#me yesterday: ill wake up early so i can do a bit of course work and then get ready and go to the on campus classes! :)

[star-bribery]

↖️↖️↖️↖️↖️ fool

[thinkingoutlouddblog]

Only For You - h.s.

Summary: H is usually pretty in tune with his body, but he’s apparently not very good at picking up when he’s getting sick. 

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: mentions of covid, plus me taking a guess at how covid testing in the US and at events works so sorry for any potential inaccuracies, I mostly used my knowledge of Aus but honestly its described all very generally

A/N: this took longer than I thought it was going to because I started and then got sick a couple days in :/ I’m still sick but she is done! If you have any requests pls send them my way!

Masterlist  ///  Send me an ask!

Harry is never sick.

He was so strict in his fitness and health, his immune system was better than almost anyone’s you knew. You were pretty sure someone could cough directly into his mouth and it would somehow boost his immune system by giving it a chance to exercise. There had to be fifty times over the course of your relationship so far you were sure you were going to pass on whatever illness you had acquired at the time. You always waited patiently for the other shoe to drop, for him to exhibit your exact symptoms and to be awash with guilt at his sickly state, but it never did.

It is such a rare occurrence, in fact, that he can tell you exactly the last time he came down with something. It was August 2019, he was in LA, and he had ended up missing two Fine Line album release related meetings. He remembered it because you had been in New York, tied up in projects of your own. You had pushed your flight up as a surprise to get home and take care of him, but by the time you touched down he had already been on the mend, and was sat in a rescheduled meeting when you opened the door to your shared home.

He could not recall, however, the earliest warning signs of a flu coming on, having experienced them so infrequently.

He dismissed the heavy tired feeling that had settled upon him, certain it was simply the aftereffects of intensive Grammy rehearsals. True to his perfectionist tendencies, he had been tireless in his efforts to make this one of his best performances and had been spending hours practicing a song you were pretty sure he could nail in his sleep. You said nothing of the fact that you thought he perhaps was spending more time than strictly necessary on this, of course, never wanting to undermine his process or invalidate his feelings of being under intense pressure. You just assured him you thought he was amazing and provided opinions and input whenever he asked it of you. He was overworking himself, but he was not deterred until the lights went down after his extremely successful (and extremely sexy, if you did say so yourself) performance.

Two days later, he was sure his hangover had extended over into a second day as he become aware of a dull ache in his head while awaking from his slumber. He groaned, rubbing his face as he rolled towards you, pulling you against his chest. He breathed deeply, cursing himself for drinking so much and sleeping so little only momentarily before thinking, hey, how many times do you win a Grammy? You stirred at his movement, eyes fluttering open only slightly before you shut them again and snuggled deeper into his chest. You sighed in contentment, loving nothing more than the comfortable feeling you can only get waking up in the morning, still on the edge of sleep. It had always been one of your favourite things, and it was only ever made better by waking up in Harry’s arms.

“I hate getting old,” he mutters into your hair, pressing a kiss where his lips had tickled your forehead.

“What?” You laughed at his unsolicited statement.

“Two-day hangovers are supposed to be reserved for after you hit thirty. But clearly, I’m older than I think I am because they have come for me and I am not enjoying it.”

You wriggled up in his embrace, so that you were face to face, giggling at him as you did say. “Oh god, do you think we should start thinking about retiring?”

“You’re supposed to tell me I’m not old!” He tightened his grip on you as he exclaimed in indignation.

“I mean what can I possibly say, H? Two-day hangover? You’ve basically got a foot in the grave,” you jested, but leaned in to peck his cheek at his faux sour expression.

In response, he released his grip on you and rolled away until he was at the very opposite edge of the bed in a big huff. You only laughed harder at his antics. You followed him to his side of the bed, wrapping your arms around him from behind and placing gentle kisses to the side of his neck.

“Darling, have you considered, maybe, just maybe, this two day hangover has nothing to do with the fact that you are getting older and more to do with the fact that you were working yourself to the bone for a month and then partied like the world was ending?” You pressed another lingering kiss to his neck. “Or perhaps like someone who had just won a Grammy?” A smile broke over your face at the memory, a fresh wave of pride washing through you, somehow still managing to leave you buzzing.

“Nope, I refuse to hear that. My youthful body is supposed to be stronger than any party, even an I-just-won-a-Grammy party.” You snorted in his ear, completely unsurprised by his steadfast stubbornness.

“Alright then old man,” you rolled away from him and hopped out of bed.

“Hey,” he called out, both at the jab and your exit from bed.

“Since my big shot Grammy winning, senior citizen boyfriend is still feeling a bit dusty I suppose I’ll bring him a coffee in bed,” you sing out over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen, craving the caffeine yourself.

He knew you were making fun of him to highlight how melodramatic you thought he was being. Each comment about him being old was really made to tell him just how young he was and how little you thought he had to worry about.

He sighed, wanting nothing more than to remain motionless in the warm comfy bed but having no choice to get up and make his way to the bathroom before he could enjoy his coffee in bed. (And maybe some lazy morning sex, he was sure that would help relieve some symptoms). His whole body felt heavy as he rolled out of bed, his limbs and shoulders feeling almost as though they were made of lead.

His brow scrunched as he slowly made his way to the toilet to relieve himself. This really was some day two hangover, he thought. I don’t care what y/n thinks, I’m pretty sure this is one of those moments where you realise your prime is coming to an end.

He flinched as the sunlight pouring in through the frosted glass of the bathroom window hit his face, instantly doubling the force of his headache. He grumbled and scrunched his eyes until they were nearly shut, attempting to minimise the light infiltrating his vision. He did his business as quickly as his protesting body would allow.

By the time he had returned to bed and bundled himself back under the covers the kettle had boiled and you were on your way back to your room. You shuffled along slowly, pausing every two steps to stop your nearly full mugs from spilling over the edge. Harry loved to point out the coffee drips that you left along the floor in your shared home so frequently. They were spread far and wide, and in fairness to you, most of the time you didn’t realise you had done it, else you would have wiped it up immediately.

“H?” you called softly, as you looked up from the mugs to see only a Harry sized lump under the doona as evidence that he was even there.

When you received only an, “Mmm?” in response you continued your slow spillage-avoiding pace up to his bed side table, placing the cup down gently.

“Are you feeling okay baby?” you kneeled down beside him, stroking his hair back from his face.

“Jus’ tired,” he muttered, not opening his eyes.

This shocked you somewhat. He’s always been a morning person, and never tended to sleep in two days in a row. The two of you had spent the morning in bed yesterday, having only crawled in in the (not even that) early hours of the morning and spent the rest of the day lazing about the apartment, nursing respective hangovers. Even with complaints of his hangover extending over into a second day, you had expected him to be itching to throw himself back into his routine, not curled up in bed still feeling shitty.

“You can back to sleep,” you assured, even though he seemed to already be halfway there. “Your coffee’s there if you want some.”

You pressed a kiss to his forehead before leaving him to it, closing the door softly on your way out.

Two hours later, Harry stirs once more from his sleep. His throat is dry as a bone, and his once dull headache is now pounding. He lifts his heavy head off the pillow and his eyes fall to his now cold coffee. He reaches over and takes a gulp, hoping to ease the feeling in his throat. Is not uncommon for him to awaken with a dryness to his throat, he often finds a hot coffee is enough to solve the problem, but alas, he is desperate enough to settle for the cold one before him for now. Instead of the relief he is craving, a burst of pain shoots through his throat each time he swallows a mouthful. He coughs as he places the mug back down, unwilling to have another sip.

And oh Jesus, it finally hits him. He’s sick.

All the signs he had shrugged off now became blaringly obvious to him in retrospect. And oh fuck.

Alarm bells go off in his brain as he registers the risk of what exactly this could be. He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table.

Harry: Don’t come upstairs.

You glance down at your phone as you feel the buzz of the notification. You had spent the morning pottering around the house, catching up on little chores the two of you had neglected over the past few days in the Grammy busy-ness and subsequent hangover. Happy with your efforts, you had settled back into having a lazy morning and were watching television on the couch quietly.

“Harry?” you call out in confusion as you read his text, already pausing the TV and standing up, intending to do the exact opposite of following his advice.

You can’t have made it three steps before he’s calling you. The wave of confusion is soon followed by one of extreme worry as you pick up the phone.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“Don’t come up I’m sick,” he spoke hoarsely.

“What do you mean?”

“Darling, it could be covid you can’t come up here,” he was cursing himself on the other end of the line. He should have been paying more attention to what his body was trying to tell him. Shouldn’t have been risking you like this. If he had it, he was sure he had already infected you too and guilt gnawed away at him.

This stops you in your tracks. You hesitate, you do. But ultimately, you know if he has covid, you’re probably already infected. If he does have it, which you are praying he doesn’t because young as he is, healthy as he is, there is always a risk. The worst running through your mind. If the worst were to happen, you would curse yourself until the day you died for not going to him right now.

“It’s not covid,” you tell him firmly.

“Baby-“

“Your tests from before the Grammy’s were negative, and we should be getting more test results back any minute that will be clean too,” you’re on the move again, absolute in your resolution. The both of you, along with all the other attendees of the ceremony, had been tested both before and after. They were meant to text each of you with your results any minute (or call, if they were positive, but that was a possibility you were trying to put aside).

“Even so, we can’t risk it until we get the results.” At the sound of your footsteps on the stairs he spoke your name sternly, halting your steps again.

“Harry,” you countered, matching his tone.

“Please don’t fight me on this. If you’re so sure that the result is going to be negative, and that they’re going to come in any second,” he pauses to cough, lungs and throat protesting with each word he speaks, “then a little while in bed by myself won’t kill me.”

“But-“

“Darling, please. If it is covid, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing everything in my power to try and keep you from getting it too,” the quiet desperation in his voice is the only thing that could break your resolve.

With a long exhale, you turned back down the stairs but kept the phone to your ear.

“Fine,” you huffed, “but only because I was always taught to respect my elders.”

“See that’s the good news,” he half laughed, half coughed at the exhalation of breath, “I’m not an old man with a two-day hangover, just a young man with an unspecified illness.”

“Do you still have your smell and taste?” you asked worriedly.

“I could definitely taste the cold ass coffee I just drank,” he rasped. He paused for a beat, hearing only the rustling of sheets. “And our bed still smells like you,” you heard the smile behind the comment, appreciating his sweet reference to the love he often professes he has for the way you smell.

“Sometimes I feel like it’s nothing you’re putting on, and sometimes I think it’s everything you’re putting on plus just, you. There’s no other smell like it and I wish I could just bottle it up and have it forever. Bloody aphrodisiac,” he had once told you.

“And you’re not running a fever?” You chewed the inside of your lip as you fired questions at him, a bad habit that reared its head when you were worried, stressed or concentrating hard.

On his end of the line, he felt his forehead for warmth. “Umm,” he considered it, “I’m not sure. Probably not.” He was actually pretty sure he had the beginning of one, but he could tell you were freaking out and he didn’t want to worry you any further until he heard for sure.

“I’m going to grab you a thermometer and some cold and flu tablets,” Harry immediately started to protest but you didn’t let him start. “I’ll put a mask on and just leave them outside the door. I’ll grab you some water and something to eat too. I’m not just leaving you sick up there with nothing.”

He sighed into the phone. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

You scoffed. “Of course not, I let you win the last one not more than five minutes ago.”

He sighed once more, and you rolled your eyes at your overdramatic boyfriend. “Fine, but you have to be in and out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you leaned the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you grabbed what you needed for him.

“I’m not joking, y/n. You have to be quick.”

You bit your tongue, refraining from snapping back. Did he seriously think you were stupid? You knew he didn’t, he was just sick and stressed about the situation, but that didn’t stop the flare of annoyance that burst through your chest. You shook it off, knowing it was misplaced.

“Okay I’m going to put the phone down so I can pop a mask on and run up,” luckily, you had a million masks around the house ready to go.

“Kay,” he muttered, eyes feeling droopy all over again.

You pull your mask on, and with arms full of supplies dashed up the stairs. Once you arrived at the door, you placed down the cold medication, water and thermometer as well as the banana you had snatched off the kitchen counter before turning and running back down the stairs.

As soon as you’re back down the stairs, you’re pulling your mask off and putting the phone back to your ear. You faintly hear the close of your bedroom door, deducing Harry had grabbed everything.

“I’m back,” you acknowledged your presence on the phone.

“Thank you for that, my love.”

Your phone dinged in your ear, indicating a new text message. You pulled it away from your ear to examine the contents of the text.

You breathed a small sigh of relief.

“They just texted me my covid test results, they’re negative.” Everyone had been tested upon their exit of the Grammy afterparty.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. You silently prayed that pause wasn’t caused by him examining another incoming call, suggesting his results were positive and required an actual conversation.

“Mine are negative too,” he exhaled, you could hear the relief in his voice.

“Oh, thank god,” you said, already turning to go back up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“I thought you were confident I didn’t have it,” he teased.

“Sorry somebody had to put on a brave face for Mr Worry Wart,” you teased right back. You hung up the phone as you reached the top step. Turning to the left and opening the door to your room.

You stride over to the bed wordlessly and climb in on your side, instantly wrapping both arms around him. He relished the embrace. You loved to poke fun at him, but sometimes the humour was just a way for you to mask how you were really feeling about things and deflect. Harry usually doesn’t point it out but he’s always aware of it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice still croaky.

“I love you, too,” you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

You stayed like that for a moment longer before you swung into action, full nurturing mother bear mode activated.

“Now, have you taken your temperature? Taken some of the cold and flu tablets?”

At the shake of his head you frowned at him. “Come on then. You do that while I go make you a nice hot tea to soothe your throat. And a box of tissues,” you added at the sight of him sneezing practically hard enough to shake the room.

So back down to the kitchen you went for the third time that day, grabbing him both the tea, the tissues and a nice hearty bowl of porridge, figuring it would be gentle on his throat. “Temperature?” you asked as soon as you crossed the threshold of your doorway.

“No fever,” he punctuated with a cough.

You frowned as you watched it happen, his eyes were rimmed red, his nose beginning to run. He sat up in bed as you handed him the bowl of porridge. You placed the tea down so you could also hand him the box of tissues that had been tucked up under your arm.

“Thank you so much for all this, angel. But you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, I’ve got a cold, I’m not bed bound,” he grabbed my hand and traced the outside of my hand as he spoke.

“I know I don’t have to do it, but I want to do it. My baby’s feeling crappy I just want to do whatever I can to make him feel less so.” Even after all this time of being together, your cheeks flushed slightly at your sappy words. You meant them, of course, but intimacy was still not one of your strong suits. The way you were raised lacked those kinds of affirmations and endearments, and was never modelled practically in your parent’s relationship. It left you both craving it, and feeling uncomfortable when it actually occurred. With both experience and Harry’s help you had gotten better at it, but you still weren’t 100% there yet. He knew one day you would be, though, and he was so proud to see how much progress you had made. Even if you couldn’t always see it.

Hearing those words from you, was just one more indication at how far you’ve come, and it warmed not only his heart, but his whole chest. With his grip on your hand, he gave you a slight tug, encouraging you to lean forward. Just as you had five minutes earlier, he presses a kiss to your cheek, craving your lips but knowing he can’t have them right now.

“You’re too good to me,” he praised as you pulled away reluctantly, giving him space to enjoy his breakfast while it was still warm.

He expected a joking, I know, in response but instead he receives a serious, “There is no such thing as good too to you. You deserve the world.” You don’t break eye contact with him, even as he is too shocked at your response to form one of his own. “But all I got you was this bowl of porridge sorry babe,” you broke the tension, pulling your hand from his.

“Where are you going now?” He pouts at you as you grab the half empty coffee mug and make your way out of the room.

“I’ll be right back, I promise,” you assure him, already planning how else you are going to fuss over him. He has to be well to go to London to start filming his new movie soon, you reason with yourself. But really, you know he could have nothing coming up and you could be the busiest you’ve ever been, and you would still play nurse for him.

By ‘right back’ he assumed you meant in half an hour, because his mug and bowl are both empty by the time you return, and he is nearly drifting back off to sleep. He is still somewhat upright, but slumped back into his pillow, head lolling to the side slightly, directed towards the door almost as though is watching and waiting for you. While still conscious, his blinks are becoming slower and slower, reminiscent of a baby. You coo at his adorable sleepy state, the moment tugs at your chest so strongly it is almost physically painful. Sometimes, the magnitude of your love for him nearly sweeps you off your feet. You just feel so damn lucky to have these wonderfully domestic moments with him. To see him like this, to be his person that gets to take care of him. While he is a rockstar and you get to do all sorts of crazy things with him that most people dream of (like for instance, watching him perform at and accept a Grammy), you love doing everyday life with him.

“It’s not quite sleep time yet, baby,” you spoke gently, hoping not to startle him too much.

He peeled his eyes open and pouted at you once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’s nice, long, hot, steaming shower time,” his frown deepened, clearly not wanting to move. “I promise you, you’ll feel so much better afterwards.”

“You promise?” He refused to wipe the pout from his face, really stepping into being babied.

“I promise, now up you get,” you offered him both hands to help him up.

“Fine,” he groaned as he took your hands, and you pulled him up.

As soon as he was upright, he wrapped both arms around you and held you tight. He allowed himself a few short seconds before pulling away, not wanting to get you sick too. Even if it wasn’t covid, he still wanted his love well.

You shepherded him into the bathroom, where he winced once more at the brighter lighting. His eyes were always more sensitive to light when he had the flu. You turned the shower on for him while he got undressed, before turning to pull the blinds closed without him breathing a single word of complaint. His heart swelled with love for you for the hundredth time that day. To be loved by you was to be seen. He didn’t need to use his voice to be understood (though that communication obviously had its place).

“Take your time baby, let the steam help get all the bad stuff out,” you gave him a little smile before leaving, closing the door behind you to allow the steam to build up within the space.

Harry let out a sigh as he stepped into the stream of hot steaming water. You were right as ever, the steam helped clear him out somewhat, and even just feeling clean helped him to feel better already. He relished the heat and the soothing feeling of the water, massaging his scalp with shampoo as he began to wash up from head to toe.

He had no idea how much time had passed by the time he reluctantly turned the shower off and stepped into a big fluffy towel. He was much quicker in drying himself than he had been in the rest of his shower routine, eager to rug up in a jumper and some sweats (and some of those thick soft socks you bought him for winter).

He swung the en suite door open, contemplating where he left his comfy winter clothes last when he stops at the sight before him.

You’re putting the last pillowcase on, having changed the sheets completely. His breakfast dishes are cleared, replaced with a hot steaming bowl of vegetable soup and his bottle of water. You’ve dug the humidifier out of the cupboard as well and you’ve got it all set up and running for him. The book he was currently reading was picked up from its previous place on the living room coffee table and waiting for him on your pillow. The exact clothes he was about to grab were sitting at the edge of the bed, laid out ready for him.

“You’re an actual angel, ya know that?” He shakes his head in disbelief. He has no idea what he did in a past life to get so lucky. The success of the music, he can go to bed each night feeling like he has done a lot to earn. He’s worked hard for a long time, and while he accredited a good portion of it all to luck, he knew he wasn’t talentless or undeserving. With you, however, he had simply won the lottery. You weren’t a perfect person, but you were his perfect person. He would spend the rest of his life doing everything in his power to feel deserving of you.

“Only for you,” you say softly.

He strides over to you, holding his towel to keep it from falling as he went. He presses a kiss to your forehead and mutters an, “I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you peer up at him. “Now get those on,” you gesture towards his clothes, “before your soup gets cold.”

“Where did the soup come from?” He asks as starts to shrug his towel off and pull his clothes on.

“Where did you think I went earlier?” you referenced your half hour long disappearance, having been downstairs chopping up and preparing vegetables to go into the homemade soup.

