#bless him for not thinking my hacking coughs were me being mad at him. hes been so confused about whats happening to me lol

[pagesofkenna]

perhaps no one is more excited for me to be able to start sleeping in bed again then my brother's cat, who i'm long-term catsitting

[smallandsneezy]

take good care of you

IT’S A FIC (happy steve rogers day from your local chronically ill american)

Bucky and Steve are fighting about Steve trying to get into the military again, but then Steve sneezes and how could Bucky possibly be mad when Steve’s nose is dripping like that? (ps Bucky may or may not have The Kink but that’s none of my affair). ao3

Bucky paced back and forth, a dangerous mix of angry and anxious. He heard Steve cough as he entered their hallway, long before he heard his footsteps at their door. They were heavy hacks, rattling in Steve’s thin chest, and Bucky’s stomach dropped to the bottom floor of their building, leaving him up in their kitchen feeling like his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Steve struggled with the lock for a second, and Bucky instinctively moved forward to help. He only held himself back to allow time to compose himself. 

When Steve came into the kitchen, he looked even worse than he had that morning when Bucky had left for the docks. The dark circles under his eyes were like bruises on his pale skin, the only color on his face besides the cherry red of his nose and the high flush of his cheeks. 

“Well, am I looking at a member of the United States military?” Buck asked darkly.

Steve shot him a glare, the effect of which was lessened by his dripping nose. 

“Probably cause they could hear your fucking wheezing as soon as you came in the door! What the hell were you thinking, Steve? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you enjoy having double pneumonia, is that it?”

Steve took a second to cough hard, reaching out to balance himself on the table before answering. 

“Buck, I don’t know what the big fucking deal is. I’m just trying to do my part, like everybody else.”

“Well that’s just it, Steve! You aren’t like everybody else!” 

Bucky could see the exact minute his words hit Steve, watched the way his shoulders went from high and tense to low and resigned, and was going to say something else when Steve sneezed.

“Hehh-aATSCHIEW!!”  It was a huge wet thing, and Steve had only barely managed to cover it by yanking his collar over his face, leaving spray so heavy that Bucky could see all of it on the shirt. All the fight that Bucky had ever had in his whole life left him all at once. 

“Stevie… Bless you, baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” He stepped towards the blond, his hands raised in surrender, only for Steve to start crying. Bucky felt his heart break into a thousand tiny pieces. He rushed towards him, gathering him in his arms and rocking him. Steve had gone almost totally limp, his sobs racking his whole body. Buck could feel the fever coming off him in waves, and ran his hand through Steve’s hair. It was wet with sweat, as wet as Bucky’s shirt was coming to be with the way Steve’s nose was gushing onto it, and Bucky picked Steve up, cradling him like a baby. They’d done this a thousand times, and it always ended with them both in Bucky’s bed. 

Bucky gently took off Steve’s shirt, which was more handkerchief than clothing by then, and buttoned him into one of his before taking off his own, which if possible was even more drenched than Steve’s had been. Before he could put on another flannel, Steve sneezed again, ducking forward with the force of it. It was more spray than voice, and Bucky let it land on his bare stomach with a shudder of pleasure.

“Oh.” Steve’s voice was small and dismayed, and he reached out to wipe it away, but Bucky caught his hands and crawled on top of him. 

“After all this, I don’t know how you could think I care about you sneezing on me.” Steve flushed a bit at this, but was more focused on his twitching nose than Bucky’s implications. Bucky noticed this, and smiled.

“Poor Stevie. All itchy and tickly.” He reached out and rubbed his finger against Steve’s septum, feeling the chapped skin and enjoying the way that it radiated heat. 

“B-Buck…” Steve gasped, his nose running more furiously than ever. 

“Yes?” Bucky said innocently, taking his fingernail and tracing Steve’s nostrils with them. 

“Guh...Gonna…”

“What, baby doll? Are you gonna-” 

As the word sneeze left Buck’s mouth, the real thing left Steve’s.

“Huh-RESHIEWWWW!”

Even for Steve, this was quite the sneeze. A heavy mixture of mist and runny nose landed in Bucky’s hand. At this point, it was practically a handful. Steve groaned, stuffy and embarrassed, and Bucky felt something in the bottom of his stomach crawl. 

“That was a good one.” His voice was low and a little strained, but he told himself that Steve wouldn’t be able to tell. 

From the look on Steve’s face, he could tell. Even as his nose continued to stream, he looked a little pleased with himself. Bucky felt a burn in his chest that felt like being seen, and he let it warm him in his entirety before he put a shirt on, choosing a thin one so that if Stevie ran out of time to cover again he’d know it. 

He shoved Steve a bit, encouraging the blond to make room for him in the bed before slipping behind him. For a moment the room was quiet and still besides Steve’s congested sniffles and the throbbing of Buck’s front as he pressed against the blond’s thin frame. 

When Bucky could stand it no longer, he gently rolled Steve over to face him. 

“You’re so stuffed up, sweetheart. Let me help.”

He gently but firmly ran his hands along Steve’s cheekbones, feeling the congestion loosen the slightest bit under his touch. “My poor baby.” 

“ ‘S not that bad Buck…” 

“I’ll be the judge of that, hotshot.”

He admiringly ran a finger down the bridge of Steve’s nose, relishing the way it practically shook with irritation. 

“Don’t worry, baby doll. I’m gonna take good care of you.”

[amateur-authorial-aspirations]

Another short story! It's about the same length as the last one, around 3k words. I don't have a title for this one, though.

