“What do you want from me?’

A deliberate, slow jerk; your wrist turning effortlessly.

‘How can I help you, angel?”

For the first time in this whole sorry sequence his eyes meet yours, red turned a dangerous carmine.

“Don’t make me say it.” 

You squeeze him in your palm and he wails.

“Maybe I want you to say it.’

He thrusts deeply into your hand and screws his eyes closed, panting in habitual breaths. You lean close to his flushed ear and kitten-lick the inner skin with an intentionally wet tongue.

‘Say it for me. Say it for mummy, darling.’

When the word leaves your lips, his head whips to you furiously. Eyes round and brimming with tears. Bottom lip trembling. Your foreheads meet and you soften. Your poor boy.

‘Do you want this? Or would you like to go home, Astarion? I’ll draw you a bath, we can-”

“I want this. I need- I need to-’

You shuffle away, lifting your skirts and fiddling at your own underclothes to loosen them down your thighs. When he sees your own spool of arousal connecting cunt to cloth he jerks furiously and advances behind you, this time in your ear.

‘Let me fuck you. I’ll make you a mummy. I need to-’

Your fingers disappear deep between your legs, arching your ass into him; and emerge drenched in clear jelly slick - a film connecting them as they splay. 

He’s shaking now. He can smell it more vividly than he’s ever been able to smell anything. His hands press over your lower belly; the womb ripe for fertilisation, the way he can envision himself sunk to the hilt and ebbing at the entrance to your cervix, his seed leaking directly into you with each prespill pulse and throb. 

‘I need to put a baby in you. I need to breed you.’

He regains control for a brief moment as deft fingers work their way down your front and to the top of your pubic bone. If you were to stop and consider then you know there’s categorically no way he could impregnate you, and even if so; it’s not something you’ve considered to any realistic extent. 

‘This won’t go away until I do, sweetheart. I can feel it.”

There’s a solemnity to his whisper, you note. A consideration. 

A sadness, maybe? 

You wonder how literal he is. If this has triggered some latent need to knock you up. If your fertile days will be spent with him filling you to the brim with his undead spend, over and over; until he somehow manages the impossible. 

A stack of crates nearby. They’ll do for this. 

You lead him now, a shepherd; to the boxes and hitch your skirts over your ass while you bend over the dry wood. 

“If you let me do this, I won’t be able to stop.” Astarion’s voice cracks in the whisper while looking at your glistening cunt with admirable restraint. You feel yourself leaking down the soft skin of your thigh - your own arousal catching on the cool night air. 

“I don’t want you to stop.’ 

He descends on you after a dazed moment to steep in your words, testing the waters with nimble fingers edging between your swollen lips. 

‘Fuck me full. Breed me.”

“You’re so ready, aren’t you? Little minx.’

A wretched groan. 

‘You want me to get you pregnant? I can feel how ruinously soaked you are - tell me, is this what you want? Have you wanted this for a while?”

When he speaks it’s simply silken. Syrup. His fingers feel excruciatingly good as they round your lust-engorged clit, babbling nonsense in a lusty haze.

“Gods. Yes. Yes. Please, please fuck me. Spill into me.”

The fingers are merely customary. He knows what he wants, and you want it too. Each wanton wiggle of your hips, each brush against your ass cheeks. The blunt head of his cock settles just broaches your entrance as you hear him suckle on his fingertips coyly behind you. 

A low hum of approval.

“Good. My darling girl.”

On darling, he begins his relentless campaign. 

Once settled at the hilt he stops for a moment in a weighty groan, eyes rolling back into his skull as you turn over your shoulder. His hands settle in a firm grasp on your hips. At this moment he’s determined. Needy. Your cunt is the relief he so desperately seeks and he takes a second to adjust so he can hump you properly. To ensure the seed settles once he’s gathered the momentum to have it spurt deep into your womb.

He feels ridiculously good like this. 

Like a meal to the starving, water in the desert. The wet glubs accompanying his shallow thrusts are evidentiary to just how much you need this. Him buried inside you - rattling on like a madman. Talks like his mind will never be the same again. 

The only thing in his brain being the unfettered desire to make you round. 

“I’ll take you back here again, in a few months. When you’re- when you’re round and aching. Keep your arm in mine at all times so- so they all know just who did this to you.’

A few shallow ruts before he ploughs back in deep.

‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I- I feel your heart racing, darling. You want my babies? You want to make me a daddy?’

He cants his hips at the breech of your cervix, not pulling back, simply moving to adjust himself inside you. Ensuring his prespill leaks into your waiting womb with each rock of his pelvis.

‘Because I’m feral thinking about making you a mother. All glowy and swollen, my baby inside you.”

His clammy hand slaps your ass, heavy balls smacking on your clit with his terse thrusts.

“I- I want it. I need it. Please.”

Your moans are directly into the dry wood, face now pressed to the side against the crates. Lips swollen from your own attempts to bite back your lewd proclamations. Spit forming a glob of drool in the resting corner. 

You’re smiling. Beaming. Gods. 

Had you wanted this? Had it been some subconscious desire of yours to mother his children? Has some sketchy tea from a Night Market vendor done this to you through his prespill seeping in? Made you realise just how you wanted your life with him to look? 