“Oh, angel,” he breathed, “you really are the best.”

“Oh stop. Don’t act like all of this is not exactly what you do every time I’m sick. Which is far more often than you are, I might add.” You weren’t wrong, he did baby you just as much if not more.

“You’re still the best,” he refused to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” you end the conversation, not being able to handle too many compliments.

He lets it slide, knowing he could compliment you further and ask you to really hear what he was saying, because he meant it with his entire being. But you were doing so much for him, and he really was tired so he didn’t bombard you with more praise than you desired.

Once he was dressed, he hopped back under the covers and sat up with his soup. He didn’t have the appetite to finish it, but he knew as much of it as he could handle would do him some good.

You jumped into the shower yourself, wanting to feel as clean as the sheets did when you got into bed with him. By the time you were out of the shower and into your own pair of fresh comfy clothes, Harry had finished most of the bowl of soup and had set the remainder aside.

“Thank you so much, angel,” your cheeks tinted pink at the purposeful repetition of that particular pet name.

“Don’t mention it,” you crawled under the covers with him, picking up his book from your pillow. “Now, where were you up to?”

“Hmm?” he questioned.

“In your book, where were you up to?”

“Why?”

“So, I can read it to you, obviously.”

“Is that obvious?”

“Yes.”

“And why do you think I’m suddenly incapable of reading it myself?” He questioned, even though he was practically preening internally at the thought of your sweet voice reading his novel aloud to him. It was a beautiful novel, filled with rich descriptions and he just knew it would sound lovely rolling off your tongue, but you had already done so much for him today it was hardly for of him to let you offer this without giving you an out.

“I don’t think you’re incapable, I just know your eyes hurt when you’re sick and I can imagine it makes it hard to focus on the words. Plus, I always fancied a career in audiobooks,” you actually really wanted to do this for him, not viewing it as an inconvenience at all. In fact, you would probably find yourself disappointed if he told you he would rather read it himself.

“Are you sure? You really don’t have to,” he looked you in the eyes, gauging your expression.

“I want to,” you promised.

“About page 150, you might have to read the first sentence to check.”

So, you began reading, until his eyes grew heavier and his eyes drooped. Slowly but surely, he drifted off into the realm of peaceful deep sleep.

Not before, of course, he muttered, more than half asleep, “I can’t wait to marry the shit out of you.”

[i-just-like-goats]

Chifuyu x Fem Reader

Summary: you seem to be falling out of love with Chifuyu. Also an AU where everyone is alive.

WC: 0.9k

Warnings: an argument, mentions of infidelity

Chifuyu was no idiot. But he was in denial. He noticed how your embrace no longer felt like home; how your kisses didn’t linger; how you no longer looked at him as though he was your everything; how you seemed more distant as the days dragged on; how you came home a little later each night. But he still believed that you loved him as well as he loved you. He still clung onto the wisp of your relationship. He still gave his all. He wanted to believe that your heart was his and his alone, but he saw that your heart was claimed by another.

Baji Keisuke.

His own captain, whom he esteemed, was now the object of your affection. How cruel life was. His beloved now belonged to another.

“Y/N my love?”

“Yes?”

“Where have you been?”

“Nowhere. At work. Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know. You’ve just been distant lately, is it something I’ve done?”

“Of course not,”

There it was. The confirmation that you no longer loved him. Before you’d reassure him by reminding him of your love - but now, short loveless answers would meet his ears.

“Alright Y/N,”

And you both headed to bed after eating. That morning Chifuyu woke up to find your side of the bed empty. Again. Cold seeped into him more frequently each morning. The warmth left more and more bit by bit. The sound of his phone ringing shook him out of his melancholy thoughts. Baji.

“Hey! Chifuyu, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine. Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing. You just seem off,”

“I’m not off,”

“That’s what Y/N says,” Baji said with a light chuckle.

“Y/N? Have you seen her recently?”

“Yeah, she’s dropping by Toman more often, saying she’s looking for you. I guess she can’t seem to remember that you leave early to spend more time with her. Talk to her, will you? You’ve both been off. You’re both my very good friends. I’d hate to see your relationship end,”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,”

How could Chifuyu harbour any ill feelings towards Baji? Always so thoughtful. Always so sweet. Always so kind. But always so stupid. How could he not see that you were doing it on purpose, to see him? That talk was a wake up call. It was time for Chifuyu to confront you.

He was barely ready to prepare dinner, when the sound of the door opening filled the silent room. You were home. It was now or never.

“Y/N. We need to talk,”

“Can we do it another day? I’m exhausted,”

Concern for you filled him, but the thought of Baji’s call hardened his resolve to talk to you. Now. Any other time and he’d back out.

“No. We need to talk. Now,”

“Fine. What is it, Chifuyu?”

Annoyance was clear on your face. You looked terrible. Was he so absorbed in your behaviour that he didn’t notice the dark eye bags?

“Why have you been so distant lately?”

“I told you yesterday that it’s because of work. Things have been very busy,” your tone was exasperated

“That’s not what Baji said,”

“And where does Baji come in this situation,”

“He said you’ve been visiting Toman while I’m not there. What’s up with that? Y/N,” he spat your name out as if it dirtied his tongue.

“Well for the record, Chifuyu. I’ve been meeting with the members of Toman to plan a time for the both of us to take a holiday. To give you a break from the gang. It was going to be my anniversary gift to you to thank you for these wonderful years,”

“What?”

“My effort has obviously gone to waste because you think I’m cheating on you, don’t you? I can’t believe you don’t trust me. Unbelievable,”

“What? Of course I trust you. Just the situation made it seem suspicious. You kept coming home late. You kept replying with such short answers. You stopped saying that you loved me,”

“I’m coming home late and spending less time now so that I can spend more time with you later. Why don’t you try juggling work, planning a surprise, managing finances and keeping a relationship? Then we’ll see if you don’t answer the exact same way that I have. I stopped saying ‘I love you’ because I figured after ten years of dating you’d get the hint!” Your voice rose at the end. You’ve never done that to him before.

Instead of shouting back he whispered:

“But what about those lingering stares at Baji? I thought you fell in love with him instead?”

“Chifuyu. My love. My everything. That was your imagination. I am in no way shape or form in love with that idiot,” this time your voice was much softer.

“You’re not?”

“Not at all,”

“Y/N. I’m so sorry. I’ve been so stupid. I-”

“Save it. Please, Chifuyu. I think we should take a break. Contact me when you can learn to trust me,”

With that said you walked out of your shared home. Chifuyu was too stunned by your words. Before he could come to his senses, you were already gone. Gone. You were gone. You left him. Not permanently. But you still left. All because he didn’t put a little trust in your relationship. He was the reason you left. Now it was up to him to win you back.

A/N: it’s late I know (cos Tumblr wouldn't show this in the tags) but Happy New Year! Starting off the year with angst. The original ending was to have reader leave Chifuyu to pursue Baji, but I didn’t really like it. I much prefer this version. Part 2?

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 8/?

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your Name, A/N - Any Name (Your Best Friend’s Name)

This one is shorter because of the last one’s length.

Hi everyone! By the time you see this, I will probably be out and therefore cannot update the other parts with this one’s link, so don’t worry about that if you notice it.

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Jason’s Trauma and his Death, Lightning, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)  (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Going on day 5 of knowing each other, Jason and Y/N would spend the day apart. Why? Because they gave each other the chance to have family time, Jason got it by playing around with his baby siblings, playing Assassin.

Fluff Head canon came from frownyalfred on Tumblr, who wrote about Jason playing Assassin with his brothers 

He would go running through the halls playing the game that he and Dick knew all too well, it had been the only ‘no contact’ game they were allowed to play at a summer camp Bruce had sent them to all those years ago when they weren’t adults with a bunch of other siblings, and girlfriends. But here they were, explaining the game to their younger siblings while Alfred and Bruce hung out with Barbara, who wished she could play, but was paralyzed.

Everyone missed playing games with her like they used to, but with the video game consoles in the house they did transfer a lot of their gaming to online so they could relive memories with Barbs. It was bittersweet, and everyone remembered when she became paralyzed like it was yesterday, but she always wanted them to play games like they used to, with or without her. 

Jason admired his, hopefully, one day older sister for how she treated her disability, like it was a gift, not something that impacted her everyday life and made her have to hang up the cloak of Batgirl.

But running around chasing after Dick, because of course, he got Dick, the universe wanted them to play again, was something he missed so much. They hadn’t had so much of this time, family time, ever since they all became vigilantes, and they never realized how much they missed the thrill of running around with each other.

Jason ended up getting Dick and throwing him out of the game, calling it a ‘selfless act of brotherhood so you can hang out with your girl’ and they both laughed at it. Titus, Damien’s dog, ended up barking up a storm at Jason when he killed Dick, like the big dog was rooting for Dick to win the tournament.

“Down boy! It’s a game!” Jason would whisper-yell at his dog.

“Yeah! Good boy, Titus! Get him!”

“No!” Jason would yell while running throughout the house, Titus on his heels. Passing by Alfred, Bruce and Barbara, where Titus would stop and go lay at Bruce’s feet, but Jason didn’t know that.

Jason would end up coming in just 10 minutes later, with a green slash on his neck. Tim, who had pulled Cass but killed her, Cass, who had pulled Jason. Tim now had two kills in the game and both were to people who could have easily overpowered him. 

“Jase! Welcome to the land of the dead,” Dick greeted him.

“God dammnit I’ve already been here,” Jason whined in a joke.

“You and your ‘I died pity me’  jokes,” Barbara said.

“It’s called a coping mechanism, Barbs. And hi dad, Alfred,” Jason said as he waved slightly at both of them, Alfred waved back and Bruce nodded at him.

“You could just to go therapy, Jase,” Barbara said, seeming concerned for someone who she considered her baby brother. She remember when he came into the Manor, she was older than him, sure . But he had nightmares and she and Dick would switch between who would sleep at his door at night, they both had terrible backs until the nightmares calmed down. Jason never knew they did this.

It also happened when he was resurrected, but the nightmares were worse and he’d wake all sweaty and upset. There were too many nights where batkids would be in Jason’s bed with him from 12am to when Alfred would greet them in the morning. The nightmares had slowed down a lot in the past few years with the introduction of his Goddaughter into his life, but they still came by to remind him of what happened.

He didn’t talk about it much. They would always try to edge him on about about really happened, but he was stubborn. It made sense, sure, trauma is trauma. But they all wanted to help him get better. It hurt them all that he was hurting and they didn’t know how to help him get through it.

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

Y/N would sit on her bed that morning and finally finished organizing her criminal psychology and regular psychology notes when she came across her printed copy of Dr. Barry Allen’s dissertation she had studied so hard. She found it so weird that she was so close to someone who she looked up to in the field while also being so far in the same breath.

She didn't dote on it for long, she stocked it away with her forensics notes in their place. This, the relationship she had with Jason that intertwined her with so many people, was something she was getting used to by the minute, but it was never something she’d get fully used to as time goes on.

She would put on a JCS - Criminal Psychology video in the background as she worked and tried to make her journal look nicer when Jason texted her,

Good morning. He said.

Good morning :)  She said back.

I just lost a game against a 16 year old.

Huh?

My brothers and 2 of my sisters were playing Assassins with me right? Well my 16 year old brother, Tim, he ended up getting the better of me and beat me. 

Oh! So you suck!

What!? No, I’m literally so cool what do you mean? He said, it clearly had sarcasm undertones to it, so Y/N wasn’t worried if she offended him with saying he sucked.

Oh yeah? Then why’d you lose?

Well, I killed Dick.

Okay so you didn’t lose, Dick lost.

It started raining a little bit, the sounds of it hitting lightly against her window, and she felt at peace. It was never hard for her to feel peace when she was by herself. She only had one roommate because she liked the silence, to be alone to collect her own thoughts in her head.

Her parents said it was because she probably had underlying mental illness that they never had the money to diagnose. She agreed. But she still didn’t have the chance to do it.

Jason and her deserved so much more than what the world have given them up to this point, so when they found each other it was, in a way, the universe saying ‘I’m sorry, you deserve this’ and with each passing day it made the pain they had both felt in their lives just a little bit more tolerable.

No, I guess Dick sucks at the game more than me.

Where’d you even get the concept for that game?

Dick and I used to play it at a Summer Camp before we got kicked out.

For playing the game?

No, for being unruly children.

You seem like you were a handful back in the day.

I was, I was the worst kid to raise, my dad has a shirt that says ‘Proud parent of a kid who is sometimes an asshole but that’s OK’ and he wears it all the time.

What a dad moment. Don’t tell my father that shirt exists, he’ll get one for my mum and himself to represent my sister and I.

Were you an unruly child as well?

I was a troublemaker. Getting into arguments with my authoritative figures about dress codes, rules, why girls couldn’t carry chairs, literally anything that was unequal, I was at their throats about it.

I mean, as you should. My older sister, Barbara, and my younger sisters, Stephanie and Cassie, they would like that about you.

I feel like in someway I’ve won over every part of your family.

The rain would get more violent as time went on. Strikes and hits of lightning would strike all around the city, hitting those gargoyles on every building, she always figured they were decorative, but A/N explained that their horns were made out of copper so people wouldn’t get struck by lightning. Bruce Wayne actually made that a thing, A/N said.

Y/N got a message from the dance competition that she signed up to, turns out, California was hit with a hurricane and most people evacuated. No one was allowed in or out. She guessed weather was being funky everywhere. It sucked, but she already was wishing she could spend time at home instead of out in the world.

A feeling she hated.

She would spend the rest of the day on and off the phone with Jason while it stormed. She would go to bed early that night.

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

Jason slipped on his vigilante uniform, the Red Hood was going to be on patrol over this night, stormy or not, it was his duty and he knew that. Did he want to go? Yes. He was killing for some action and he was going with Dick. They would probably have some ‘Bro Time’ which Jason wanted. 

Even if it was silence, having Dick nearby him meant enough and gave him peace of mind.

He grabbed his guns and loaded them while packing a few extra magazines in his belt, when Dick placed a hand on his shoulder, “You have to be careful tonight, Jase,” Dick said as he gulped down tears, “Just come back to me alive if you break off from me, okay?”

“Alive but bruised,” Jason joked.

“I’m serious. I can’t lose you again and tonight is going to be massively dangerous.”

“You won’t.”

[mandelene]

If you're still taking requests, can I have ℧ with Arthur please 👀

You sure can! 💕

The Tea Party and the Promise-Breaker

Word Count: 1690

“But you said you were gonna play tea party with us!”

“I know, darling, but I’m quite tired and—”

“You promised!” Amelia screeches.

Arthur swears he feels something in his skull rattle. He did promise, but that was before he worked three 16-hour shifts at the hospital and started to feel unwell. He woke up yesterday morning to a sore throat, but he refused to call out sick over something so trivial. Now, the sore throat is worse, his head hurts, his sinuses burn, and he can feel his nose beginning to run.

This is his first day off all week, and although he’d love to play with Amelia and Madeline, he simply doesn’t have the energy to entertain them. He wishes he could have a two-hour nap, but that won’t be possible since Francis is working until the early evening, which means Arthur is in charge of supervising their two six-year-olds for the day.

“You never want to play with us,” Amelia accuses him, sounding genuinely broken-hearted.

He knows it isn’t easy for the girls when he’s not home very often, and the last thing he wants is for them to think he doesn’t love or care about them—nothing could be farther from the truth.

“Okay, I’ll join the tea party,” he surrenders, overwhelmed by guilt. “Would you girls like me to set the kettle?”

“We’re gonna have imaginary tea, Dad,” Amelia explains, a little exasperated by how out of the loop he is. “But you can bring your own tea if you want…And bring cookies, too!”

“All right. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Yaaaaay!” Amelia cheers, jumping up and down several times before grabbing Madeline’s hand and dragging her toward her room. “Let’s get all of the toys, Maddie!”

When the girls are out of sight, Arthur releases a cough he’s been suppressing and buries it into the crook of his arm. A tea party won’t be too labor-intensive at least. He’d rather sit down and drink tea with the girls than have to run around with them in the yard.

He makes himself a large mug of tea with honey and lemon. Then, he grabs whatever leftover pastries are in the fridge—Francis is always baking something for the girls, it seems like. Thankfully, he finds some chocolate chip cookies as well as financiers. He sets them on a plate, gathers extra silverware and napkins for the girls, and makes his way back up the stairs, clearing his aching throat along the way.

When he arrives at Amelia’s room, the little children’s activity table that she normally keeps against the wall has been moved to the center of the room, along with two children’s chairs and two beanbag chairs.

Arthur doesn’t particularly like the seating arrangement, but he knows better than to complain. He places the treats, napkins, and his tea on the table and makes himself as comfortable as he can in one of the beanbag chairs, letting his weight sink into it with a sigh.

Amelia and Madeline have lined up their teddy bears and dolls around the room, and Madeline seems to have drawn a sign on a poster board that proudly says, “MADDIE AND AMELIA’S TEA PARTY.” The text is surrounded by doodles of flowers, teacups, and stars.

“What a beautiful sign, Madeline,” Arthur compliments her.

She sheepishly smiles and hugs her favorite teddy bear, Kumajirou, against her chest. “Thank you…Daddy, you didn’t wear your tie. You were suppose’ta dress up for the tea party.”

He looks down at his attire and frowns. Yes, perhaps flannel pajama bottoms, a black t-shirt, slippers, and his gray bathrobe weren’t a great stylistic choice. Both of the girls are wearing dresses and tights. “My apologies, ladies. I can change, if you’d like?”

“It’s okay. You just havta act like a gentleman,” Madeline instructs, and Arthur can’t help but smile at how endearing all of this is.

He should enjoy it while it lasts—the girls won’t be interested in having tea parties with him when they’re older. Although he’d rather be in bed, he’s glad he agreed to this.

“I’ll try to be on my best behavior,” he assures them before taking a sip of his tea.

“You havta stick your pinkie finger out,” Amelia reminds before pretending to pour tea for herself and Madeline from their children’s tea kettle and into plastic teacups.

Arthur puts his pinkie out and nods. “Ahh, how could I forget? So, tell me, has anything interesting been happening at school?”

Amelia immediately begins to talk about how some other girl in their class recently got a new bike, and how she feels awful that she’s six and a half years old and can’t ride a bike yet. “Will you teach me, Dad?”

“Of course, love. When summer comes we can think about it.”

“Promise?”

He’s learned his lesson about making promises. “We’ll see,” he says instead, ignoring the expression of disappointment on Amelia’s face. He takes a napkin from the table, excuses himself, and blows his nose softly, wincing at the ache in his sinuses…He’s feeling a bit feverish as well.

“Are you okay?” Madeline asks him, concerned.

“I’m just a bit under the weather,” he admits. “So, no hugging or kissing—I don’t watch you girls to catch this.”

Madeline doesn’t seem to be willing to let the subject go just yet. “Did you take medicine?”

“I will in a little while. Thank you, poppet.”

Amelia stands up and comes over to him to yank on his arm. “You havta go to bed, you’re sick. You always say we can’t play when we’re sick and havta rest, remember?”

Arthur feels his patience thinning, but having an excuse to lie down for a moment could be worth it.

“I can’t go to bed. I have to take care of you girls. It’ll be lunchtime soon, and I have to—”

“No, mister.”

“But I—”

“No buts!” Amelia scolds him, and for a second, he forgets who the adult in the room is.

He picks up his mug of tea and begrudgingly follows Amelia back to the master bedroom, where he obediently lies down on his and Francis’s bed, groaning when his sore muscles meet the memory foam mattress.

“We’ll take good care of you!” Amelia exclaims, exuberant.

Arthur’s not too sure he’s looking forward to this, but as the girls go and conspire out in the hallway, he allows himself to close his eyes for just a moment…Only a moment…He has to stay up to watch the girls…

The next time he opens his eyes, Amelia is poking a thermometer against his mouth, waking him from a very brief snooze.