Not sure what trigger warnings to add for this but uh it's about a family that's kinda broken and a mom that was very neglectful, and there's stuff about sickness and hospitals. Oh and food.

~~~~~~~~~~

The only thing I wanted to inherit from my mother was the recipe for her chicken soup.

My mom—well, she did her best with us, I guess, but her best mostly involved working long nights at a lousy job and occasionally showing up at school events to clap for us. The rest of the time, she was either drinking Bud Lights out on the porch or passed out from some combination of exhaustion and intoxication, sprawled on her bed or wherever she happened to collapse. I'd put a blanket over her, sometimes, but usually I was too busy cooking dinner, or helping my younger siblings with their homework, or doing one of the million other things that wouldn't get done unless I did them.

The one thing she always got right, though, was when I was sick. She had crazy good hearing, like an owl or something, and if I so much as sneezed, in an instant she'd have me tucked into bed and a pot of chicken soup on the stove. That soup—dear God, my mouth still waters just thinking about it. It was like she took carrots and celery and a chicken straight from the dirt of a farm somewhere and cooked it in, I don't know, the tears of an angel. A little salty, and just heavenly. And the whole time I was sick, whether puking my guts up in the bathroom or just sniffling a little, she was the perfect mother—she picked Brett and Ashley up from school, cooked three meals a day, helped them with their homework, everything.

Even years and decades after I'd moved as far from her as I could get, whenever I was sick, I'd get an awful hankering for that chicken soup. I'd whine and moan and throw a feeble, snotty tantrum until someone made some for me, and my husband tried, bless his soul, but it just wasn't the same. Sometimes I'd try, too, once I was feeling better, but it was never as good as my mom's, no matter what I did. I thought about calling and asking her once or twice, usually when a bout of illness coincided with a fight with my kids. I'd be aching and shivering, feeling bad enough about my own parenting that I could almost forgive her, and when the craving hit, I'd start to reach for the phone, but—

No. I'd worked so hard to get her out of my head, and I didn't know if I could do it all over again.

I remember it was raining the day Ashley called with the news. I could tell she was upset right away, but when she told me why, I almost dropped the phone.

"Hello?" she said, her voice choked. "Kathy, you still there?"

"Yeah," I rasped, "I'm here. I… I don't know what to say. I mean, cancer? God. Is she okay?"

"Yes. For now, at least. We don't know how long she'll stay that way, though."

"I don't know what to say," I repeated. It was true; I felt like someone had stuck my brain in a freezer.

"Say you'll come see her. And before you say no—"

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"Before you say no, think about how much it would mean to her. And to me. To all of us. We could finally be a family again, you know? One last time."

"I'm not putting myself through that so you can get our family picture taken, Ash."

"Come on, Kathy. I know you're mad at her, but—"

"I'm not mad. I just don't owe her anything."

"But—"

"And I don't owe you anything, either."

"Okay, that is not—"

I hung up. Then I threw my phone at the couch. It rang a moment later, but I just took a deep breath in, let it out slowly, and walked out of the room, the tinny music fading as I closed the door behind me. Then it started again.

Brett called about an hour later. I let it ring.

He understood a little better than Ashley, I think, but she was his little sister, the baby of the family. I was sure he'd side with her.

But, after a long talk with my husband and a couple days of stewing, I decided to go after all. I might not have owed my mother anything, but I owed it to myself to not leave any questions hanging. Besides, if she was really dying… it felt bad, felt heartless, to refuse to visit an old, sick woman.

Brett met me at the airport, a box of chocolate in hand.

"Nate with the kids?" he asked.

"Yeah. Those for Mom?"

"No," he said with a small chuckle, "for you."

I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Honestly, Kathy, you're a saint. I don't know if I'd have come, if I were you."

"You did come, though."

"Yeah, but it wasn't the same for me. Or Ashley. You know that better than I do."

"Well, I'm not here for Mom, anyway."

It was Brett's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I mean, I'm here to see her, but it's for me."

"And for Ashley?"

"And kinda for Ashley."

We both laughed a little. Then he handed me the chocolate and started loading my suitcases into the trunk of his car.

When we pulled up to the house, Ashley ran out to greet me, but Brett pulled her aside as I went around to the back of the car. I couldn't hear what he said, but her face sank. She nodded tightly and went back inside.

I tugged my suitcase up over the curb and pulled it down a concrete pathway that cut through calf-height grass and weeds to the front of Ashley's one-story, vinyl-sided house that had been painted in a shade of yellow so bright it turned my stomach, though I'm sure my sister thought it "sunny" or some such thing. Part of the roof was sagging on one side.

Looking at that house, part of me couldn't help feeling guilty. I mean, I wasn't rich, and Ashley and her family certainly weren't starving, but it was hard not to draw comparisons to my own home, spacious and immaculate and halfway across the country, and wonder if there wasn't more I should be doing. Not that she'd accept assistance if I offered it; if anything, she'd just get angry, and things between us were already so tense... but, still. I didn't think there would ever come a day that I saw her struggling and didn't want to help.

Lost in thought, I walked in the door and headed straight for the rear of the house, almost passing the small living room on the right, but then a quiet cough sounded. I whipped my head toward the noise, freezing in place as I took in the hospital bed that been set up where a couch used to be. Took in its white-haired occupant.

After a moment, I cleared my throat. "Hi, Mom."

She looked so tiny and fragile lying there, her feet barely reaching halfway down the bed, her skin pale and papery. Nothing like the hard-drinking, loud-talking woman who had stomped through my childhood with the force of a bulldozer, hurtling herself headfirst at anything that dared to stand in her way. No, there was no sign of that woman in this dimly lit room that smelled of sickness and floral air freshener.

"Hi, Kathy," said this person I no longer recognized. "It's so good to see you."

"Wish I could say the same," I blurted before I could think better of it, but she just laughed, a dry, gravelly chuckle that ended in a hacking cough.

"Well," she said after a minute, when she was breathing normally again, "I can't say I was expecting much better, after everything I put you through. And I guess that's what I get for smoking so damn much."

"Wait." My face screwed up in confusion. "Since when did you smoke?"

"Oh, it was a long time ago. I tried to quit for years, but it never stuck until I got pregnant with you. I guess knowing I had someone else depending on me was the push I needed."

I let out a sharp bark of laughter, once again reacting without thinking and immediately wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. Not because I hadn't meant it; I had, but it wasn't like me, to be so sarcastic and mean-spirited. This tired, bitter woman was just as foreign to me as the little old lady she was mocking.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm sure you thought that was a heart-warming story about one time you actually did take care of me, but that's the thing, right? You did get it right sometimes. Which means the rest of the time… that was a choice. And I could forgive you for being weak or sick or crazy, but you weren't any of those things. Like, when I was sick, you were always so good. And I'd eat your chicken soup, and I'd think, maybe this time. Maybe this time she'll keep it up. But then I'd get better, and you'd go right back to leaving us to fend for ourselves, and it would hurt even worse because I knew what it felt like to be taken care of. You know I've got kids now, right? I'm sure Ashley's told you. So I know what it feels like, when you're tired down to your bones and you don't know how to keep going. But still, every single day, I choose to go on anyway, to be there for my kids, because I love them too much not too. So either you just didn't love us enough, or you did, and you still chose not to take care of us. I don't know which it is, or which would be worse. But I know I can't forgive you."

The words had all come out in a rush, as if some long-stoppered bottle of feelings inside me had suddenly come pouring from my lips, getting bigger and angrier as I went, and I had to stop for a second, take a deep breath in, let it out slowly.

"So," I went on, more calmly now, "I'll be here for a week. We'll play nice, for Ashley and her kids, and because we are civilized people. And I really am sorry about what you're going through. But when I leave, I don't want to hear from you again, and I don't want you bothering Ashley about me."

With that, I turned on my heel, not waiting for a reply, and marched down the hall to the guest room.

Only after I closed the door and collapsed onto the bed did I think about who else might have been in the house. I really hoped Ashley's kids hadn't overheard my tirade. Or Ashley herself, for that matter. I didn't like this nasty streak my mother brought out in me, and whatever my feelings for her, being a good sister and aunt was more important.

But when I emerged a little while later, cool and composed and determined to stay that way, I found everyone gathered around the big wooden table in the kitchen, Ashley presiding over it all with a wooden spoon and a hearty laugh.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me in the doorway. "Kathy! Come in, come over here." She was beaming as I made my way past the treacherous tangle of cooking implements brandished by small hands to where she stood at the stove, stirring a sizzling pan of vegetables. "So," she said in a low voice, one that no one else would hear over the general hubbub, "things went well with Mom? Brett seemed to think there'd be some… unpleasantness, but she said you guys talked? Worked things out?"

I cast a wary glance to where my mom sat at the table between Brett and Ashley's husband Blake, but her attention was fully occupied by her grandchildren and the silly song they were singing as they worked on their "cooking."

"Yeah," I said with a small, sad smile, "I guess we did." And we had, I supposed, if not in the way Ashley hoped.

The rest of the visit flew by in a whirl of babysitting and doctor's visits and pasted-on smiles. Before I knew it, the last day had arrived. My flight out was scheduled for late afternoon, but I woke early, intending to take a walk in the cool darkness just before sunrise, for the fresh air and exercise and much-needed time to myself. But when I went to open the front door, something felt off, and I realized I couldn't hear the snoring that that had echoed through the small house every night this week.

