#illness got a man laid up like i think i have a fever.

[the-acid-pear]

oray for me i hate being sick

[bunny-jpeg]

wife

sebastian vettel

tags: smut/pwp, established relationship, wife!reader, age gap (20s/37), bath/shower sex, breeding kink, cowgirl position

mark webber ver. - kimi raikkonen ver. - jenson button ver.

rain came down heavy during a cool day in march. spring was beginning to show itself, but a bit of the biting chill still remained.

sebastian laughed as he pushed his blond hair out of his face and wiped his face free of raindrops, "the rain was supposed to come later!" he looked to you as you placed your wet sneakers by the vent.

you looked back to him, you were mostly try thanks to sebastian's raincoat that he threw over you when the rain started. however he was left soaked. you giggled, "well, we need to get your clothes in the dryer. i don't need you getting a cold!" you hung up the coat to dry and pulled your husband further into the house.

he eagerly followed you, letting you grasp his wrist as you went towards the bathroom. he perked up when you said,

"i know exactly how to warm you up."

"oh no, my love." he said, "i think i'm getting so ill, you'll need to play nurse for me." he laughed before you got his sweatshirt off and then his soaked t-shirt underneath.

he could feel your lustful gaze on his body, you weren't being exactly subtle about it. it wasn't a stretch for you to say that your husband was the most handsome man you ever laid eyes on. there was something so alluring about him. as he stood there in just briefs that showed off his bulge.

you tried to keep it together as you put the clothes in the hamper to be dried later. something had been on your mind lately. you had been married to sebastian for almost a year and a half. and maybe it was just baby fever, but you wanted his child. a baby with the love of your life.

you put your hand on his bicep and leaned in, your gaze met his. and he smiled at you. you suggested to him, "how about a bath? it'll make you nice and warm."

sebastian knew where this was going and smiled. he got a loose arm around you. and then admired your features for a moment, the depths of colour in your eyes, the slope of your nose, the little acne scar on your cheek. all beautiful, all for him, "only if you get it ready for me."

he remained close while you prepped the bath. the plug in the drain and warm water flowed from the table. he told you that he was stealing some of your body heat, he played up the whole cold as aspect as an excuse to be so close to you.

you smiled a little when you felt his barely clothed cock up against your behind.

"feeling warm, dear?" he asked. it didn't help that his words only made you warmer. you made a small noise and he buried his nose in your hair as he bent you over a little, "you feel rather warm."

"fuck, seb."

a kiss as your pulse point made you core grow warm. your husband exhaled deeply against you, "you looked very nice in my jacket. knowing i was protecting you. i know you like that, feeling protected."

you blushed and felt a twinge in your core as your husband continued to kiss your neck. slowly you were stripped of your own clothes as steam filled the room. heat rose in you as it did the washroom.

he still held onto you once you were nude, his now bare cock was up against your beck. you nipples were hard and your stomach felt full of butterflied. you admired lowly, "i want a baby." in a rainy in the spring at your home. you, mrs. vettel, wanted to have a baby with your loving husband.

he linked his fingers with yours and held them tightly as he remained before you. he said in a love voice tinged with affection, "oh my love, my treasure, my wife. i thought you'd never ask." then laid heavy kisses on the back of your shoulders. it didn't take much longer before you were both in the tub. and your husband's cock sank into you.

your were facing him, admiring his features and felt the course of heat in your soul. you took him so well.

"my dear." he deeply exhaled, "you feel amazing." he got yourself fully seated on his cock. he held onto your soft hips, "probably not the most efficient position for our little plan. but, this feels just too good." he bit back a moan as you started to move, "my wife in the bath with me." he rocked up against you and felt the heat in his body.

you moaned a little louder as his cock hit up against your sweetest spots. it felt quite amazing, a certain lust that left you needy for more. your body seemed to move on its own as you moved. the water shifted around you and the smell of floral soap filled the steamy air. you were making love to your husband and it felt immaculate.

"you're perfect." he admited, "i always thought you were. drew me with in, and now you have that pretty ring on your finger and a big house. big enough to have a few kids running around." his chest heavily rose and fell with each breath.

his words turned you on as the two of you continued to make heated love in the bath. the warm water helped warm you both up on top of the passionate sex you had.

you were left breathless in each other's embrace. sebastian kissed you deeply, his large hands roamed your body. the excitement only further grew in you. the water splashed up against your back from the movements, the steadiness of your pace. against you was your husband, the love of your life. he made sure you were safe and loved, he yearned for your body. your lips, your pussy, your soft breasts. everything.

you fed his obsession, his cock twitched inside of you as the two of you picked up the pace.

"please, honey. it feels good." you whined. he fit you perfectly. it was hard to deny yourself him and the pleasure he gave you. just as he was obsessed with you, you were obsessed with him.

everyone loved mrs. vettel, and you loved your husband. he made you laugh out loud, see the world different, and moan loudly as you achieved climax. a sebastian took pride in pleasuring you, knowing he always got you to the highest climaxes.

anything for his wife.

rain hit the window outside, but you were both so comfortable in the water. steam heavy in the washroom.

"how's your bath?" you asked.

"best i've ever had. we could've had a little wine with this." he joked and pushed you further up against his him. he kissed your chest and played with your nipples. he gave them both equal attention.

spring was about planting and new life. and well, sebastian was going to plant something in you by the end of tonight. he groaned against your chest, "hope you're ready for my baby. i know you'll carry them as well. and don't worry, i'm here for you through it all. because that is what a good husband does. support and protect." he kissed over your heart which made your stomach flip.

"seb."

"beautiful." he moaned as you moved a little faster. he held on tightly and smothered your face in love and affection. he felt the tension in his body as he felt the flow of pelasure through him. the sight of you riding him.

he groaned through a tesne jaw and your nails dug into his shoulders as the two of you fucked faster. he felt the pull of want in him, you kissed him on the lips once more. you felt sebastian's cock against all the right areas. the rain cam down, but you were wrapped up in him. your sebastian.

"my beautiful wife." he sighed almost dreamily, he kissed your neck and felt your shudder against him. he felt the same way, the same pounding heat in his core. he groaned with his face between the valley of your breasts, "all mine." his voice was drowned with lust. he loved it all.

"we're going to make a family?" you asked with heat in your voice. your breeding kink on full display. you could taste the pleasure on your tongue, the heated feeling was sweet.

"oh yeah." he purred, "you, me, our kids." he moved against you quicker and he he knew he was close to finishing, "out in the garden with them. we'll be so happy." he shakily exhaled, "dinners, movies, homework, long driver. everything."

the water splashed more violently, it went over the edge of the tub. you kissed him once more as you felt the pleasure wash over you.

"i love you." the words slipped out in german.

you gazed at your husband and replied in the same tongue, "i love you too." and watched a smile grow across his face. you pulled him in for one last searing kiss before you climaxed. your nails dug into him a little tighter as you came. the noises flowed from your mouth spurred your husband on. he worked his cock into you, you met his pace in your own orgasmic bliss.

the kissed continued and you moaned into his mouth. sebastian held onto your hips tightly and finished inside of you. he peppered your neck with kisses before he kissed you on the mouth once more. soon after he slowed down and you both held onto one another. he looked up at you with love in his eyes.

"i think we made a bit of a mess." he said cheekily.

you combed your fingers through his hair and said, "why don't we clean up and continue this in the bedroom? i'm not finished with you yet, my dear." you gave him a wink.

he chuckled lightly, he liked the look you gave him. however it didn't stop him from sneezing. you two would have to make quick work because the cold set in.

-

it was nearing the end of summer and yet it was another rainy day. which was a shame considering that everything had been so sunny for the last few days.

for a quiet afternoon you laid in your lover's arms. sebastian kept you close, you were about five months into your pregnancy. and every moment since you told him the news, his love for you only grew deeper - something you didn't think was possible.

you leaned in closer and kissed him on the nose. he only pulled you in further until your noses were touching. even with his eyes closed he could feel your closeness, your deep love. he leaned in for a kiss with a wide hand on your swollen middle.

"another rainy day." you said softly.

sebastian opened his eyes a little and asked, "breakfast in bed then, mrs. vettel?"

you cupped his face and he leaned into it. you asked him, "pancakes?" and sebastian only nodded, unable to deny his wife. <3

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 23

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; a tad bit of angst; smidge of illness; all the pregnancy woes in the world; some suggestive dialogue A/N: There's some serious fluff in this. I tried so hard to keep Daryl in character while having him offer all he could to a person doing something precious for him. I hope I succeeded. The explanation of midnight blue is a little bit of self indulgence. It's my own favorite color and the reason why. I know I skipped the nursing home scene but I took the liberty of adding into the timeline somewhere as a mention.

The events of the day before had ended in the most amusing way, with you nearly inviting Carol in before getting dressed.

“She knows what tits and a vagina look like, Daryl.”

“She don’t know what my dick looks like, Y/N!”

“Touche, sir.”

All ended well and Carol saw no genitalia that fine day.

You had officially worn one another out. After the Tylenol and Carol’s snickers and knowing smiles, you and Daryl fell onto the pillows and slept until the next morning. The fever remained, albeit burning less and less hot each time the old man would look him over. His lungs were sounding better. Hershel removed the IV when the archer proved he could keep up with hydrating and promised to take it easy. Of course, he would. He had you as his warden. 

The next evening, after a bowl of hearty stew with the venison you had brought back,—two bowls for Daryl—you laid in bed. He wasn’t complaining, for once, and actually seemed to be close to falling asleep. It had been a relief to watch him eat well, even if he did try to share the second bowl. You were feeling a little nauseated, sharing that knowledge honestly when you turned down his offering. Your condition had definitely improved, the severity of the occurrences much less concerning. Things were actually okay. 

“Daryl?” You licked your suddenly dry lips but continued drawing patterns on his bare chest from your spot against his side with his arm wrapped around you. He hummed, his usual reply, eyes remaining closed while his thumb swept back and forth over your ribs. When you didn’t answer right away, he pulled you a little closer. It was unclear if it was intentional or not.

“What?” He cleared his throat, his voice still gravelly. 

“Can we—I’d like to know more about you.” Your timid request must have snagged his attention because he was shifting your bodies to lie face to face, one hand below his cheek and the other rubbing small circles just over where the baby had finally stopped tap dancing. He was giving you that look, the squinted eyes that scrutinized someone for any indication of dishonesty or hidden agenda. He should know you better than that by now, but you remained quiet.

“Whaddaya wanna know?” He finally queried, his hand going still but remaining where it was.

“Anything. Everything.” You shrugged your available shoulder. “If we’re gonna do this—be an us—then we need to know one another, don’t you think?” He started tapping a finger against your abdomen.

“S’your favorite color?”

You huffed a laugh through your nose, scrunching it with a smile. “Midnight blue. What’s yours?” He pulled a face, curiosity shining through.

“Why midnight?” He asked with a sniff, shuffling around a bit on the pillow.

“Because even though I know it isn’t, I like to think that’s the color of the night sky. Not black, but dark blue and full stars. Black is nothing, it’s lonely, but to think of it as blue. It’s a little more comforting.” The archer gave you a thoughtful look, the corner of his mouth ticking upward so minutely that anyone else would have missed it. Not you. “Now, what’s yours?”

He mimicked your earlier shrug. “Dunno. Don’t really got one, I guess.” Your silence beckoned him to explain. After moving his hand from below his cheek to chew on the side of his thumb, he eventually elaborated. “Grew up learnin’ to ‘preciate all’a ‘em. House was—it was always dark, ‘specially after mama died. When my old man—I spent a lot’a time outside. Noticed things. Blue sky’d turn a bit purple before it’d snow, even if it was just a lil’. Grass—it’d be green but have those brown pieces where I’d walk all’a the time. Creek looked muddy unless ya stood in it. Then ya’d see the bottom an’ how the water’d catch the light. Sometimes it’d be blue, sometimes kinda green. Just depended on the day.” His gaze had dropped away from you at some point, focused on the miniscule area of bed sheets between your bodies.

You were glad for it because your eyes had started to fill and shine. You were granted the opportunity to blink back the tears before he looked up. Daryl was so much more than anyone had given him credit for, than anyone had been willing to learn. Carol had told you a story about an exchange with Andrea, when she had taken a jab at what she thought was his limited vocabulary.

“Get a dictionary. Look it up. Observant.”

“D’ya like dogs or cats?” He asked so suddenly that you nearly flinched, realizing that you had just been staring at some point past his head for an undetermined amount of time. There was no way he hadn’t noticed.

“I like both, but I’m a dog person.” You frowned. Having a dog would probably be something your child would never get to experience. “You?”

“Dogs. Cats ain’t trustworthy.” It was such an amusing thing to say with such a straight face. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Wait, I need to hear this.” You caught him staring at your lips, maybe watching you laugh or maybe he wanted to kiss you. Both? You pretended not to notice. 

“Dogs’re smart but cats’re calculated. Make ya think they’re all innocent when they ain’t. Always up to somethin’.”

“What I’m hearing is that you’re afraid of cats.” You smirked, absently reaching to run your fingers through his hair. Daryl made a disgruntled sound and shook his head to stave off your attempts.

“Ain’t afraid’a ‘em. Just don’t trust ‘em.”

“Right.” You nodded, face falling into feigned seriousness before it became real, your next question burning inside your chest, just below the fear you’d need to surpass to ask. He was likely to shut down the session, maybe even close off completely. You could always hope he’d begun to trust you enough to open up, even if only a little, but the prospect suddenly seemed so far away. “Daryl.”

“Ask.” He was looking right into your eyes with a hint of determination you’d seen before when the circumstances were different, dire even. Was that how he saw this? A dire situation that could result in you being gone in some way?