“You’ve gotta take your temperature, Dad.”

Now that his body has had a taste of sleep, he feels absolutely exhausted. He takes the thermometer from her and puts it under his tongue, curious to see what the reading will be. When it beeps, he grimaces at the number taunting him. A hundred and two point seven. That’s thirty-nine degrees Celsius—enough to signal to him that this is probably more than a mere cold.

“Do you have a fever?” Madeline asks from the end of the bed, eyes shimmering.

“No,” he lies. “I’m fine, girls. It’s nothing to worry about…You should both return to the tea party. I’m going to rest here for a moment and—”

Amelia touches his forehead with her cold hand, and he shivers. “You need medicine.”

“I’m all right for now, girls. Really. Go back and play.”

To his surprise, the girls do leave, and he lets out a sigh of relief…That is, until he hears Amelia talking to someone over the house phone in the distance.

He jolts out of bed and dashes over to her, but it’s too late…

“Papa wants to talk to you,” she says, matter-of-fact.

Damn.

He takes the phone from her, feeling a growing pit of dread in his stomach. “Hello?”

“Arthur, why didn’t you tell me before I left the house this morning that you were feeling ill?”

“I’m fine, Francis.”

“I’ll be home in an hour.”

“You don’t—”

“See you then.”

And just like that, Francis hangs up.

Arthur puts the phone down and prepares his most intimidating scowl, ready to direct it at Amelia, but then she pulls on his arm again and says, “We can play tea party next time. Don’t worry. You’ll be all better soon.”

The scowl disappears and is replaced by a wistful smile. “Thank you, love. I’m sorry our plans have to be put on hold. I’ll make it up to you both, all right?”

The girls nod, and Arthur sends them off to finish the pastries that are still waiting for them in Amelia’s room. In the meantime, he finishes his tea and blows his nose again. He sucks on a cough drop and grits his teeth against the immense pressure in his sinuses. After seeing the color of his mucus, he’s willing to bet he has a sinus infection.

He leans against the headboard of the bed and falls asleep against his will.

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

“Come, mon amour—you’re going to have a sore neck and back if you stay like this. Lie down properly,” Francis coaxes him, bracing his head for him.

Arthur’s not sure how long he’s been asleep, but he lowers his head so that it’s on his pillow and lies flat on his back. “…You didn’t have to come home early.”

“I’m glad I did—you have a fever, and a high one at that,” Francis says, setting a damp hand towel on his feverish brow. “Did you really think you’d be able to tend to the girls when you’re like this? It’s dangerous. You should have told me.”

“…'m sorry,” Arthur mumbles, still incredibly tired. The towel on his head feels nice.

“You just wanted a reason to leave the tea party, didn’t you?” Francis jokes, brushing his hand against his warm cheek. “The girls told me about it.”

“Oh, of course. The next time I’m asked to play dress-up or ‘hair salon’ with them, I just may have to give myself bronchitis.”

Francis laughs and kisses the side of his head. “Conniving man.”

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

House Calls (2/2 )

Hannibal (TV)

This part took much longer than the first. The muse eluded me for quite some time but it has finally returned! And the fact that this beautiful gifset from the show is making the rounds again certainly helped. ❤❤ Shoutout to @mongooseblues for inspiration for and assistance with this fic! A small note for those that read part 1, I'm retconning the fact that Hannibal had a digital thermometer that beeps. He would definitely have a mercury one.

Read part 1 here. (Recommended, it is referenced quite a few times in part 2)

Read my other works here (works best on desktop) (Also on AO3)

My asks are always open for prompts!

For the second time in one week, Will Graham was awoken by the phone ringing. Granted, a week ago it had woken him because it rang at an unusually early hour. This time it woke him because he was still getting over the godawful bug he'd caught, and he was going to bed earlier and sleeping in later. 

He fumbled for the device and picked it up with a groggy " H'llo?"

"Will, it's Hannibal." The doctor paused to clear his throat roughly. "I'm sorry to wake you, but I have a favor to ask of you, if you're up to it." There was a strange noise on the other end of the line, a kind of shuffling noise-- or perhaps a sniffle?

"Sure," Will said with a yawn and a sniffle of his own, rubbing his eyes. "I've been feeling pretty good since yesterday. I can help with whatever you need."

"That's very promising. As to the favor...  It appears I've left my medical bag at my office." Here he had to stop to clear his throat again and cough before he continued. "I was wondering if you would be able to collect it for me and bring it to my home. I'm… well, it seems I've caught your illness and I don't believe it would be wise for me to leave the house."

By this time, Will had slid to sit on the edge of the bed as he listened, stifling further yawns. The damn flu still had him feeling so unbelievably tired and groggy. 

"I'll head out right away," Will replied, rubbing his face. "And… I'm really sorry to have put you in this position, Dr. Leh--Hannibal. I never meant to get you sick."

"Occupational hazard, and I don't regret any of my actions concerning your care. But I appreciate your assistance in getting my bag. I will see you soon I hope."

"See you soon." Will ended the call with a small sigh. Now he felt guilty *and* tired. He was almost glad there was something he could do for the doctor to help assuage his own conscience. 

Less than an hour later, Will arrived at Hannibal's stately house. It had been no problem to retrieve the black leather medical bag from Hannibal's office. Due to the late hour of their therapy sessions, Will always arrived after the office front entrance was locked, so he knew the code to the building’s back door. The bag had been hidden behind a table leg and it was easy to see how Hannibal had overlooked it  Now it was simply a matter of delivering it.

 Already a bit overwhelmed to be approaching such a house, Will hesitated after mounting the porch steps. Hannibal hadn't told him what to do when he arrived. If the doctor was sleeping he didn't want to rouse him out of bed, but he didn't want to just walk in either. However, the safest option seemed to be to bite the bullet and knock. As he raised his hand to do so though, he realized the door was slightly ajar. A man like Dr. Lecter wouldn't accidentally leave a door open, no matter how ill he was. It stood to reason, then, that it had been left open for him. With more than a little trepidation, Will pushed the door open and stepped in.

The house was dim and still, and just as stately and pristine as everything else of Hannibal's. Will heard the sound of a harpsichord from somewhere inside. Hannibal was awake, then. At least that was something. 

Will followed the sounds of the music, which led him into the cavernous kitchen. The stainless steel appliances were silent and eerie without Hannibal's bustling presence giving them life. The music was louder now, seemingly coming from the next room, and echoing slightly against the polished surfaces. A strange sixth sense kept Will from calling out that he had arrived, as if there was a spell on the house that didn't want to be broken. Will paused before he approached the corner that turned into the next room. As he did, the music stopped abruptly, and instead a different noise punctuated the air:

"HrrrrRRISHyuu! ErrrrRREISH-shooo! ISSSHH-chuhh! Hh'rrrsshh'CHHOOF!" 

It was of course Hannibal who had sneezed. Logically Will knew this was to be expected when a person was sick. Yet it seemed so strange to hear such a mundane noise from such an extraordinary person. It was as if he'd accidentally witnessed something exceedingly private. 

Still, the sneezing had broken the spell. The doctor said something in Lithuanian that sounded suspiciously like swearing, then began to blow his nose. As he did this, Will retreated several steps and reentered the kitchen more noisily:

"Dr. Lecter! I'm here! I've got your bag!"

"I'm in the study," came the congested reply, annexed by a chesty cough.

Will found the man where he said, seated in front of the instrument as he tended to his nose. Yet still, the doctor tried to smile warmly upon seeing him, though his shoulders had a limp sag to them, and he shivered as he sniffled into his handkerchief. He was wearing a fine blue silk robe with a plain white tee shirt and blue plaid pajama pants, neat but still a far cry from his usual suits. His hair was combed but lacked the crisp, styled look it usually had, hanging more naturally around his face. His eyes were fever-bright, and his cheeks were flushed from the same. He looked overall rundown and quite unwell. 

Will handed him the black leather bag right away. Hannibal took it, looking grateful. 

"Thank you so much for coming, Will. I didn't know who else to call." His voice was husky and thick, more than hinting at a miserable sore throat. 

"No problem. But what are you doing out here? I thought the reason I fetched this was because you were too sick to get out of bed."

"I'm really not very ill. I was merely trying to avoid getting anyone else ill by my going out. But you've already had this illness, so you are safe from infection, which is why I thought to call you."

"That's logical I suppose," said Will wryly. "You look pretty sick to me, though."

"I assure you I'm fie- fine…. '' Hannibal quickly disappeared behind the handkerchief again, his breath hitching to sneeze. His shoulders leapt violently several times, and the motion made his hair fall across his forehead. However, any other sneeze side effects were thoroughly stifled into silence. After finishing the fit, Hannibal wiped his nose and flipped his hair back again with a toss of his head. Noting how familiar the doctor seemed to be with the gesture, Will could only guess at the number of sneezing fits he had had prior to this one. 

Seeing the poor man’s sinuses take such abuse from the forceful stifles though made Will's own still-congested sinuses start dripping in sympathy. He hastily pulled out a tissue and wiped his nose.

"Ah, but you are still ill yourself. Where are my manners? I'll make us both tea." Hannibal quickly stood, but staggered before he could take a step, a hand going to his temple. 

"Dr. Lecter--!" Will was at his side in a moment to steady him, one hand on the doctor's arm and the other at his back, just as Hannibal had steadied him earlier in the week. Will was prepared to do whatever was needed to keep Hannibal upright, though his swaying made Will more than a little nervous, for Hannibal was much taller than he, and would more than likely take them both down if he fell. 

Thankfully, the doctor quickly righted himself, pulling away from Will's grasp. "Forgive me, I stood up too quickly." Dr. Lecter cleared his throat harshly, rubbing a palm across his eyes. 

"Are you sure you--"

"I'm fine, Will. Now, tea." He strode away to the kitchen, effectively ending the conversation, as was his talent. 

Will held his tongue for the time being and silently followed, sitting at the kitchen island while Hannibal puttered around making tea. The silence was companionable, only broken by the doctor's soft sniffles and coughs. At one point though, the doctor was overcome with a nasty coughing fit that bent him over at the waist as he grasped the countertop for balance. When the barking coughs subsided and he could breathe relatively normally once more, he flipped his hair back into place yet again and proceeded with what he was doing as if nothing had happened. Will noted all of this without comment. 

Once the tea was poured, Hannibal seated himself beside Will, and they sipped together in continued silence. Will found it odd, though not unpleasant, to be sitting next to Hannibal without speaking, for their usual interactions dictated that conversation was necessary. Will found the quiet enjoyable. Yet Hannibal could not relax, for he was forced to tend to another harsh bout of coughing, turned away from Will and muffled into his elbow. His lungs sounded as if they were trying to tear their way out of his chest. Will could only look on in concern, and it was several long moments before he quieted. 

"My apologies, Will," the doctor rasped as soon as he was able, the exertion having turned his face an even deeper shade of red.

"You don’t need to apologize. But you sound sick. And you look like you're running a fever. You should be in bed."

"I rest better down here with my music and my cooking. I couldn't lie in bed all day."

"I don't think you should do any cooking. You're shaking."

The doctor quickly hid his hands, which were indeed trembling with chills. "Even so. I find it hard to rest in bed during the day. I have trouble getting settled. It's too… quiet I suppose." He sniffled wetly, and was forced to dab at his nose with his handkerchief.

"Hmm." Will thought for a moment, studying his own hands, currently wrapped around his mug. "I suppose I have the same problem. And it's worse when you're not feeling well. But you helped alleviate that for me when I was sick." Will met the doctor's eyes, reddening slightly. "You should lie down after we're done with tea… and if you want, I'll stay with you for a while... If you think it'll help, I mean."

Hannibal regarded him in his penetrating way. "Are you that worried about my health, Will?"

"You're sick, Dr. Leh-- Hannibal. And I know how bad this flu is. I don't want to see you get worse."

Hannibal was quiet for a moment, aside from another moist sniffle. "That is very kind of you to offer. I suppose you are right. Some rest would perhaps do me good."

Will nodded. "When we're finished, I'll stay here and do these dishes while you go get settled. I'll come see you as soon as I'm done. But let me know if there's anything else you need."

Hannibal gave a tiny smile. "Thank you, Will." With that, he obediently swallowed the last few gulps of tea and stood, moving toward the back of the house.

"Hannibal?"

The doctor turned.

"You don't… have to keep pretending you're fine. If you are pretending, I mean. I know how badly you're probably feeling better than anyone. You don't need to fake anything for my sake."

Will watched as Hannibal's shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly--a thin crack in the veneer. The sick man gave the barest of nods, then proceeded on to what Will assumed was his bedroom. 

Will felt quite out of his element in more ways than one as he cleaned the dishes from their tea. Having no idea where anything went, he left it all out on a towel to dry. Once the kitchen was as clean as he could make it, he steeled himself to go check on his therapist.

The master bedroom was as luxurious as the rest of the house, and Will did his best not to gawk or make comparisons between this and his own tiny house. Hannibal had hung up his robe and was huddled in bed. He wasn't fully lying down, but was propped up against a stack of pillows, his breathing noticeably thick and raspy in the silent room. As Will expected, lying down evidently made the doctor feel the full impact of his symptoms (or perhaps he was simply done pretending). Hearing Will enter, he turned his head, lethargically opening heavy-lidded eyes. Against the cream sheets, the contrast between his pallor and fever flush was even more striking.

"It seems I'm more unwell than I thought," Hannibal murmured with a cough. "This is why I wanted to avoid lying down."

Will made a sympathetic sound. "That means you *need* to be lying down then. Have you taken your temperature recently? If not, we should."

Hannibal glanced at the medical bag he'd brought up with him. "The only thermometer I own is in there, so I have been unable to."

"A doctor that doesn't own a thermometer?" Will chuckled, moving to the bag. "I wouldn't have expected that."

"I do own one. I've never seen the need to own two."

Will deigned not to reply as he rummaged through the bag, quickly finding what he needed. He shook down the mercury as he returned to Hannibal's side. Hannibal held out his hand to take it, then shakily inserted it under his tongue. He leaned back to stare at the ceiling while Will stared at the floor, hands in his pockets.

Will waited what felt like an awkwardly long time before he finally shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. "How long does it take to get a reading? I've never--"

Hannibal held up a hand and waited a bit longer, then removed the device from his mouth, glanced at it, and handed it to Will without comment.

Seeing the reading, Will gave a low whistle. 104.1�� that's high, Hannibal."

"My body temperature is always above average. This is more pronounced when I'm ill." 

"Do you have some medicine? You should probably take something. Or do you want a cool rag?"

"I have just taken medication." The doctor gestured to his nightstand with a thick sniffle where there was a small collection of unmarked pill bottles. "And there's no need for cooling methods. A fever is a natural physiological response to infection. Nothing to be alarmed about." He swiped at his nose with his handkerchief, stifling a cough.

Will was skeptical, but before he could respond, Hannibal jerked forward at the waist, pressing the handkerchief to his face again:

"Gghnxt! Kppshht!" 

The expression on the doctor’s face indicated that he could have (and maybe should have) kept sneezing, but he harshly pinched his nose with a wet squelch and blew, forcing the tickle to subside. 

Will sighed and shook his head, then made a face upon noticing the state of the handkerchief Hannibal was using.

"That handkerchief is...sodden. It's practically dripping. I'll get you a fresh one. Where do you keep them?"

"I only have 3 others and they are in worse shape than this one. I've rather been running through them."

Will chuckled. "I can't imagine why." He rummaged through his pockets, finally producing a nearly full, cellophane-wrapped travel pack of Kleenex which he handed to the doctor.

Hannibal made a face. "I despise using these." 

"I'm not sure you have an option right now. These have to be better than your soaking wet cloth ones."

"Debatable," Hannibal muttered. Still, he shook one out and gingerly brought it to his face. He gave several thick, gurgling blows, productive to the point of starting to disintegrate the tissue. Seeing this, Hannibal made another face.

"You really need to use 2 or 3 of those at a time," Will said, trying not to laugh. "But let me get you a trash can."

"There is one in the master bathroom," Hannibal croaked, looking peeved and sounding more congested than ever. 

Will quickly fetched the bin while Hannibal tried again to blow his nose, using 4 Kleenex this time. The 2nd round of blowing was equally productive. When he was finished, Will held the bin out and Hannibal tossed the tissues in as if he were tossing in a dead rat. 

"This is most unsanitary Will," Hannibal muttered with a slushy sniffle, yet still pulling out more to continue wiping his streaming nostrils.

Will only chuckled. Hannibal was breathing slightly easier now, but his eyes were heavier than ever. 

"You should sleep, Dr--Hannibal. You don't have to stay awake for my sake. I'll be here when you wake up."

The doctor nodded, obediently closing his eyes with a sigh. 

Will didn't expect such a quick response, and for a moment he watched the doctor to ensure he was truly going to sleep. When it appeared he was, Will perched on a nearby chair, unsure what else to do. It seemed he was to be staying with Hannibal in the most literal sense, for he wasn’t about to go wandering around this house by himself.

Half an hour passed, the minutes dragging slowly. The doctor lay perfectly still the entire time, but Will knew he wasn't sleeping. His frame was too alert. Meanwhile Will, with nothing to do except scroll through his phone and listen to Hannibal's deep breathing, was struggling to stay awake and wishing he too had a bed. Killing time was only making him more groggy, and his head was beginning to ache. 

Getting fed up with it, Will went with his instincts and tried something else. Swallowing a yawn and rubbing his eyes, he navigated to the e-reader app on his phone and pulled up one of his favorite novels. Clearing his throat, he began to read aloud: "The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten…."

As soon as there was another sound in the room, Hannibal began to visibly relax, angling his face toward Will even as he got more comfortable in the bed, though his eyes never opened. Slowly, slowly he sank deeper into the pillows as Will read on. Will sensed he was trying to follow the story, but it seemed the doctor's fatigue was overwhelming, especially since Will was trying to make his voice as soothing as possible. Within another 30 minutes, Hannibal's hand had gone limp around the Kleenex he was holding as he softly snored, sleeping at last. 

Will finished the chapter he was on, just to be sure the sick man wouldn't wake again, before he finally closed the book. His mouth was very dry and he needed a glass of water. Before he left the room though, he turned on the white noise machine he'd noted near the bed (he had a similar one in his own room), hoping some kind of continued noise would help Hannibal sleep longer. Will then tiptoed to the kitchen, pouring himself a huge glass of water right away. As he sat and drank it, he thought about what else he should do, for he didn't want to just continue sitting around. 

"What do you do for someone when they're sick?" he murmured to himself. Another moment later, he answered himself: "Make them soup, I guess." 

Hannibal's soup had been wonderful, but Will was no chef. He could prepare many basic things, but spices and seasonings, and thus soups, eluded him. He cringed at the thought of preparing something from scratch for a culinary master like Dr. Lecter. 

However, another idea occurred to him, and he smiled to himself as he considered it. It might work, but he would need to run an errand. He stood right away and strode to the front door, wanting to go and be back as quickly as possible. He only hoped Hannibal would sleep the whole time he was gone, for Will had promised to be there when he woke, and he intended to keep that promise.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hannibal didn't wake until many hours later, and Will was indeed at his side when he did. It was Hannibal's treacherous nose that did it. Will had noted subtle signs of him nearing consciousness again for a while, but the final straw was an uncontainable volley of sneezes:

"HRRIIZZSHH-uh! HhURRSHH-shuh! hrrRIIIZZSHHD! Hhh-KKRRCHHSSHHooo!"

The sighed exhale that followed bordered on a groan as that doctor shakily grabbed the tissues at his side and tended to his cherry-red nose yet again with several gurgling blows. Will had been at his side from the first sound, looking for any way to be useful. Eventually Hannibal met his gaze, taking a moment to survey the younger man. 