With a gasp, I turned and rushed to my mother's side. "Ashley!" I shouted as I fumbled for the switch on the lamp and tried to remember what little first aid I knew. Running footsteps clattered along the floor, then stopped somewhere behind me. "Ashley, I don't think she's breathing."

"Oh, dear God," said Ashley, and then her phone was out and she was talking to someone.

The minutes that passed before the ambulance arrived felt like seconds and hours and days all at once. Blake was there, he was doing something I vaguely recognized as CPR, but I had no idea if it was working. Then it was flashing lights and paramedics in uniforms and Ashley had to stay with the kids so I was the one climbing into the back of the ambulance, and the siren was blaring as we raced through the streets and swerved around corners, everything swaying and rattling as I clung desperately to my mother's hand.

When we got to the hospital, they carted her off through a set of swinging doors, and all too soon it was just me, standing alone under the fluorescent lights, shaking. The air around me seemed to pulse, and the too-clean antiseptic smell of the hallway had me ready to vomit.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring in shock at the big red letters on the smooth metal doors. NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT. It felt like forever.

But it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before Brett was there, wrapping me in his jacket and leading me to a chair. I think there were tears in his eyes, but I was too numb to cry. Or to talk. So we just sat there in silence, his arms around me, until Ashley came in with a million questions that I couldn't even process, much less answer. Everything the paramedics and doctors said had shot right past me in a blur of unintelligible sound. Ashley seemed about ready to shake me in frustration, but Brett took her to look for the doctors who would have the answers I couldn't give her. He left me his jacket, but I still missed his comforting warmth.

A few hours later, I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in a cold, drab room, watching over my mother as she slept. She looked even stranger now, with her face all calm and peaceful, content in a way I had never seen her before. In my lap was a tray from the hospital cafeteria, a styrofoam bowl of steaming-hot soup at its center.

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open, and I leapt to my feet in excitement, launching the tray from my lap and dumping the soup all over the floor.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, looking frantically around the room for something with which to mop up the rapidly spreading puddle of broth. "I'm so sorry, I just wanted to bring you soup, like you always used to make me when I was sick, and I know it's not the same, but I just thought… well, and now I've gone and made a mess of it, haven't I?" My gaze locked on the box of tissues on the bedside table, and I practically lunged for them, but I was stopped by a gentle touch on my arm.

"Forget about the mess, Kathy, just come sit next to me." My mother gestured to the chair that was closest to her bed, and I sat down obediently. She let out a small, quiet laugh. "Goodness, I'd almost forgotten about the chicken soup."

"I don't know what you put in it, but that soup was the best thing I ever tasted."

She looked up at me sharply, confusion etched in the lines of her face. "What?"

"Don't worry, I'm just reminiscing, not trying to weasel any secret ingredients out of you."

This time, her laugh was raucous. "Secret ingredients? Kathy, the only secret ingredient in that stuff was a can of chicken soup from the supermarket."

Now I was the confused one. "What?"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry if you thought I was making some special family recipe, but you must've got that idea from some fever dream. Don't you remember what a terrible cook I am? The only things I could ever make came out of cans or boxes or little plastic packets."

After a moment, I couldn't help but laugh as well. "Yeah, that sounds about right. I probably should've known."

I ended up missing my flight and staying for an extra week. Mostly, I stayed at the house, helping Ashley with chores or the kids, but I visited the hospital a few times, too.

When I finally got home, a small, white envelope was waiting for me in the mailbox, my name and address scrawled across the back. Careful not to tear it, I peeled open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of lined paper covered in the same messy handwriting.

Mom's Chicken Soup

Ingredients:

1 12-oz can of condensed chicken soup

1 canful of water

Combine ingredients in saucepan and heat over medium high, stirring occasionally, until warm and bubbling slightly. Let cool to your desired temperature and serve with a side of high fever and delirium.

On the back was a brief note.

Thought you should have at least one family recipe.

With a small smile, I tucked the paper back into the envelope and turned to go inside, my heart feeling strangely light and heavy at the same time. And as I looked up to see my two beautiful, wonderful children come running out to greet me, I couldn't help feeling that my front door was not the only one that had just been opened.

[chrysalispen]

kiss prompt fill: “because i’ve missed you”

taking a break from the other thing i was working on to write this thing. i realize this is a trope i’ve done a few times now, but in my defense it’s mostly because this man’s real and true alignment is Chaotic Dumbass and we all know the second the WoL fucked off to the First Reflection he’d be 1000000% back on his bullshit, said bullshit including ‘forgoing basic self care such as eating, sleep, and/or hydration for the chance to get his hands on that sweet sweet Allagan technology’ 

that said i legit don’t know if i’ll toss this one on AO3 or not, because it was mostly a writing exercise in working out how this character would react to everything that had happened once the dust had settled, and i’m not really confident enough to post it anywhere outside my tumblr. maybe. we’ll see ;

anyway, spoilers for end of Shadowbringers MSQ under the cut, don’t read unless you’ve finished the game.

========================================

"Your timing couldn't be better," Cid said as their footfalls pounded up the staircase. "Godsdamned fool gave himself a cold while he was afield, probably sitting out in the elements and tinkering with something. He and I were arguing about... well..."

"His abrupt departure from the Ironworks, I assume," she supplied with a sigh.

"Yes, actually-- and he looked about to drop dead on the spot. Jessie helped me strongarm him upstairs and into bed. He protested, of course. Loudly. I'm fair certain all of the Toll heard him swearing at us."

"You've not called a chirurgeon?"

"He wouldn't let us. You know how stubborn he is." He shrugged, expression tight with annoyance. "I thought maybe he'd cry uncle if we just gave him his wish and let him suffer a bit, but he hasn't attempted to get out of bed even to come rifle through his schematics-"

"That is very unlike him."

"I know. Mistress Tataru let it slip you'd returned, so..."

"You want me to get him back in fighting shape so you can shake Rowena's money out of him," the Warrior of Light said dryly.

"Something like that."

"Guest room?"

"Guest room."

A familiar figure was curled up into a tight ball beneath the thin quilt when they walked through the door. All that was readily visible was a stray tuft of pale blonde hair, disheveled and half-scattered over a down pillow.

"For the last time, go away," a hoarse and slightly nasal voice growled. "Must I repeat myself? This is humiliating enough as it is without your hovering."

Cid crossed his arms, casting his eyes heavenward as if to say you see what I've been dealing with in your absence?  "Nero, I'm not going to have you expire in my godsdamned workshop. You are going to see a chirurgeon whether you like it or not.”

“Like hells I will.” This punctuated by a series of hacking coughs.

“I've brought-"

"I don't bloody care who you brought, Garlond. Bugger off, both of you," the sick man grumped. "I'll be fine with a day's rest."

Aurelia sat down on the edge of the bed. Without looking she reached over Nero's shoulder and pressed her left hand against his brow, right over his third eye, as if checking his temperature. The gesture was a very rude one, but she wanted him to focus on her presence in a way he physically could not ignore (and she figured the two of them were well past concern over etiquette anyway).

As she'd expected, that svelte frame tensed and she felt a calloused hand grip her wrist in surprise. His palm was paper-dry and hot as a furnace.

"Cid," she said calmly without looking over her shoulder, "if you happen to have any pine resin on hand, could I please have two or three cakes? Also, I'll need water and some stones. Flat smooth-sided ones."

"Pine balsam? What are you going to do, hero, mop the floor?" the other engineer muttered between coughs, voice half-muffled beneath his blanket. Cid and Aurelia both ignored him.

"Jess handles procurement, but I'm sure we'll have something that common in storage. The stones will take a bit longer, I think. I'll go have a look myself and leave you two be for now." 

Bless you, Cid. The meaningful look her best friend gave the two of them, his gaze drifting over to the man in the bed, had not been lost on her. Nor was the tiny smirk playing about his lips, crinkling at the corners of his eyes as though he and Aurelia shared some secret jest.

The door had barely shut behind him when Nero mumbled: "Hadn't expected you back for moons yet."

"I hadn't expected me back either." Aurelia sighed, lifting her hand from his forehead to gently run her fingers through his mussed, sweat-dampened curls. "There's some unfinished business, but the immediate threat is gone."

"Threat?"

"The Ascians, you remember them-"

"Black robes, red masks? 'Course I do." Another cough. "What caper were they up to this time?"

"One that very nearly killed every single one of us, myself included, without our knowledge."

When he didn't answer, she decided to just tell him as much of the whole truth as she thought he could stomach. There was no easy way to say any of it without sounding mad, anyroad. 

"Suffice to say some very old academic assumptions about aetherology were incorrect, Varis is an even bigger bastard than I took him for, you lot - the Ironworks, that is - pieced together how to construct a temporal stasis reactor before you all died, Biggs and Wedge's grandchildren used those notes to enter the Crystal Tower and use it as a channeling focus to move its one inhabitant across time and interdimensional space and he's the one who was calling us all this time - you remember G’raha Tia, of course you do - I found out the others are fine and their souls are just trapped somewhere else, I met Solus zos Galvus, who is- was- actually an Ascian and somehow that wasn't even close to the most outrageous thing that happened-"

"Aurelia-"

She held up a hand.

"Then I found out that the Garlean Empire was brought into being specifically to end the world as we know it and make all of us blood sacrifices to Zodiark so the Ascians could resurrect their friends from the dead. ...Also I was very nearly turned into a hideous world-ending monster, but I'm fine now," she finished tiredly, passing a hand over her eyes. "I think that just about covers everything of import. The other Scions say hello, by the by."

"Aurelia."

"What?"

He released her hand, threw one arm around her waist, and rolled over with a pained grunt.

"...What are you doing?"