“Who—what happened?” You let a single fingertip press gently against the deepest scar on his chest, your eyes lingering on it for but a moment before you contradicted his intensity with tenderness. Not pity, but a gentle curiosity. A request to allow you to understand.

“My dad—he was never a good man.” He swallowed hard. “Got worse after mama died. She drank. Fell asleep with a smoke, burned up in our house.” His fingers were plucking at the small space between you, a fine tremor in his hand. He pulled it out of your reach when you reached for it. “Didn’t know what to do with us, I guess. Me an’ Merle—my brother.” The brother that Rick had left behind in Atlanta, the brother who was likely dead. Yet another relative your baby would never know. “Merle tried to—he’d take the beatin’ when he could, did his best. Booked it outta there when he couldn't take it no more. Joined the army.” His eyes were wet, but he sniffed and cleared his throat. “Wasn't nothin’ standin’ between me an’ the old man then—between me an’ the belt. The cigarettes.” He fell silent, clearly finished with talking about his parents.

“Tell me about Merle?” You ventured, shot down with a shake of his head against the pillow.

“Ain’t your turn.” He sniffed again. “Your mama—tell me ‘bout your mama.” It wasn’t exactly a question, more of a soft demand; an it’s only fair. You didn’t mind. You’d accepted her abandonment long ago. You had been content with the amazing father with whom you were gifted.

“She booked it. We didn’t have a lot of money, and she never really wanted me in the first place. Tucked tail and ran the first chance she got.” You shrugged, unbothered beyond the twinge of guilt you felt for being so okay with the hand you had been dealt while Daryl struggled to even think about his past. “I didn’t even miss her. I mean, it sucked at first. I always felt bad, watching daddy struggle. So, I learned to help and that was that.”

He was so obviously jealous, yet another emotion that he didn't know how to process. You saw the anger flare before he doused it, returning to a solemn state of silence. He was awaiting your question, wherein you found a dilemma. Did you push through the conversation about his family? Or did you switch to something else, give him a break? 

“Thank you for trusting me.” When you reached for him then, he didn’t pull away. His mask cracked and a few pieces fell away, but he held the rest steady. “That’s enough for now, okay? If you have more questions, I’ll answer them. Gladly. But you’ve shared enough, okay?” When he studied you, you didn’t let him proceed with his usual scrutiny. “It’s fine, Daryl. We can talk more when—if—you ever want to again. You don’t need to tell me anything else.”

He accepted the out with a long exhale and a nod, his gaze falling away. You embraced the silence and its discomfort, just touching him while he was in a place to allow it. You stroked his cheek, the stubble thicker than usual with his confinement to the bed. You smoothed his hair, scratched gently over his scalp. Finally, you scooted closer and pulled him toward you to meet in the middle. Tangling your legs around his, you guided his head to rest under your chin. He let you without complaint or denial, a testament to how he had silently endured when he needed comforting.

The two of you laid there, his breaths evening out to the point where you thought he had fallen asleep. Then, breaking the silence, he cleared his throat. “Why me?” You pulled back just enough to angle your head and look at him.

“Why you what?”

“Why ya settlin’ with me? We can raise a kid together without you givin’ up a chance with someone better.” He took a deep breath, keeping his head down. “I won’t hold ya to it if ya change your mind later—if someone shows—”

“There’s no one better.” You nearly snapped at him, your tone harsher than you’d ever meant for it to be. He flinched and you instantly hated yourself for it. You’d seen someone’s quick movements earn that reaction before, but words hardly affected Daryl physically, not like that. “Daryl.” You silently pleaded with him to look at you, but were left disappointed. “There’s no one better.” You repeated, so softly that it was almost a whisper, your breath disturbing his hair. “I want to raise this baby with you. I want to be with you. I love you. That’s not gonna change.”

He simply hummed, the sound reverberating against your throat. You wanted to throttle him, but none of his self-deprecation was his fault. You hated people you didn’t even know for it. “Don’t deserve all this.” Your brow furrowed deeply at his words. “Feel like m’gettin’ somethin’ meant for someone else. Like m’takin’—” The words died on the tip of his tongue. What could you even say to that? You could tell him he deserved the world—the fucking universe—but he’d never believe it. You’d just have to show him. It would take time and patience that would likely be tested over and over, but he was worth it.

“You’ll see.” You settled back against him, let silence fall between you again. After a while, he actually did fall asleep, the tension you had noticed in him finally melting away into a restful state he so desperately needed in order to continue getting well. A kiss was pressed into his hair. You never fell asleep yourself, simply lying there with him. Your heart ached yet it was full. With your fingers traveling up and down his back in gentle motions you hoped were comforting even within his dreams, you told him again. “You’ll see.”

Daryl was coughing strenuously by the time you reached the truck, his hand pressed hard against his chest. The cold air, the rush of grabbing up all the bags, the running from the herd—it was taking its toll on his still healing body.

“Keys.” You demanded. “I’m driving.”  You could see it on his face that he was going to argue, but he doubled over in another fit of coughs and deep, wheezing gasps. Digging in his pocket through the ordeal, he tossed you the keyring. The bags you two were responsible for were tossed into the back next to the bike. It took the archer two attempts to pull himself onto the bench seat, which required the effort of both your bodies to move back in order to accommodate your 30 week bump. Just as your door closed, a discolored hand slapped against the window, startling you into a shout.

The van was already moving when you pressed the gas to peel out behind it, mowing down at least three walkers. Dark blood splattered onto the windshield, smearing but mostly washing away when you used the partially frozen fluid and wipers. Daryl’s forehead was against the dashboard as he fought to catch his breath in the chilled air. You were fumbling for the temperature controls when he smacked your hand away.

“Just—just drive. I got it.” He rasped, the warming air filling the cab a moment later. His back thudded against the seat, shaking it slightly, his head falling back against the headrest with his eyes closed. He was finally sucking in gulps of air into irritated, partially healed lungs. When you reached a point that was safe enough to pull off, you would make sure the group remembered his state of health and didn’t travel for too long before finding anything suitable and safe enough for a stay of at least a few days. “Quit your worryin’, woman. M’good.”

“Just don’t, Daryl.” You argued quietly, desperate to keep the peace between the pair of you that you’d managed to create. “Let me worry. If you don’t fight me on it, I’ll be less likely to do something stupid.” You glanced over, finding his head rolled toward you, his jaw set but he relented with a jerk of his head.

“Fine. Just have ‘em find whatever. S’long as it keeps your ass right here beside me.” 

You smiled and silently celebrated your victory, even as he noticed and grumbled beside you. When you placed your hand, palm up, on the seat between you, only a heartbeat passed before you felt him squeezing your fingers.

Roughly eight weeks left, though Hershel said you could safely deliver if you made it at least four more weeks. You were actually becoming slightly miserable. The nausea would come and go, though you actually vomited less and less. Your ankles were missing completely under the puffy skin. Your belly felt so heavy that even just standing was becoming a chore. Lori was sympathetic, constantly giving you advice. Not only you but Daryl as well. You had seen her whispering to him, watched the way he would go completely still, not looking at her but listening intently. Rick could give him all the advice in the world but Lori’s input was crucial. She knew exactly what you needed.

The archer argued with you less and less, though you could see the restraint it took for him to bite his tongue, sometimes literally. He let you hunt with him because you were restless. Lori had said it was because of the urge to start nesting, which you had found amusing, but Daryl already knew about it because of the damn books he continued to snatch up on runs. Why it frustrated you that he was willing to go that extra mile was beyond your comprehension. Maybe because he knew more about what was going on with your body than you did? You should have been grateful, but all you wanted to do was kick him in the shins.

“Can ya just—nevermind.” He grunted from behind you while the two of you tracked some turkeys. You knew they’d be in the trees for the cold weather so you kept your eyes upward, irritating the hunter when you would nearly trip or run into something. Still, he kept his cool, which was admirable for your hot-headed partner. Daryl didn’t like the term boyfriend, you’d discovered during a brief conversation where you’d found your tongue looser than normal and spilling out questions you’d otherwise never ask. The two of you had settled on being partners, though you didn’t feel it was enough to describe your relationship. He had simply shrugged.

You couldn’t hunt with a gun. He’d all but forbade it. Too loud, would draw walkers. So he found you a bow. Not a crossbow but a traditional one. It didn’t take much practice. You only needed to become familiar with the tension of the string, how far to pull for the trajectory and speed needed. Aiming came naturally.

“Shut up, Daryl. I’m fine.” You snapped, instantly muttering an apology. It was but wasn’t his fault you felt so crappy. It took two to make the baby whose little foot or hand or whatever was always pressing into your ribs. You were just as responsible and tried to remember that even when it was you and not him that felt like absolute shit most of the time. As if the world was hellbent on fucking with you, the toe of your boot found its way beneath an exposed root and you nearly faceplanted. If not for Daryl’s constant observance, you surely would have.

He snagged your bicep, dropping his crossbow to reach across your chest and grip your other shoulder. All you needed was a dislocated shoulder when you were already so beyond miserable. He made sure you stayed on your feet, nearly stumbling himself, but saying nothing when you found his irritated but concerned gaze. The weight of it instantly brought on the sniffling you knew was about to lead to a breakdown.

Over the course of only three weeks, the archer had memorized the signs and adapted, learning how to soothe you even at the expense of his own comfort. He immediately pulled you into his arms as close as he could with your ever-growing belly between you, shushing you and rubbing your back. 

“S’alright. I won’t letcha fall.”

Noble as his intentions were, that only seemed to stir up even more guilt. “I don’t know why I can’t just listen when you tell me I should stay behind! Why do you let me just do whatever I want even when you know it’s the wrong choice?!” You rubbed your wet face against his button up, leaving a dark spot and not for the first time.

“Cause you’re hard-headed an’ feelin’ like crap. Only make ya feel worse for me to argue with ya.”

And just like that, the switch flipped. “I’m not hard-headed, Daryl! I’m fucking capable and everyone wants to treat me like I’m gonna break!” You pushed him away roughly and stomped forward, sniffling harder than necessary. You heard a sigh from behind you, the sound of him picking up his crossbow and before following at a distance.

When you shot down the turkey, even beyond the pride you felt carrying it back, something told you that he saw it first but didn’t even raise his weapon.

Carol had heated some water for you so you could wipe down, feeling like your skin was crawling after being in the woods all day. It was a foreign feeling for the leaves and cool, fresh air to feel like it stuck to your flesh and needed to be scrubbed away. You were a mess. Your body hurt and you constantly needed to pee. You were irritable. You’d want Daryl to fuck you one minute and then shove him away the moment he touched the slick apex of your thighs. You were torturing the poor man who didn’t have a clue how to provide the type of comfort you needed when he couldn’t even process how to overcome his own lack of it growing up.

You didn’t hear him enter the room as you bowed over the small sink in the dusty bathroom, your skin still damp beneath your long sleeved shirt and flannel sleep pants. You had washed your hair to the best of your ability, the wet strands forming a curtain around your face that blocked your view of the door. You didn’t startle when you felt the heat of his body behind you. It was familiar at that point in a way you couldn’t explain.

“I’m so sorry, Daryl.” You whispered, the syllables of his name coming out as a soft whimper. His hands settled on your hips, fingers flexing nervously.

“S’okay.” He stepped closer and you fully expected to feel his erection press against your ass, but that wasn’t the case. There was only the firm safety of his body, your human security blanket. “Wanna—can I try somethin’?” His voice shook beside your ear but his hands remained steady, digits still squeezing and releasing. Not trusting your voice, you nodded, his exhale warm against your neck.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting but it certainly wasn’t his warm palms sliding beneath your belly and lifting with more gentleness than you were aware a human being could possess. The absence of the weight pulling down was an instant relief, your muscles turning to jello. You leaned back against him and he kept you upright, silently offering you comfort and succor that your body didn’t even know it needed.

“Fuck.” You breathed, eyes fluttering closed and head laying back against his shoulder. The tears came when his lips pressed against your temple, wordlessly expressing his gratitude for what you were enduring. “Thank you.” Your own appreciation trembled over your lips, whether toward the man at your back or a god you weren’t sure you believed in for putting him there.

[sirius-inquiries]

jegulus: sick

"Good Morning"

Regulus had been up since six, always an early riser. James, however, was still sleeping and it was nearing the afternoon. Regulus decided it was time for him to get up, which is why he was currently pulling the curtains aside to let the sun in.

"Mmmm. No." came from the lump in the bed. James turned over, stuffing a pillow over his face to block out the sun.

"Babe, it's near twelve. You should get up, I've let you sleep enough."

But when Regulus raised the pillow to plant a kiss on James' head, his lips were met with hot, clammy skin. He looked at the tired man and took in his pale skin, a juxtaposition from his normal sunny glow.

"Oh, love. Are you feeling poorly?"

James just groaned again then shot up, shoving the duvet off of himself. Regulus got out of the way just in time for James to book it to the in-suite, the door slamming closed behind him. When Regulus went to the door, he could hear retching coming from the other side.

Regulus pushed open the door, trying his best to rub James' back as he continued to heave into the toilet. He conjured a wet cloth, holding it to the back of James' neck as he finished.

"Sorry. Don't feel well today." James finally said, accepting the water that Regulus was passing to him.

"Was it the food, do you think? Or have you caught something from the kids at work?"

"Might have. It's flu season, guess I wasn't being careful enough."

Regulus pet James' hair back as he finished spelling him clean, a hum coming from James in thanks.

"Why don't you go lie back down, love. I'll bring you some potions and something to sip on."

Regulus helped James back into bed. The ill man shivering now from the fever that Regulus was sure he had. Regulus went to the kitchen and came back shortly, carrying with him some tea and a few crackers for James to try to eat, as well as some pain and fever potions that he kept on standby for times like this.

"Here, love. Drink these first. Come on, sit up." Regulus sat on the bed next to James, urging him to take both potions before laying back down.