"You look tired, Will."

Will huffed a cheerless laugh. "You haven't doctored me enough yet this week?"

"A physician's nature doesn't change just because he's ill," Hannibal sniffled. "And you've also been ill. I don't want you to overtax yourself on my account."

"I'm fine. But you look tired too. How are you feeling?" 

Hannibal didn't reply immediately, seemingly taking inventory. A shaky breath caused him to cough harshly before he could speak, and Will winced in sympathy. 

"I feel thoroughly disgusting. And ill," Hannibal mumbled through congested-sounding consonants. "My head and chest feel achingly thick. Heavy." He put his own wrist to his forehead for a moment. "Feverish." 

"Here, you need to drink." Will handed the doctor a tall glass of ice water. Hannibal took it and drank it down with a grateful look, but the chill from the ice immediately caused him to cough into his fist yet again.

Will watched all of this, feeling uncomfortable. "I'm still sorry I got you sick, Hannibal. I hate seeing you like this."

Though Hannibal's eyes shone with fever, he eyed Will keenly. "This is not your fault. Illness is an expected part of the human experience. You must not blame yourself." It occurred to Will that congestion was not the only thing making Hannibal more difficult to understand--his Lithuanian accent was also far more pronounced than usual.

"I still feel terrible."

The doctor quirked an eyebrow at him, looking faintly amused. "What a coincidence. As I've just told you, so do I."

Will couldn't think how to respond, so they merely shared a wry smile. Then, without warning, Hannibal's torso whipped forward, and he exploded into another pair of thick, spraying sneezes:

"Hhht-KNNXT! hhnnxxt-CHUUHG!" Evidently his ability to stifle was weakening as his symptoms worsened. The sick doctor stayed hunched forward, blowing and wiping his raw nose for the hundredth time, looking utterly miserable as he shook the last few Kleenex from the package. 

"At least that's something I can help you with," Will said, nodding at the empty wrapper. He bent down and came back up with 2 new boxes of tissues. He opened one and handed it over. Hannibal took it reluctantly.

  "Those are the best ones you can get. They should be almost like real cloth."

"I rather doubt that," Hannibal muttered. "But I thank you nonetheless. They are sorely needed." 

"And I plan to take your cloth ones home and wash them and bring them back tomorrow. Including the one I still have. So you'll only have to deal with these for a bit longer," Will said with a little grin.

The doctor's eyes lit up in pleasure. "I would be most grateful for that."

"Is there anything else you'd like? Either now or tomorrow?"

Hannibal again coughed into his first before he spoke, sounding thoroughly phlegmy. "I should likely take some food. I'm feeling weaker than I ought to."

It was Will's turn to light up. "There's another coincidence… I have food ready for you. Some soup and stuff."

"I thought I smelled something simmering, even through this dreadful congestion. That explains why I'm suddenly hungry," Hannibal said with a thick sniffle, leaning back into his pillows. "Thank you for thinking of it. Though I would hardly call your predicting my needs a coincidence, but rather proof of your capabilities as a caretaker. Just something to think on.” The doctor gave him a pointed look even as he sniffled again. 

Will was now embarrassed and quickly moved to the doorway. "I'll go bring some for you now."

Hannibal let the subject drop and nodded weakly, closing his eyes as he massaged the bridge of his nose. Will hurried to the kitchen and ladled a bowl of chicken soup from the pot warming on the stove. He had the ingredients for grilled cheese ready as well, and a hot griddle waiting, so it was only a matter of minutes before he had a fresh, hot sandwich to accompany the soup. As a final touch, he peeled an orange and placed it on the plate with the sandwich, then grabbed the bottle of soda he'd bought, and transported it all to the sick room on a large tray.

Hannibal was clearly a bit taken aback upon seeing it all. "This is quite the spread, Will," he croaked. "Did you make all of this?"

"Define 'make', Will chuckled. "I turned the stove on, yes."

"The soup isn't yours then?"

"It's Campbell's chicken noodle, fresh from the can. The genuine, original sick day food. Grilled cheese made with the finest Kraft singles of course. An orange for the Vitamin C, no seeds. For the drink, we have ginger ale, the beverage that can cure any ailment. And for dessert, if you so desire, we also have hot chocolate."

Hannibal was speechless for a moment. Then, a tiny smile began to play across his features. "This is ...really something, Will. I haven't been served a meal quite like this in a very long time. I can't even remember the last time I had a cola." 

"Only the finest. Or at least the finest I could manage on short notice."

"You bought all of this just today?"

Will nodded. "This is what I used to like when I was sick. I figured I couldn't go wrong with classic comfort foods. I'm sorry I couldn't give you something higher quality. But I hope it still helps."

"Indeed." The doctor chuckled hoarsely. "This is quite satisfactory. I'm sure it will help. Thank you once again." Without further ado, the doctor dug into his feast.

To Will's surprise, the doctor easily finished not only the orange, but the soup and the sandwich as well, and seemed to enjoy them as much as could be expected. He was most skeptical of the ginger ale, but he finished half of that as well, pronouncing it "very interesting." Will also made sure he drank plenty of water to round it all out. Finally Hannibal pushed the tray away with a contented sound.

"In a practical sense, I always knew the restorative properties of chicken soup, but it's been many years since I experienced them first-hand," Hannibal managed, after blowing his streaming nose several times. "My throat and sinuses feel significantly better. As does my headache. Perhaps we should save the hot chocolate for tomorrow however, for I am comfortably full now." 

Will thought he was going to say more, for he paused oddly. Instead the doctor's breath hitched violently:

"Gihh-chuuh! Chnnggh!..." 

Only the first two in the fit were audible. He seemingly sneezed several more times, but he stifled them into oblivion, with only the movement of his head to indicate what was happening. Watching such forceful suppression was still painful, but it heartened Will slightly to know that Hannibal was feeling well enough after some food to worry about his dignity once more.

Finally the doctor ended his fit and fell back against the pillows with a weary sigh and a weak cough, flipping the hair off of his forehead yet again.

"That looked exhausting."

"Perhaps it would have been if I weren't exhausted to begin with," Hannibal mumbled, an arm over his face.

"Then you should sleep more."

Hannibal uncovered his eyes to meet Will's. "It would be terribly rude of me to sleep again while you are here."

Then I'll get ready to go. I'll clean up all of this then head out. Let you have some peace. But like I said, I'll be back tomorrow with your handkerchiefs." Will grabbed the tray, preparing to carry it to the kitchen. 

"Will?"

Will paused, turning around.

Hannibal looked slightly imploring. "If it's not too much trouble, would you mind reading a bit more before you go? I was quite enjoying the story."

Will couldn't help but smile. "It would be my pleasure."

[julilihatfun]

Prompty prompt: Geralt is really struggling in a battle and Jaskier can't just stand by and watch anymore, so he goes up there and kinda saves Geralt, giving him the chance to finally kill the monster...BUT Jaskier is hurt in the process which he doesn't want to admit, being the hero for the first time. He hides it until he just passes out and Geralt takes care of him, mad at himself for letting the bard get hurt, but also thankful. Sorry it's not very original, but hope you like it!

Prompt request: Jaskier hits his head and is concussed and ends up moody, disoriented, and uncoordinated, maybe a bit nauseous, but Geralt never saw him hit his head and has to find out through a careful insoection when he realizes his travelling companion is acting strangely. 

Hey guys - sorry for disappearing for a while :( Everything is just really overwhelming at the moment and well :((( but I hope you enjoy this and I really hope, that you are safe and well!!! (I combined two prompts for this, because it kind of seemed fitting)

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

Jaskier watched Geralt fight – at first, in awe (as always, because honestly: how can one fight so ferociously while looking that graceful), but then in concern, because the Witcher seemed to be in trouble. And that was something that Jaskier had never seen before.

The giant creature loomed over Geralts head – all bloodthirsty and monster-like – while Geralt frantically scrambled away from it and towards the heavy iron sword that had been smacked away from him a few moments earlier.

“Geralt!”, Jaskier screamed and he sounded hysterical and panicked, but he did not care at all. This was a literal nightmare come to life. 

“Stay down!”, Geralt roared, not even looking at the bard, because he was too busy dodging attack after attack.

And it did not look like the beast was getting tired. Which, in turn, meant, that staying down was not an option if he wanted Geralt to actually survive this shit.

He did not even have to think about it then – just jumped up and out of his hiding place with a loud, screechy screaming noise, that kind of betrayed his fear, and stumbled towards the fight.

He seemed to be much less interesting than Geralt (highly offensive, if you asked him – he did not wear those ridiculously colourful outfits to be ignored like this), because the huge thing did not even take one eye away from Geralts prone form.

Geralt screamed at him to ‘get the fuck back’, while Jaskier searched the forest ground for something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. He had to be fast, because Geralt seemed to come no closer to gaining back control over the fight.

“Aha!”, he cheered, when he finally found something that could work.

And throwing a stone at the creature really did seem to finally do the trick, because it suddenly turned on Jaskier in an alarming speed.

“Oi!”, Jaskier bellowed, tripping over his own feet in an effort to get away faster. “Stop.”

He was not fast enough, of course, because he felt the thing yank his feet out from under him, making him fall hard. His head was catapulted forward in a sickening motion and bounced off of the moist ground, which definitely hurt a lot.

Jaskier turned around, seeing stars dance around his vision, just in time to see Geralt (who apparently was much faster than Jaskier) bring his sword down on the beast’s neck, effectively separating its ugly head from its massive body.

Jaskier barely had enough time to roll away when the thing started falling towards him and felt the ground shake beneath him, when the monsters mutilated form came down right next to him.

He stared at the beast for a long moment in silent wonder, then his gaze swept to Geralt, who was already staring at him.

“I take partial credit for this one.”, he said then, shakily, moving to pull himself up on a nearby tree.

Geralt huffed, still eying him grimly. He growled out a clipped: “That was incredibly dumb.”, which made the bard gasp in mock-hurt.

“Geralt how dare you? I practically saved your life back there! – quite heroically, if I dare say so myself.”, Jaskier snapped back jokingly. And he knew that he would have handled the situation better had he known even the most basic fighting techniques, but he did not have any skills and stuff somehow still worked out, so he felt pretty proud of himself.

Geralt closed his eyes in frustration and heaved out a heavy sigh, before surprising Jaskier with a grumbled: “I did not say that you did not save my life.” Geralt threw him a stern look. “But that does not make it any less stupid.”

Jaskier practically glowed with glee and pride. “I can already envision the glorious ballad! Brave Jaskier, the humble bard, fearlessly throwing himself into the raging battle of-“

“Jaskier.”

“Yeah?”

“You threw a stone.” Jaskier actually saw the bastards mouth twitching in the effort to hide a grin. “Don’t get cocky.”

“Hey! I threw that stone very bravely!”

Geralt actually huffed out a small laugh then, but when he took in the bards disgruntled clothes, smeared with dirt and grime, his face grew serious again. “You went down pretty hard. You hurt anywhere?”

Jaskier scoffed. “Warriors don’t get hurt.”

“You broke a toe dancing last month.”, Geralt noted dryly. “Well, come to think of it, I guess you did not get hurt as you’d already be whining about it if you did.”

“Hey, that toe-thing hurt.”, Jaskier pouted. “I normally am very pain resistant.”

“Sure are.”

And they left it at that. Although Jaskier knew how immensely grateful Geralt really was, when he offered him a spot on Roach (which Jaskier, obviously, happily accepted).

Riding, for some weird reason, made Jaskier kind of dizzy, so he could barely force down three bites of his stew, before he surrendered and pushed his plate towards Geralt.

“Can you get horse sick?”, he asked dreamily and immediately felt Geralts boring stare on him. He looked up. “What?”

“You’re sick?”, Geralt inquired suspiciously, having been wary ever since Jaskier fell oddly silent as soon as they had mounted Roach.

“I never said that.”, Jaskier exclaimed defensively. “It’s probably the adrenaline wearing off.”

“Hm.”

“Nothing a good pint of ale won’t be able to fix, right? And a good night’s sleep – we should really think about sleeping in real beds more often. You know, to get proper rest and socialize instead of wasting away in the forest.”, Jaskier rambled on, desperate to change the subject in order to not have Geralt on his case all week because of a bit on an upset stomach.

“Hm.”

“Spoilsport.”

They separated for the night shortly after; Geralt immediately retreating to their shared room and Jaskier spending some time wooing the small audience with carefully composed songs and mirror-practiced charms. Though, Jaskier did call it a night unusually early too, having promised himself that healing sleep will free him from all ailments that came with kind-of fighting alongside Geralt.

And well, he was wrong.

He woke up to a splitting headache.

“Yikes.”, he groaned as he sat up, bringing up both hands to massage his temples.

“Had a drop too much?”

And as Jaskier thought about it, he came to the conclusion, that he actually had no idea how much he drank the evening prior – not the normal blank he drew, when the evening blurred together in a mass of pints and shots and girls and… no, this was a complete memory lapse.

To him, it was annoying more than scary, really.

“Screw you, Geralt.”, Jaskier snapped, because Geralt sounded way too smug for his liking. Also, no matter how hard he tried, he could not draw up a single memory.

“Touchy, aren’t you?”, Geralt asked with an obvious smirk.

Jaskier snorted. “Are we leaving?”, he asked then, when his gaze fell on Geralts packed bags; took in the Witcher’s general impatient demeanour.

“Yeah.”, Geralt confirmed his fears. “Took you long enough to wake.”

He looked at Jaskier for a moment, as if searching for something. “Breakfast is on me.”

Geralt’s way of showing gratitude. Jaskier knew, that he should be immensely happy, but he just felt… kind of weird and muddle-headed. Also, still very nauseous.

“I feel so loved.”, he cheered weakly, mostly out of habit. He could probably stomach some food anyways – most times, it even helped him get over a hangover.

When Jaskier had packed up and they stepped out of the inn and into a small tavern, the smell of freshly cooked eggs and beans wafting their way, Jaskier changed his mind.

“Know what:-“, he choked out, dizzily. “I guess I’m not hungry after all. I’ll just… stay with Roach. Outside.”

“Hm.”, Geralt grunted dangerously. “You barely ate yesterday evening.”

“I’m watching my figure.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt watched the bards face take on a greyish-green hue and he grabbed Jaskiers upper arm roughly, dragging him outside, and nearly pushed him into a bush off the beaten path, away from prying eyes.

“Do what you have to do.”, Geralt said, and it almost sounded compassionate.

“I’m fine.”, Jaskier gulped, despite all logic and appearance. “Jus’ hungover or somethin’.”

“Hmm.”

“Seriously.”, Jaskier mumbled, still breathing heavily in an attempt to fight off the nausea.

“Right.”, Geralt sighed, watching Jaskiers face slowly morph into a more healthy-looking colour. “If you think so.”

“You going back in?”

“No.”, Geralt said, eying Jaskier warily. “Let’s just leave. We can eat later.”

“Alright.”, the bard sighed. His head still hurt and he suddenly felt exhausted. “Let’s, then.”

They walked towards Roach in silence and – unusually enough – it was Geralt who finally broke it, when he strapped his bag onto her back. “You wanna ride with me?”

Just the thought made Jaskier feel terribly ill again. “Hard pass.” He knew that walking would be tough on him too, but there was something distinct to the jostling motion on the horse’s saddle that made it particularly unattractive to him that day.

Geralt eyed him suspiciously. He did not often offer, but when he did, Jaskier never refused.

“You’re acting strange.”, he noted. “Well, more so than usual.”

“Ouch.”, Jaskier said, already a few steps ahead of the Witcher. “I’m great, and you know it.”

So they walked – or well, Jaskier walked. And he kept walking, even when he kept getting dizzier and more disoriented and his head started pounding in earnest.

It was when stars started dancing around his vision, that he knew that he was in real trouble. “Geralt-“, he breathed, hearing his own voice tremble and crack.

And he saw Geralt stop abruptly and turn out of the corner of his eye, before his vision went entirely black.

 When Jaskier woke up, the first thing he noticed was his still-pounding head. Then, something weird, wet on his still-pounding head. “Th’fuck.”, he mumbled in disgust, slowly moving to sit up.

“Stay down.”, a low voice growled.

“G’ralt?”

“Don’t want you doing more damage than you already did.”

“Ow.” Jaskier sat up despite Geralts warning because honestly, that’s just the kind of person he was, and one of Geralts old shirts, all wet and bunched up, fell into his lap with a splat. “Huh.”

He heard Geralt sigh. “Stubborn bastard.” Then, Geralts face was only inches away from his own.

“Uh, Geralt.”

“Look at me.” Geralt stared more intently into his eyes.

“You’re scaring me.”, Jaskier mumbled weakly. Focusing on Geralt was exhausting and the sun’s brightness was only making him feel worse.

Geralt straightened up again. “You hit your head yesterday.”

“Is that supposed to be a question?”

“Not if we both know the answer.”

“Right.” Jaskier continued squinting at Geralt. “I might have hit it.”

Geralt let out a big sigh. “Thank you for telling me right away instead of fainting in the middle of our journey.”

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows (which made his head pound more fiercely, but well: worth it). “Are you… being sarcastic right now?”

“You were out for hours, Jaskier.”, Geralt snarled, clearly signalling that he was not to be joked with right now. “Wouldn’t wake.”

“I…”, Jaskier began, before letting his head fall into his hands. “Can we do this when my head does not feel like it’s splitting in two?”

He felt a warm hand on his back, lowering him back down, before it vanished for a second and returned with Geralts wet shirt, draping it over his face. Jaskier sighed in pleasure. The ground beside his sleeping mat rustled and he felt Geralt lowering himself down next to him.

There was awkward silence where Jaskier would normally chatter away. But he was to achy and tired to do so then.

“I should have noticed earlier.”, he heard Geralt grumble after a while, mostly to himself, as it seemed. He frowned.

“Stop, your self-pity is making my head hurt.”

“Your concussion is making your head hurt.”

Jaskier sighed, trying to snuggle closer to Geralt in search of comfort. A big hand settled on his shoulder. “Maybe that, yeah.”, he agreed, putting his own hand over Geralts.

The Witcher breathed out a gentle laugh. “Rest, Jaskier.”

[bonjour-rainycity]

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 16

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639618035738607616/odins-ward-chapter-15

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 1836

Warnings: Brief mentions of death

True age: Y/n: 1449 // Loki: 1575 // Thor: 1827 // Audunn 3213

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 23 // Loki: 25 // Thor: 29// Audunn: 51

Loki’s POV

The trial is brutal.

In the course of his attempt to save his life, Audunn does everything he can to discredit Y/n. He paints her as a liar, a schemer, the mastermind behind the coup, and at one point, even accuses her of sleeping with his servant, Sveinn.

But she faces it with her head held high and takes none of it, delivering her account of the coup honestly and clearly.

She will make a great queen someday, and I can see by the sparkle in his eye that Odin recognizes this too.

In the end, the evidence against Audunn is too damning, and he is sentenced to death, to be carried out in two days time. It comes a shock to no one, except maybe him, and he meets the verdict with false claims of injustice and conspiracy. He has to be dragged from the courtroom.

Y/n watches him go, flinching slightly when he gives her a look of such hatred, I can feel it in my own bones. Thor — the dutiful fiancé — shields her from Audunn’s view.

After we are dismissed, Y/n disappears, and I resist the urge to go looking for her. She probably wishes to be on her own, and I have no right to offer her comfort, anyway. But fate, it seems, has other plans, and a few hours later, I find her sitting in the gardens, absently staring at a light pink flower.

I have to say her name twice before she notices my presence. She looks up, blinking as if working herself out of a daze.

“Oh, hi Loki,” she murmurs, staring at my shoulder rather than my face.

I’ve never seen her like this. The Y/n I know has always had a bite to her, a spark of passion. But the woman before me may as well be a shell of Y/n, for all the light that is in her eyes.