"Welcoming you back, what's it look like?" His head tilted slowly side to side against her bosom. She heard the wet sound of his inhale, or his attempt at one before he convulsed in another coughing fit. “Hells, I feel like death.”

"Don't expect my sympathy. It's your own fault. I told you you'd catch a cold up there if you weren't careful."

Nero shrugged. "If I die, at least now I can die as happy as any man in this hard old world could expect."

She felt his other hand slip beneath her shirt and her camise, riding up just below the curvature of her breasts. 

Catching him by the wrist, she glared down at him. "Before you even ask, we are not trysting in Cid Garlond's guest bedroom. I don't think you could manage it even if I were game."

"All work and no play as usual." Mock pouting, he rolled over onto his back, but did not remove his hand from its place beneath her shirt. 

Hot fingertips traced light patterns over the surface of her stomach, and she understood that his banter was just banter-- what he wanted was the contact. She relaxed against the down pillows on the headboard and continued to run her fingers through his hair. "Scaeva, you know damned well you'd choke on your own phlegm the moment I sat on your face."

Nero let out a surprised, spluttering cackle that quickly ended in another coughing fit. "Please don't make me laugh," he gasped, rather plaintively. "Feels like a godsdamned gigas is sitting on my chest every time."

"I'm sure it does. You've likely let your cold turn into pneumonia, because you're possibly the most idiotic smart man in all Hydaelyn."

"Ah, how the wheel of time does turn. That Academy-trained bedside manner of yours rears its head once more."

"You should be glad of my training right now. Cid was absolutely correct in trying to force you to see a chirurgeon." She leaned over and kissed him right above his third eye. "I'm going to impose disgusting potions and bed rest upon you, and you can't escape me."

He let out a groan, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes. A stray platinum blond curl escaped to flop sadly over his wrist. "My hero."

"I'm serious. If you try to leave this bed before I say you can, I will find you."

"All right, all right! I will put up with Garlond for a day or two lest I incur the eikon-slayer's wrath. Satisfied?"

"Yes. Now sit up. You can lean on me while I fix your pillows."

"Lean on y-" Nero glared up at her, obviously insulted. "I'm not an invalid."

The flat, unimpressed stare she leveled in his direction would have made Emet-Selch proud. 

After a moment's attempt at defiance and an exasperated muttering beneath his breath which she chose to ignore, Nero finally propped himself up into a half-sitting position with his back against her chest, the expression on his face something approaching mutinous. 

Aurelia patted a cheek made even rougher with stubble than usual-- likely he hadn't shaved in a day or two. He was wearing an old work tunic, half-undone with most of the buttons fastened through the wrong holes, as if it had been done in a hurry. Her palm flattened briefly over the soft mat of wiry hair on his partially exposed chest.

"So..." she said after another beat of silence, "that's that, is it?"

"What's what?"

"You're just... not going to comment on all that information I dropped on you? Not your death? Not Cid's time machine? Not even 'oh yes by the way the Emperor was an Ascian'?"

"Would it make you feel better if I pretend to be shocked by that last revelation? We both grew up in Garlemald's loving clutches," he scoffed, glancing up at her with fever-bloodshot blue eyes. "We have a continent-spanning war machine, darling. It don't exactly scream 'peaceful land of flowers and kittens', does it?"

She poked him in the chest, gently, but with enough emphasis to make him wince. "You were a cog in that machine until fairly recently, Tribunus."

"As were you."

"Yes." Aurelia's amused smile faded. "I suppose neither of us are innocent."

"I suppose not." He shivered, coughing again, and that was her cue to draw the blanket back over them both. She tucked her head against his, both her arms now draped loosely about his shoulders. One of his hands closed over her forearm and gave it a small squeeze.

She leaned forward, but Nero saw immediately what she was about and tilted her chin to the side with two fingertips before their lips could meet. "None of that, love, not unless you plan to join me in this misery. Save it for later."

Aurelia knew he was right--he was in fact being downright sensible, for once--but she felt a stab of disappointment anyway. When she'd entered the Ocular from the Norvrandt side she'd been half-drowning in homesickness and grief, and she'd been looking forward to sleeping in her own bed and bathing in her own house and just... letting all of the stress wash away, really. But she'd been looking forward to-

A hand closed about her wrist and lifted and Aurelia felt the press of his lips, a kiss that was warm and careful and very soft, against her open palm. Then he carefully placed it against his rough cheek and laced his fingers through hers, mouth curved in a faint and rather bleary-eyed smile.

"Missed you," he murmured--then promptly sneezed.

She laughed, despite herself.

"I missed you too," she said lightly. "Now go back to sleep. I've got work to do."

[365daysofmchart]

Reflecting on McHart: 3x08

The One Where Kurt Saves Diane, the title alone had me swooning about my favorite couple and my God, they did not disappoint! My reflection on McHart in 3x08 of The Good Fight can be found below the read more ‘cause my God, so long. Apologies for the delay!

1. “Sweetheart, have you seen my bag?” “Check the other closet.”

Sweetheart. Oh, my heart! And the other closet, implying that there is another closet, but also, after them showing us more of the layout of their home in this episode it actually makes less sense that they have a large walk-in closet in the vicinity of their bedroom. In fact, what we saw of the layout made no sense whatsoever! There’s a window in the foyer that indicates the end of the house on that side while their bedroom indicates the same on the other side, but then it’s just wall at the end of the hall and WHERE IS THE REST OF THEIR HOUSE??? Honestly though, they’ve got so much in that bedroom that I guess who needs a rest of the house? Also that’s just a generally odd location for a bedroom. Just saying.

...Look, I know I should be grateful that we’re getting Diane’s home/McHart home life at all, and I am. I promise, I am! ...But there’s so much thought that seems to go into the tiniest of details decor-wise, why can’t the same be done for something AS BASIC AS A LAYOUT AND A CLOSET FOR A WOMAN WHO HAS THE WARDROBE OF A QUEEN?!?! A CLOSET FOR A WOMAN/CHARACTER WHO IS KNOWN FOR HER FASHION?!?!!?!?! Sigh. Anyway. Yeah... I’m still not quite over the closet thing in case you haven’t noticed. But onto other things now...

2. “That reminds me, we’re invited to Mar a Lago for the weekend. ...That was a joke.” “Oh, God, you have to give me more of a signal when you’re joking or I’ll end up with a heart attack!”

Apparently Kurt still hasn’t learned that he can’t use the same expression for everything... and apparently Diane still believes that repeatedly swatting at him is effective punishment. Ah, so much has changed for the better since Landing, but I’m glad that this aspect of their relationship has not! Haha!

3. That whole goodbye! The kiss that lingers just a second longer than it has to, her sing-songed “I love you!” and his “Love you, too.” Oh, and... “All I know is they don’t deserve you.” Happy sigh.

4. Honestly just that whole. fucking. opening. scene. It was just SO DOMESTIC. The news, asking where something is, clothes slung on chairs, just that little bit of disarray of a typical morning and them weaving in and out of each other’s routines in the most natural way, them meeting and sharing a little moment before they part for the day with I love you’s. Oh, my McHart! And I know we’ve been blessed with that domesticity all season and I know I’ve mentioned it in every reflection I’ve done on them, but much like the closet situation, I’m STILL NOT OVER IT. I will NEVER be over domestic McHart!

5. Okay. Confession time. When I saw Christine wearing that cream/gold suit in interviews, there was a wee little part of me that felt hopeful that it could be a vow renewal outfit. (Not that I thought it was going to happen, but the image came and it was quite lovely and wouldn’t it have been nice???) It was not. But she looked beautiful just the same!

6. “Hello, handsome.”

FUCK. ME. UP. That is all.

7. “You told me I was bad at lying, and it’s true. But you’re bad at it too.”

Okay, but she’s not bad at lying. She’s actually really good at it. Like really good. ...She’s just bad at lying to him, and that’s actually like the sweetest thing??? ...Pretty sure Kurt is just bad at lying in general though, haha.

8. “We’re in this together now. So if you’re in danger, I need to know.”

That whole little speech of his... They truly are married, a family, one unit. One’s problems are the other’s. They are so fucking in this, and it’s taken so long but they’re here and so entirely committed and in love!

9. “Kurt, there are certain work things touching on politics that you can’t tell me, and there are certain things touching on politics that I can’t tell you. We have found a way to bifurcate our lives and make it work. So trust me when I say I can’t tell you.” I actually love that this was acknowledged--both by the writers for our benefit as well as by Diane in this conversation. Their contrasting politics have always been an aspect of their relationship but we’ve rarely seen the effect they’ve had on them (aside from the way they get them all hot and bothered) or how they manage them within their relationship. Politics are hard. Harder yet for two who are so passionate and even more so in this current political climate. And while they accept the other for who they are and their beliefs, they do know it’s a delicate dance and this is one of the ways that they work to care for their marriage. They protect themselves by keeping elements separate from their marriage, and yet... “I will overlook politics to help.”

...when it comes down to it, they are still on the same team and their partner’s needs and safety will always come first.

And that hug right there. ...It’s like a hug for my soul.

10. I just... I really don’t understand the purpose of these closets??? (Yes, I’m on about the damned closets again.) Diane has a small selection of clothes/shoes/bags in hers, Kurt has shoes, multiple umbrellas, a toolbox, and... a hamper maybe?, and who knows what else above, all rather random. Again, they must have a walk-in but these also don’t seem to be coat closets either, EVEN THOUGH they also don’t have a closet or any kind of hooks in the foyer (why???). IT JUST DOESN’T MAKE SENSE. AND MY FAVE CHARACTER (who is also the main character!) DESERVES A HOME SET THAT MAKES SENSE!!! ...Alright, I’m done for real now.

11. I feel like there are home cameras that already send you notifications when they sense movement, so I think all of that electric work and the lasers were a little extra (not to mention getting the stickiness of duct tape on the woodwork... Diane may not be pleased), but I like the spirit, Kurt! LOL!

12. Awww... Kurt’s lil office! But I spent so much time pausing and analyzing each and every photo in there... and they’re all just like military-related stock photos? LOL! ...And then there’s his mug that has a flag on it and text that suspiciously ends in “... AGAIN” Can Diane go and visit him soon please and “accidentally” knock it off his desk? It can be during an act of seduction!