"Thank you, Reg."

"It's alright, babe. I don't mind taking care of you. I just wish you didn't feel so poorly." Regulus said, setting the empty vials on the stand next to the bed and picking up the tea cup.

"Yeah, me too." James replied, accepting the tea and taking a sip. his eyes were groggy and he looked ready to drop any second.

Regulus got on his side of the bed and coaxed James to rest his head on the well man's lap.

"Come here, lovely. Let me coddle you. My poor, sick boy."

Regulus' fingers dove into James' hair, ghosting his nails against his scalp. James laid there, content and tired, a small hum of approval coming from his lips. Soon, Regulus heard soft snoring coming from James, indicating he was back asleep and on the mend.

[callsign-joyride]

For some reason the link to request won’t work on my phone :( . Can I please request a Fall Fluff for Jake for prompt 15 where the reader is the one who is sick ?

Chicken Noodle Soup | Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Jake worries that you're having second thoughts about the relationship, only to find that the reason you haven't been responding is because you've been sick all day.

Content warnings: Fanboy being a menace, mentions of an illness/virus (NOT COVID-19), fluff

Prompt: 15. Sender lies next to the receiver (who is recovering from injuries or illness) and spoons them while staying awake to make sure their health doesn’t deteriorate overnight.

This was written for my Fluffy Fall Fantasy event. Feel free to send in requests!

Jake was stressed. You hadn’t been dating for very long, and you weren’t technically official, but it was Hard Deck night and you hadn’t responded to his text messages since last night. He was tempted to call you to check in and see if everything was okay, but he didn’t want to seem clingy and obsessive while it was totally possible that you forgot to plug your phone in the night before, or that you left it at home while you were getting ready for work.

“Honestly, man, I was thinking she’d ghost you a lot sooner than this,” Fanboy said as they were getting their things to leave. Jake didn’t even have the energy to react.

“You’re good at relationships, Rooster. Would it be weird if I drove by her house on my way home?”

“I don’t know, man. None of us have ever met her but maybe she’d be okay with it based on what you’ve said about her in passing.”

“Or maybe she doesn’t exist and he wanted to hide the fact that he’s not getting laid.”

“Dude, too far,” Payback said to Fanboy. Jake just shrugged it off and grabbed his bag before heading out to his truck and finding your address in his phone. You lived pretty close to base so it wasn’t a very bad drive at all. Right as he turned down your street, his phone started ringing and your name was on the screen.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you but I think I’ve got the flu or a common cold or something.”

“Do you want me to bring you medicine? I’m like five minutes from a CVS.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s Hard Deck night. You should be out with your friends. I can go another time. I think I’ll make some soup and go back to sleep.”

“Hard Deck night is a weekly thing and Coyote’s deployed so I kind of don’t want to go anyways. I’d have more fun staying in with you. Plus I’ve got a family recipe of chicken noodle soup and it’ll probably be the best chicken noodle soup you’ll ever have.”

After a moment, you sniffled and said that he could come over and that you’d leave your door unlocked. He walked into your house about an hour after he got off the phone with you with reusable bags on his arms. You were laying on the couch under a blanket while an 80’s movie played on the TV. 

“I brought medicine,” he said as he unloaded everything in the kitchen. You peered over the couch and smiled before taking a sip of your Gatorade that was on the coffee table. He came over to sit next to you after getting everything put away. It was almost unbelievable how sick you were, considering that you felt completely fine the day before. Your fever broke earlier in the day but you had been sleeping for most of it, living off of Gatorade and nearly stale crackers that you found in the back of your pantry. You changed the channel to something that you knew he’d like before nuzzling into the pillow that you brought from your bedroom.

“Poor thing. I’m gonna get your soup started. It should take about half an hour, okay? Let me know if you need anything.”

You nodded your head and scrolled through social media before going back to sleep for a little bit. The smell of the soup was what woke you up a little bit later, as Jake walked over and placed your bowl on the table in front of you. He made enough to last you a whole week, and he even offered to send you the recipe if you liked it. He was right, it was the best chicken noodle soup you’d ever had. Ten o’clock rolled around and even though it was considered early for you, you grabbed your pillow and blanket and started heading up the stairs. You were surprised when Jake followed you, considering that you had spent the few hours since you ate barely talking to each other. 

“I need to shower,” you said as you got your pajamas out.

“Okay. I’ll wait here.”

He had sent a few texts to the Dagger Squad group chat while you were in the shower, saying that he’d see everyone in the morning but that he had to take care of you. You took a big sip of water before crawling under the covers, Jake following suit.

“What are you doing?” You asked as he wrapped an arm around your middle.

“Staying with you, if that’s okay.”

“What if I get you sick?”

“I’ll take time off. Mav loves me so it’ll be fine. I don’t want anything to happen to you through the night.”

“Oh. Okay. Then yeah, you can stay. But don’t come crying to me if you get the man flu.”

“Trust me, I won’t. My dad taught me and my brothers better than to be dramatic so that a woman will take care of us.”

“That’s good,” you said with a chuckle.

Taglist:

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[accihoe]

My Baby

It's been around 3037 hours since my boyfriend, the reincarnation of the king of bass, died. I just need to write something fluffy for comfort.

Pairing: Cliff Burton x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N comforts Cliff through a nasty fever

Warnings: fever, very slight hint towards vomiting

A/N: This may be cringe, but I need the comfort. Pls don't steal my work.

xxxx

"104,"

Y/N exhaled in worry when she read the numbers on the thermometer. She put her hand over his forehead, not wanting to believe that the thermometer was accurate. His forehead felt like stove plate with a broken regulator.

"Darling I'm going to get you some water, and a tad of orange juice. I'll be right back."

She stroked a drenched strand of hair away from his eyes before leaving the room. Cliff stayed silent, his energy to react in any way long gone. Y/N returned with a tray, pushing the door open with her hip. Though exhausted and uncomfortable, Cliff couldn't help the small smile on his lips.

"Think you can keep this down? We need to keep you hydrated, my love."

She set the tray on the nightstand and propped up pillows, assisting him to sit upright. She handed him the glass. He took it with trembling hands, sighing from the pleasant cool contact. Y/N smiled gently when he glanced her, his eyes showing a slight mistrust.

"I'm not leaving, sweetheart, I promise. And no, I don't mind doing this at all, in fact, I enjoy caring for you."

She laid a hand over his bony knee, responding again to questions he had asked hours ago in a delirious state. His eyes scanned her warily, but drifted to the glass when her thumb stroked his knee over the thin blanket.

"Have a sip, love."

He complied, eyes watching her over the glass. Y/N giggled, and Cliff cracked a small smile. She took the glass from him upon noticing he was at his limit for intake.

"I think now I should sponge you, yeah? Sorry, I rarely get sick, and I haven't been home in a while, I'm not too educated on caring for fevers."

He blinked, but she knew it was a sassy eyeroll.

"Oh my darling, you're starting to feel better!"

She chimed. Y/N got a lukewarm, damp cloth and dabbed it across his feverish skin, dabbing it around his eyes that she could only imagine were burning. She dabbed the cloth gently, smiling internally when she thought of the relief he must've been feeling from the contact of coolness.

"Think you can manage a few more sips of water before you lie down?"

He shook his head.

"Orange juice?"

He shook his head again.

"Alright,"

She gave another soft smile before helping him shift down.

"I think that's it, for no-"

"Willyouholdme?"

"Sorry darling, what was that?"

He exhaled before staring into her eyes intently, as he always did.

"Will you hold me... please?"

"Oh, sweetheart, of course."

She smiled, moving onto the bed. She laid down, and he curled up against her side, face buried in the crook of her neck. Thankfully, Y/N already caught and passed what Cliff had, and was therefore able to snuggle him, like he insisted on doing for her when she was unwell. She stroked one hand over his hair, the other cradling his cheek whilst her thumb stroked his jaw.

A smile danced on her features when she felt his body start to lose the tension and relax, his breathing evening out. She pressed a kiss to his damp hair. The room carried its usual scent, with a hint of illness, but she would worry about that once her handsome man was feeling better.

She hummed a gentle tone, one that Cliff had expressed his sentiment about. With a kiss to his ear she hummed the final tune, closing her eyes to further embrace the peacefulness of being around him, of having him feel safe and protected around her.

"I love you."

She whispered into his hair, and though he was asleep, the words sunk in.

A/n: Hope it was alright. I miss my boy today, the longing doesn't get easier over time, but I'm familiar with losing loved ones, so it's alright. Lmao sorry this is so sappy and blah blah. Hope you have a good time in whatever timezone you're in. And hey, please talk to me if you need someone to chat to. I'll even drop an Insta or something if it'll help ya out. I'm all for helping others, and being a friend.

[vivianleighwishesshewasme]

Man Flu

Tommy and Charlie get sick....

____________________________________________________________

Man cold

________________________________

Grace made her was down the stairwell. She’d just finished changing Charlie, he was feeling poorly today. She had bathed him and laid him back down. He was running a low grade fever but she was worried nonetheless. He was almost one, she prayed he’d see his first birthday. She knew how these things could escalated.

Grace’s concern only grew as she looked down the stairs at the Shelby family. She saw the family putting on their coats and boots looking like they were heading out for the day. She cocked her head in confusion. She didn’t remember a family outing?

They usually stayed for days on end. Polly and Ada had been extremely helpful with Charlie.

“We’ll Grace, we'll see you in a few days.” Ada said as she made quick strides for the door. Her gloves were being put on. She was definitely leaving for the day.

“Call us if you need anything.” Polly cheerfully called over her shoulder as she followed suit. Her car pulled up front. Grace almost ran down the stairs, this was too odd. Something had happened.

John and Arthur chuckled, also on their way out apparently.

“What's going on?” Grace demanded, the tension building within. Everyone was filing out is quick succession. Where was Tommy?

“Tommy is sick.” John smiled at her, looking pleased with himself. He knew something.

‘Alright, so is he resting. Is he that sick that you're all worried about catching it?” She felt the anxiety rising with in. Her heart started beating and a lump formed in her throat. Did Charlie get something serious from his father?

“He’s got the man flu, good luck Grace.” Arthur hugged her and patted her on the back. ” you’ll need it.” He and John left smiling and shaking their heads.

If Tommy were dying or seriously ill they wouldn’t find it funny. What was amusing?

“He’s a full grown man, how bad can it be?” Grace said out loud to no one in particular.

“Grace! Grace! I need you.” Her husband bellowed from their bedroom upstairs. He came crashing out looking like death. He leaned on the banister “I need you.” He reached out to her looking pathetic and sad.

“Stay put, I'll be right there.” She caught Francis coming around the corner. Perfect timing.

“Can you start some soup please? I’ll be back in a bit.” Grace asked her and nodded towards Tommy.

“Yes Mrs., right away.” Francis sped to the dining room. Grace had a feeling the day was just beginning for her. Damn the Shelbys for abandoning her.

______________________________

Grace had never wanted to be a nurse, a spy was hard enough but never a nurse at the beck and call night and day. Being a mother was hard enough.

She had closed Charlie’s door, grateful for the break. Charlie's fever was subsiding. Francis came walking up with two bowls of steaming fresh chicken soup.

Grace herself was starving. She pointed to the room she shared with Tommy.

“If he doesn’t die from this, Francis, I’m going to help him along.” The maid chuckled at her mistresses thinly veiled threat. They had figured Charlie would keep his mother busy all day, not Mr. Shelby.

“I don’t think the staff even climbs the stairs as many times in a day as Mrs.Shelby.” Francis grinned at the blonde women who shook her head and laughed. She was exhausted.

“Charlie isn’t even this needy.” Grace added outloud.

“Did you call?” Grace asked as she entered the bedroom.

“Yes Mrs. He’ll be here shortly.” Frances shared a knowing smile. Perhaps now they could all rest.

_____________________________________

“Its just a stomach bug, should pass in a few days.” The doctor said cheerfully. Tommy was scowling at him, the intense stare clearly unfazed the doctor.

“Until then, plenty of sleep, soup and a cool bath as needed Mr. Shelby.” He tipped his hat as he gathered his medical bag.

Grace sighed. She was jealous he got to leave.

“A few days?” Grace muttered under her breath. She was unimpressed. She’d hoped he would have given Tommy some medicine to make him sleep. He had not.

“You’ll do fine.” Francis squeezed her mistress's hand and shared a sympathetic look as she strode by her with an empty soup bowl.

“Grace, I need help cooling off.” Tommy reached out for her. He’d been laying on his back while he’d been examined.

“Do you need me to get a wet rag?” She asked, her Irish lilt getting heavier in her sweet voice as the day drug on. She hadn’t been on her feet this much in months.

I was thinking of a bath, help me in and sponge me off.” Her eyebrow raised in response as a small sinister smile played on her husband's lips. The soup must be helping if he was feeling well enough to joke.

“Even dying of a stomach bug, Thomas Shelby wants to be naked.” She grinned as he chuckled. He’d tossed the covers aside. She quickly raced to his side to help him sit again. He’d been complaining of dizziness. She didn’t trust that he wouldn't fall out of bed. He was twice her size. He’d had to sleep on the floor.

“You’ve never complained before.” He put his head on hers and groaned. “Ugh, my muscles hurt.” She rolled her eyes. A bath it was.

“Sounds like the soup is working though if you are sitting up. I’ll go draw you a bath, then you rest.” She ordered. She slipped off the bed carefully and stood. He grabbed her cool hand and placed it on his forehead. She smiled and lovingly bent down to kiss him.

He was burning up.

“You're going to help me sleep, Grace? Nurse me back to health.” She scoffed knowing full well what little trick always worked to help him sleep.