I’m at a complete loss for what to do.

So, without thinking, I conjure a bottle of wine and hold it out to her, sitting next to her on the bench.

She looks between me and the bottle, and then the clouds in her eyes break and she gives a soft laugh. She takes the bottle and drinks deeply, clutching it to her chest when she’s finished. “We cannot solve all our problems with alcohol.”

I try to study her inconspicuously, still concerned for her state of mind. “Yes, but it can take the edge off.”

She chuckles more freely, taking another long drink. “When I am queen, that shall be the cornerstone of my domestic policy — your children might be starving, but here, have something to drink! It’ll take the edge off.” Then, with a noise between a laugh and a sob, she forces the bottle back into my grasp and drops her head into her hands. “Oh my gods. What went wrong, Loki? How did we mess up our lives this badly?”

I shake my head vehemently. I know I’ve screwed up, but she’s done nothing of the sort. “You’ve not done anything wrong.”

“Haven’t I?” She raises her head, and when she looks at me, I can see her eyes brim with tears. “I fell in love with you when I knew I would belong to someone else.”

I furrow my eyebrows, confused as to why she’s upset about something so out of her control. “You didn’t choose to—”

She raises a challenging eyebrow. “I cheated on my husband with you.”

Does she regret that? I try again to stop her self-berating. “That was my fault, I—”

She begins to talk over me, her voice growing more hysterical with every word. “I let an innocent servant be beaten half to death because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. My people were massacred while I relaxed in the bath—”

“—Y/n please, stop this. It isn’t—”

She refuses to be consoled. “I’ve sent my husband to his death. I looked him in the eye and condemned him! And I will never love Thor. He doesn’t deserve that. I’ve taken away his chance at happiness with Jane, I—my chest hurts — I can’t breathe.” She gasps through panicked sobs.

Without thinking, I place the bottle on the ground and gather her in my arms. She clutches at my shirt, shaking and gasping in shallow breaths. We hold onto each other too tightly, like if we relax even slightly, the other will crumble apart.

“Okay,” I try to soothe, my own voice wavering with worry. “Okay, deep breaths.” We draw in air and exhale together. I bring my hand to the back of her head and draw what I hope are calming lines with my thumb. After a few minutes, she regains control of her breathing and leans further into me, visibly exhausted. I lay my cheek against her hair, grateful that she seems to be through the worst of it but knowing she’s not out of the woods yet — I’ve had enough panic attacks to know how volatile they can be. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know.”

As gently as I can, I stand, pulling her with me. “Come.”

She doesn’t protest when I transport us inside her chambers, though she does look a bit sick at all the movement. I walk her to her bed then bring her a glass of water — something I probably should have provided her with initially, instead of the wine.

“I’m sorry,” she nearly whimpers, sagging against the pillows.

Immediately, I shake my head. “There’s no need to apologize. I…”

Don’t do it, I beg myself. Don’t give in…it will only hurt you both. You are undeserving of her love, and probably incapable of giving it back.

But I have always been selfish. I am unable to stop myself from repeating her words to me from a few days ago, showing just how deeply I have taken them to heart. “I am always on your side.”

This seems to calm her. She sighs contentedly, her eyes fluttering shut. Within seconds, she’s asleep.

I know I should leave. But instead of walking out the door like I planned, I find myself settling on the couch facing her bed. Now that Y/n is settled, I take notice of the exhaustion in my own body — sleep frequently eludes me, too. And, without meaning to, I drift off to sleep.

Y/n’s POV

I awake to the soft peals of bells in the distance and the first rays of the sun. For the first time in while, I feel rested. I did not wake once, it seems, and slept soundly from afternoon to early morning.

There’s a figure lying on my couch.

Loki is too long for the small furniture, so he sleeps curled up, wrapped in his cape. He looks so innocent and peaceful that it makes my stomach hurt, because I know those qualities will flee once he wakes. He’s gone through so much. And yes, a good part of it is by his own hand, but still, I ache with the desire to see him well-cared for and happy and free of the weight he keeps himself under.

As if feeling my gaze, he stirs. He stretches out, groaning softly, then sits up straight, blinking to adjust to the limited light.

We stare at each other for a moment before I gather the courage to speak. “Good morning.”

I feel unsure.

How many times had we woken up together, in much more intimate contexts than this?

But this moment…this moment feels dangerous. It teeters on the edge of something familiar, something we could so easily slip back into….

He swallows, holding my gaze with equal gravity.

Then, he breaks it. “I’m sorry. I should not have stayed.” He gets up, and moves to the door.

But I am not ready to let this moment go, and I call after him. “No—I don’t mind. Please, stay.”

He looks at me over his shoulder, uncertainty in his eyes and…hope?

Unsure what exactly compels me to move, I rise from the bed. I take my time walking to him, fearful that if I move too quickly or too loudly, all this will fade away. When I reach him, I stop just short of our shoes touching.

The words I feel so strongly come out as no more than a breath. “I want you to stay.”

Slowly, hesitantly, and with all the force of a brush of air, he takes my hand in his. “We cannot fall back into old habits.” But even as he says this, he steps closer, bringing up his fingers to twine in the ends of my hair.

I’m unable to stop my free hand from running up his chest. He feels so familiar, so solid, so safe. “We would be terrible people to do so.” Somehow, my lips are now only centimeters from his.

His grip tightens in my hair. “I wish I cared about that.” My fingers brush against his neck, and his lips touch mine.

A sharp knock echoes through the room.

I jump, and Loki closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against mine. “Send them away.”

“Yes,” I agree, reluctantly releasing him from my hold and pushing him out of sight. As I walk to my chamber door, I have to blink a few times to steady myself.

Am I really going to do this? Aren’t I strong enough to stop myself?

Do I want to stop myself?

I pull open the door, to reveal a smiling Thor.

Oh gods.

“Thor,” I half-gasp, the excitement and peace I felt just a seconds ago shattering on the ground. “I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting you.”

He eyes my rumpled dress—yesterday’s dress—with amusement. “I can see that.”

I feel heat gather in my cheeks. “Yes, uh…I was so exhausted after yesterday’s events that I fell asleep in the afternoon and only just woke up a few moments ago. I should call Ragna and dress for the day.”

“Perhaps that would be wise,” he agrees politely. “And after, would you be so kind as to join me in the dining hall? I would enjoy sharing breakfast with you.”

“Oh.”

Because he’s my fiancé.

Fiancé’s spend time together.

Former lovers do not.

Oh, I am awful.

I force a too-sunny smile to my face. “Yes, I would like that as well. I shall be there shortly.”

He bows, and brings the back of my hand to his lips for a kiss.

I’m the worst. The shame makes me feel ill.

I close the door. As much as I dread doing so, it is Loki I must send away. Because he is not my intended.

Gathering my resolve, I turn to search for him.

But he is already gone.

A/n Hey everyone, sorry for the month in between posts! I don’t know why, but I just could NOT get myself to write this chapter! But I finally figured out what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it, so here ya go!

Comments, likes, and reblogs mean the world to me! Let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list. 

Masterlist

Link to next part: To be posted

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606 @hiddlebatchedloki @jooordanharrrop @marsbarsboy @damondallysodapopstiles @xwackk

[tiramisiyu]

【未定事件簿】Tears of Themis: Main Story 6-16 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 6 – Tiger’s Accomplice Ghost (Parts 1, 2): 6-1 / 6-3 / 6-5 / 6-7 / 6-9 / 6-11 / 6-13 / 6-15 ♦️ ♦️  6-16 / 6-18 / 6-20 / 6-22 / 6-24 / 6-26 / 6-27 / 6-28 / 6-29

--

NXX Base

On Wednesday morning, Lu Jinghe pushed open the main door to the base’s meeting room.

Lu Jinghe: Hah, I haven’t seen wrong, right? You’re surprisingly here, Mo Yi.

Lu Jinghe lifted his hand and looked at his watch, his meaning self-evident.

Mo Yi: If I said that I have not slept all night, would you also run outside to see where the sun has risen from?

Lu Jinghe: That wouldn’t be necessary. No matter how the sun rises and sets, it all won’t affect me.

Xia Yan: Sure enough, the transmission of data on this wristband has problems.

As if he hadn’t heard Lu Jinghe’s and Mo Yi’s dialogue, only after Xia Yan had finished with the work in his hands did he greet Lu Jinghe.

Xia Yan: You came pretty early.

Xia Yan: Why are you dressed so formally? NXX doesn’t have formalwear work requirements, right.

Lu Jinghe: I’m about to go hold a board meeting at the company – just taking the time to come to the base first to check some materials.

Mo Yi: There are results on the wristband inspection?

Xia Yan: Mhmm. Based on the hardware, the wristband we got from Wang Han doesn’t have any differences from typical health wristbands.

Xia Yan: But looking at the direction of data transmission, it doesn’t only collect in the Heirson examination centre’s cloud health system.

Xia Yan: I’m still tracking the exact recipient address, and I’ve already set up a program to crack it.

Xia Yan: Although it’s hard to estimate how much more time needs to be spent for now.

Xia Yan: If the data flows outside of borders, the time spent on inspection will increase by several times.

Mo Yi: I’ve already done comparative screening through the night on the examination centre’s examination report you gave me yesterday.

Last night, Xia Yan cracked the Heirson examination centre’s encrypted database, getting an examination report that had been partially specifically encrypted.

Mo Yi: From just the chemical experiment indicators, I can preliminarily estimate that the portion of participants with abnormal mental states is very high.

Mo Yi: But there is a very large discrepancy with the severity of their symptoms and their exact illness.

Mo Yi: I did a simple comparison to the cases of abnormal mental states already listed in “X-Note” and was able to find some coinciding people.

Lu Jinghe: So for the next step, you intend to directly contact the people in the cases and investigate their relationship to Heirson?

Mo Yi: That’s right. If we consider Mu Ziyou as a single piece of evidence, we might be able to find more illness cases.

Xia Yan: Lu Jinghe, you… ss…

Xia Yan stood up from in front of the computer, and was about to walk towards Lu Jinghe when he suddenly clutched at his left waist and sucked in a breath.

Lu Jinghe: What happened to you?

Mo Yi: …

Xia Yan: I’m fine, I’m fine. I pulled a muscle from suddenly standing after sitting for a long time.

As he spoke, Xia Yan took out a subdivided medicine container, held up a cup, and ate two pills.

Mo Yi: I saw you eating this medicine last night. What does it treat?

Xia Yan: Medicine? Oh, you’re talking about this?

Xia Yan waved the medicine container.

Xia Yan: This isn’t medicine to treat illnesses. It’s used to wake me up – a Ministry of Security secret formula.

Xia Yan: Agents are also normal people; we’ll also get tired if we haven’t slept all night.

Mo Yi: …

Lu Jinghe: Could you give me two pills? I slept late yesterday, and if I fall asleep at the board meeting later, I’m afraid I’ll get on the news again.

Xia Yan: I can let you eat some, but I can’t let you take the medicine away.

Xia Yan: Who knows if you’ll take it to Pax Pharmaceuticals to analyze the formula and mass produce it? Then I’ll have leaked its secrets.

Lu Jinghe: Aiya, you saw through me. Then I won’t randomly eat those medicines.

Lu Jinghe’s words were said meaningfully, and he also specifically shot a glance at Xia Yan’s medicine container at the end.

Xia Yan: How about you talk about the investigation progress on your side of things.

Lu Jinghe: With Heirson manufacturing illegal medications, Qin Shan wouldn’t be the only person in the know in the entire company.

Lu Jinghe: The backbones of the company, his aides, would probably know.

Lu Jinghe: It’s very hard for Qin Shan to regain consciousness now. I plan to start by checking on the people around him.

Lu Jinghe: And I also have an initial direction regarding exactly how Qin Shan was “poisoned”.

Lu Jinghe took out his phone and displayed a news article on its screen.

Mo Yi: The incident of Heirson staff members jumping from a building?

Lu Jinghe: Correct. A few years ago, news on Heirson factory staff committing suicide due to unbearable work pressure were revealed, one after another, online.

Lu Jinghe: But it seems like it was all heavy thunder with little rainfall. After the news passed its peak, no one ever mentioned it again.

Lu Jinghe: Zuo Ran’s been tracking the Xu Ping case this whole time. Xu Ping was also a Heirson staff member, and he also committed suicide.

Lu Jinghe: Then could there also be something strange about Heirson’s suicide cases from before?

Lu Jinghe: I came to the base because I wanted to check if I could find a list of names on related staff members.

Xia Yan: Speaking of which, we don’t know how the investigation on Zuo Ran’s side is going.

Just as the sound of Xia Yan’s voice fell, the three people took their phones with unplanned, identical timing and opened the chat screen…

--

City Police Station

Today morning, I came with Zuo Ran to the city police station. Yan Wei was still dealing with official business, so he had us wait a bit for him in the office.

MC: I looked through the briefing that Leader Yan sent on my way here.

MC: Xunye’s boss, Zhang Zhian, collaborated with others to rob armored vehicles in non-local areas 15 years ago.

MC: It was also 15 years ago that he fled to Stellis City. After that, the name “Zhang Zhian” disappeared, and it was replaced with “Qing Zhian”.

MC: The person who created a fake identity was called Gu Wei.

Zuo Ran: This Gu Wei is the deceased husband of Chen Hanzhang, and the founder of Wiley Financial.

MC: Deceased husband?

I had never paid attention to Chen Hanzhang’s marriage status, so it was somewhat surprising when being brought up now. I was just about to ask Zuo Ran when my phone suddenly vibrated several times in succession.

MC: What’s the matter…

I turned on my phone and took a look – Xia Yan, Mo Yi, and Lu Jinghe had sent messages to me individually.

Zuo Ran: What is it, have you encountered an issue?

MC: No, it’s just that the three of them all sent messages, asking me how the investigation process was going.

Zuo Ran: …

MC: Weird, they could’ve just directly asked in the group chat, so why’d they send messages individually.

I held up my phone and directly responded to the three of them in the NXX group chat.

--

[MC]: Morning everyone.

[Xia Yan]: Morning, have you eaten breakfast?

[Mo Yi]: Good morning. Are you already working?

[Lu Jinghe]: Morning, jiejie, where are you right now?

>I ate breakfast >I’m already working >I’m at the police station

[MC]: Of course I’ve eaten breakfast – Lawyer Zuo specially made it for me.

[Xia Yan]: So it looks like you ate breakfast on the way? That’s not too good.

[Mo Yi]: Mhmm, I agree about that.

[Lu Jinghe]: If you said earlier that you would be eating on the way, I could’ve had the chef at my place make some and sent it over to you.

[Zuo Ran]: The next time you want to know about the investigation progress, then directly ask in the group chat, so communication will be more efficient.

 >I ate breakfast >I’m already working >I’m at the police station

[MC]: Mhmm! I’ve already started work. Lawyer Zuo and I came to meet an important witness.

[Mo Yi]: Witness? Looks like Xu Ping’s package isn’t that easy to get.

[Xia Yan]: Do side issues keep coming up?

[Lu Jinghe]: Can you confirm that package is in Xu Ping’s hands? Don’t get deceived.

[Zuo Ran]: The next time you want to know about the investigation progress, then directly ask in the group chat, so communication will be more efficient.

  >I ate breakfast >I’m already working >I’m at the police station

[MC]: I’m with Lawyer Zuo at the city station – there’s an important witness we need to meet.

[Lu Jinghe]: Going to the police station this early? You’re working way too hard.

[Xia Yan]: Is your work schedule really reasonable? You got back that late yesterday, and you’re running around so early today.

[Mo Yi]: If you stayed at the base to organize data, you might have been able to relax more.

[Zuo Ran]: The next time you want to know about the investigation progress, then directly ask in the group chat, so communication will be more efficient.

>Case progress

[MC]: Since you were all asking about the case progress, I’ll just tell you all together rather than responding to you all one by one.

[MC]: Xu Ping’s package really is with that person called Zhao Fei, but he refuses to directly give it to us.

[MC]: We’re investigating a case related to illegal drugs. After we figure it out, we should be able to get the package.

[Zuo Ran]: There is an account record of Heirson raw materials in the package – it’s very important evidence.

>Ask about everyone’s progress

[MC]: Has everyone’s investigations been smooth?

[Xia Yan]: Of course it’s been smooth. I’ll tell you about the battle results after you return!

[Mo Yi]: It has been very productive, but the upcoming investigation will require your assistance.

[Lu Jinghe]: I’ve noticed something new. I’ll update you on the info after you’re done working.

>Leader Yan has come >NXX is lacking in manpower

[MC]: Ah, Leader Yan is here, let’s chat later.

[MC]: Lawyer Zuo and I will head off first to meet the witness.

[Mo Yi]: I hope it goes smoothly.

[Xia Yan]: You absolutely must not work too hard – pay attention to your health.

[Lu Jinghe]: Jiejie, remember to give me a call if you need me to help anywhere.

[Zuo Ran]: We’ll head off first. Leave a message if you all have something to say.

 >Leader Yan has come >NXX is lacking in manpower

[MC]: Everyone’s work is quite saturated. I seriously think we need new people.

[Mo Yi]: It’s not just anyone who has the qualifications to join NXX. I’d rather we lack than have shoddy options.

[Xia Yan]: I think it’s fine. We can absolutely deal with the work amount we have now.

[Lu Jinghe]: As long as we schedule it reasonably, the people we have now is sufficient. Jiejie, don’t worry.

[Zuo Ran]: Leader Yan is here, so we’re going to go meet the witness. Leave a message if you all have something to say.

--

MC: Morning, Leader Yan.

Yan Wei: You two have arrived – you’ve worked hard.

Yan Wei, who had arrived at the office, had an expression full of weariness – he’d probably been dealing with cases the whole night at the police station without resting.

Zuo Ran: You just finished a surprise interrogation?

Yan Wei: We’d finished interrogating the person a long while ago, but while suspects can sleep, the police cannot.

Yan Wei: Time’s tight. I’ll tell you both about Qing Zhian’s situation first.

Yan Wei: Beyond our expectations, he was cooperative. Too bad that he doesn’t know much – he’s likely just a peripheral person in Chen Hanzhang’s gang.

Yan Wei: Plus… Zuo Ran, have you heard of the “Tiger’s Accomplice Ghost”?

[bumbleberrysky]

alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03

pairing: gabriel x reader genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs) wc: 3.7k rating: sfw warnings: none really

You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…

Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.

prev. || next

“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”

You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.

“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”

And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.

Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.

“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.

“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”

You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.

You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.

“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.

“I’m home! And I brought food!”

Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.

x     x

 The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.

It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.

After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.

You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively—

So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?

It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.

To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.

Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.

You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.

“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—

“y/n? Are you alright?”

The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”

“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”

You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.

“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”

Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.

The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”

“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!

(Pavlov would be proud of you.)

Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.

“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”

Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.

“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”

Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”

The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”

He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”

You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”

x     x

Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.

For the better, you think. Well, you hope.

He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.

To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ‘hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.

The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.

Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.

The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.

“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”

“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”

Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”

“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”

“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”

You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”

Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.

Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?

You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.

You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.

x     x

The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.

You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.

Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.

It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.

You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.

Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.

“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”

“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”

“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”

“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”

“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”

The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.

“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”

Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”

Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”

Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.

“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”

You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.

Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.

“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”

Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.

“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”

You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.

“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”

“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”

It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.

“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”

Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.

You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.

Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!

prev. || next.

[ninak803]

So I wrote another thing! I try to write something happy the next time, I promise! But for now I just have this. Also this turned out much longer than I expected. I hope you enjoy it never the less!

A huge thank you to @heyitssmiller for helpin me through the weird english punctuation problem! And also for encouraging me to post it!

The Prank

“Re, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry…” Sirius said abashedly.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Remus shouted at Sirius. 