13. They haaaaaad to bring in a perky young blond, didn’t they. Really? Reeeally??? Perhaps the point was to show us that he hardly paid any attention to her, that there was no flirtation whatsoever... or perhaps it was in fact to stir up the memories of his past indiscretion. Either way, definitely could’ve done without. Thanks though, TGF!

14. Wait, does Diane have two home phones (given the one he called was a line dedicated to her, given the recorded message), and her cell phone??? I mean they must have a joint home phone... unless they just kept their numbers and have two lines?

15. Not gonna lie, kinda mad that NSA guy 1) didn’t know who Kurt was like right away and 2) wasn’t fanboying over over him/them. I mean he’s in on her every call and text but out of the loop on Kurt and Diane? I. Think. Not. (Also NSA guys fanboyed over Alicia so I think a part of me is like SO WHERE’S THE INTEREST IN DIANE?!?! ...Also, also throwback to “I think Will and Diane get it on.”)

16. That look on his face when he finds out. And while I kept faith in him, that face was striking and certainly speaks volumes regarding what is to come.

17. And Kurt-Fucking-McVeigh saves the day. Saves Diane.

18. So it’s all over and done with, Diane is in the clear... and all she wants is to go home and find solace in the arms of the man she loves.

19.  The way she pulls his arm around her as she settles herself beside him, nuzzling in, the two snuggled up there on the sofa at the end of the day. It’s all positively adorable and this is everything I’ve wanted in McHart!

20. The thing about the hacking is that is wasn’t just a politics thing with Kurt, it was a morality thing, too. It was wrong and we know how high his ethical and moral standards stand. And yet, he fixed it, and it wasn’t for glory or points (as he doesn’t even tell her!) or anything but pure love. And honestly, I was afraid that, even though he did in fact quietly fix it, he might still harbor resentment toward her for being involved with such a thing. But with the way he accepted her into his arms then going beyond the bare minimum nothing-is-amiss response by pressing a kiss to her forehead and rubbing her arm, it’s clear that he’s accepted it, accepted her for who she is, flaws and all, and is moving forward. As she has before. Honestly, the love these two have for one other!

And just a few other things...

Kurt is so clever!

I feel like Diane must own about as many umbrellas as she does fabulous coats.

I will never tire of seeing Kurt all spiffed up for his new job! ...Of course I’ll also never tire of seeing him in plaid and jeans, either. (Why do I have a feeling that Diane had a field day getting him outfitted for the position? Haha!)

“I took care of it.” “I’m glad.”

*Cough* Closets *cough*

This episode was so entirely lovely and had my heart positively swelling! And maybe the’ve been so nice to us this season simply to throw us off of the scent for the finale... but no matter the reason, I’m grateful to have had all of these beautiful domestic and loving scenes! Here’s to many more!

-E

[the-lupine-sojourner]

Ain’t Going Away [Eijiro Kirishima/Reader] [Hanahaki AU]

Hi! So, I know...I know. I wanted to wait, too, then my hand slipped and here we go. ^.^’ Sorry not sorry! 

This idea came from Crush by David Archuleta, which I listened to on repeat while wiring this fic. I even used lyrics in it. They’re italicized and bolded.

Might not make sense, might end up being cool. Either way, hope you all enjoy! 

I want to tag @elite-guard-hardygal (who gave me the encouragement needed to post this now instead of waiting) and @souskena, who voted for this idea as Kirishima X Reader and also voted for another one from This Post of Ideas. If y’all wanna see more of those ideas, please just send in an ask and tell me what you want to see. You can use the idea and say [Character] X Reader or a different F/M couple from MHA. Doesn’t have to be KiriKara, but that’s where my brain went coming up with the ideas. 

..I’ll shut up now...

Hope you all enjoy! 

God Bless and Good Day!

~The Lupine Sojourner

(Ignore the words on the GIF...hehe...)

=#=#= Kirishima =#=#=#=

It all started after the attack on the USJ. Eijiro hadn’t meant to fall so deep so fast, but here he is. He’d protected Y/N when she’d gotten hurt, making sure she got the treatment she needed, staying with her and helping her through her recovery.

Ever since Y/N had fully recovered, he’d started coughing up petals, the number increasing every once in a while.

Now, the petals fall into the trash can, and he knows he’s in trouble. Twenty petals, over ten minutes of painful hacking and choking.

This girl had him puking flowers...and still he loved her. Y/N would never know, cus he was too stupid to just spill those three words.

But...but what if she said she didn’t feel the same way?

He’d be dead. So he kept doing to the study sessions Mina set up with their class to get he and Y/N closer together and Eijiro just hopes he keeps it together enough that he didn’t raise suspicion. He knows Mina manipulates him into going purely because she also gets Y/N to go. Of course, his best friend knew about his condition. She’d happened to  The last thing he wanted was for Y/N to take pity on him and try to kiss him purely to stop the disease.

So he remains silent. That is, until his phone buzzes. Y/N was calling him. His eyes go wide. He’d forgotten! They had a study date tonight!

=#=#= Y/N =#=#=

“Hey, Kiri!” I cheer. I wasn’t mad. Of course, there was still plenty of time for him to get here, so I wanted to remind him now.

“H-hey, Y/N.” Eijiro replies. I frown.

“Dude, you okay?” I ask worriedly. His voice was really gravelly, like he was sick. “If you’re sick, we can reschedule.”

“Nah, I just, uh, was singing really loud a lot while cleaning.” He replies and I’m not sure I believe him. But I lie and pretend to buy it. He was such a nice guy, but even nice guys need privacy, so I push down the instinct to push and find out the truth.

“Oh. So we’re still on for tonight?”

“Absolutely. Chemistry tonight, right?” He asks. His voice seems to be a little steadier now, so I guess it wasn’t that big a deal.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay. Just give me five minutes to change then I’m on my way.” I nod, blushing, then I shake myself. It wasn’t like he was coming to my house. It was just a study session. There would be other people from our class there.

“Alright. See you soon!” I hope I didn’t sound too eager as he repeats what I’d said and hangs up. I make sure all my books and notes are in the bag, then slowly walk down to the living room. Mom was waiting.

“Ready to go?” She asks. I slip on ankle boots at the door.

“I was born ready.” I retort playfully and go to grab a protein bar from the kitchen.

“Okay.” Mom says. I kiss her cheek and walk out the door. It was a twenty minute drive to the local library and I walk in happily, accustomed to the sight and smell of the building. Our classmate, Yaoyorozu, had somehow been talked into being the class tutor, as she had the highest grades. I had a strong suspicion my friend, Mina Ashido, was responsible. Mina could talk just about anyone into just about anything, and make it seem like their idea. 

Either way, it was a great boost to my grades and I was grateful Momo decided to start these sessions.

=#=#= Kirishima =#=#=

I hung up the phone tonight. Something happened for the first time, deep inside, there’s a rush...what a rush...

Eijiro couldn’t help smiling to himself. Y/N had sounded so happy he’d be there! She was always happy, but this seemed different somehow.

Cus a possibility that you would ever feel the same way is just too much, just too much...

Why, though? Why would someone as wonderful and amazing as Y/N ever notice, much less fall for, a guy that had already failed to protect her and didn’t really let himself hang around her for fear of her discovering his condition and piecing it together. So he kept his distance, telling himself it was better this way, that it was okay.

Why do I keep running from the truth? All I ever think about is you...

However, the study session was an opportunity to see Y/N and help his grades a little at the same time and Lord knows that boy needs a bit of help.

So he trudges into the library, swearing he missed a petal in his throat when he was having that huge coughing fit earlier. Y/N sees him instantly, jogging over.

“Hey, you made it!” She cheers quietly, hugging him and seeming as happy as she had on the phone. Was that...was she blushing? Eijiro ignores that. It was windy outside. That was it. Yeah…

“Of course.” He replies softly. It was killing him, the way she smiles at him like he was the only one she saw, the way that hunter green fluffy sweater with missing shoulders swishes around as she moves.

Does she know what she’s doing to him? Is she teasing him til he breaks? Or he was just being creepy and reading too much into her expression?

Got me hypnotized, so mesmerized, and I just got to know--

Either way, he cuts wandering thoughts of Y/N off and makes himself keep just a little distance between them as they walk to the group. “I so need the help!” Y/N confesses, scratching the back of her neck. “Chemistry isn’t my strong suit.”

“You’ll get it.” He assures her. He was always the one to support her, to tell her she could do it, because he meant it and it was a harmless way to show his support, right?

Do you ever think, when we’re all alone, all that we could be, where this thing cold go?

Eijiro swallows, sipping from a water bottle he usually kept on him (puking flowers made one thirsty, apparently), and sets his bag down as Momo set up problems on the board Eijiro was frankly scared to try. He was surprised when Y/N sat across from him, smiling that damning smile at him again. He blushes scarlet and dips to grab his books so he doesn’t have to let her see him blushing. When he straightens, Mina is chatting with Y/N as she grabs her books, as well. It drove Eijiro mad when Y/N flits her eyes to him every now and again, and he swears that blush is still on her cheeks. Why? It wasn’t that warm, but maybe her sweater was making her hot?

=#=#= Y/N =#=#=

Am I crazy or falling in love? Is this real or just another crush?

It was a stupid question, really. I’d never felt quite like this before. Not even in middle school with Shinso, and I drew our wedding. It was nothing more than a momentary, flitting infatuation compared to Eijiro, however. Since he’d saved me at the USJ, I can’t help feeling like he and I were becoming closer, but he never wants to stay and talk at length with me, so I have to resort to texting him as much as he’d let me.

Do you catch your breath, when I look at you? Are you holding back, like the way you do?

It didn’t matter; he never wanted to talk too deep with me when we were together, or even through texting, so I’d have to settle for pining from afar. It’s eating me up, though. I just know something’s itching to be said. 

The way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not looking, the way his eyes dart around, looking anywhere at me when I begin to get too personal, it all indicated something was wrong, but he never wanted to talk about it, so I always let it slide. No sense ruining our friendship because I couldn’t respect his boundaries. Mina wouldn’t tell me, either, insisting his home life was not the cause, and that she’d let me know if she found out anything.