“You're in no position to ask for sex to sleep Mr Shelby.” She grinned as his lip jutted out. Charlie looked so much like his father. “Besides, I don't need to be sick either. Who would care for us? “ He nodded remembering what she’d said about everyone leaving this morning when Arthur had discovered he was ill.

Grace left to draw him a bath praying the doctor was wrong. She couldn’t do three more days of this. ____________________________________

For aeip4thy on AO3

@heeahheeya

[lilac-hecox]

lilac could u pretty please write some trevrasha fluff in this trying time

Trevor/Arasha - Trevrasha - Sick Day

--

Trevor shivers and curls into himself a little tighter than before. He’s currently laid up on his couch, alternating between shivering and burning up with a fever. He’s sick. It’s easy to catch a cold both with the change of season in California – even if it’s nothing compared to Idaho – and because he works in an office with so many people that when one person gets sick, it spreads easily.

“Here,” Arasha says, her voice gentle and soothing. She comes back from his bedroom with a thick blanket from his bed, laying it over Trevor on the couch.

It reminds him of the way his mom did it when he was a kid, something full of love and affection.

Arasha not only covers him up, but she tucks in the edges of the blanket too, cocooning Trevor in the comforter. Her hand gently brushes the sweat damp hair from his forehead as she presses the back of her hand to his skin.

“You still feel pretty warm,” she says.

“But I feel like I’m freezing,” Trevor says, his teeth chattering together.

“Okay, but tell me if you start to feel too warm,” Arasha says. “I don’t want you to overheat.”

Trevor manages to look up at her. Arasha is leaning down over him, concern on her beautiful face. Her dark eyes scan him over, her hair hanging in cascades. She’s a vision, an angel, something so beautiful to Trevor.

“I’ll be okay,” Trevor says, “you should go. I don’t want to get you sick.”

“My immune system is pretty strong, and I got my flu shot recently.”

“Still,” Trevor mumbles, feeling silly. He just has a cold and while he feels miserable, he is a grown man, and he should be able to take care of himself. “I don’t want to get you sick, ‘Rash.”

Arasha crouches so she’s level with him. She pets her hand through his hair, comforting, her nails gently massaging his scalp. Trevor feels like a cat, like he could nod off right away to the way she rubs his head.

“And I don’t want you to feel sick and be all alone.”

Trevor doesn’t argue and Arasha presses a kiss to his forehead before she stands.

“Let me make you something. A soup? What do you have?”

“A little of everything,” Trevor says. It’s the chef in him, unable to just buy a few things here and there, he likes to give himself a lot of options.

“There’s a soup my mom would make when I was a kid and didn’t feel good. I think I remember it. I’ll make it for you.”

Trevor coughs weakly. He’s sick and he feels suddenly so fond of her, even fonder than he usually is for the sweet, hilarious, gorgeous girl that he thanks his lucky stars he gets to call his girlfriend.

“You rest,” Arasha says, “and I’ll wake you up when it’s ready.”

“Okay,” Trevor says, too tired and ill to put up a fight, not that he’d win one against Arasha anyway.

Trevor doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep, but he’s happy to close his eyes. He can hear Arasha moving around in the kitchen, he can smell when she begins to cook. It’s comfortable and comforting. He’s in that weird space between awake and asleep, listening to Arasha hum. He hears when she briefly calls her mom to confirm that Arasha had the right recipe and ingredients to make the soup.

Trevor feels very safe, very warm, and well loved. All thanks to Arasha.

[timaeusterrored]

(The Fever)

V was laid out in the back of his car, a headache had hit him and he had to pull over. Now, he was writhing in pain in the back seat with his head rested in Johnny’s ‘lap’.

“Call Ker.” Johnny repeated for the fourth time, knowing this was more than a headache. V’s temperature was slowly rising and it was making Johnny sweat.

“Don’t wanna bother ‘im.” V whispered back, content to lie in the back of his car with Johnny until he was well enough to drive again. He was having the thoughts again that Johnny didn’t like, ones of his time being soon. Johnny would drag his ass to the cure if he had too.

“Then call Vik.” There was no reason he couldn’t call Vik, but Johnny knew V would find a way to excuse why they couldn’t call Vik.

“‘S late-“

“It’s his job, V. Call him or I will.” Johnny knew he should not be taking over V’s body right now, not in the state he was in, but he had to do something or else they were just gonna lie here in misery. And he knew V was just gonna chose to lay here.

V opened his eyes and frowned, leaning into Johnny’s hand. He thought about it for a moment before nodding. Finally, some sense.

He called Vik up, and no surprise, the ripperdoc answered on the first ring and could see the state of his adopted son. And that was that, V needed to get his ass to the clinic immediately, or Vik would come and find him. V admitted it would probably be safer for Vik to come find him.

Johnny knew V hated admitting defeat.

It took no time at all for Vik to find his son, and Johnny felt grateful for once about this. Vik’s ability to just find V anywhere came in handy once or twice.

Vik got him back to the clinic, V was more or less asleep. Vik was gentle, trying to be careful even with a full, chromed up, grown man leaning on him. V woke up enough to help try to lug himself into the chair, looking over when Johnny appeared next to him.

“I feel like ass.” V’s mouth didn’t move, but a smile formed when Johny snorted

“You look like ass.” Johnny wished in this moment that he could comfort V. That why he had wanted him to go to Kerry, for comfort. Vik could hopefully fix whatever the issue was no problem, but he knew from personal experience that Kerry made any illness feel like nothing.

“J…”

Oh fuck, here they go again.

“V, I said stop it-“

“Just shut up and listen.”

Johnny obeyed, because he didn’t want V to get worked up while Vik worked on something to make the headache go away. A cold shower would have broken the fever, again something he would have rather done at Kerry’s.

“I’ve worked too goddamn hard on this body, don’t you fuck it up.”

Johnny nodded, letting V have his little rant.

“You don’t have to keep the hair dyed, I think it’s part of my charm but it’s a lot of up keep. The good stuff, not whatever the fuck you used back in the day.” Hey it got the job done.

“Check in on uh…” Johnny’s heart dropped. He knew who he was about to say but V didn’t seem to remember for a moment.

“Judy. Check in on Judy once in a while.” He frowned a bit, as if wondering why he struggled so hard to remember her name.

“And Kerry. You gotta go back to him… you make him happy-“

“Alright, I got it. We’ve been over this five times now… get some rest, baby.” Johnny ran his hand over V’s hair and frowned, watching him open his eyes to look at him.

“Promise me.” He whispered out loud, his voice weak and exhaustion laying heavy on his bones.

“I promise you, V. Told you I wouldn’t fuck us up.”

Johnny decided then, in that moment, if he ever took V’s body, he’d never be ‘I’ again.

[llondonfog]

work travel finally got to me and im laid up in bed with the worst fever known to man (all of my limbs feel like they've been run over by a truck and my spine straight up crumpled) and I have a knot in my throat preventing me from swallowing 🙃

That being said, I don't think I'll be finishing my prompts this weekend but since I'm sick I'll be greedy and ask for any cute hc about how our favorite father & son care for each other when the other falls ill 🥺

[incomparable365]

12/6/24

Ahhh. Yet another post around death. I guess it's just a part of life?

On this day, we lost our sweet anchovy. The sweetest, most adorable lil bby has joined Claudio.

The last few days before it all were very tough. Maybe ill just rewind to when the battle started. It was in July 2024 when we noticed Anchovy wasn't eating, followed by an unbreakable fever that lasted for weeks. Eventually, we found the answer, and things got better. Even then, there was a new norm for you and we all learned how to navigate it together. You were such a champ and easy cat to care for when it came to these things, you took your meds without a fight. Even trialing FIP treatment, it was an easier process than most of the stories we heard.

As things were looking up, we went back to square one with ya not eating again. We found an ulcer and had to get you seen immediately. This time, answers were leaning towards the unfavorable side. Cancer, lympohma, and it all just did not look too good. I'm glad we crossed paths with a great vet at the ER, she laid it all out and helped us understand.

Weds night, we were able to bring you home. We got the living room all cozy for ya, and hung out with you every second. I dont think we left your side ever. I slept on the ground while your mama slept with ya on the couch. We'd wake up periodically to check on ya and admin the meds to keep ya comfy.

Thurs rolls around and this is basically the final full day we have with ya. We made calls to the vet telling them that it was time. They fit us in on Friday w/ Dr. B. A few weeks ago, a neighborhood photographer lost their dog and documented the last moments together. It inspired me to do the same as these moments are important capture. Often times, we just see too much good that no one documents the bad anymore. I'm glad I did it.

This last day with ya buddy was very hard. Life isnt fair at all and im so sad that this life dealt you the cards that it did. You dont deserve it. You were seriously just a baby. A kind, warm, soft, comforting lil dude. You were a weird one but you had a big heart. You loved both of us in your very own unique way, and thats something i'll never forget.

You jumping on my lap at the shelter was such a great thing to have happened. When we brought you home, it was like you already lived here. You integrated so well. You even were cool with hanging in the bathroom a few days as you got adjusted. The rest is history, but i'd definitely like to reflect so I dont forget the small details.

At the start, having ya in my life was different, in a good way. We were so use to all the things that claudio would do and with ya, ya did things so differently. Its funny that sometimes when you wouldn't come to bed, I'd just bring you over, and you'd be like ok, this is cool. Lizzy always pointed out so many similarities we both shared. Retrieval service is kinda similar to me in a way. I see it as ok, this is cool, it works, i'll go with the flow, which is quite similar to how I am at times. Your aura, energy, demeanor, and whatever, it was just calm, chill, and very grounding. Just like myself id like to think.

You were definitely different, as I've never met a cat that goes crazy over dry food and mangoes like you do. We'd call ya a tropical boi bc what cat eats mangoes lmao.

Sometimes in my life, things got hectic, stressful, and you were always there as a reminder that its ok to slow down and just chill. You were great at being such a chill dude. I think the cutest thing I remembered recently is during friendsgiving and how you were just out making rounds saying hi to everyone. You were just a part of all the lil circles and convos as if you were participating in the convo too. It was beyond cute to see. Everyone loved you man, all the homies coming over to sit ya, all the vets and staff too.

We fought really hard for ya man and did everything we could to ensure you had the greatest life. I know that adopting you was the best choice and I hope that we will meet again soon. You were so loved and I want to say thanks for being such a great and easy cat to love. You've set the bar high and no one will ever match ya bc everyone will be unique in their own ways. You've shown that to me and for that, I am super grateful to have been one of your humans.

I love ya lil anchovy pizza and thank you for everything. Physically you're not here anymore, it's painful and sad, but I know when the time is right, we will meet again. I can show you the tattoo I got whenever I see ya next. Until then, take care, no more cat fights, eat lots of mangoes, and dry food for us.

Love,

Your other mama <3

PS: this is something I saw long ago when claudio passed and it was sent to me by one of my friends responding to my story about ya anchovy. It's a beautiful poem about the rainbow bridge. It brings me comfort that we will meet again.

[twinkinspector]

uhhhh yeah here's this

first, here's what i was imagining music-wise

denki x f!reader, public sex, sex with a stranger, drugs, fingering, grinding, a singular ass slap, one singular chomp, voyeurism, public nudity ig?, a dash of spit, a teensy bit of name-calling/degradation at the end ("nasty little slut"), kami whines a little because of course he whines when he cums, OH creampie also

kami makes me ill you do not understand...... i have a fever thinking ab this

it’s cool out, and thank gods for that. you wouldn’t be able to feel a breeze even if you wanted to. you’re pressed up against countless other sweaty bodies, all swaying and bouncing and grinding to the beat echoing through the clearing you’re in.

it got dark not too long ago, but you’ve been in this spot since the sun was still up. this was the show you were most excited to see. you got there early – but somehow you still weren't the first person waiting.

even though you weren't the first, the crowd was still pretty sparse – people who were still rolling from what they'd been taking all day. you found an empty spot right up against the rail and quickly claimed it, leaning on the cool metal to show others that this was your spot.

other concertgoers started to trickle in as you waited patiently. you sipped on the cool bottle of ice water you were keeping in your purse, sizing up the people nearest to you. you were about to be blocked in with them for a few hours, so you might as well be prepared.

no one really caught your attention at first. everyone looked the same – flushed and tired from sunburn and substances. as you started to get blocked in by the crowd, a group of five sauntered up – pushing through the crowd.

the group was made up of four guys and just one girl – the lean, angry-looking blonde man in the front was the one doing most of the pushing. "bakugou, be nice! we're almost at the front anyway," whined the girl, her bright pink hair up in a bun on top of her head.

bakugou rolled his eyes, huffing. "fine. i wanted front row, but that girl is short enough that i guess it doesn't matter," he growled back, gesturing to you. "dude, you're so cranky," laughed the other blonde.

he had darker, more golden blonde hair – he seemed warmer and way more laid-back than the ash blonde next to him. the golden blonde had matching golden eyes that periodically locked with yours. he had a jagged dark streak through his bangs and angular features, his foxlike appearance contrasting with his seemingly sweet disposition.

a brunette with a huge smile popped his face up between the two blondes, holding a lit joint to the cranky one. "chill out. take a few hits, please," he offered. bakugou snatched the joint and took a few hits as instructed, puffs of smoke rising through the air and dissipating above him.