“I wasn’t thinking, I just -”

“That’s damn right! You weren’t thinking at all!” Remus interrupted him, his voice still raised. “Sirius Fucking Black didn’t think about what he was going to do! He didn't think of the consequences his stupid idea might have! Because he never gives a damn about consequences! I trusted you! And you just abused my trust like that! I’m so done with all your shit! And I tell you what. I’m done with you. We’re done.”

Sirius looked up at him, his face full of concern and pain. Remus had never shouted at him before, but then he’d never been that angry with Sirius. Right now he was just so damn irate. It was the day after the full moon and he could still feel the wolf under his skin, trying to gain some control over him, feeding on his anger, pushing it further.

“I know, you have every right to be angry with me, just let me…” Sirius started to say, but Remus interrupted him again.

“Save it, Black. I don’t want to hear anymore of your sad excuses. Save it.”

Remus took a deep breath, then looked over Sirius' shoulder to James, who was standing in the background, his head low, looking to the ground, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Thank you, for making him tell me. And for having my back.” Remus said directed at James. 

He looked up from the ground as Remus spoke to him, and smiled a bit, then nodded.

They were standing in the middle of their dorm, Remus just came back from the hospital wing. The air was thick, filled with rage and regret.

Remus walked over to his bed and sat down. 

“Come on now, Sirius.” James said. 

Sirius gave Remus a desperate look again, Remus was sure he wanted to say something. Wanted to explain himself again. But then he left the dorm with James.

Remus exhaled.

How did this happen? Why did Sirius do this? How could Remus have been so stupid to tell them his darkest secret? He should’ve known that something bad would happen. Something like that. Sirius went to Snape and told him to go to the Shack. On a full moon. While Remus was in there, transforming into a damn werewolf. If James wouldn’t have stopped Snape, Remus would’ve killed him! And now Snape knew. He knew what Remus was. He really should’ve known better.

He clenched his hands and punched against his bedpost, trying to find an outlet for his anger. Then he stood up again, took off his pants and layed back on his bed. He closed the curtains around it. 

He knew something was wrong, when he woke up all alone in the Shack that morning. He still felt the wolf inside him, who complained that he was all alone that night, all his friends missing, especially the large, black dog. And now both of them were angry, the wolf and Remus. 

He took another deep breath, trying to calm himself down a bit. He had to sleep. Everything was hurting right now, every muscle, every bone inside his body were still aching from the transformation. And now his heart was also hurting after everything today.

He closed his eyes, trying to find some rest. 

After a while the exhaustion overwhelmed him and he fell into a dark, dreamless sleep.

He didn’t know how long he had slept, but the feeling of betrayal came back a split second after he woke up. He heard footsteps coming closer to his bed, then they stopped right in front of it.

“Leave him be, Sirius.” James whispered in an admonishing tone. “You really did enough today. He needs to rest, you know that. Go to bed.”

Remus could hear a small sigh from Sirius, then he heard him walking over to his own bed. He heard the rustling of bedsheets, while both James and Sirius went to bed. 

He couldn’t fall asleep again and he knew Sirius wasn’t sleeping either. He could hear Sirius’ breathing, not even enough to be asleep. Serves him just right. 

Remus swallowed hard. The anger faded away a bit, just to leave more room for feeling betrayed, feeling the pain of a broken heart. He had trusted him, with his life. Remus wiped away the tears that appeared on his face.

He took out his wand and casted a silencing spell over his bed, just to make sure no one would hear him. It’s been a while since he felt the urge to cry himself back into sleep, but tonight was such a night. And after all that happened, who would judge him for that? So he cried over his broken heart, the broken trust, the friend he’d lost, his uncertain future.

He weeped until exhaustion swept over him and he fell asleep once again.

Remus woke up as a hand gently touched his shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked into James’ face. 

“Sorry, Re, but I thought you’d like some breakfast before classes.” James said with a small smile on his face.

Remus nodded. 

“Thanks for waking me up…” Remus yawned and set up. He tried to look around James to see if the dorm was empty already. He really didn’t want to see Sirius.

James knew what he was looking for and said: “He’s not here, he left really early. I’m not sure if he slept at all.”

Remus stood up and shrugged.

“I really don’t care if he ever sleeps again. He better stays out of my way.”

And that was the problem. How do you stay out of someone's way if you’re literally living together? They shared a dorm, a bathroom, they had the same classes. 

Remus went into the bathroom, brushed his teeth and changed into his clothes. Then he went into the Great Hall for breakfast with James. 

Luckily Sirius wasn’t here. Remus just realised how hungry he really was. He skipped lunch and dinner yesterday, so he had to make it up now. He was really glad that James woke him, so he had enough time for a real breakfast.

Their first class today was Transfiguration. He went to the classroom with James and Peter, just to see Sirius was already sitting there. On his usual spot. Remus stopped, swallowed and looked at Peter.

“Let’s change seats today, Wormtail.” he said to Peter.

The other boy nodded, he knew what had happened of course. So Peter willingly took Remus’ seat next to Sirius and Remus took his seat. He was sitting now three places away from Sirius, which still wasn’t enough. 

The anger he had pushed down so far, came back just as strong as it was yesterday. Is this how things are going to be now? Will his heart always break apart a bit more, when he sees Sirius? Remus took a mental note: Never fall in love with your roommate again, it’s going to end bad and you’ll suffer a lot. 

He changed seats with Peter in all the other classes too and Sirius obviously didn’t like that. 

Remus skipped lunch that day, he stayed in the library between classes to do some research for his History of Magic homework, so when he finally went to dinner that night he was starving. He delayed going back to the Great Hall as long as he could, because he really dreaded to see Sirius there, surrounded by all the other people. They somehow had to act normal, didn’t they? Otherwise there would be so many questions. Questions he would rather not answer. 

When he entered the Hall, Sirius was still sitting there, next to him James and Peter. Remus went over to them and took a seat next to Lily, across from James. 

“Sorry, I’m late. I’ve been working on some homework.” he said, taking some food. 

“You must be hungry, I haven’t seen you during lunchtime” Lily said.

Remus nodded.

“Yeah, I had to catch up on the stuff I missed, when I was ill.” he smiled at Lily.

She smiled back at him genuinely.

He talked with Lily, James and Peter for the rest of dinner. Sirius didn’t say a single word. Remus didn’t look at Sirius once. Why should he have?

In the middle of the conversation about their potions homework, Sirius suddenly stood up and left the hall without a word. 

Lily frowned. 

“He’s acting weird today, isn’t he?” she asked. 

James shrugged. 

“He’s fine.”

Remus knew this was a lie, but he was relieved, that Sirius finally had left. He took a deep breath and finished his dinner.

Back in the common room, he told the others that he was tired and went up to their dorm. He didn’t know where Sirius was, he was neither in the common room nor in the dorm. 

Remus sat down on his bed. 

He’d felt Sirius’ looks on him all day. Remus had seen the desperation and the guilt on Sirius' face out of the corner of his eye. Remus didn’t look at him directly. He didn’t speak to him. Sirius didn’t deserve it.

So Remus finished some homework, then laid down in his bed, curtains closed. But he didn’t sleep. 

He kept thinking about Sirius and how he just gave everything what they had away so easily. Sirius was furious with Snape, because of some stupid thing he said or did. He wanted to give Snape something to think about. Scare him a bit.

Remus shook his head. He knew Sirius was impulsive, but he’d never thought he would do something that stupid. But that’s how you can be mistaken in someone you trust.  

He heard the others entering the dorm quietly, trying not to wake him. 

He fell asleep shortly afterwards.

That’s how the next days and weeks went by. Sirius was already gone, when Remus got up. They didn’t meet until their first lesson. They didn’t talk, Remus didn’t even look at him. Sirius still gazed at him all the time, his pain becoming more visible every day. But Remus didn’t care. Sirius should suffer.

During lunch and dinner Remus stayed as far away from Sirius as possible. Remus talked  a lot with Lily and Mary about homework and classes. They knew something was terribly wrong, but didn’t ask him questions. Maybe James told them roughly what happened, at least a version of it. He really liked the girls and they did a good job at distracting him from this whole mess. 

Most of his free time Remus spent in the library, learning for his exams or doing his homework. He tried to occupy his mind as much as possible, so he didn’t have the time to think. Otherwise he would just start to think about Sirius, how he missed his laughs, his jokes, his touches, their late night conversations. And how things are never going to be the same again. And then his thoughts would just end up in a loop and he wouldn’t get any of his work done. And feel truly depressed.

Additionally he was really sorry for James. He knew James suffered a lot due to this situation. He wanted to be loyal to Remus, James was angry with Sirius too, but Sirius still was his best friend. And his best friend had a really hard time and also needed his help. So things were quite complicated between the marauders at the moment. 

At nights, Remus was lying in his bed, thinking about all the things he denied himself to think about during daytime, the things that went all wrong. So unsurprisingly, he didn’t get much sleep, his thoughts kept him awake almost every night.

Remus was sitting in the library on a Saturday evening, working on his Transfiguration essay, when James sat down next to him.

“Hey.” he said, sounding concerned.

“What’s up?” Remus asked, putting his feather quill  away.

James was chewing on his lip, before he said: “I know, it’s not your problem and I have no right to ask you that, but… I don’t know where Sirius is. He wasn’t at breakfast, lunch or dinner today. The last time I saw him was yesterday, before we went to bed. He took the cloak and the map with him… Do you have any idea where he might be?”

Remus looked at James' worried face, then sighed.

“I have an idea. I’ll check that for you, okay?”

“Thank you, Moony. Thank you.” James sounded relieved already.

Remus smiled a little, stood up and put his books and his quill back into his bag.

“I tell him to go to talk to you.”

Then he left the library. 

Remus went to the lake. He and Sirius had spent a lot of summer days here, in the shadow of a large tree. Those were very joyful days, days he tried not to think about right now.

When he came closer to that tree, he could hear someone's heartbeat, but the place was supposedly empty. He sat down, next to where Sirius had to be.

“I know, you’re there Sirius.” Remus said, looking at the water. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sirius appear out of thin air. Remus kept looking at the water, while Sirius looked at him.

“Stop being such a dick. James is worried, you’re not fair to him.” Remus said, looking at Sirius finally. 

He could see him swallow hard. His face was pale, the struggle of the last weeks clearly written all over his face. The look on his face broke Remus’ heart just a bit more, if that was even possible. Sirius opened his mouth to say something, but Remus held his hand up to stop him.

“Whatever you have to say, I still don’t want to hear it. I’m here, because James asked me to look for you. I’m not here because I want to talk to you. Go back and talk to James. Soon.” Remus stood up and left, he didn’t turn around for another look at Sirius. He had to take some deep breaths, that was harder than he’d thought it would be. He still loved him, after all.

He went into the Common room, where James was waiting.

“I found him. Told him to talk to you.” Remus said.

“Thank you, Remus.”

Remus just nodded and went straight to bed after that.

The next day, when he entered the dorm after dinner, there was a piece of parchment lying on his bed. He opened it and it showed Sirius neat and flawless handwriting. It said:

Dear Remus,

I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I beg you to read my letter. Please read what I have to say to you.

I am so incredibly sorry for what I did. You were right. I didn’t think about the consequences this might have. I should have just ignored what Snape said, like you told me so often to do. I know that now. I knew I made a mistake the moment I told him to go to the Shack. There was just no way to unsay what I said. So I went straight to James and told him what I’ve done. He ran off at once and saved Snape. James always knows what to do, you know how he is. He had to save my ass way too many times. 

But what I did there was the biggest mistake I ever made. And I will forever regret it. There’s no way to tell you how sorry I am, Moony. I really am.

You’re not talking to me, you’re not even looking at me and it’s killing me. Every day. And I deserve it. Every time I hear your voice my heart breaks, because I know there is no way you’re ever talking to me again. Not because you want to talk to me, just when someone makes you talk to me. 

I miss you. I miss us. I miss everything we had. And I hate myself for destroying everything, just because of my stupid pride. 

I have no right to ask you for forgiveness, so I’m not asking for it. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not hoping for it. And I try to make it up to you, I know I can’t, but I try anyway. Every day for the rest of my life.

You’re the best person I know, Remus. You’re so loving, full of life, smart, funny, sarcastic (which is really sexy by the way) and you’re the most caring person I know. And you’re beautiful, Moony, just so damn beautiful. You’re gorgeous. 

You’re the best thing I ever had in my life and I don’t know how I earned your trust in the first place. 

I know you regret trusting me now. But I’ll do my best to show you that you can trust me. Something like that will never happen again. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, I know. But I can’t undo it, so I have to show you how sorry I am. I’ll never stop trying.

I know I’m fighting against windmills here, because there just is no way you’re ever going to forgive me and that’s alright. I don’t deserve it any better. I wouldn’t forgive myself if I were you. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did. 

This letter is a bit chaotic, because there’s so much I want to say and I just don’t know how. You’re the one who’s good with words, that’s another thing I love about you. You just always know how to express what you’re feeling, I wish I could do that right now. 

I love you, Moony. I will love you forever, nothing’s going to change that. Nothing.

Once again, I’m so sorry for what I did. 

Love, 

Sirius

Remus swallowed hard after he read the letter for the first time. His head was spinning. He could see Sirius in his mind, bend over his desk, his feather quill in his hand, writing this letter. He could see him, chewing on his bottom lip while thinking about his phrasing, then write it down anyway.

Remus had to take some deep breaths to calm himself a little. He missed Sirius deeply. There’s no way to deny that. But he’s just so disappointed, he’s hurt. 

Remus sat down on his bed, the letter still in his hand. He read it three more times, feeling more dissolved every time.

He looked up as the door to their dorm opened and Sirius stepped in. He stopped in the door, seeing Remus with his letter in his hand. Remus swallowed hard and saw Sirius doing the same. They looked at each other, the tension rising in the room.

Remus crawled into his bed, closing his curtains around it, the letter still clutched in his hand. He wasn’t ready for this encounter right now. He heard Sirius leaving the room without a word.

Remus was sitting in the Great Hall for breakfast. Sirius was sitting across from him. It’s been a week since Remus read the letter. Sirius showed up for the breakfasts since then.

“James, would you please hand me the butter?” Sirius asked.

Remus pushed the butter a bit further in Sirius' direction. He looked up at Sirius, to see a small glint in his eyes, a smile playing around his lips.

“Thanks, Moony” he said quietly.

Remus nodded, then looked back on his plate.

It was just a small gesture, but Sirius kept smiling the whole day. Maybe things are going to be okay, someday.

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episodes 5 and 6 (Repost)

“The problem with some people is that when they aren't drunk they're sober.” — William Butler Yeats

With Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha’s premise largely settled, its third pair of episodes move forward to deal with the aftermath of the previous week’s intoxication. Drunk and blacked out by the strength of alcohol, Hyejin wakes up next to Dusik. It’s as much a shock to her as it is to Gongjin’s tight-knit community, who, being in the right place and time, discover the issue and spread the rumor like wildfire. It’s a hilarious sequence, one that includes an embarrassing recollection of the good dentist’s trippy, drunken ways. It also sets up awkward conversations with the townsfolk, especially with Dusik being the other half of the scandal.

Hyejin wants to squelch the gossip. Dusik, however, seems cavalier about it. Their different attitudes inform much of the tension that fills Episode 5. What Homcha does so well at this juncture, however, is to pit these contrasting views, reactions, and responses of our leads to challenge our own. Hyejin, for instance, thinks of herself so highly as a woman of the city that she wouldn’t be caught dead being associated with Dusik, let alone rumored to have slept with him. It’s an uncomfortable judgment made against the seemingly flawless Renaissance man of Gongjin. He doesn’t take it lightly and calls out Hyejin for being narrow-minded.

But in hindsight, it’s not farfetched to sympathize with Hyejin. When we find out her condescension towards Dusik was not warranted given the man’s prestigious educational background, we also learn of her experience being looked down upon by a man. The man also happened to be her ex-boyfriend. This painful memory — unearthed by Miseon’s tactlessness — reveals the motives behind Hyejin’s views. She’s not just a woman driven by ambition and defined by material success. She’s not just a daughter grieving the early death of a mother. She’s also a human being that had to deal with social disadvantages, which led to her being ridiculed. Those negative experiences continue to influence and shape her persona seen best in her insecurities.

Dusik — well-read and well-educated — should have been the first person to recognize the scars behind Hyejin’s wounded ways. Hyejin is entitled to feel the way she does, without a man he’s practically just met prodding her to come out of her ‘shell’. This is where Dusik’s single-mindedness becomes a flaw. After all, he has his own skeletons in the closet. He knows enough about loss and pain to recognize its symptoms in other people. He surely would have sensed how uncomfortable Hyejin is being the subject of a small town’s raunchy rumors. There’s something else lurking behind the Dusik’s unbridled heroism and his confusing and flippant behavior around Hyejin. For instance, when Cheonjae suggests he finds a partner, he brushes it off and changes the conversation. Why the evasion? Why these apprehensions?

Like any good show, Homcha isn’t in any hurry to give answers. But we do get clues. First, there is that mysterious picture that bookmarks one of Dusik’s books. It’s probably connected to another hint — his visits to a shrink concerning a recurring nightmare. Dusik’s past looms ominously over his present. Lastly, we learn that summer night drinking fancy wine didn’t end only with a stoned Hyejin wrecking hangover havoc across Gongjin’s empty evening streets. It was capped with something less theatrical but more intimate — a kiss.

Kisses, they say, are far more intoxicating. And its effects are clear on both our dentist and jack-of-all-trades on Episode 6. Now that Hyejin remembers their lips-to-lips, we get to understand a little more about Dusik’s strategy. If he has been deliberately coy, it was an attempt to bury Hyejin’s memory of that kiss. But Dusik being Dusik, he pursues in taking down Hyejin’s defenses. If Hyejin can be contrary as a woman, then Dusik can be contradictory with his dilly-dallying, too. His newfound philosophy revolves around the idea of taking risks, crossing boundaries, getting drenched in the rain every now and then. It’s a romantic prospect but one that reduces Hyejin to another one of Dusik’s projects it seems. And yet, it’s an approach that doesn’t seem out of character, too.

Homcha subtly peels away the perfect facade of Mr. Hong, highlighting the man’s little foibles with every episode. Yes, he’s tremendously kind. Yes, he’s exceptionally good at everything. But he’s human, too, with anxieties and errors in judgment. We see more of the latter whenever he’s around Hyejin, which tells me behind the gallant exterior of Gongjin’s favorite son is a man either unsure of how to dance with a woman he obviously likes or afraid to step on his lover’s feet. Why? He knows the cha cha cha takes practice, right, and a willing partner, too? Had he failed in this dance before?

Hyejin yields to Dusik’s credo but not fully. She is her own woman, after all. Yes, she gets jealous and annoyed with Dusik’s cheekiness. But she can also be defiant by letting everyone know her displeasure at being rumored as Sikhye or in telling off Dusik as he tried to bring Juri home. Dusik will have to deal with Hyejin’s tantrums because he simply cannot stubbornly “fix” her or “work” on her as a side hustle. We’re talking about two people navigating the unsteady paths of life and love as grown-ups. They’ll need to grope the steps of their choreography. That takes time.

But they’ll have to get it right, soon. Ji Seong-hyun (Lee Sang-yi) has arrived in town, which makes for interesting love triangle fodder. Seonghyun, however, is exceptionally likable. A bit naive and with a megawatt smile, he also offers the unpleasant advantage of having known Hyejin for longer, including being a witness to that pivotal rejection she suffered from her ex. While we all know the fate of second leads, I look forward to how Seonghyun’s presence shifts dynamics and allegiances in a town known for impulsive, gossip-mongering residents. Does he prance away with the lady? Or will Cinderella’s final dance be with Dusik?