I then shake myself; time to get back to the studying.

=#=#= Kirishima =#=#=

Cus I’m trying and trying to walk away, but I know this crush ain’t going away…

Eijiro sighs softly and copies the notes, and Momo’s explanation as to how she got the answer. It was hard to concentrate on chemistry when there was a different chemistry Eijiro was concerned with. The boy was sunk, and even if he tried to walk away, even if he wanted to just stop seeing her, he knew he’d eventually cave and go back to her. His life might well depend on staying with her. Mina looked between them, smiling at Eijiro, who flushes and grabs a sip of water. This wasn’t going to end well, was it?

Has it ever crossed your mind, when we’re hanging, spending time girl, are we just friends? Is there more? Is there more…

Y/N was smiling at him again as Momo wrapped up her session and they began putting books away. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and Eijiro didn’t think it was because Y/N was happy.

Shit. No, no, no! Not here. Not now!

“Are you okay?” Y/N asks. Eijiro takes another sip of water, praying it would stall the inevitable.

“Yeah. M’fine.” He lies, and is kinda proud of how his voice remains fairly calm and level. “I just, ah, I felt a cough, and drank water to stop it.” He adds, and Y/N nods, swinging her backpack up. Cute and strong...could this girl get any more perfect?

See, it’s a chance we gotta take, cus I believe we could make this into something that will last forever and ever!

Something in Eijiro snaps and his trepidation suddenly doesn’t stop him from getting closer to Y/N. “Can I just say how pretty that sweater looks on you?” He says, using what he hopes is a flirty voice. Y/N blushes and this time, Eijiro knows he made her blush. Counting that as a win, and ignoring the way his throat is slowly constricting, he smiles at Y/N.

“Aww, r-really? I- -thank you!” Y/N replies.

“Thank you.” Eijiro retorts without thinking, blushing as soon as the words were out. “Shit. I mean, um…”

“Relax, Eijiro.” Y/N giggles, and dear God his blush is getting out of hand. This girl would be the death of him.

Maybe literally. He shuts that thought down. Or not. “I gotta say, Eijiro...you look handsome in that flannel.” He blinks, heart skipping happily as he processes her words.

=#=#= Y/N =#=#=

Holy shit what’s gotten into Eijiro?! He’s always been super supportive, but...flirty is a new side of him!

I mean, I like it, but still.

“Thanks!” He then coughs a few times and instantly, I am worried.

“Eiji!” I grab his water bottle and press it into his hands. “Try some water.” He takes a sip and straightens, the effort of not coughing making his eyes water.

“Th-thanks.” He croaks. “I think...home...now.” Is all I can understand. I nod.

“Okay. Text me when you get there, okay?” I don’t notice the look he gives Mina when he turns around. I don’t notice the frenzied, panicking look in their eyes. All I know is Eijiro gives me a thumbs up and takes another sip of water as he walks to his car. I get into mine, worry gnawing at me. I sit there as the others drive away.

Suddenly, I realize that Mina is still here, too. She’s on the phone, gesturing frantically. I roll the window down and can’t help listening in on a hunch.

“--ro, this is serious! You texted me that you’d coughed up twenty petals before the session! Now you’re coughing harder than that?! So soon!? This is getting out of hand! I have to tell he- -yes, someone has to tell her, Eijiro! Y/N has the right to know what you’re doing through! She’s the damn love you’ve kept inside you, you idiot!” I am floored.

Petals? Coughing up petals? Had I heard that right? Shit! I’d heard of that! It’s a rare, deadly disease coming up in someone with an intense, unrequited love, right? They begin to puke up flowers, starting at petals, then whole flowers when the feeling increase. How could this happen! I was the cause of his suffering?! I made him cough up flowers because he couldn’t tell me how he felt?! Why not?! Did I scare him away?

Well, obviously not...considering that he was in this position because he loved me, but couldn’t get the words out... 

I start the car and drive as fast as I can, my mind racing. I just hoped I wasn’t too late.

Eijiro liked me so much, and I never had a clue! Which is stupid, looking back. What I thought was me just reading too much into his words and expressions was real. He loved me! And I loved him! That should be all the cure he needs, right? I just have to confess to him and it’ll all be okay!

=#=#= Mrs. Kirishima =#=#=

“Hey, honey, how was- -Eijiro!” Mrs. Kirishima wasn’t usually one to fret too much over her child. But seeing him with a stream of tears and petals falling out of his mouth was enough to drive her into a panic. She sits him down and gets him a bucket for the petals. She knew by the amount of petals already in the bucket that this was a whole flower coming up, which meant he was running out of time... “Breathe, baby. Breathe. It’ll be okay…” She whispers without reassurance it’ll come true.

“It hurts!” Eijiro sobs in a moment of vulnerability. “I could barely talk to Mina on the way over here!” He croaks between coughs. All Mrs. Kirishima can do is rub her son’s back.

“Shh, son. I know. I know...” She doesn’t know what else to say.

Suddenly, a few minutes later, the door opens and in comes a young woman. She goes immediately to Eijiro and gently eases his chin up. Before Eijiro can react, she’s kissing him and Mrs. Kirishima notices tears down her eyes. Eijiro isn’t stupid and responds a moment later, winding his hands in her hair and then they have to break apart because he’s still coughing. “I came as fast as I could. Something didn’t sit right with me and I couldn’t go home, and then I noticed Mina on the phone and I overheard and- -I’m so sorry, Eijiro! I never meant to hurt you!” She sobs, looking him in the eye. Eijiro is stunned. 

“...You love me back?” He whispers, as if not daring to consider it unless this woman repeats it aloud. She nods.

“Yes! I do, I do, I do!” She hugs him. “I thought I was being crazy or reading too much into you!” She replies, sobbing a little, this time in happiness. “I was so happy to know you liked me, but also so scared I was too late. Eijiro, I love you and will always love you!”

“I love you, too. Y/N.” He breaths, leaning his forehead against hers. So, this was who Eijiro talked about to Mina. Mrs. Kirishima couldn’t help overhearing her son’s conversations when passing by and had picked up bits and pieces. This woman was important to her son, so she was important to Mrs. Kirishima, as well.

“I’ll get you more water, Eijiro.” She murmurs, grabbing his cup as Y/N moves to sit next to Eijiro.

Now that the danger was passed, those two had lots to talk about.

[analisegrey]

Februwhump Prompt

“Poison/Poisoning” (Read on AO3)

He hardly notices the injury when it initially happens.

They’re in the midst of battle, arrows and spells are flying across the field, daggers and swords flashing, and while he notes the tugging sensation in his side, it’s barely enough to catch his attention. He’s focused on holding Haste on Beauregard and it doesn’t feel serious, so he ignores it.

It’s not until the battle is finished, as they enjoy the thrill of a hard-won victory, that the adrenaline starts to fade and he realizes something isn’t right.

“Caleb?” Nott appears at his side, placing a steadying hand on his hip as he sways dangerously. “Are you alright?”

“I-” A violent shudder tears through him, muscles spasming, and he curls in on himself with a strangled noise.

He blinks, and it feels like a bare second, but when his eyes open he’s on the ground, facing sky, Nott screaming for Jester next to him. The world has gone wavy, colors bleeding from one to another, impossibly bright and vivid, and he knows...he knows...something? His thoughts aren’t cooperating, sliding over his mind like water on an oiled surface, refusing to stick, refusing to coalesce into something helpful.

The panic’s distant, his pain gone, and it takes longer than it should for him to realize it’s because he’s gone numb. He can’t feel his arms or legs, and his lips are tingling unpleasantly, like a limb fallen asleep. That’s not a good thing, but he’s so tired it’s difficult to focus enough to make sense of it. If he could rest for a few minutes, maybe that would help.

He relaxes, the ground a welcoming bed; letting go feels like the easiest thing in the world. His eyes are still open, but unfocused- there’s blurred movement, flashes of color. Things go suddenly still, and it’s quiet, calm and peaceful past the rushing in his ears, and sleep is so close-

Something slams into his chest, and it doesn’t quite hurt, but feels of immense pressure. It feels awful, overwhelming, like he’s being crushed, and when he tries to voice his dismay nothing happens; he’s choking, but there shouldn’t be anything to choke on, there’s nothing, they weren’t in the water, he hadn’t set fire to anything, there shouldn’t be smoke, why can’t he breathe, why isn’t he-

There’s another solid thump to his chest and he drags in a sudden gasp of air, and that he feels, burning it’s way down his throat into his lungs, until he’s coughing, hacking, but he can’t feel it, can’t feel his body. Does he still have one? He doesn’t think his mind would exist without it, but there’s no way to tell. Perhaps he’s dead and simply doesn’t know it yet.

Feeling starts to come back, fingertips and toes prickling; the sensation spreads, up his arms and legs, quickly overtaking him. There’s lightening crawling in his veins and he needs it out. He digs at his arms, clawing, to release the pent up sparks, but hands grab his, pulling them away, and he’s being held down, pressure on his wrists and ankles. There are voices, garbled, but he understands the words, has heard those words often enough, though he’d hoped not to hear them again-

��-for your own good-’

-flashes as his eyes open and oh gods, it’s the nurse, the orderly, Campion, and he’s dead, he should be dead, he’d killed that man with his own hands, how is he here again? Or maybe...maybe he didn’t kill Campion? He thought he had, but perhaps he never left, is still there, never got out, never recovered, and this- all of this, Nott, the Mighty Nein, everything- is just a figment of his fractured imagination. Stranger things have occurred; people left in solitary hallucinate to create company, he knows this, he knows this , he did this to people himself, didn’t he, he knows what can happen.

Or maybe all of that did happen and they just sent him back; he’s gone mad again, he certainly feels mad, or they got tired of his bullshit as they rightly should and sent him back to keep him out of the way but safe. It would be a well-intentioned kindness, though he thinks he’d rather be dead then back here, tied down, left in the quiet with his own thoughts and memories, forgotten to the world outside. He can’t stay, he can’t stay, he has things to do, with or without them, and he’d hoped they’d help, that he wouldn’t have to do this alone, but by the gods he will if he must, but he can’t get out, can’t get free, and the voices, gods the voices are back, why won’t they leave him alone? They’re loud, so loud, and getting louder, a cacophony of voices, driving him insane, scraping the inside of his skull like curved knives, and he’s drowning, drowning in sound, in voices, in words, and why won’t it stop? Why won’t it stop, make it stop, make it STOP, makeitstopmakeitstop MakE iT s t O p-

-quiet-