"that's right, bro," cooed the biggest one, rubbing bakugou's shoulders. this guy was huge. the others were lean, but he was built. he had spiked red hair and pointy teeth, but again, his demeanor was so much softer than his appearance.

they carried on like this for another hour, joking around and trying to smooth over bakugou's frustration (frustration that – as far as you could tell – wasn't about anything in particular). and that brings us to now.

the performers walk out onstage, and the crowd roars. you hear exclamations of "fuck yeah!" and "finally!" from the group behind you as the music starts. the bassline echoes through the tight-knit mass of bodies, everyone beginning to lose themselves in the experience.

your hips sway back and forth as you dance to the syncopated rhythms, the deep groove you can feel in the congregation around you. you close your eyes and take a big breath to calm yourself as the adrenaline starts to course through you.

you look back at the group behind you. the girl with the pink hair is sitting on the biggest guy's shoulders, her fingers holding on to his red hair as she grins and sways, singing along. the other guys seem completely lost in the moment, too, just like everyone else.

the golden blonde meets your eyes after a moment, and you feel an even deeper flush warm your face. you giggle and look down before turning back around to keep dancing, swaying your hips a little more dramatically now that you have his attention.

after what seems like no time at all, you feel a large, warm hand on your hip. the hand guides you back a little to rub your ass against something – someone – gently pushing and pulling you to the beat.

you turn your head a bit to see which one in the rowdy group is being so bold. you see a curtain of golden blonde hair much closer to your face than you expected as the stranger leans in to talk into your ear.

"saw you looking at me earlier," growls a rich, tenor voice. you flush again. you didn't realize your stolen glances were that easily readable. you were looking at everyone – all four of his friends – but he wasn't wrong.

there was something else in your eyes when you glanced his way. but there was something else in his, too. you met his gaze, batting your lashes and giving him a smirk. "don't make this about me," you call. "you were looking, too."

you turn away, leaning your forearms on the rail in front of you and arching your back into him. you press the swell of your ass into his crotch – this time, with purpose – and grind.

your skirt rides up so your bare cheeks are rubbing on the fabric of his dark jeans, a delicious sensation you weren't exactly expecting. the blonde stranger's hands start to wander across the expanse of your exposed skin – one coming down to squeeze your thigh and the other still guiding you with a firm grip.

you feel him chuckle in response more than you hear it, those vibrations almost indistinguishable from the vibrations of the music coursing through the both of you – but you feel it nonetheless.

he leans back over you, his warmth enveloping your back, as he purrs directly into your ear again, "you're bold. seems like you're just asking for me to fuck you right here."

he stands upright again, his hardening cock still pressed up against you through his pants, and flips your skirt all the way up, your panties now on full display to everyone who cares to look. he gives your bare ass a harsh smack, watching it redden and jiggle for him.

his hand gently caresses the stinging patch of skin as he starts to explore more, pausing to rub your throbbing slit through the wet fabric of your panties.

he hooks a finger around the skimpy fabric and tugs it to the side, running a fingertip through your outer lips to collect all your slick. he plunges a finger in, pulling a groan from your lips, but he can't hear it over the pulsing bass.

your pussy clenches around his digit, practically begging him not to pull it back out. but he does, and as you turn to protest, you see him pop the finger into his mouth, sucking all your juices off it, flashing you a predatory grin.

he sticks a second finger in his mouth, coating his digits with an obscene amount of spit, the liquid dripping onto the ground as he brings them back to your entrance. he plunges them into your waiting hole, thrusting firmly in time with the music.

you keen at the stretch of the additional finger, closing your eyes and letting the whole experience wash over you as the friction makes you start to feel hazy.

the stranger – you still don't know his name and you're letting him knuckle deep in your pussy – starts to scissor his fingers, stretching you out for his aching cock.

and that's when you feel it – something velvety smooth and hard brushing up against your bare ass. he's really going to fuck me right here. you turn and catch a glance of his shit-eating grin as he rubs his impossibly hard length across your weeping pussy, pumping it lazily a few times.

he traces his fingers through your lips again, collecting all the slick he can and using it to lube up his cock, twitching and ready. he looks you in the eyes as he releases a glob of spit onto his angry red tip.

his saliva mixes with your sticky juices, coating him just enough that he can force himself inside you. you feel his length pulse as he sheaths it all the way in, tip kissing your deepest parts.

he leans over you again, coming in close to your ear to growl, "this is what you wanted, isn't it?" as he slowly – agonizingly – pulls himself out just to slam back inside. chills roll down your spine as he breathes into your ear, rutting his cock inside you as deep as he can.

one of his arms wraps around your front as his other hand wanders under the bottom hem of the bralette you're wearing. he cups your breast gently, the palm of his hand tickling your rapidly pebbling nipple.

you look around. there's no way no one hasn't noticed you. you're literally fucking in the front row. but to your surprise, no one has. boldened by the realization, you decide to take it a step further.

you slide your fingers under the hem of your shirt next to his and pull it up, letting your perky tits drop out for all to see... if they want. you glance back at him with a smug smile, dipping your fingers down the front of your panties to play with your neglected clit.

you feel his cock twitch even as he thrusts to the rhythm of the music that's still filling your senses, his lean, sinewy hands finding the pert bud of your exposed nipple. he flicks it between his fingers as you rub your clit vigorously, chasing your high.

electricity starts to crackle in your belly as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release. you can tell he's getting closer too, his breathing more ragged and the muscles in his lean abdomen twitching against your bare skin.

"can't believe you're letting me do this with all my friends watching," he breathes, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. "fuck, what a nasty little slut i found."

and that's all it takes for those crackles of electricity to turn into a full-fledged lightning strike, your orgasm washing over you as you cry out – no one really even able to hear the sweet sounds of ecstasy as your cunt clenches around a complete stranger's cock.

your orgasm has the man following close behind, the squeezing of your pussy milking the cum right out of him. panting and whining in your ear, he bites down on your shoulder as you feel him twitch and sputter inside you, warmth blooming in your tummy as you feel his release shoot deep into you.

as his cock softens, he slowly pulls it out of you, watching his cum dribble bit by bit out of your abused little hole. he pulls your panties back to cover your slit, now leaking cum, and spins you around to finally look at him face to face.

"i'm denki," he purrs into your ear before he drops his lips to your neck, sucking a bruise into your skin. you moan at the sensation, your brain not quite working yet.

"figured you should at least know who fucked you so good," he grins, standing back up to his full height. "bro, bakugou's done. we're out," comes a different voice, yelling over the still-throbbing bass.

denki looks over at the brunette who just grabbed his arm. "alright, yeah," he agrees, allowing his friends to pull him away. a little quieter, you swear you hear the same brunette laugh and say "damn, dude, couldn't even wait to get your dick wet?" as they disappear into the crowd, leaving you to deal with your oozing pussy for the rest of the show.

anyway here's my masterlist

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Hi! Could you do a story where Barbossa is sick and the reader takes care of him? Nothing terminal, though.

hello dear💖, thanks for your request.

Sick Barbossa x reader🍏🤒

A sick day at sea🤒

synopsis: Barbossa is sick, y/n comes to take care of him.

Warning: none

The captain’s quarters were silent, and no noise was heard but the creaks from the rocking ship. It was early enough in the morning for the crew to start getting to their station, that is, unless the captain wakes up. Barbossa slept peacefully in a fairly, big, sheeted bed. Eventually, his eyes flickered open, ah yes, the morning, a part of the day that many hate. Groggily, Hector tried to sit up, only to find he was short of breath. Barbossa groaned at the throbbing headache pounding in his noggin; he sniffed, trying to prevent the snot dripping onto his pillow. “Piece of scurvy—” he complained. Hector realized that all these symptoms could only mean one thing. He was sick. Only, with luckily just a fever, not scurvy. Barbossa forgot, this was one of the pains of being alive, gaining a sickness that you have to deal with. Every turn he took, his body ached; ‘Just typical it had to be today’. Many thoughts ran through the captain’s mind as he lay in bed “the crew will wonder where I am”, “they’ll think I’ve entered Davy Jones’s Locker”, “I won’t be seen as weak”. Barbossa tried once more to sit up, but instead, he found himself groaning in pain. Hector’s head fell back onto the softness of his pillow as he tried to catch his breath; his snot began to drip onto the sheets. He used the sleeves of his blouse to blow into it as a tissue (gross as it may be, he was a pirate). Turning his head, he could see his own hat sitting there, on the table shrouded in maps, treasure, and a half eaten, green apple. Jack, the monkey, jumped onto the table, looking at his master in a confused manner. Jack tried to mimic his master’s expression; he whimpered, wondering why his Hector wasn’t getting up.

“Nay, Jack” he muttered.

Jack turned to the half-eaten apple and grabbed it, thinking it might spark his attitude again. The monkey crawled along the ground and placed the fruit in Barbossa’s dangling, hand; only he dropped it onto the ground. Barbossa couldn’t even bother to open his eyes, he felt exhausted. The pitiful part of this whole experience is how the crew will react to seeing their captain lying, feebly in bed. Suddenly a frantic knock at the door emerged; Barbossa was too weak to get up but at least he still had his tough exterior. Hector’s hand reached from behind his breeches; he grabbed a flintlock pistol, aiming it at the intruder. “WHADDYA WANT, YE LILY-LIVERED SCABBY BASS!” Barbossa shouted, trying to scare away whoever may be behind the door. The person entered without permission with a worrisome expression.

“Captain, it’s me, it’s y/n” she held her hands up to show quarter.

“Arrr” Barbossa mumbled lowering his flintlock pistol. “Whaddya want, I ain’t exactly in good condition” he growled.

Y/n came up to her captains side, sitting on the edge of his bed. Barbossa moved over just slightly, curious to know what the girl wanted. “Your sick” she exclaimed. Sick, just what he wanted to hear, the word that will bring his reputation and glory deep below the briny deep. Barbossa laid back down in his bed, starting to cough up a storm. “Ack, just sink me, why don’t’ch ye” Hector complained once more. Y/n placed her hand on the top of Hector’s forehead; he was burning up. She felt like a mother caring for an ill child. Barbossa gritted his teeth wondering why y/n wouldn’t just go off and man her station. Usually, it was bad luck for a man to bring a woman on board but in this case, he was just glad to see the lass around. Y/n got up off the bed, she walked over toward the bucket of cold, clean water. She dabbed the cloth in the bucket only to ring it out as tightly as she could. She wandered over to Barbossa, lightly, she placed the damp cloth over his forehead. Hector could feel the damp, wet rag drip on his forehead. His fingers lightly run over the material. “Sorry captain, but your ill, you can’t expect yourself to just man the helm” y/n tried to reason with him. The woman reached into her satchel bag to grab out another rag. She offered it to him, to be used as a tissue. “I be appreatin’ yer generosity but, why d’ya need ta’ pity me” Barbossa asked curiously.

“I know you would’ve done the same for me” y/n responded in a soft tone.

Hector’s eyes softened; his pupils moved up and down after he responded with a small “thank ye”.

Y/n pressed her hand against the captains cheek, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. At first, he flinched lightly but got used to the feeling “best not be doin’ tha’ too often missy, don’t want ta’ curse ye wit this sickness” Hector jokingly spoke.

Y/n smiled in return. The first thing that came to her mind was the kind of meals to make him while he was in bed. She knew his favourite thing would be a grand roast or a feasting of different meats but most of all; anything with apples was a preferable favour. “Captain, I know it seems rather early but perhaps the next port we stop off at, I can import in some apple pies” y/n generously said. The thought of something as delicious as an apple pie to Hector sounded DeVine, especially being in this condition. “Aye, aye missy, I be much obligin’ t’ward tha idea” he joyfully spoke. Y/n saluted him, she couldn’t wait until the captain was better so he could show her the delights of Tortuga and maybe, just maybe, teach her about the stars at the helm. Y/n gently grabbed Barbossa’s rough hand as he gently squeezed back. “I should let you sleep” y/n whispered. Barbossa didn’t let go of her hand “ye ar’ allowed ta’ stay under me order, s’long thar be no scuttlebutt amongst me crew”.

Y/n nodded in agreement, she felt privileged to be here next to him. She tried avoiding touching his sleeves; seeing the stains in them “how about I get you some soup” y/n smiled.

The captain gave a hand signal in agreement, all he wanted to do was to sleep. He laid his head toward y/n’s lap, she immediately froze up with a tinge of red on her face. She gently placed her hand down on his scruffy hair. Y/n smiled to herself gently as she spent the rest of the morning with the captain.

anyways that's all I have for now:

Ta Ta✨

[musicprincess1990]

Chicken Soup

I know I said I was taking a break from writing, but... I'm a goddamn liar. And this is for @mizjoely, because she's not feeling well. Hope you get better soon, friend!

~*~

"I am never ill."

Famous last words of Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and arrogant prat. He would be forced to change his tune now, as he was currently laid out in bed, nursing a fever, a sore throat, and sinus congestion. By the tone of his texts—Baker St immediately, followed by a rare and unembellished, Please—one would have though he was dying, or at least seriously injured.

But no. Instead, Molly found him curled into the foetal position atop his duvet, a hot water bottle pressed against his temple and three empty teacups on the bedside table. He presented quite a pathetic picture, and she couldn't quite stop herself from smiling.

"Molly," he grumbled, his voice gravelly and deeper than normal. "I can feel you smiling.

She let a little giggle escape. "Serves you right, Mr. 'I'm Never Ill.'"

"Yes, yes, hilarious—" here he was forced to pause in order to cough several times, "—now, help me."

Molly perched her hands on her hips. "Say please."

One quicksilver eye opened and glared daggers at her. "I already did."

She didn't budge. "Say it again."

He huffed in exasperation, eye falling closed again, and finally said in a pitiful groan, "Please, Molly."

Satisfied, she let her hands fall and softened her smirk into a gentle smile. "Of course, Sherlock," she said softly, taking the hot water bottle, which was more lukewarm by this point. "I'll refill this, and I'll make you some tea, shall I? Maybe get you some paracetamol, if it's still in the same place?"

Another wave of coughing, then he replied, "Same place."

Without another word, Molly set to work. She put the kettle on the stove and rooted around the cupboards until she found a few bags of herbal. He'd likely make a face and some snide remark, but it was much better for a cold than Earl Gray. Then she ran the tap until the water was warm enough, then filled the hot water bottle and carried it back into Sherlock's room. He mumbled incoherently, which she took as the closest thing to a thank-you she would get.