Speaking of dancing, we see a lot of it in arguably one of the show’s highlights so far — the festival. It’s an event that brings together our favorite characters in a wholesomely wild and merry night. With all of them in one stage, it’s easier to appreciate how Homcha has successfully balanced all the story arcs so far.

But it’s becoming clear Gongjin’s narratives, though varied, are all threaded by one thing — pain.

The drama sheds light on these aches using both humor and gravitas. With Miseon, we find comic relief in her frequent, ill-timed, and embarrassing stomach aches. Juri’s pain, on the other hand, draws close comparison with Hyejin’s loss of her mother. Her rebelliousness is rooted in the stifling parenting of Cheonjae who tries too hard to offer both father and mother figures to Juri. It’s a father-daughter struggle that sees Cheonjae accepting Juri becoming her own young lady, leaving behind his own dreams to support Juri’s own.

And of course, there’s Hwajung and Youngguk’s post-divorce relationship, one complicated further with the return to Gongjin of Youngguk’s first love, Cho-Hui (Hong Ji-Hee). It’s an arrival that isn’t exactly welcome, and one that causes Hwajung to clench her jaws and writhe in pain. Like Seonghyun, Chohui can win a congeniality award with her smile. Hwajung describes her as kind to a fault. But there’s something amiss with this love triangle, and if theories prove true, we may be in for a surprise.

See, underneath the picturesque and coastal idyll of Gongjin are tales of trauma and tragedy. We sense that the town’s folksy air draws its warmth from the burning embers of its people’s pasts. Homcha is unafraid to weave the growing affections between Mr. Hong and Dr. Yoong using these sorrow-tainted fabrics, while only lightly reassuring us that even yesterdays have tomorrows. Surrounding Dusik and Hyejin are equally deep entanglements of human relationships — from a man trying to be the best father for her daughter to an iron-willed lady silently figuring out her place in the present as the past returns. It’s interesting how all these stories will tie together in the coming weeks.

For now, we can only make assumptions in search of our own catharsis. But we will have to be hurt, too. If Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha claims to offer healing, then we must get wounds first, right?

[yeeiguess]

Okay. I need your help. So, I have an idea for a fanfic. It’s been in my notes for like a year at that point but the thing is, I don’t have a plot.

So I’m going to put what I wrote under the « read more », and if anyone has any idea on how I could use that idea in a fic please tell me ?

It’s for bnha, cantered around Denki, no ships with canon characters. Talks about reincarnation, past lives etc.

CW/TW for mention of death, fatal illness, war

I’ve had a lot of bad lives.

Lots of lives that ended in pain and sorrow, whew I was alone or sick or sad. Lots of lives where I hurt more than I soothed, where I made bad decisions and bad choices.

I’ve had a lot of good lives, too. Where things weren’t so bad, where I had lovers and friends and a job that felt right, and the education I wanted to have. Lives where I could hold my lovers hand in the streets without fearing for my life, life where red hair wasn’t a death sentence anymore. Better lives, better than the last.

None of them compare to this one. I’ve always known about my past lives- the memories are engraved in my mind, never leaving me. I know things I learnt lifetimes ago, I feel things I’ve felt a hundred time.

This time, I decided to live. Really. To forget the other lives I lived, to stop being stuck with past lovers and past friends, to go forward.

It’s not always easy. Sometimes I wake up and the words out of my mouth are in a language I shouldn’t know, and sometimes an action throws me back to a time where a similar thing happened. A sunset on a beach and I’m a pirate, short light hair and there’s a hand in mine.

I’ve fought a lot. I’ve been in a lot of battles, through the years. All different. But I’ve learnt to fight, and sometimes in hero training it all comes back and I can taste iron on my tongue and tears on my face, from the people I lost.

Sometimes I can’t sleep, the memory of parents and children and friends too strong, to recent to forget. There’s always pain, no matter how long ago it was. I draw them a lot. Everyone I can remember. Childhood friends, captains, managers, therapists, every face that come to mind. I know I won’t forget them, of course, I’ve never forgotten anyone important. Still, I draw them. There’s so many people- pages and pages and pages filled with faces and names.

This time around isn’t easy. The first years are okay, normal even. High school starts, and I get in and it’s awesome. Then there’s the LOV and the villains. I fight like I learnt, I worry for others and promise myself that I won’t die now, not so early. I’ve died young too many times already. It doesn’t matter; my past doesn’t matter. The future does. I work for that.

The first time I see Eri and I try to talk to her, she seems uncomfortable. We’re in the common room of the dorm and she’s sitting in front of me, on the opposite couch. She keeps sending me looks and I don’t know what to do with that. Is my hair weird ? No, I brushed it. I check in my phone to make sure I don’t have anything on my face. I don’t.

Mina seems to notice, and she asks the girl.

“Eri, sweetie, why do you keep looking at him ? Is there a problem ?”

I send my friend a silent thanks.

Eri blushes and squirms in her place, embarrassed. She looks at me.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable ?”

“Uhm, my quirk is- is- it wants to touch you...”

Oh.

“What’s your quirk ?”

“It reverses time.”

I get up so fast the people next to me flinch.

“Ah, okay, sorry. I’ll go.”

I’m almost at the door when her voice pearks up again.

« I’m sorry ! It’s never happened before. »

I smile, and I know it looks forced. It is.

« Don’t worry about this. I’m the one who’s sorry. »

I leave the room as fast I can.

From what I know, no one remember their past lives.

I have no idea what could happen if she used her quirk on me. And I don’t want to find out.

That night, I don’t sleep. I spend hours tossing and turning in my bed, names I knew on my lips, the phantom touch of people I loved on my skin. I go through every drawing, the oldest, most clumsy ones, to the latest. I cry for them, for my kids, my parents, my friends, my lovers. When the sun rise outside, I’m laying on the floor, chest heavy with pain and notebooks scattered all over.

Days pass, and I’m in the common room. It’s dark already. Night fell a few hours ago, and the dorms are silent. I’m drawing again, a soldier I was friend with during a war. I remember the fear and the pain, wondering if we’d ever come home, games played between fires, and the day I lost him.

I’m so focused on what I’m doing, the shape of his face (god, we were so young), that I don’t hear the footsteps behind me.

« Who is it ? »

I jump so hard that I throw my pencil on the other side of the room. Notebook clutched to my chest, I allow myself a few deep breathes before I turn around to the intruder.

And then some sort of plot idea I tried to put together :

(And suddenly, with a gush of wind and the song of a bell, she’s here. She’s here, exactly like I remember her. She’s wearing one of her favourite dresses, and her dark hair curls on her back like I remember it. She looks around, confused and scared and I can feel myself move. 

« Denki ! Stay here, we don’t know who she is ! » 

« I know her. »

I don’t hear their surprised exclamations. I walk slowly toward her. She turns to look at me and says something in a language I haven’t spoken in a long time.

« What is this ? Who are you ? »

« It’s okay, Allita. It’s me, Jean. »

« What ? How do you know my name- you’re not Jean ! »

« I am. It’s me. »

I stand in front of her. She looks at me, searching in my eyes. She’s a bit taller than me this time. We got married when we were very young, and I know she’s older now. I extend my hands slowly toward her like we used to, and she takes them with hesitation. When our skin finally touch, though, I see her understand.

« It’s really you. »

« It’s me. »

« But I remember you.. I remember you dying, Jean. I cleaned your grave yesterday again. »

« Something happened here. We are… in the future. Most people can do magic- it’s not a witch thing, love, don’t be afraid. »

« Magic ? Jean, that’s so dangerous ! »

« I’ll protect you. I’ll protect you, this time, I’ll stay here. »

« Are the children with you ? »

I can still remember their faces and the way they laughed, carefree and happy.

« No, they’re not here. I haven’t seen them in a really, really long time. »

She looks confused for a second before her face scrunched up in pain.

« How far are you... we, from... from our time ? »

I squeeze her hands, glup my saliva.

« We’re far. I’m sorry. We’ll get you back, alright ? You’ll be home soon. »

« I... Jean, I can’t... »

« It’s gonna be okay, Love. »

I caress her cheek and she closes her eyes. She cries, falls in my arms and murmurs a name that once belonged to me. )

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Twenty Six

“Malfoy?” Ron repeats, “what about him Harry? What about Hermione?” He pleads. 

“It was her, it was Hermione.” He clarified. 

“But I thought-“ Neville starts. 

“It’s Voldemort, our connection or whatever. Hermione is the one who did it this time. She brought me up, he thought of me, and well.” He explained with a shiver. 

“But I thought he warned her. Said someone would d- someone would get hurt if she did that again.” Ron asked worriedly, not wanting to even think about Hermione and death together. 

Harry reluctantly nods, “I know but she had to tell me something.” 

“What was it?” Neville asked. 

“Malfoy. That was all she said, it was like, it was like she couldn’t speak properly. She sounded so...” he shivered, not willing himself to finish, “but that means I was right Ron, Malfoy, he’s got something to do with all this.” Though Draco wasn’t specifically mentioned, Harry was desperate to push his theory. 

Shockingly, Ron didn’t protest, “Look, Harry, there’s something I’ve been keeping from you.” 

The chosen one eyed him, silently imploring himself to go on. 

“Well, since we’ve been back at school I reckon you might be right.” 

“Why?” Harry asks. 

“That day on the train, during the Prefect’s meeting, Malfoy told Katie Bell that Hermione was ‘taking some time away with her family’,” he air quoted, “at first I thought maybe he just heard us, I dunno, but then I started having these dreams.” 

“The ones that’ve been waking you up?” Neville cut in. 

Ron nodded, “yeah, I mean I know it’s just a dream, but every time it starts with Malfoy telling me he knows something about Hermione. That along with his fathers track record, your suspicions, and now this, well...” 

“We need to check his room.” Harry said, like it was simple. 

“What? Harry, are you mental? How in the hell would we swing that.” Ron cried out. 

“No, listen,” he stands from the floor, causing the other two to rise, “we know where the entrance is from second year. We’ll make sure Malfoy is on rounds. I’ll have the map to see if anyone’s coming. We’ll be under my cloak.” Harry explains. 

“Yeah and what about his roommates? Or the password?” Ron asks. 

“He bunks with who? Zabini, Crabbe, and Goyle? Well, there has to be a night Quidditch and rounds meet, yeah? We’ll do it then. Neville, you can stay on the pitch just in case.” Harry looks at him. 

Neville nods. Sure, he hasn’t got the full story on what happened, but he’s willing to help anyway he can. 

“Fine.” Ron agreed, only doing this for Hermione and not to entertain Harry’s theory, “when?” 

“I don’t know whenever it works with the Quidditch schedule and rounds.” 

“Here, I have the schedule. I need to know when the pitch is free to practice flying.” Neville admits sheepishly as he searches his trunk for the parchment, “here it is!” 

He hands it over to Harry as Ron grabs the prefect’s schedule. They hold the two sheets side by side, Neville over their shoulder. 

Ron meets his friend's eyes, “tomorrow.” 

...

The three wake early the next morning to go to the Great Hall. There, they work out their final details of the plan, like they did until late last night. 

Harry’s original thought was pretty solid, so it was all just building off that. 

“Alright, after dinner. Six.” Harry reminds again. 

The pair nod. 

“It’s kind of exciting to be a part of this. Is it always this exhilarating?” Neville whispered. 

A small smile found its way across the pair's face, “no.” They answered simultaneously. 

Surprisingly, the notion of having a third person that wasn’t Hermione didn’t bother Ron that much. Simply because it was Neville. 

It’s not like he was replacing her, he was helping out for her. It was something he admired, he knew she would too. 

As Ron stretched and got ready for class, he didn’t notice McGonagall approaching. 

“Mister Weasley.” She called, making him go stalk still. 

“Good morning Professor.” He tried. 

She ignored it, but didn’t yell at him for yesterday either, “the Headmaster requests your presence. The password is cockroach clusters.” 

He gulps. He thinks he’d rather face McGonagall’s wrath than get a talking to by Dumbledore. 

She looks him in the eyes, “I’m going to assume you had good reason for that stunt in the common room yesterday.” She whispers, looking at his black eye, cut cheek, and fat lip from under her glasses. 

He nods quickly. 

“Hm. Longbottom. Potter. Good day.” She says before walking away. 

The pair looked to the redhead. Harry clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Well mate, good luck. Just be done by six, yeah?” He teased. 

“Not funny Harry.” He groaned. 

“Hey, if what just happened is any indication of anything, it’s that McGonagall trusts you. Dumbledore too, remember what he told you at the Burrow.” Their eyes meet briefly. 

The prospect of Horcruxes has been rattling around his brain for weeks, but they promised to bring it up. 

“You’re right, I’ll just tell the truth.” Ron half agrees, turning to leave. 

“Good luck!” He hears Neville call. 

Slowly Ron dredged his way to Dumbledore’s office. A bit scared for what was to come. He didn’t think the man would tell and scream, no, instead he’d give him some confusing life lesson. One that would have him thinking and analyzing it for weeks. 

He’d rather be screamed at. 

“Cockroach clusters.” He told the statue.

In response it twisted into a coiled staircase. Taking a deep breath, Ron climbed it. Soon, he found himself staring at Dumbledore’s back. 

As he opened his mouth to say hello, he was cut off. 

“Ah Ronald, good morning.” The old man said, turning and giving him a small smile. 

“Good morning sir.” Ron responded nervously. 

“The clouds are out today, but you see there,” he points out his window at a single beam of light, “the sun will surely push its way through by the end of the day. Preserve.” He comments. 

Unsure what to say, Ron simply nods. 

Finally, he turns, “do you know why I’ve called you here?” 

Weasley gulped, “I may have a guess...” 

“News travels fast in this castle. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” 

“No sir.” Ron agrees. 

“You’ve been through a great deal Ronald, today, I’d like to give you the benefit of the doubt. Violence is not tolerated at Hogwarts, but I assume you have good reason.” He says knowingly. 

“Yes sir, I believe I do.” He says honestly. 

“I’m interested to hear.” 

“Well, I didn’t witness it myself and I never uh got the chance to ask her, but I have it on good authority.” He pauses, “from Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Harry,” Ron cites, “that Cormac McLaggen was inappropriate to Hermione the night of Professor Slughorn’s Christmas Party. That and he began making out of line comments about her, I just, well, I wanted to feel like I was doing something.” He says the last word almost as a cry. 

Dumbledore sighs, “I know how you feel Ron.” 

He shakes his head before he can help himself, “no you don’t.” 

Dumbledore would laugh had it been any other situation. It’s almost astounding how similar him and Harry are as he is reminded of their conversation after Sirius’ death. 

“Maybe not, but you’re not the first person I’ve seen struggle with being away from a loved one.” He tells him. 

Again, Weasley shakes his head, “no, this, this hurt is different.” He admits, “I’ve lost people, take Percy for example. Sure I miss him, but with Hermione, it’s a different kind of missing. It’s like, it’s like nothings the same. Like it’s not worth it.” Ron doesn’t know why he feels the need to be so honest. 

“You can’t let this hurt consume you. Your job is to channel that into something else. Something Hermione would’ve liked. Your prefect rounds, your work, Harry. You and I both know she would not approve of her punching Cormac McLaggen, no matter the situation.” 

And he was right, Ron knew he was, but it was so hard. These past twelve hours of confiding in Neville and Harry about Malfoy. About finally coming up with something to help, it felt good. It felt right. 

“You’re right sir.” He agreed. 

“I’m glad we can see eye to eye Ronald. On these dark days, I would like you to remember that the sun always comes out again.” He steps forward and whispers, “I have it on good authority all is being done for your friend. Remember that. Remind Harry of that.” 

Unable to answer, or even protest, he nods. 

Dumbledore was right, finally, him and Harry were doing what they could to help Hermione. 

“Now, I’d hate to keep you from your lessons. Good day Mister Weasley.” The old man smiled, turning back to the window, stroking Fawkes. 

“But sir, aren’t you going to...” Ron started confused. 

“Punish you? Is that what you want?” He questions with a quirked brow. 

“No!” Ron jumps in. 

“Mister McLaggen will be dealt with accordingly. Please don’t make it routine practice to start brawls in my common room.”

“Of course sir. It won’t happen again.” 

“Good.” Dumbledore smiles, “but if anyone asks, you have a week of detention with Professor McGonagall.” The Headmaster winks. 

A smile strikes Ron’s face at his words. “Thank you so much.”

He shakes his head, “for what?” 

Ron laughs. 

“Good day Mister Weasley. Please remember what I said.” 

In response Ron nodded and bid the old man goodbye before vanishing down the stairs. 

Once reaching the bottom he sighed, now all he had to do was get through classes, then it’d be time to put operation what the fuck does Malfoy know in action. 

...

Thankfully, six o’clock came faster than Ron thought it would. He figured all this anxious waiting around would drive him mad and slow time. But it hadn’t. 

“Alright Neville, whatever you do keep them at Quidditch. Practice is supposed to last an hour, we shouldn’t be longer than that, but just in case. We’ll find you when we’re done.” Harry told him one last time. 

He nodded, “got it.” 

“Malfoy should have started rounds a little bit ago, come on.” Ron prodded. 

“Okay, good luck Neville.” Harry said. 

“Good luck to you guys too. I won’t let you down. I won’t let Hermione down.” He assures in a whisper. 

The pair nods in response. They know he won’t. They’re not planning to either. 

As Neville disappeared down the corridor, Harry soon skimmed the map, finding Draco’s dot wandering by the Charms room. 

“Let’s go, we’ll cut through the courtyard.” Harry said, throwing the cloak over them. They had to huddle to fit, but it worked. 

Soon enough, they successfully reached the dungeons, only seeing Missus Norris once, but she just pranced by, not noticing them. 

“Alright, we’ll just wait until someone says the password.” Harry whispered. 

It took five minutes, but soon enough they saw Millicent Bulstrod’s dot move closer to them. 

“Sacred Twenty-Eight.” She told the stone. 

Ron scowled at the password. 

Soon enough it opened up as she went though. 

“If we hurry we can sneak in with her, come on!” Harry said lowly. 

Thankfully, the noise of the moving stone masked their footsteps as they snuck in behind Millicent, nearly budging into her. 

She didn’t notice though, as she disappeared up a staircase. 

“Other one must be the boys.” Ron pointed out, already moving to the leftward staircase. 

Nodding, Harry dredged on. Luckily, like Gryffindor Tower, each of the dorms with a sign indicating the year, ranging from one to seven. 

Soon, their eyes fell on the one labeled ‘Sixth Years’, it was slightly ajar. Before entering, the pair glanced briefly to the map in Harry’s hands, being extra cautious to ensure they were alone. 

They pushed open the wooden door, cringing as it squeaked on its hinges, they surveyed the area carefully before fully stepping in. Once inside, they threw off the cloak as Harry took the liberty to cast a locking charm, all while Ron caused a ‘muffalito’. 

The room was identical to their own dorms, but all red had been replaced with green and gold swapped with silver. 

“Which do you think is his?” Ron whispered despite silencing the room. 

The chosen one eyes the four poster beds carefully. The one closest to the door is messier than he thought imaginable. The blankets tossed on the ground and the sheets of specks of something on them. 

The next one isn’t as bad, the blankets are ruffled and the pillows are skewed, but the bedside table is reasonably clean. However, the image of a scantily clad witch peeking out from beneath the blanket is very visible. 

The quidditch posters and personal photos tacked onto a board over the third bed can only confirm it belongs to Blaise Zabini. 

And if Ron and Harry were placing bets, there’s  no doing the last one belongs to one Draco Malfoy. His bed is neatly made. Though his space isn’t as personal as Blaise’s, there’s a stack of books and parchment neatly organized on the side table. A ring rests on top of the pile, one they’ve seen Draco bear many times before. 

“I didn’t really fancy Malfoy to be all tidy.” Ron commented. 

“Really?” Harry asked, shocked, objection on his lips about how well Draco dressed being indicated as much. 