-blessed quiet, only the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, like a river in a deep cavern, but without the distraction of the voices, without the noise, comes other things-

-the air tugs at his skin with tiny hands, pricking like needles, like knives, like tiny claws and sharp-toothed mouths, gnashing and gnawing, and gods, they’re eating him alive, but he can’t stop them, can’t move, can’t get away, and he writhes, screaming, begging to anyone he can think of, anyone who might have loved him once, who might love him still, though why they would he can’t begin to fathom.

Mutter, vater-

-Nott, the rest of the Nein-

-Astrid, Eodwulf- he’s failed them terribly, left them alone, left them behind, left them with-

-Trent, Master Ikithon, he’s never shown mercy before, and there’s no reason to think he’ll start now, but Caleb can’t help but try-

They must be down to his bones by now, tearing through meat and sinew, but they keep going; he’s screamed his throat raw, pained wheezes all he has left, but still it continues and why won’t he die, why won’t they let him die, let him go, to whatever comes next, just let it stop-

-and then-

    -everything fades-

          -quiet-

                -peace-

                      -he opens his eyes-

-and blinks blearily into a dimly lit room.

He's exhausted, wrung out like a dish towel. He hurts, his whole body aching as if he's gone ten rounds with Beauregard in a bad mood; he swears his hair hurts.

He shifts, his heart starting to pound in his chest as he realizes he's restrained. Ripped strips of fabric are carefully wound around his wrists and ankles and secured to the bed frame, keeping his arms anchored near his sides and his legs from kicking.

The film of fever sweat on his skin itches uncomfortably; there’s something in his mouth and when he prods at it with his tongue it topples out easily- a twist of toughened leather he recognizes from his own component pouch, speckled with saliva and indented from his teeth.

“Was-?”

“Caleb!”

There’s a flash of movement to his left, and he flinches hard, movement caught up short by his bindings. Then Nott is there, perched on the edge of the bed at his side.

“Sorry, sorry. Are you alright? Wait, no, that’s a dumb question, but are you yourself again?”

Caleb blinks, thoughts muzzy and slow. “Who else would I be?”

Nott’s ears perk up and she smiles. “Oh good. I think you’re doing better. I’ll let Jester know.”

She starts to move and Caleb grabs for her; again, he’s pulled up short, and he makes a noise of frustration. “Nott, please- untie me first?” His voice wavers, and something in his tone must catch her attention because her smile softens and she pats his arm.

“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just getting my wire out to message her. Give me a second and I’ll have you loose.”

True to her word, she stays perched where she is; her warm weight pressed up against his side is soothing. After she sends the message to Jester she puts the wire away and gets to work freeing him.

“What happened?”

“How much of the fight do you remember?” she asks as she deftly starts undoing the knots at his wrist.

His brow furrows as he casts his memory back. “We won, I think. We won, but then things get a bit, ah, a bit…” The harder he tries to recall what happened between then and now, the more it makes his head hurt, until finally he gives up, letting his eyes slide shut to rest as Nott works. Once he’s free Nott settles against his side again, a light hand resting on his ribs.

“We did win, but you were hit during the fight. Here.” She pats his side, the warmth of her hand seeping in through the thin linen of his shirt, and he can vaguely recall a tugging sensation, barely more than a sting, lost amidst the rage and fury of the overall battle.

“Ja , I think I recall. I’m guessing it was not an ordinary wound.”

Nott shakes her head. “It was a poisoned blade. Jester didn’t have anything prepared to deal with it other than healing the wound itself. We had to let the poison run its course and hope for the best. It was rough going for a bit there.” Her voice goes quiet and she looks down at where his chest rises and falls under her hand as he breathes. “We almost lost you, you stopped breathing, but Fjord got you going again.” Her fingers twitch, claws catching in his shirt, and he raises a shaking hand to set it on top of hers, giving it a squeeze.

“I feel like I have been put through a wringer, ja, but otherwise, I think I am doing much better, Nott.”

He almost doesn’t want to ask, but, “Why the bindings?”

Her ears droop, shoulders hunching up to meet them. “You kept clawing at yourself. You were drawing blood. We didn’t want you to hurt yourself worse.”

“Ah.” He clears his throat. “Yes, well. Thank you, for that.”

She looks up at him, golden eyes gazing at him from under her hair. “You’re not angry?”

He dredges up a smile; his meager energy stores are waning quickly, but it’s important she know this. “No, Nott, I’m not angry. You all were helping me. Sometimes helping someone means doing something...unpleasant. So thank you.”

She smiles at him, still a little uncertain, but not as worried as she’d looked earlier. “Ok. Well, why don’t you rest a bit more, and Jester will come check on you soon. She’s got all her spells back now, and she prepared something to help you if you still need it.”

“That sounds good.” He closes his eyes, exhaustion cresting over him like a wave, and he’s out before she leaves the room.

[snezbabe]

Mazi is Sick and Noel is Mad

ok soo... i was thinking of this idea like all day... and ... mmp.

-

Mazi basically dragged her cold, achy body to their front door. Her frozen fingers fumbled around her keys until she finally found the right one. A burst of warm air welcomed her as she swung the door open. She needed a break or something relaxing to do immediately. 

Footsteps pounded through the hall, revealing Noel with a furrowed brow and clenched fists. Mazi kicked off her shoes and gave a weak smile.

“What’s up, Noel?” He voice shook with exhaustion, lacking the vibrancy it usually has. He scoffed and stepped forward.

“Don’t act oblivious.” He snapped, his voice rising. Mazi took a step back, bewildered. “You don’t have enough money for your third of the rent. Reese and I made our share. Where’s the rest of yours?” Noel rebuked, crossing his arms.

“N-Noel, I thought it wouldn’t be a big deal. You know I had those appointments, so I had to take off work. I’m not short that much. I need to use my extra fifty dollars for food and stuff.” Mazi spluttered, totally taken aback by the anger lacing Noel’s usually light-hearted voice. 

“You were short 73$, Mazi. We can’t afford to live here if you don’t pay.” Noel growled. 

“I-I’m sorry... I can pick up some extra hours this week and pay more, okay.” Tears pricked Mazi’s dark eyes. Why was he being like this? He is usually much more understanding.

“Mazi, we needed the money this week! Just please stop talking to me, okay. I don’t want to get even more angry.” Noel pressed a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut.

“But Noe-” Mazi started, voice catching.

“Just go, Mazi!” Noel’s voice cracked as he yelled. Mazi stumbled backwards before fast-walking past him and making a beeline to her room. 

Mazi collapsed onto her floor and broke into a sob. She kicked the door shut and curled into a ball. She felt like a toddler. God she wishes she was a toddler right now. Sob’s broke through her raw throat and she coughed softly, spitting salty phlegm onto the ground. She felt like her body was burning. She pressed the heel of her hands into her stinging eyes and whimpered. She lethargically  crawled across the floor to her rickety bed and pulled the comforter off, too weak to hoist herself upon it. 

She let out a choking cough and gasped for air. Why didn’t anybody understand? Why didn’t her best friend understand? Sweat pooled on her forehead and pricked at her back. She sniffled the dripping mess of snot and then wiped her face with the sleeve of her work shirt. Grimacing, she began to work it up and over her head, leaving her in nothing but her ratty, old bra. She whimpered, unable to escape the heat that was coming in sharp waves. 

“My best friends hate me.” She whispered into wooden floor. Thick phlegm coated her throat leading to another round of fitful coughs. She hacked until she found herself gagging, spit dribbling down her throat. She flopped over onto her other side, letting her skin absorb the coolness of the floor boards. Her face felt fuzzy and sticky. She was too tired to do any more moving. Her sinuses prickled woozily pressed her face into her shoulder.

“hhh’KNTSCH”iew HEP’KTNCH’IEw” She sprayed her arm and snuffled, closing her eyes as another round of tears came over her. 

She was pathetic. Only making 150$ a week. What kind of 20 year old is that much of a loser? Mazi whimpered in pity. Why did she have such great friends if she was such a shitty person? She was the one that would always get too fucked up. She was the one who has vomited on the floor and the boys have had to clean it up numerous times. Why is she such a burden. Why does she have no self-control. 

Mazi practically screamed out a strangled sob. She gagged with the force and let spit fall loosely from her mouth. So worthless. She cried and cried till the relief of sleep finally took over the pained girl.

-

“Mazi! Open your door!” A loud voice broke her from her sleep. She cracked her dry eyes open, instantly wincing at the sunlight the poured through the window. A muffled groan was all her tender throat would allow.

“I’m coming in!” The voice boomed. Then the door swung open revealing a tired looking Noel and worried looking Reese. Their faces instantly fell as they saw the small, shirtless heap on the ground that was Mazi. 

“Wht’re ya doin’” Mazi slurred, feeling the same cloudy heat that had enveloped her last night. Reese instantly was at her side, looking her over. Noel was frozen in place, regret etched into his normally relaxed features. 

“Mazi, what is wrong with you? What are you on?” Reese kept a hushed tone, eyes looking over his friend, searching for an answer. 

“I ain’t on an’thin’“ Mazi mumbled, sniffling thickly and sliding a limp arm towards Reese. Reese looked baffled. 

“My fault.” Noel slowly walked over. “I yelled at her last night. I don’t know how she got to this point, though.” Noel scanned her up and down with pitying eyes. Reese pressed a hand to Mazi’s shoulder, immediately retracting it. 

“Mazi, you are burning!” Reese yelped. “I’ll have a word with you, Noel after I take care of Mazi.” Reese snipped, before quickly making his way out of the room. 

“What is happ-hhh-eninhhh hh’GKNSCH’iew hhh’kngch’eww” Mazi lazily whipped her head to the side trying not to let Noel see the disgusting mess she was. She sniffled and then gave a small, raspy cough. 

“Bless you.” Noel whispered. “I’m sorry, Mazi. I just have been so stressed and I really shouldn’t’ve taken it out on you. It wasn’t your fault.” Noel stared at his shoes. Mazi felt like crying. 

“Noel, I felt.... so sad. I just felt so bad after work and you helped  nothing!” Mazi squeaked out before falling into hiccupy sobs. Noel looked alarmed and quickly sat her up and started rubbing her back. She coughed roughly and sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Maze.” Noel’s voice shook and he gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. Then Reese popped into the room, holding a water bottle, crackers, and a couple pills. 