Next, she went into the bathroom and found the paracetamol—expired, but only by a few weeks. It would do for now, but she made a mental note to pop over to the nearest Boots and pick up a new bottle for him. She'd get him something to eat, as well; knowing him, he likely hadn't eaten for days, which only exacerbated the illness. It would do him good to have something, even something small.

The kettle whined, and Molly returned to the kitchen, pouring water into the cup and letting the tea steep. Glancing through the fridge, she was happy to find a fresh lemon (I wonder what experiment that is for...). Adding a bit of lemon and a hint of sugar—she did know him, after all—she took the tea and medicine into his room.

"Up," she instructed, and he reluctantly pulled himself up into a seated position, leaning back against the headboard. Molly handed him the paracetamol first, which he immediately took, then the tea. As expected, his upper lip curled a bit, but he made no comment and sipped the steaming liquid.

"When did you eat last?" she asked.

"Can't remember," he answered before taking another sip.

"Have you got anything in?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You were just in my fridge, I think you'd know better than me."

Molly narrowed her eyes, but let the snarky comment pass. "That's a no, then. Think you can manage half an hour without me?"

"I shall do my level best," he deadpanned.

"Says the man who all but begged me to come to his bedside."

"I never beg."

She smiled sweetly. "Just like you never get ill?" He scowled at her, and she let out another giggle. "Alright then, I'm off to Boots, back in a few. Sleep, if you can."

"Yes, Mum."

~*~

Just over half an hour later, Molly made her way back up the stairs to Sherlock's flat, carrying a new bottle of paracetamol and a tin of soup. Chicken noodle soup, to be precise, a favourite remedy of the Hooper household when Molly was a child. She hadn't a clue how Sherlock would react to it, but it was certainly worth a go.

Peeping into Sherlock's room, she saw him fast asleep, breathing slow and steady. Molly paused for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. Even pale and sickly, he was beautiful, like he was cut from marble. But now, with his features relaxed in sleep, there was a vulnerability to him, softening all his sharp edges. He was human, like anybody else. Best not tell him that, she joked privately, then left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.

While he slept, Molly spent some time tidying up the flat, though she took care not to disturb the flasks and petri dishes in the kitchen. As she did, she got a call from Mrs. Hudson, thanking her for looking in on Sherlock while she was away. She was in the lake district with her sister, due back in a week or so, and Molly wished her a nice holiday and ended the call.

Not long after, she heard Sherlock stirring, and went to put the soup on the stove, along with a fresh kettle. Soon, she took another cuppa and a bowlful of soup in on Mrs. Hudson's usual tea tray.

Sherlock's brows pulled together as she set the tray on the bed beside him. "What's that?"

"Soup," she answered. "And you're going to eat it."

He stared at the soup for several seconds. "How?"

Odd question, she thought. "Well, you take the spoon and—"

"How did you know?"

"I... know what?"

His throat convulsed as he swallowed hard. "Never mind. I'll eat it. Bit difficult to do so in bed, though." He stood carefully, sniffling and coughing as he carried the tray back into the kitchen.

Molly watched closely, curious and confused by his reaction. What had he meant? How did she know what? Know to bring him soup? For God's sake, she was a doctor, even if her patients were already dead when she saw them. And he knew that, so that couldn't be it... so what was it?

"Are you going to stand there staring at me all night?"

Her face flamed and she shook herself. "Sorry, just... thinking."

"Always a good thing to do," he said with a hint of a smile.

Molly watched him for another few moments, mustering the nerve to ask him, then finally did so. "What did you mean, Sherlock?"

His hand stopped, holding his spoon in midair, but he didn't look at her. "Nothing," he mumbled.

"Liar."

Now he did look at her, seemingly stunned that she'd called him out, but to his credit, he didn't keep lying. He set down his spoon, eyes following it, and it was several seconds before he spoke again.

"The last time I can remember being ill," he began, "I was six years old. My parents were on holiday, Mycroft was at school, and I was spending the week with my grandparents. I was miserable, thought I was going to die—ridiculous, obviously I wasn't, but to a child who didn't yet know better, it seemed likely." Sherlock took a breath. "I woke in the middle of the night in hysterics, and... my gran brought me a bowl of chicken noodle soup."

Molly smiled. "Your gran sounds lovely."

His ears turned pink. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I will... I don't know what I'll do, but it won't be pleasant."

She snorted a laugh. "Mum's the word. So, is that why you reacted like you did? You thought I knew about your gran somehow?"

Sherlock self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck. "It... wasn't my most rational moment."

"Well, you're ill," she pointed out. "No one's mind is ever perfectly clear when they're ill. Not even Sherlock Holmes."

His eyes flew up to meet hers, dancing with humour. "So I'm only human?"

"Afraid so," she said with a smile. "Now, eat up. I don't want a single drop left of that soup."

"Yes, Mum," he quipped again, but did as he was told.

When he was finished, Molly set his emptied bowl in the basin, then refilled his hot water bottle for him as he shuffled back into his room. He was already curled up under the covers when she brought it to him, eyelids beginning to droop.

Without thinking, Molly brushed his curls back from his forehead and pressed her palm against his heated skin, in order to see if his fever had lessened any. Then, realizing what she'd done, she froze, her eyes only slightly wider than his. "I-I'm sorry, I know why I did—"

Molly's words suddenly caught in her throat. She had been about to jerk her hand back and make a hasty retreat, but she'd barely moved an inch before his fingers closed around her wrist. He studied her hand for a moment, then pressed his lips into her palm, sending jolts of electricity up her arm. And when he looked back up at her, she wished more fervently than ever that he wasn't so ill.

"Thank you, Molly," he murmured, his thumb softly grazing her pulse point. "When I'm rid of this blasted cold, I'd like to show you just how grateful I am." His lips ticked up in an impish smirk. "And I promise never to call you Mum again."

Well. How the hell was she supposed to respond to that?

"Just go to sleep, Sherlock," she hedged, and moved to take her hand back, only to have his grip on her tighten. "Sherlock?"

"Stay," he insisted. "Please."

Molly hesitated, partly because she knew the chances of her getting "this blasted cold" were already fairly high, and would be even higher if she stayed. But mostly, she was afraid this show of affection from him was only because he was delirious with fever and exhaustion, and that he'd scorn her once his mind was clearer. It didn't matter, though; clearly, he was determined not to let her leave.

Taking a deep breath, Molly seated herself on the edge of his bed. "I'll stay until you've fallen asleep, but I can't stay all night. I've got a cat at home, and no pyjamas with me. Besides, I don't fancy being ill myself."

He sighed in defeat. "Fine. But you'll be back in the morning?"

"Well, someone has to take care of you," she teased. "Clearly you can't be left to your own devices."

"Hilarious."

"And true," she pointed out. "Where would you be if I hadn't turned up?"

His eyes, half-lidded and drowsy, landed on hers as he whispered, "I'd be lost without you, Molly Hooper."

Oh.

He was serious... completely serious. Hope, the likes of which she had never felt before, swelled within her chest as she watched him finally surrender to sleep. Did he really mean... was it possible that he...? Well... there was only one way to find out. She would ask him in the morning.

That hope lingered as Molly tiptoed out of the room and gathered her things. She was half tempted to stay the night after all, up in John's old room, but decided against it. If she stayed, she would spend the whole night listening for him, waiting anxiously for the conversation they needed to have. No, she needed to leave, for her own sanity as much as her literal health.

She looked in on Sherlock one last time, though, unable to resist lightly running her hand through those curls once more. Sherlock sighed contentedly, but didn't wake.

"Until tomorrow," she whispered, then made her way back home.

~*~

Uh, this was supposed to be silly and fluffy, but it turned into a whole thing... and there's gonna be a part two. I'll post this on Ao3 in the morning (well, the later morning, it's 1:00 AM now), then part two will be up as soon as it's finished.

Yep. I'm a goddamn liar. I can't stop writing to save my life. 😄 Get well soon, MJ!!

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 73: Rest and Restraint

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 10 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing, violence ❧ Word Count: 5.4k

❧ In This Chapter: Daryl and Carol return to Alexandria with a Whisperer held hostage. While you grapple with your growing impatience for Carol, you're recruited to help interrogate the man, who believes a certain ex-Whisperer is dead...

❧ A/N: Took some liberties here, replacing Carol with Reader during the interrogation scene. I thought it would be interested to see her doing it her way, which ultimately has the same result because she's pissed lol. Also loving how protective Reader is of Lydia! And this gif of Daryl... does things to me.

“‘But Robin Hood had gone through more than he wotted of. His journey from London had been hard and long, and in a se’ennight he had traveled sevenscore and more of miles. He thought now to travel on without stopping until he had come to Sherwood, but ere he had gone a half a score of miles he felt his strength giving way beneath him like a river bank which the waters have undermined. He sat him down and rested, but he knew within himself that he could go no farther that day, for his feet felt like lumps of lead, so heavy were they with weariness. Once more he arose and went forward, but after traveling a couple of miles he was fain to give the matter up, so, coming to an inn just then, he entered and calling the landlord—’”

“(Y/N),” groaned Cheryl hoarsely, “you’re puttin’ me to sleep.”

You closed the old worn copy of The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood and exchanged a smile with Robin, who laid upon her sick bed adjacent to Cheryl’s.

Cheryl had lived in Alexandria since the start, and seeing her so ill was heartbreaking, knowing how she might’ve been the oldest person you knew.

“Sorry,” you said, and gently placed the old children’s book upon Robin’s nightstand beside the oil lamp illuminating the shadows of her exhausted face. You reached forward to check her temperature on her forehead with the back of your hand, though you knew that didn’t really work. “You’re a little cooler, I think. Fever might be going down. That’s good, huh?”

She nodded sleepily, and grasped tightly at her rabbit. Her eyes blinked slowly, indicating that the story must’ve been putting her to sleep, too, no matter how much she loved it.

“I’m tired, Momma… When’s Daddy coming back?”

The girl had been trying to stay awake, eager for Daryl to return from his mission to keep Carol out of trouble.

In truth, you weren’t sure when he’d be back, though you were hoping it would have been before night fell like he promised. With shadows creeping in like dark ivy vines all around the infirmary, with small bursts of flame from the lamps to illuminate their silhouettes, it became clear that he’d become preoccupied on his excursion.

“I’m not sure, sweetheart. I’m sure he’s got a good reason for being late, though.” Your words came out more bitterly than you’d hoped. Indeed, you were slightly upset with Daryl for taking so long, given how sick Robin was.

Not only that, but the girl adored her father, and had been asking for him since he left. Of course, she always wanted him to come back when he left home, but in her more uncomfortable state of illness, she must’ve needed the incessant babying of her father in particular.

“He’ll be back, munchkin” Cheryl said, reaching over the space between her bed and Robin’s to hold her hand. You smiled at the difference, one hand spotted and wrinkled, the other so smooth and untouched by any exposure to the world. “He’s got you and your momma to take care of.” She nodded in affirmation to her. “Nothing’s gonna stop him from getting back to his girls.”

She nodded sadly, but tried to muster a tired smile for the elderly woman.

Things weren’t looking good for her, nor some of the other patients in the infirmary. Robin seemed to be getting a little better, which you chalked up to her healthy immune system and the fact that she was well taken care of, but as for Cheryl, her condition had gone from mild in the morning to severe over the course of the afternoon.

You knew that soon Siddiq or Dante would have to move her to another part of the infirmary away from Robin and the others, but you just hoped she’d be able to recover from the illness.

“That’s right,” you said. “Daddy’s gonna be home soon, baby, Auntie Carol, too. I’m sure they just stopped to rest or something. You go to sleep now, and don’t worry about your father.”

You brushed back her wispy bangs to place a kiss upon her warm forehead.

“Can you wake me up when he gets home?” she asked innocently. “I wanna show him my new socks.”

After she complained about cold feet, Dante had bestowed Robin with a new pair of fuzzy slipper socks, bright yellow with pink polka dots.

“Sure, chipmunk. Goodnight, and goodnight, Cheryl.”

She smiled at you, her wrinkled face lifting with the curve of her lips.

“‘Night, hon.”

Daryl, Carol, and a filthy looking man you didn’t recognize, though he looked to be tied up and blindfolded, came through the gates in the morning, much later than you thought they’d come back.

What’s more, that man was a Whisperer.

You were with Lydia in the cell when they came, continuing with her specialized reading lessons. She’d found herself interested in a subject that interested you—the witch trials. You were helping her read some very simplified excerpts from the Malleus Maleficarum when they interrupted the lesson.

It was an odd welcome, with Daryl and Carol bursting through the door, Carol maneuvering the prisoner.

“Daryl,” you huffed, simultaneously surprised, relieved, and mad at his failure to return home in a timely manner. “What’s—”

“Come on, get out,” he said, gesturing to you and Lydia. “We need the cell.”

You scoffed and looked between him and Carol, pushing Lydia forward until she was out of the room.

“What is this?” you asked him through tightened lips. “You come home several hours later than you said you would and bring back a—”

“Wasn’t my call,” he said quietly but firmly as Carol led the blindfolded man to the bed. “Now get outta here.”

You glared at him, about to yell in frustration and anger at his carelessness, but then you felt your gaze gravitating towards Carol, whose icy blue eyes had been on you, too.

You were already pissed at her, irritated with how she’d put Daryl’s life and the lives of several others at risk at the border, and now you were pissed that she’d gone out again, dragging Daryl along with her.

To make matters worse, she brought the Whisperer here, which seemed fruitless to you. Whisperers were loyal from what you’d seen. They wouldn’t give up information even if they were tortured.

Then, there was the fact that surely Daryl would be assigned to the torturing, and that infuritiatsd you, because you knew he didn’t like doing it, though he was always the one given tasks that nobody else wanted.