Like his friend could sense it, he shook his head, “no just because a bloke can clean up nice, doesn’t make them neat. Fred and George have pretty nice robes, but you’ve seen their room.” He reminded. 

Harry monetarily shivered at the thought. He wouldn’t even be remotely shocked if something was growing under the twins beds. 

As the dark haired boy was monetarily lost in thought, Ron stepped closer to the vantage point and eyed the table carefully. 

“I reckon one things out of place, he’ll know.” He states. 

Harry nods in agreement, “how about you start   in the drawers, I’ll do his trunk.” 

Weasley agreed and began carefully filing through the stacks of parchment. Most of it seemed to be nothing but graded assignments along with the occasional letter from home. 

All were only from his mother. They were short and not at all telling of anything. 

Just simple things like, 

Hope you’re doing well. I miss you son. 

I’ve sent a few galleons for your Hogsmeade visit next week, have fun. Love you. 

I’m going to pick you up from the platform on Saturday. I can’t wait to see you! Mum. 

And if the correspondents weren’t between those with the last name Malfoy, Ron might even think they were sweet. 

Harry had also been having similar luck to Ron. Draco’s trunk was an endless amount of clothes and shoes, really nothing that raised eyebrows. 

He peered over to see Ron skimming through the pages of a book. 

“Anything?” The Boy-Who-Lived asked hopefully. 

He shook his head, “no, just something for that Dark Arts essay on centaurs magical properties I reckon.” 

In response Potter groaned. They’ve been here nearly ten minutes. 

“Okay, how about I check the bed and you check under it?” He suggested next. 

Ron was about to protest to say that he doubts Draco would leave some big bad clue under his pillow, but they figured no stone should be left unturned. 

Complying, Ron ducked down to the floor and he heard Harry ruffling Draco’s sheets. 

A pair of shoes under the bed, along with an old sock. A chocolate frog under his pillow. That was it. 

As Harry began to work on lifting the mattress, they could vaguely hear the crunching of stone echo inside the quiet room. 

Both jumped, Ron hitting his head in the process, before meeting eyes. 

Quickly, Harry grabbed for the map, eyes scanning for Draco’s dot. 

“He’s in the common room!” He stage whispered. 

The ginger jumped and looked to be sure, “complete tosser he is. He’s supposed to be on rounds for another hour, just wait-“ 

“Ron!” It seemed as if he missed Hermione so much he had taken to adapting some of her values as well. 

“You’re right, sorry.” He said before moving to grab the cloak, “come on Harry.” 

As the other boy moved to join him, something caught his eye, “wait.” He said picking up the book on Centaurs. 

“Harry, I already looked like that, let’s go! I hear footsteps.” He said, casting a charm to tidy up Draco’s bed as good as new. 

“It’s not that.” He whispered in response. 

Being that Harry had cut Ron off midway through his investigation on Malfoy’s bedside table, he never got around to the small book hidden underneath the one for class. 

Wizarding Antiques

His mind soon flashes to Draco wandering around Borgin & Burkes months ago. Both Hermione and Ron dismissed it, but this book proves it meant something more. 

“Harry!” Ron stage whispered, having to undo the locking charm so they could leave. However, as he did so, the foot falls only grew louder. 

Mesmerized he ignored Ron, eyeing the cover. Something soon caught his eye. A book Mark sticking out just a little over halfway in the book. 

Eagerly opening it to see whatever Draco has tagged, he stops when he realizes it wasn’t a bookmark. No, it was a photograph. 

Astounded by the sight in front of him, he puts the book down, completely forgetting about his prior task. He’s reminded of why they’re really here. 

Not to confirm what Harry believes to be true, but for Hermione. This picture is telling him as much. Shoving it in his face. 

“Harry, let’s go!” Ron says, tossing the cloak partly over his hunched frame as Draco can be heard conversing with another Slytherin outside the door. 

Harry stands still. He can’t move. He can barely think. 

There’s no way- 

“Harry,” Ron tries again, but soon realizes his friend is completely enthralled in something, “wait, what is it? Did you find something?” Like his friend, he remembers why he’s here. Who he’s here for. 

Ron peeks over his shoulder at the picture. He can’t understand what has Harry in such a state over it. He’s seen it countless times in The Prophet.  

“Hermione.” Is all he can whisper. 

The name of course catches Ron’s attention, but he’s suddenly drawn away by The jerking of the door, making him jump. Thankfully, he’s managed to secure the cloak around Harry and move them closer to the door. However, the picture is still clutched in his hand. 

He holds his breath as Malfoy eyes the room suspiciously. Then it appears something catches his eye. 

He steps forward only centimeters from them. 

Wealsey screws his eyes shut in anticipation. 

It’s over, Merlin it’s all over-

But instead he makes his way over to Goyle’s sneering as he covers up the photo of the nude witch with his pillow. 

Doing his best not to outwardly sigh in relief, Ron takes the distraction to get the hell out, practically dragging Harry with him. 

As they reach the somewhat safe, well, less dangerous area of the Slytherin boys staircase, Ron again takes the time to observe the photo. Harry’s still mesmerized by it, though he can’t see why. And he can’t ask either, at least not until they’re back in Gryffindor tower. 

It’s a picture of Draco sitting in a chair, stoic look on his face. To his left is his mother dressed in elegant black robes, looking regal as ever, hand on her son's shoulder. To his right, his father in the same position. Except, he looks less royal, more worn than anything. 

The pictures on a loop, but they barely move. Just a slight shift in Draco’s father’s feet. A twitch of the youngest Malfoy’s upper lip is somewhat noticeable. 

The only thing that does stand out, is the continuous sparkling of a chandelier glittering above them.

[thelucyverse]

Suburbs fic idea Milippa /2 (1)

When Philippa wakes on the next morning, it is because someone is ringing the doorbell, and for a moment she is filled with limitless rage at being woken when for once she managed to sleep through the night, at being so tired it borders on feeling dead inside, at the frustration of having to be awake and alive.

This is a draft version. Expect nothing else or maybe wait for the finished product on ao3 lol

Note to self: thinking about maybe changing Tilly to another single woman instead? Single mom? Idk... I think Tilly/Chris is interesting, but like, idk

Then, she takes a deep breath and drags herself out of bed, takes her meds, goes looking for her clothes and only briefly goes into the bathroom to make herself look like more of a person. Then, she forces a smile onto her face and faces the world - or rather, the hell that is a small neighborhood.

Her first welcome committee is made up out of a woman and man - the redhead from the window yesterday, and the man presumably her husband from how he's standing next to her, carrying a plate with cake.

"Hi!" the redhead chirps brightly, beaming over her entire face. Philippa doesn't know whether that is making it easier or harder to keep the smile on her own face. Perhaps it's both - annoying yet also contagious somehow, and they cancel each other out.

"I - hello. Do come in."

"Thanks!" the redhead skips inside, followed by the two men who have yet to say a single word. The one holding the cake platter looks a little awkward with it, and Philippa points him to the thankfully already fully built-in kitchen counter, earning herself a grateful smile.

"Oh, I'm Sylvia, but everyone calls me Tilly!" the woman tells her happily and extends her hand. "And this is my husband Chris - oh, did you?"

"Already handed over the cake," Chris says with a fond chuckle, and Philippa smiles, too.

"Yes - thank you, really."

"You're welcome!" Tilly beams. "We're so happy that you're moving in here, the house has been standing empty way too long! And we have a wonderful neighborhood, there's a holiday party and now in the summer there will be barbecues... Um, yes, sorry," she breaks off a little awkwardly when she notices that she hasn't even let Philippa introduce herself.

"Hello- nice to meet you both. My name is Philippa Georgiou, feel free to call me Philippa. I must say, I am not much of a people person myself- I'm sure we will all still get on well, I just thought I would say that immediately, because otherwise you might think I'm standoffish when I really just have a limited capacity of... /people/ energy for a day, I usually prefer the anonymity of the city because of it, but I'm quite burned out from work and got recommended to live in a smaller town to calm down a little."

Tilly gapes at her a little, and Philippa suppresses a wince. She had planned to be honest from the start (well... About all but one thing, at least), so she wouldn't have to start awkward explanations later and get it all over with instead in one go. But maybe that was a little /too/ honest, now...

"Oh, alright," Chris says a little awkwardly, and Tilly finally catches herself.

"I guess maybe we should leave early then, leave you some energy to meet the rest of the street?"

"No, no, don't mind me, I can survive a day of welcomes, and we haven't tried your cake yet... I just meant in general, for the future... Wait, is really everyone going to come today?" Philippa can't keep her voice from showing some of the pain she feels at that thought. She had thought it would only be her direct neighbors, and maybe even then not all in one day, as people are busy with their own lives... But of course, in a town like this most everyone is at home on a Saturday, with nothing else to do but the routine of their daily lives.

"Um... Are you sure that it's fine? I can text and ask whether some can come tomorrow, or on the weekend, if you'd like... If you're okay with them knowing, that is?"

"Yes, thank you, that would be a relief. I don't mind at all," she never caref much about what people think, and in this case she actually likes spreading awareness on the issue, mental illness is still way too stigmatized, when in the current economic climate most can do nothing /but/ work themselves to exhaustion - not that she needs to, not anymore. She got lucky, making as much money as she did during the last years... But in the process, she unlearned what it means to relax and take a minute to herself.

"Alright, then I'll just let everyone know!" Tilly beams, pulling out her phone. "Not that we have, like, a neighborhood groupchat, just several inofficial friendgroup chats, we're all friends here, really"

"Yes?" Philippa asks, sounding perhaps a little too amused and slightly unbelieving now.

"You don't think we'll be friends?" the expression on Tilly's face is the epitome of 'Puppy-dog eyes', and somehow Philippa doesn't think that she is doing it on purpose. Next to her, Chris is looking at her with a quite besotted expression on his face.

"Oh, by the American definition, sure. I would just use the word acquaintance instead, you see? In most places of the world, you don't use the word friends quite so often, just for what you might call best friends here - and we don't have a ton of 'best friends', just one, maybe two or three in a group, and if we move and have a very good friend there that might be my best friend in that town, but it will be clear that it is not the best friend in general. Then maybe a few close friends, a bunch of friends, and friendly acquaintances..."

"And neighbors are just acquaintances?" Chris asks, sounding sincerely curious.

"Friendships can happen there too, but personally I would take even longer to switch the terms there - you're neighbours first and foremost, you have to live in the same area, that's a category all on its own."

"So, you don't think we can be friends soon?"

Philippe laughs. "Maybe we can be. You both seem nice so far, I promise."

"/So far/?" Tilly asks, just a little bit affronted.

"Well, don't know you very well yet, after all. There is more to a person than just whether they are friendly to a newcomer, and there are a number of issues I'd have to know about someone before I can consider them a 'friend'."

Her gaze falls onto the [xx and she xx unhappy memory about one bigot manager oso]

"Oh- ooh, don't worry about that! We're an inclusive bunch, or trying to be. You won't have to worry about-" she nods at xx, "Just down the street Joan and Keyla Owesukan are also a couple - no, married now of course, and we also have a bunch of gay guys, and everyone is just nice in general... So, you don't have to worry about being gay, a single woman Xxlikeherself?, or a witch"

"I'm not a witch," Philippa says a little perplexed.

"Then what are those crystals?"

"Oh, I just think they're pretty. I'm a bit of a magpie, if anything, a hoarder of shiny things..."

"Oh, you'll have to meet Paul then! He's an engineer, but he makes some shiny jewellery in his freetime, and also he's gay, living with his husband Hugh- not that I think you have to be best friends with all the gay people, of course! Just that well, you're here all alone in the big house, unmarried... And he knows everyone in the gay community, I think, might be able to introduce you to some ladies in nearby neighborhoods, I don't think Joan or Keyla would be much help there, they mostly stick to themselves"

Philippa makes a face. "I don't know whether anyone would want to be in a relationship with me, with how much time I need for myself," that had always been true - only in the past, she had retreated to write. Now, she just needs to be alone to breathe. "And I wouldn't want to live with anyone, I'm quite content having the entire house for myself I don't think many people would be willing to have a serious relationship at a distance that way."

Tilly looks like she is about to say something - like maybe, she knows someone fitting to Philippa's description - but then she just smiles.

[jaehyunspeachparty]

Daddy Jaehyun

i.ix.

(little bit smut, little bit angst)

From time to time you and Jaehyun argue. Some fights are simple and soft. But some last days...

day 1

It was late in the evening. The whole apartment was quiet and only light from the bedroom still shone. You were sitting on Jaehyun, your hands were clawing in his bare skin and you are moving your hips up and down. You moan softly and try to find the perfect point. This whole pregnancy made you horny and you would like to climb on Jaehyun every second. But when you looked to Jaehyun, he was mentally absent. His eyes were empty and his hands were just beside him. You try to do your best, try to ride him faster, but he did not react.

"Everything okay?" You stop your movements and look down at him worried.

"Yes continue." He puts his hands on your thighs, but kept looking past you. You're trying to ride him again to fulfill your lust, but that did not make you any fun either.

"Forget it." You sigh annoyed and get off him. You put on your sweatpants and lie down to the side. Jaehyun did not react and you thought he didn’t find you attractive anymore with your big belly.

day 2

"Daddy, what are you drinking?" The next day Jaehyun was still in thoughts. His daughter Miga was sitting next to him and noticed that too - of course in her own way.

Jaehyun did not respond to her question and kept looking into the void. You start to worry a little bit, but you were still angry about last night.

"Daddy may I drink it?" Miga points to the cup of coffee. Jaehyun did not react again and slowly you became even more angry.

"Hey, can you at least answer your daughter?" Your tone was sharp, so you waked Jaehyun out of his thoughts. But he was still siting half-present there.

"No you can not drink this." His voice was very cold and you were already shocked how he talked to your daughter. Miga also noticed his sudden coldness and began to cry. You pick her up and hug her.

"Hey, I'll make you a cocoa." Miga nodded while her little tears rolled down her cheeks. Jaehyun got up and left the apartment. You did not see him again that day.

day 3

It was the third day Jaehyun had been away all day. He did not talk to you and came home only to sleep. Tonight you could not sleep again because your baby was kicking wildly in you. You had read on the internet that the babies are being swung at day with your movement. That’s why they become active when you lie, because they are now awake. You try a little walk through the apartment, so that the little boy falls asleep in your belly again. It was 2 AM and Jaehyun was still not there. But suddenly you hear someone unlocking the door. Jaehyun finally came home and he looked surprised that you were standing in front of him.

"Why are you still awake?" He took off his bag and took off his shoes.

"I'm glad to see you again too." You could not hold back this cynical statement. But when you realize that your child kicked around wildly, you start to move up and down again. Jaehyun ignored you, did not even kiss you and made his way to the bedroom.

"Can you finally tell me what's going on?" So many scenarios went through your head. In the end, you were even scared that he would leave you or not love you anymore.

"Y/N, I just want to sleep." He runs his hand through his hair and lets out a deep sigh. But you can not stand this situation anymore, that was all too much for you.

"Jaehyun, please tell me what's going on. I beg you!“ Tears rolled down your cheeks because you were so helpless at the moment.

"They want to make a new album with NCT U and they don’t know yet if they include me. I'm working my ass off so I can be a part of this project. So have some understanding.“ His tone was sharp and you were really shocked. It was still about the same topic. He had mentioned it once, but you did not elaborate on it.

"A little bit of understanding, are you serious? Let's go through it, theoretically, when will you make your comeback? In three months? Jaehyun! In three months, I'll give birth to our second child and I don’t want you to leave me in this time. I need you, Miga needs you! You wanted a second child, you should have thought it over first.“ You're be in a rage because you could not believe what you're hearing. Of course you wanted to support him, but not at this time.

"You know what? That’s why I did not tell you this. " Jaehyun sighs and opens the door to the bedroom. But you run in front of him and take his bedding.

"You can sleep on the couch." You push his blanket and pillow into his hand and send him out of the room.

day 4

Miga was ill that day. She had a fever and could barely swallow. The pediatrician had prescribed something for her, but she still suffered a lot. You wrote Jaehyun several times that his daughter was ill, but he did not respond.

Miga slept in your bed this night. She woke up over and over again, because of the sore throat and you then watched her favorite children's tv-show. It was 3 AM and Miga has just fallen asleep again. Her little head lay on your stomach until you realize that the little boy in you started to kick wildly. You gently put your daughter on Jaehyun's side of the bed and you try to close your eyes a little when you suddenly hear the door open. You get up and look into the kitchen, where Jaehyun is trying to fill a glass of water.

"You're drunk?" You look shocked at your husband, who could hardly stand upright. He leaned against the kitchen counter and drank the water in one go.

"Jaehyun, what's going on lately?" You were really desperate, because the last few days have burdened you a lot. Not a second passed without you thinking about Jaehyun.

"You know what's going on", he babbled and sat down on the couch, where you had his bedding again prepared.

"It's just like that, you have a family now and you're not an idol anymore. Just deal with it." You were so mad at him, but at the same time you wanted him back. You didn’t want to sleep without him anymore.

"Deal with it?" Apparently, your statement had made him even more angry. "You have no idea how it is, I've worked all the time to be a musician and you don’t know what it's like giving something up." You look stunned at Jaehyun, you could not believe what he just said.

"Jaehyun, I gave up my whole life for you and the family. When I got pregnant with Miga, I was about to become a partner of the event company where I was working for, but I wanted to be with you. And I never wanted to marry an idol and be in public, and now we can not have a normal day in Seoul where we are not photographed. Jaehyun I gave up my privacy for you I decided to give up my carrier to our family, but I'm not complaining. So think about what you're saying next time." You crunch your teeth and rush into the bedroom angrily. You close the door and went to bed to Miga.

day 5

The day seemed endless today. Miga’s health didn’t get better. She lay crying like baby in your arms, as she still could not swallow without pain.

"Mommy it hurts so much." Her face was red and more tears rolled down her cheeks. You wanted so much to take away the pain, but you were helpless. The pediatrician said it could last a few days. You look at the little Shiba Inu puppy, which Jaehyun and Miga found two weeks ago, who still had no name. He was laying loyal next to Miga.

You're humming a song for your daughter and hoping you could soothe her a little bit. The medicine you gave her earlier may work now and she slowly closed her eyes. Now tears ran down your face and the little puppy snuggled up against you. You had to smile, because it was really cute. But there was still so much sadness in you. You just wanted Jaehyun back, as he was a few days ago. You hear the door open again, only this time you were so surprised that he came home so early. It was 2 pm and this was pretty early for Jaehyun.

You did not know how to react, so you just stuck with Miga. You hear how he put down everything and how the steps came closer to you. He knelt in front of you and stroked Miga's face.

"Did she just fall asleep?" His voice was suddenly very gentle and he seemed much calmer than before. You nod and Jaehyun lifted Miga up. He carried her to the nursery, put her in her bed and then came back to you.

"I'm an idiot." He sits next to you and drove threw his hair. You were quite surprised by his statement, but you let him talking.

"I really wanted to be part of the album. I totally forgot about you, Miga and our son. And what I said yesterday ..." He sighs and you see the regret in him. "I am so grateful to you that you are there for our children and still let me be a musician. I don’t deserve you. " He sadly lowers his head and you see that he had seen his mistake.

"Don’t say that! We both deserve us! I know it's not easy for you, I don’t want to stop you from making music, but the timing is just not good." You take his hand and look at him sadly. You were also sorry that he had to make compromises, but in the first place were now your children.

"I know, that's why I announced today in the meeting that I will not participate." He looks up and stares at you. You were really surprised, you did not think he would do that.

"What really?" He nods and answers your question. You look at him stunned, but at the same time a stone fell from your heart.

"Y/N I love you, you are the most important to me." He took his hand, put it on your cheek and kissed you.

Daddy Jaehyun Masterlist