You’ve not planned for this, but no fear overwhelms you at the thought of the possible outcome of your breeding session. The thought of him sat beaming over your child. The most beautiful man you’ve ever seen; yours, your family, everyone knowing your devotion to each other in the most lifelong sense. Infallible and real and capable of producing something beyond yourselves.

As he continues his pursuit you wonder if they’ll have his eyes. Fangs. Dhampir aren’t a common breed. They’re far too difficult to rear.

But there’s something potent in the way he piles into you where you can begin to see an entire brood of them. Dhampir. 

The sheer determination behind his smacks, the way you ass burns each time his palm meets it in a sharp slap. His chuntering warbles - moans, grunting, the light pleading;-

The light pleading.

He’s reaching around your front and holding your lower belly as he fucks you, a slight falter to his pacing.

Poor thing. 

“Feed.” You whimper, brushing all hindrances from your neck and arching into him once more so he stops his thrusting.

“I- I can’t. I can’t risk it not taking. This isn’t going away, love.”

His voice cracks, a desperation once more.

“I said feed. Feed on me, my angel. Then fuck me full of you.”

He keeps inside you as he leans over your back, hands moving to feel for your nipples under your blouse and lightly jerking the peaking skin. He stills for a moment in an attempt to regain some of himself.

“Yes, mother.” 

You both fall about laughing until he corrects your stance with an urgent tug and waits no time to sink his teeth into the long-standing wounds on your neck. 

From his position he can’t thrust, stretched over your back like some heavy battlecloak of old. 

You warm him with genuine delight at no risk of him growing soft and feel the way his pretty cock pushes against your ridges in the most minute way. His suckling from you in order to eke out your lifeblood, becoming his own once swallowed. The saccharine pool of metal red gathering under his tongue with each lap. 

Once finished, he lifts with renewed vigour. Wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and cackles something wicked.

He gives you no time to adjust before he resumes his conquest on your body, a brutal thrust giving you cause to wince into the crates below you. You whip your head around to sneer at him which earns you a sheepish smile.

Each snap brings you closer. The white heat boiling, spluttering in your gut threatens to spill with each mutter from his blood-smeared mouth.

“I’m close.” You whimper. 

He leans over you once more.

“Milk it from me, love. Cum for me.”

The whisper tips you over. Each rolling tidal wave of ecstasy as his thumb strokes the side of your distended clit is molten in extremity, each clench of your cunt vice-like around him. His roaring laughter ecstatic as he rides you through your peak like some seasoned rancher.

Whoever has set up stall by the alley is definitely aware of your brutal fucking. The thought of them discovering you has you in near shambles as you reach the end of climax. Being discovered. Something else that’s relatively new to you, but not unpleasant.

Then, he gasps. Trembles. Shatters. Through the haze of your orgasm you feel him stutter on weak legs and the vulnerability you’ve come to know so well has blinked back into the frame. 

“Tell me I can. Now. Quick.”

“Knock me up. You can do it, baby.”

Eyes still round, Astarion humps your ass in anticipation one more time and spills with such force it sends him reeling into audible ecstacy. Each twitch of his cock inside you milky smooth in your combined secretion, blood-pinkened slit spurting, the sheer control as he presses impossibly deep into your waiting cunt. You find yourself rolling back in your own delirium. 

His orgasmic rutting doesn’t stop for a long while. A series of beleaguered moans, the way his humming pitches with each slap of his hips; each of his taps against your cervix causing you to clench further and therefore feeding the cycle.

When he does eventually stop, his face buries in between your shoulderblades; arms wrapping around your waist. Silence. 

“Astarion, love - are you okay?”

A feeble whisper. Back still arched, his weight on you.

“I’m- I’m so sorry.”

There’s a teary singe to his quiet words, reverent kisses planted on your own now-sweat laden skin. He sniffs. 

“It’s okay! We all make mistakes. She did say it was an aphrodisiac, to be fair to her. Is it still affecting you?”

“No, not that.”

“Then what?”

He sniffs once more and wipes his face with the back of his hand, using your hips as leverage to stand. 

“I- This. All this. I didn’t want it to come out like this, ideally.”

You shuffle a little and he slips from between your legs, taking your underwear from the floor and turning to face him whilst you roll the garment over your thighs.

“What? That you have a raging breeding fetish?” 

He taps your arm lightly and laughs a little, lacing up his breeches.

“Well. Kind of?’

He pulls a face and brings you close, moon overhead gleaming in the cool night. A slight breeze.

‘I don’t know what I want, per se; but I think I like the idea of… Well. This.’ 

His hands roll over one another as he plants a soft kiss atop your head. You lick your thumb and wipe any remaining blood traces from his lips.

‘It feels ridiculously sordid and entirely dangerous, but the moment that… stuff hit my blood I knew what I needed. I could smell you miles off. Still can.”

“You want to put a dhampir in me?” You laugh, waggling your fingers near his face. He groans.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.’

You kiss the back of his hand as you reach for the discarded basket.

‘Not until you’ve done it, anyway.”

#my writing #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x tav #astarion bg3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #nsft