“We’re having a talk later,” you said to Daryl, storming out of the basement and up the stairs where the cool morning air allowed you to take a few deep breaths, enraged by Carol’s decisions, which seemed to make everything much more complicated than you thought it needed to be.

At least Robin was home now, resting in her own bed since she was deemed healthy enough to free up a space in the infirmary.

You watched as she slept, and tidied up a little around her room until the sound of the front door opening alerted you to Daryl’s presence.

You gently closed her bedroom door, knowing you were probably going to raise your voice at Daryl at some stage in the near future.

Dog followed you down the stairs, where Daryl was taking his boots off by the door.

“You’re letting her walk all over you,” you said flatly as you approached him with crossed arms and a narrowed gaze. “Why are you appeasing her? She’s unstable, she’s reckless… Jesus, Daryl, she lied to you about going to find Negan. She was always going out there to look for Alpha. Then when she took that Whisperer without approaching the Council… Why did you let her do that?”

He huffed and pushed past you, heading into the living room and towards the garage. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”

“Didn’t have a choice?! Huh! Well, you could’ve dragged her ass back to Alexandria and been done with it, but you had to cross into their land. You did, right? How else would you have gotten one of them? You crossed the border, and you put yourself in danger. For her.”

He turned around swiftly and pointed in your face, his own contorted in rage, and you were sure he would have yelled at you if it weren’t for Robin asleep in her room.

“Man, I didn’t do shit for her!” he exclaimed, not too loud, but just loud enough to hurt your ears. “Told ya, there wasn’t anythin’ I could do.”

You scoffed and threw your hands in the air, almost laughing as you did so. “She’s got you by the balls, Daryl.”

He snarled and came so close his nose pressed against yours, pushing you back until you almost tripped on your record player.

“What’d you want me ta do, woman?!”

“Come home!” you bellowed. “Ever since Carol’s been back, all you do is worry about her, wanting to check up on her and letting her use you as a doormat to get what she wants, which is Alpha. She’d get us all killed just to get her revenge, and you know that. I know she’s a friend, but she’s wrong! She’s got everything… clouded, messed up. She’s not thinking straight. If you’d just stop acting like you need to be everyone’s hero then maybe she’d get the idea, but you’re the person keeping her going, letting her do the things she’s been doing, and goddamnit, Daryl, I’m getting tired of it!”

“Damnit, woman! I don’t need this! Not from you!” He turned and kicked the back of the armchair in frustration, shaking his head and blowing deep breaths through his flared nostrils. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, then spoke in a much lower tone. “I’m just tryin’ to keep everybody safe,” he said, in that coarse, gruff drawl of his.

“Daryl,” you sighed, coming forward slowly until you could touch his back. He felt stiff, as he often did when he was stressed, or angry, or any negative emotion, really. “I know that. I’m—I’m sorry, it’s just… I don’t want her getting anybody hurt. I don’t want you getting hurt because of her recklessness.”

He seemed to relax just a little, and you hedged your bets by wrapping your arms around his wide torso and snuggling your face against the back of his shoulder. He threw his head back and let out a deep breath.

“I love you so much,” you said, your voice muffled against his dark grey shirt, upon which you pressed a short kiss. “If anything happened to you, I’d probably lose my mind. I’d lose myself… Everything. You’re everything to me, you and our baby. Always have been.”

He cupped his hands over yours as they slowly rubbed up and down his belly. “I love you, too. Ain’t nothin’ gonna happen to me, angel. Gonna take a hell of a lot more than a few skin freaks to keep me from you and Robin… You know I do everythin’ for you both, right? Everything I do, I do for you.”

You snorted against his shoulder blade, causing him to turn around with furrowed brows at your sudden outburst.

“What’s so funny?”

You shook your head and sighed, still with a smirk upon your face. “Everything I do,” you sang, to the tune of the old Bryan Adams ballad, “I do it for you!”

Daryl shook his head, still unsure of what you were talking about, but a slight smile began to form on his lips nonetheless. He hardly ever got to hear you sing, only when you were drunk, but he always loved it, even if he had no idea what song you were singing. He’d sing along if he could.

“That a song?” he asked.

You hugged him tight and huffed against his chest. “Mhm… Actually,” you said with a laugh at the sudden memory climbing out of that old treasure chest in the back of your mind, where you kept knowledge of the old world, “it was in this Robin Hood movie in the early nineties. I remember when it came out, I must’ve been Robin’s age. I wanted to see it so bad, but my mom wouldn’t let me.”

Daryl smiled as he held you, his chin grazing your hair and his hands holding you so close to him.

“Always comes back to Robin Hood, don’t it?”

“Speaking of,” you said, peeling yourself reluctantly away from Daryl’s warm embrace, “our Robin requested I send you to her when you got home. She said she wanted to show you her new socks.”

He raised his hand to brush back a few loose strands of your hair, then found himself absentmindedly trailing his fingers down the cord of your necklace, upon which hung one of the last pieces of that old geode from the quarry. It still shined like the day he cracked it open.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For gettin’ home so late, leavin’ you and her alone… I’m a bad dad, even worse husband.”

Your face scrunched into a serious squint. “Stop. You’re a great dad, and a perfect husband. It just worries me, that’s all.”

“Ya know I care about you both more than anythin’, and Carol… You’re right, but it’s like with Lydia, we can’t just give up on ‘er. Not after everything.”

You nodded in agreement, and tried to hide your ever-growing grudge against Carol. “I’m not giving up on her. I just wish she’d think before she does things. She’s going to get someone hurt one of these days, maybe even worse.”

“Won’t let that happen,” he said. “Promise.” He lifted your chin and raised your lips to his, kissing you sweetly and deeply, deep enough to remind you of just how much you needed his lips, always. Your lips parted with great reluctance, and your eyes remained closed as you tried to memorize that feeling. You never could, no matter how many times he’d kissed you over ten years. You would always just need the real thing. No memory could make up for the absence of him.

“Gonna go see little bird,” he said, smiling at your blissful face, and laughing a little as you licked your lips to get whatever taste was left of him. “Why don’t ya rest? I’ll take care of her for a while, make ya both somethin’ to eat.”

“You sure, baby? You must be tired.”

“Nah,” he said, pressing another kiss to your forehead as he sat you down on the couch. “Rest.”

You had almost fallen asleep after that, your head sunk just right onto one of the throw pillows, and the blanket Daryl had laid over you perfectly regulating the temperature of your body, creating the perfect atmosphere for a noon nap, until a knock came to the door.

“I got it,” you said to Daryl, once you saw Carol through the peephole.

Though you knew you’d have a few choice words for her, you were going to try to be calm, considering Carol was so mentally unstable, and you really did feel for her.

“Hi,” you said, closing the front door behind you as you stepped out onto the porch. “What’s up?”

“I have a favor to ask you,” she said.

You rubbed your forehead, still trying to rouse yourself from your nap. “Okay. What is it?”

“I’ve got a plan with the Whisperer,” she said, and immediately you knew she was dragging you into her schemes now. “We bring him some food, give him a taste of what it’s like here, try to… well, sweet talk him a little. Get him to see the kind of life he could live if he cooperates with us. You’re the… sweetest person I know. Daryl was saying he could interrogate him first, but I think we should use a softer touch before we start torturing him.”

You raised an eyebrow, still reeling at the idea of being involved in the first place. You didn’t agree to bringing him here, and as far as you were concerned, having him here was dangerous.

“So you want me to bring him food, and sweet talk him? To get answers about Alpha’s horde?”

“Good cop,” she said. “Then bad cop, sort of. I’d do it but I think I’d lose my cool.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, that’s been happening a lot lately… Are you okay, Carol?”

“Fine,” she said flatly, and quickly turned the subject around. “So you’ll do it? I was thinking right now, if that’s okay. Bring him some, I don’t know, bread and jam.”

“Sure,” you huffed, already feeling the effects of how hard it could be to say no to her. “I’d, um… feel more comfortable if Daryl was there, too.”

She nodded. “Me, Daryl, Gabriel, we’ll all be there. I’ll help you get the food.”

The squeaking of the cell door rang out through the mostly empty room, with Daryl, Gabriel, and Carol close behind you as you stepped forward towards the man, sitting patiently on the bed, as if waiting for you.

You held the tray of reluctantly prepared bread and jam before you, and set it down on the small nightstand.

Sitting yourself down, you mustered a very fake smile at the man, whose face remained stiff and without much discernible emotion at all.

“My name’s (Y/N),” you said, crossing your legs and adjusting the skirt of your dress. You weren’t nervous, not as you might’ve once been. Rather, you were annoyed, impatient, testy. Your purpose of being there was to get the man to “succumb to your feminine charm,” or something like that, Carol had said as she helped you prepare the tray.

While you didn’t think any kind of charm would make the Whisperer budge, at least something good might come out of this if it worked—knowledge of where Alpha’s horde was located.

“What’s your name?” you asked after several beats of silence. You exchanged with him a blank stare, then sighed before looking down at the tray. “We brought you some food. This is all homemade. Have you ever made your own jam? It’s actually pretty easy. I’ve got strawberry, raspberry… oh, and pomegranate. That’s my favorite.”

You scooped up some of the pomegranate jam with the knife and started daintily spreading it over the soft wheat bread.

“Would you like some?”

He nodded as he leaned forward, and you could feel Daryl’s presence getting heavier from behind you. The man might’ve been chained up, but you were very glad Daryl was there, just in case.

Plus, he was much more threatening than you.

“All of it,” he said.

“All right,” you said with a smile, then began piling up all three jams upon the now flimsy piece of bread. “We’ve got plenty… And even more. I was going to make some nice, warm tomato soup for dinner. I like to put a little basil in it, and dip—”

“What do you want?” he asked.

You raised an eyebrow and smiled. “I just want to talk.”

“Pass.”

“Okay,” you sighed, and handed him his jam-covered bread. “Then eat.”

His hands hesitated for a few moments, then gradually took the food from your hand. He took one bite, then sighed in what seemed to be pleasure, since surely he hadn’t had bread in ages.

From what Lydia had told you about her people, they ate large game on a good day, worms and vermin on a bad day, and bad days were aplenty.

In a flash, he began devouring the bread, shoving the whole thing into his mouth as he chewed. For a moment, you supposed you were getting through to him, showing him how much better life could be. Perhaps he’d yield just a bit, though somewhere in the back of your mind, where your naivety turned to realism, you knew a lousy piece of bread and jam couldn’t turn this man around.

Still, you had to try.

“You like it?” you asked with a small smile.

You flinched when he lunged forward, spitting the chewed up bread at you. Clumps of moistened jam and bread covered your face and chest, where your dress was now soiled.

“No.”

You felt Daryl’s chest against your back as you stood, and swiftly turned around to push him back.

He didn’t look at you, only snarled at the man, his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flaring in rage.

Your hands on his chest, you sent him back, giving him that look that said, “I got this.”

You turned back to face the Whisperer, now smirking a little at your appearance. You wiped your face with your hand, then looked down at your dress, a vintage prairie-style dress, off-white in color and dotted with pale pink flowers.

There was a clump of chewed up bread still on your shoulder, which you flicked off in combined disgust and rage.

“This is one of my favorite dresses,” you said calmly. “It’s a genuine 1970’s Jessica McClintock Gunne Sax… Do you have any idea what that means, asshole?”

You stepped forward slowly, matching your gaze up with his. He looked up at you, still smiling slightly, as if nothing could hurt him.

You eyed his wound on his shoulder, now bandaged by Siddiq. Glaring at the patched up wound, you pressed your thumb into it, turning it slightly and causing him to groan and writhe in pain.

Blood erupted from the wound, coating your hand and dripping down his shirt.

“Where’s the horde?” you asked through gritted teeth, though he wouldn’t budge, just groaned. “Tell me.”

“Lady,” he sighed in pain, “you have the animal in you… If we were out there, I would take you like a bitch in heat.”

Your eyes narrowed, and Daryl’s heavy presence was behind you again, getting heavier towards the man.

“You’re dead,” he growled under his breath.

Pushing Daryl back with your hand, never taking your eyes from the Whisperer, you leaned down to his eye level, and smirked with devilish delight at how easy he was making it for you to hate him.

“You couldn’t handle me,” you said, and threw a hard hit at his face, all your strength in that one shot, and the next, and the next… Pummeling him until he lay beaten on the bed.

You turned towards Daryl, and you panted as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you away.

“That’s enough.”

Says you, you thought.

The man sat up, and looked between the four of you.

“You’re all weak,” he said, and you breathed heavily, with the sudden urge to beat him again.

You’d been called weak before, or treated like you were. The word ignited flames in the pit of your stomach, and laced your veins with barbed wire.

“We’re weak?” you asked. “At least we don’t wear masks, worshiping the dead and pretending to be one of them.”

He grinned widely at you, showing off his dirtied, rotten teeth. “You’re weak and scared,” he added. “Like rabbits, hiding behind your walls.”

Daryl stepped forward now, swaying his broad shoulders, his chest puffed up, and his eyes nearly blackened in anger.

You were willing to admit you weren’t nearly as intimidating as Daryl, who pulled out his large, newly sharpened knife, and brandished it menacingly as he spoke.

“Gonna start with your fingers first,” he drawled. “Then both your ears. Imma take all your teeth.”

“You lie to yourselves,” said the Whisperer, who then looked between you and Daryl. “To each other. You fight for what? Sandwiches? Dresses?”

Daryl huffed and stepped forward to grab the man’s left hand, holding it above him against the brick wall. He raised his knife, aligning it before the man’s fingers.

“You ignore the truth,” he continued, “when it’s staring you in the face.”

He turned to look at you again, eliciting another low growl from Daryl, who was dangerously close to cutting off his fingers.