“Here kiddo, take these.” He handed Mazi the pills and she instantly threw them down her throat, then taking careful sips of the water bottle.

“Thank you.” She coughed softly, rubbing her nose harshly before pulling an elbow over her face. “hh’KTSCH hhh”TKSCH’IEW” She sneezed loudly compared to her normal sneezes, which tended to be on the softer side. 

“Bless.” Reese muttered, bending down and hoisting the small girl up onto the bed. “There. That should be better.” He gave a small smile. Mazi felt herself break into a grin. Maybe she is loved after all.

[smallandsneezy]

given the temperature you’re running

giles finds willow fast asleep and sick in the library and takes her home with him. that's it, that's the tweet. (don’t mind me, just publishing all my old fics on here) (ao3)

It was nights like these that Giles was sure he’d never attain one of those work-life balances everyone’s always talking about. As he pushed open the doors to the library, he looked at his watch. 1:34AM. Perfect. The school day would be starting six hours from now, giving him plenty of time to get some extra reading on metaphysics done before the first bell rang.

Suddenly, a soft sniffle came from the corner. Giles leapt a foot in the air, clutching his collar in a panic. What in God’s name could it possibly be this time? He flipped the lights on before edging his way deeper into the library’s depths, wishing he’d brought an extra stake with him.

Oh.

Willow sat at the table, fast asleep among the books. Giles battled the opposing urges of frowning disapprovingly or smiling fondly. Of course it was Willow. He’d left her in pretty much the same position, although on his last time seeing her she’d been far more conscious than she was now. He drew closer.

Her hair was sticking to her face. He frowned, and moved to fix it, before getting distracted with how hot and sweaty her brow was. She groaned in her sleep, almost nuzzling into the hand that sat at her forehead checking her temperature.

Giles quickly ran through the day. Yes, Willow has been quieter than normal, but these kids were so full of hormones that he’d learned to take their mood swings with a grain of salt. He poured back over their afternoon of research, cursing himself when he noticed the quiet coughs and balled up tissues that danced in the periphery. Bloody hell, he was thick.

“Willow?” he said softly, pushing her hair back from her sweaty cheeks.

“Mmmmm.” Her eyes fluttered open, not coming into focus for just a moment too long for Giles to be comfortable.

“Giles? What… what are you doing here?” her voice was croaky, and she made a valiant attempt to clear it but only succeeded in making Giles violently wish he had brought some warm tea with him.

“I could ask you the same question. What have I told you about staying in the library after 11?” His hands had moved from her forehead to her throat, as he felt for… something? Medical knowledge was the one thing he’d never really gotten around to.

“Sorry. I got distracted. I’ll just…go now.” Willow made to stand up, but made it all of half a knee bend before her legs gave out and Giles had to make a mad dive to keep her from slamming her head on the table.

“I don’t think you’ll find that to be happening.” Giles’s mind was going a million miles an hour. What was he supposed to do? Drive her home? Her parents hadn’t noticed she was gone, clearly, and she needed someone to keep an eye on her.

“Willow, aren’t your parents missing you?”

“They’re out of town this week. Work.” She had closed her eyes again, her head lolling to rest on her shoulder.

Bollocks.

“Well… would it… would it be alright… I think you had best stay with me.” Giles decided the name of the game would have to be confidence. He may not have any idea what he’s doing, but Willow didn’t need to know that.

“I…” she broke off to cough, a tight wheezing noise that made his own chest clench. “I couldn’t, I don’t want to put you out.”

“Willow, I insist.” Giles fought down the urge to pick her up and carry her to his car. “Let’s go. Do you have everything?”

She looked listlessly at him, a vague bashful look on her face. “I should stop by my locker. I think I need my inhaler.”

Giles felt his stomach drop out of him.

“Inhaler?” Internally, he catalogued every asthma trigger that they’d been around in the last 24 hours alone- simply the books sitting around her head were a hazard.

“It’s no big deal.”

Giles was quite sure it was actually a very big deal, but decided to save that matter until Willow felt better, or at least didn’t look like she was about to faint.

“Well, we’ll get it and we’ll go to my house. If you’re comfortable with that.” he threw in quickly, wondering if he was being too demanding. Willow let out a sneeze that doubled her over, and Giles decided he wasn’t being nearly demanding enough.

“God bless you. Come along Willow.”

Their drive home was quiet, passing mostly in sneezes and Giles saying “bless you”, it each time coming out more strangled. When they hit a light Giles removed his handkerchief from his breast pocket and placed it on Willow’s lap. He took it as a bad sign that she didn’t push back on this.

Normally Giles didn’t mind his car too terribly; it got the job done and him from place to place. Now, with Willow shaking like a leaf beside him, he prayed for a working heater. By the time they pulled into his driveway, Willow had nodded off yet again, her face resting against the window. The heat from her cheeks were fogging up the window around her, making it look like she had a halo. Giles turned the car off and sat for a moment, fighting the urge to let her sleep given the nighttime chill. Willow gave a pronounced shudder, and he decided enough was enough.

“Willow?” He reached out and gently took her shoulder. Willow’s eyes flew open, and she gasped, sending her into a coughing jag. Giles patted her back while he resisted the urge to hold the girl.

When the crackling noise emitting from her lungs had stopped, Willow looked over at him, her face red from exertion.

“Sorry.”

Giles decided that his first order of business after she was feeling better would be finding whoever had left her feeling the need to apologize for being ill.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Here, let’s get you to bed.” He let her walk by herself, albeit reluctantly, and led her into the large bedroom two doors to the right of the entrance way. Thank god he’d never gotten rid of the compulsive need to keep his room clean. He guided her to sit on the foot of the bed and turned to his dressers.

“Here are some clothes you can wear. You should keep warm.” He held out a pair of gray sweatpants and one of his older sweaters, carefully avoiding in his mind the alarm bells going off in his head. Was this unprofessional? Yes. But at the minute he didn’t really care.

Willow has accepted the clothing without question, looking up from the bed doing a thing with her eyes that made her look very young.

“I’m going to go make you some tea and see what medicine I have lying about. Go ahead and get changed and get into bed.”

“No!” The sudden sharpness in her tone startled him, and he immediately stopped in his tracks, turning to look at her.

“Is something wrong?”

“I can’t… I can’t sleep in your bed!” Her voice sounded like she’d swallowed a set of knives, something he couldn’t quite push to the back of his brain even as he considered this point.

“Well, I do understand it might be a tad strange, but given the temperature you’re running-“

“I really appreciate it! I do. I just… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable because of me.”

Giles very nearly laughed aloud.

“Willow, let me assure you that I would be far more uncomfortable letting you sleep on my couch given the current condition you’re in. And besides. My mother would have my head if she knew I made a guest sleep on a pull out sofa, especially,” he paused to allow Willow time to sneeze, taking a box of tissues from his nightstand and placing them in her lap, “if she was under the weather.”

Willow didn’t say anything more, simply began to shed her shoes and jacket, so Giles made his way to his kitchen, already dreading the lack of supplies he was going to find in his meager pantry. As the tea boiled, he put everything that could possibly be helpful out on the kitchen table. To her horrible hacking, which sounded just as painful a room over, he evaluated his loot.

A two year old pack of cough drops, generic. Enough Tylenol to kill a small animal. Honey, of which only a fourth of the bottle remained. He scoffed at himself. Given that his entire job was to protect the Slayer (and by extension, Willow and Xander), his medical supplies were only adequate if they were being used by a rock and roller treating a hangover the night after a concert. He resolved to go out first thing the next morning and pick up a battery of Dayquil and Nyquil, regardless of how expensive the miserable American healthcare system made it.

Tea with the remaining household honey in hand, he returned to his bedroom door. He stood quietly for a moment, listening. Nothing.

“Willow?” His voice sounded weedy and worried and he cursed himself for his incredible lack of ability to be cool in any situation.

“Yeah?” It was a croak, but it was confirmation of consciousness so Giles took it as a win.

“May I come in?”

“Sure thing.”

He slid inside to find Willow already tucked in amongst his covers. His sweater dwarfed her thin frame, and she has already rolled the sleeves up several times to let her hands have any chance at being useful. She was very pale, even more so than normal, with the exception of her cherry red nose and her pink cheeks. Giles felt so overwhelmed with affection for her that for a moment all he could do was stand there and watch her blow her nose.

“Are you sure this is alright?” Her voice was uncertain, almost as though she expected to be kicked out at any moment, and the ideas that brought to Giles’s head made him angry so he decided to push them away to be dealt with at a more convenient time.

“Willow, I swear this is more than alright. Are you feeling fevered still? I have some Tylenol in the kitchen, I just didn’t have the hands with the tea.” He gestured his head in the direction of the nightstand, which held said tea.

“Speaking of which, you should really drink that. It should help your throat, and maybe your chest if we’re lucky.”

Willow complied, wrapping her hands around the mug and taking a sip. She sighed contentedly.

“Giles, you always make the best tea.”

Giles felt himself go pink with pride and pleasure, and quickly went to go find more handkerchiefs to hide how happy he was about having his tea-brewing skills complimented.

He dug through his linen closet for a while, assessing the pros and cons of each type of blanket. Fluffy ones would keep her warm, but she could overheat. A sheet was really the best option, but she had been shivering so much and he resented the idea of withholding anything from her.

When he came back, Willow was asleep. Her chest made soft crackling noises as she breathed, but she looked better than she had an hour ago when he’d found her asleep at the desk. Giles felt the tension in his shoulders unwind, just a little bit. He crept softly up to the bed, laying the blanket he’d decided on over top of his covers. He stood for a moment, just watching her breathe. Only after she rolled over to curl up even tighter did her realize that he still had metaphysics reading to be done. The book was likely still in the library, never even touched. He looked at Willow again.

Worth it.

Giles placed a soft kiss to Willow’s temple and shut the door quietly.