“I would never betray Alpha,” he said to you. “She rescued me. She protected me. She loves me. She loves us all. She sacrificed her own daughter for us.”

You looked between Gabriel and Carol, the latter of which had her eyes wide, and her stance perked by the news.

“She killed Lydia?” she asked the man.

“Ah,” he said. “She did.”

You breathed heavily again, shaking your head at Carol, whose plans might as well have been stamped on her forehead.

Don’t you involve her, you thought.

“And I am willing,” he continued, “to give my life for her.”

The interrogation ended moments after, and Carol rushed up the stairs, making her way across the street towards your house, where Lydia was looking after Robin in your stead.

“Stop,” said Daryl, stepping in front of her and pushing her back, away from the door as she stood on the porch. You caught up with them, panting and filled with indignation.

“This ends now,” she said back.

“No, it doesn’t,” you said. “He’s brainwashed, he wouldn’t budge even if he knew she’s alive.”

Carol looked at you in bewilderment. “He swallowed every ounce of Alpha’s bullshit,” she said. “Every ounce. If he sees that Lydia’s alive and well, he gets it that his great leader lied to him, then maybe that changes something.”

“Please,” said Daryl. “That kid’s been through enough.”

You were proud of him, standing up to Carol for the first time in so long. Maybe ever. He had a soft spot for her, and so did you. She was your friend, and one of Daryl’s best friends, one of the first people you met in this world. You’d known the kind of abuse she suffered with Ed, and you sympathized as well as you could. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for Carol, but lately, she’d been testing you.

“We can do something else,” you said. “Just… not this. It’ll set her back, getting her involved with these people again.”

Carol glowered at you, an expression you’d never seen her direct towards you.

“Let her make up her own mind,” she said. “This is the only way, and you know it.”

She pushed past Daryl and swung open the front door, causing you to go after her, stopping her in the hallway just before she could find Lydia.

“Carol!” you bellowed, tugging her away from the basement door. In all the years you’d known her, you’d never raised your voice like that to her, but you were enraged, angered beyond comprehension by her actions, her lack of compassion for Lydia and what she’d gone through.

“You leave her alone,” you said.

Carol looked at you sternly, cold, grey-blue eyes boring through you. “(Y/N),” she warned, “I want this done. I want Alpha dead, you do, too, and this is how we do it.”

“No, it’s not. This is how you get people killed. People you care about. You can’t keep doing this, going off the rails without regard for anyone else. It won’t end well. And Lydia… She doesn’t need this.”

“I know what I’m doing.” She turned and opened the basement door, sending you in a rage as you pulled her away with all your might and pinned her against the wall.

“Stop!” you cried, scratching your throat in the process. “She’s just a kid!”

“Mommy?” asked Robin, stepping down the stairs from the second floor, with Lydia closely behind her, staring blankly between the two of you.

You huffed and pulled yourself away from Carol, straightening your dress and trying to look a little less utterly terrifying.

“Hey,” you said. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

Lydia took Robin’s hand in hers and led her down the stairs till they were on the ground floor.

“Thought we’d go for a little walk,” said Lydia. “Get some fresh air… If that’s okay?”

You nodded. “Fine by me. Just don’t be out too long, okay?” You pressed a kiss to Robin’s messy light brown hair. “Siddiq said you need to stay in bed till you feel better. Oh, and take Dog with you.”

Robin whistled to the canine, who dutifully came running through the doggy door Daryl had installed in the door to the garage. “Come on, boy!”

“We’ll only be about fifteen minutes,” said Lydia, trying to avoid eye contact with Carol, with whom she had a slightly strained relationship. “Bye.”

“I should go too,” said Carol, following the girls not long behind. Daryl stood in the doorway now, holding the door for Carol. “Think about it.”

You folded your arms and huffed, now exchanging worried looks with Daryl.

“You all right?” he asked. “Heard yelling.”

“I don’t trust her, Daryl. She’s out for blood, doesn’t care who gets in her way or how many people she hurts… I won’t let her use Lydia. I won’t.”

“I know,” he said, now holding your hands in his. You sighed and leaned your forehead on his chest, while he settled his chin on your head and laced his fingers through your hair. “I won’t either… The Whisperer’s dead.”

You pulled away wide-eyed. “What? How? We were only in there twenty minutes ago.”

“Doctors messed up on the meds. Gave him hemlock on accident.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “So bringing him here was for nothing. We’re no closer to finding the horde. Even if we were, there’s too many of them to—”

“We’ll find it,” he said. “We’ll get rid of it, one way or another. They send another herd our way, we won’t be able to fight it. Carol was wrong to do what she did, but she’s right about one thing—we gotta find that horde.”

You sighed and closed your eyes, but felt him pull you in against him, eliciting a small smile from you.

“At least we don’t have to worry about Carol showing Lydia to the Whisperer. I think I’d go berserk if she did that.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing your back up and down. “You did good today, though. Thought you might’ve beaten him to death for a sec there.”

You pouted over his shoulder, remembering how angry you were.

“He stained my dress, Daryl,” you said. “He had to pay.”

Daryl scoffed and kissed your forehead, about to say something just as Robin and Dog came through the front door.

To your surprise, Lydia wasn’t with them.

You furrowed your brow and came forward, looking out the door for the older girl, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Robin, where’s Lydia?”

“She left with Aunt Carol,” she said matter-of-factly.

Your heart sank and seemed to have stopped completely for a while as you stared at the girl. Daryl knelt beside her and took her small shoulders in his hands.

“Where’d they go?” he asked sternly.

Robin shrugged and pouted. “I dunno. Aunt Carol just said she wanted to take her hunting outside the walls…” She looked wide eyed between Daryl and you, as you paced back and forth, chewing your lip in thought.

Now you knew just how deceptive Carol could be. Of course she wasn’t taking Lydia out hunting. She must’ve heard about the Whisperer dying, and decided to take Lydia out to reveal her to whatever other Whisperers she could find, assuming they all believed her to be dead.

One thing was certain—you’d have a hard time forgiving her for this.

“Am I in trouble?” asked Robin innocently, looking a little worried now at her parents’ reactions to what she thought was rather innocuous news.

“N-no, baby. Not at all,” you said, trying to pull yourself together and hold up your motherly image before you started cursing at Carol’s actions. “Go upstairs and rest, okay? I’ll be up in a sec to give you your medicine.”

Daryl patted Robin’s back and sent her upstairs, Dog following along as her ever-present shadow.

“She’s not taking her hunting,” you said to him.

“Nah.”

Lydia wasn’t your child, you knew that, but she was your responsibility, your ward. Beyond that, you treated her like your child, taking her in like one of your own. She was family, and Carol didn’t see that. She saw Lydia only as an advantage, a tool to get Whisperers to distrust Alpha.

It was the last straw, as far as you were concerned. How she took Lydia out, exposing her to danger and the trauma she experienced with the Whisperers. It was cruel and entirely void of compassion or empathy, so you couldn’t let it go, and you wouldn’t.

~

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[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Whining/Crying

@sicktember 2022 Prompt #19

Fandom/OCs: MCU Avengers/ Sick!Natasha Romanov

Title: In the Mood

Words: 1423

Inspiration: This post about crying when waking up alone from @sickromancer​

Author’s comments: This is another prompt that definitely wouldn’t have worked for me without the right character. I am generally not into whining or crying. But someone so tough and strong and independent breaking down and letting themselves be held and taken care of will never not be perfect. So, have some pathetic Natasha Romanov with a tender, loving Clint. 

CW: Swearing, but not too much. 

Being sick was actually the fucking worst, and Natasha was not in the mood. Somehow this damned flu had gone through every member of the Avengers (they were all suspecting alien involvement) until it finally caught up with her, though she'd done everything she could to avoid it, and now she was pissed at every single one of them. Bruce with his Hulk-sized sneezes, Tony with his germy hands all over everything, Thor coughing loud enough for the entire tower to hear for days, Steve sweating all over the training room even when he was half dead on his feet, and of course Clingy Clint, pressing his feverish face against her pitifully, no matter how many times she pushed him away. Her strict regimen of hand washing and taking every immunity vitamin known to man had failed her. She didn't know which one of her teammates had gotten her sick (though she had her suspicions), so she made it a problem for every single one of them.

To their credit, the guys took this quite well. She had played caregiver for all of them at one time or another (mostly from a distance recently), so they were happy to return the favor, even with a side of Natasha attitude. She whined about every little thing, from her headache to the temperature of the room to the volume of their talking. Several of them still had lingering symptoms, and she managed to complain about this, too. She didn’t like them coughing and sneezing around her, complaining that they were spreading their germs everywhere, even though it was already too late. Perhaps that was the point. Since it was already too late, she was going to complain all the harder about what had caused her sickness in the first place. 

She knew she was being a bitch, but reining in her attitude was just too much effort in times like these. Ever since she’d been a tiny girl she hated being sick, hated showing weakness, and hated having to be taken care of, so she got irrationally angry whenever it happened. However, she didn’t like using her teammates as her punching bags, so after a few days she kept mostly to her suite alone. Only Clint came and went for sporadic bursts of company, as he was the only person she could tolerate for any length of time when her head hurt. 

When he came to see her, though, they rarely talked. Mostly they just laid in bed together, with Clint rubbing her back or stroking her hair. Clint was extremely tactile when he was feeling poorly, so his caretaking style also tended to be more cuddly than anything else. Sometimes this annoyed Natasha, but at times, when symptoms were at their worst, it really was nice to curl up against a human pillow, and Clint was more than willing to oblige. 

This is how they found themselves on the evening of the fourth day of Natasha's illness, curled up together in bed in her suite. Natasha's head was pillowed on Clint's chest, and she was being slowly lulled into a doze by his rhythmic breathing. Suddenly he spoke, startling her. 

"Are your symptoms getting worse? How's your head, throat, everything?" he murmured.

"No noticeable change. I'm still miserable but that's my baseline currently. Why?"

"Think your fever's up is all. You're very warm," he said simply, stroking her hair. "And you've been quiet all day."

She huffed a sigh. "Figures. Honestly, I’m too exhausted to notice anything else. So I guess that makes sense." 

“Then just sleep. You’ll feel better if you do,” he said, closing his own eyes. 

“Mm,” she sighed, following suit as she burrowed deeper into the blanket covering both of them. 

~~~

Fever dreams were the worst part about being sick for a person with a past like hers. Usually sleeping with Clint kept them at bay, but not this time. She flitted from dream to dream, each more horrible than the last. 

At first she was running, and it seemed like she was running toward something. Her teammates. Someone was in trouble. Her lungs were burning, but she knew she couldn’t reach them in time. Then she realized she was passing her friends one by one as they looked on disinterestedly, and then it dawned on her– she wasn’t running toward, she was running away. Something was chasing her, and there was no hope of outrunning it. She could feel it getting closer, but she dared not turn to see what it was. The dream shifted again, and suddenly she was running through the woods all alone. It was too foggy to see what was ahead. Suddenly her foot was no longer touching the ground–she had run off the edge of a cliff. Time froze as she looked down into the fathomless depths below, and began to fall, slowly plummeting to her death.

She woke with a gasp, soaked in sweat. She was panting wildly, as if she’d actually been running. Her heart was thrumming out of control. The room was dark, and she was all alone. 

She tried to steady her breathing, and get her bearings, but her mind would not still. She wasn’t sure how long she’d slept, but it had to have been several hours, because it was dark outside, where it had been light when she nodded off, and this disoriented her even more. She felt like she was missing something, but she at first couldn’t place it. Then she realized: Clint was gone. He was here when she had fallen asleep, and now he had disappeared. 

Tears began to prick her eyes against her will at this realization. It was just like the dream. Everyone had abandoned her. She wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself as she began to shiver, both from terror and bone-wracking chills as her sweat cooled. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The tears began to flow past her lids against her will. 

“Clint?” she croaked, barely audible. “Where are you?” She cleared her throat with a grimace and tried again. “Clint?” she wavered, stronger but no less needy. “Clint, are you here?”

There was no answer. The dark corners of the room seemed to be encroaching very fast, but her legs were shaking too much to walk over to the light switch. Her nose was running in earnest now. She tried to sniffle, but her nasal passages were too inflamed. She wiped at the drips with her sleeve, still trying fruitlessly to breathe without gasping. 

“Clint,”she gasped, covering her face with her hands as she began to sob freely but softly, shoulders shaking with effort. It was too much. She was so scared. So alone. 

A strong arm enveloped her moments later, almost making her leap out of her skin. Clint pulled her close against himself, wrapping her in both arms. Realizing who it was, she pressed into him desperately, sobbing onto his chest. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he whispered over and over, rocking and holding her. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. Just breathe, ‘Tash.” 

Slowly, slowly she regained control. Even when she was quieter he continued to rock her, rubbing her back soothingly. At last she pulled away, but only because the state of her nose was now emergent. She used several tissues to blow and wipe, taking her time with this, and unable to meet Clint’s eyes. 

“Sorry about your shirt,” she mumbled after a while. “That was… a lot.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Or explain. We all know how the dreams can be,” he said quietly. “It’s because your fever is so high. You should take something for it. And I brought you some fresh water, too.” He nodded to the pill bottles on her nightstand. She complied immediately. Meanwhile he turned on the lights in the room and tuned the stereo to a peaceful jazz station. She recognized the song, a quiet version of “In the Mood '' by the Glenn Miller Band, and she was immediately calmer. When she had swallowed a handful of medication, he lifted his arm wordlessly, and she slid under it without hesitation, pressing her face against him for a moment and breathing in his comforting smell. 

“Thank you,” she said, almost too quietly to hear. Clint had managed to save her entire mood in a matter of moments. She knew she didn’t need to tell him this, though; he already knew. 

His only reply was to secure his arm more tightly around her, pressing his lips to her hair.