#i have a runny nose it's the vibe that counts

[bedforddanes75]

fun fact you can recreate the feeling of doing a line by simply looking at george daniel one single time. facts with Me

[ladylooch]

would love to read anything about Nico <33 I loveee the blurbs you’ve done w him already so similar vibes to those maybe??

thank you x

A/N: Thank you for asking for more of this! It has been a stressful first week of playoffs, so let's end it with some softness from What my World Spins Around AU. I know I posted for this AU earlier today, but I just really love these two. Thank you for encouraging me to write them.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Swearing, tears/angst, fluff.

I’m having a bad day.

A few minor disturbances happened earlier like half the grocery list being out of stock and having to make an extra trip to a different store. Then I needed to stop and get gas. I pulled up to an unmarked, broken pump, having to circle around multiple times to wait for a new one. On my way up to our apartment, one of the grocery bag handles broke and smashed our eggs into the elevator floor. None of these things are big problems, but enough little things have compounded into me feeling like I am inept at existing.

This is awful timing, I think as I stir the onions and garlic in pancetta fat. I’m making Cacio e Pepe for dinner tonight. Because I am desperate for comfort food and Nico is in-between games.

Of course this would happen in the middle of the Devils playoff series with the Rangers when Nico is so focused on hockey that I only exist when I speak directly to him. I glance over my shoulder at my fiancé. His eyebrows are drawn low while he looks at his iPad stacked with clips from the Rangers Power Play. I sniff a bit, wiping at my runny nose from the few tears that have sporadically leaked out while I’ve been at the stove. This catches Nico’s attention.

“Are you okay, babe?” He asks, pausing his video and drilling his brown eyes into me.

“Yeah, the onions made my eyes water.” I lie. These are small problems that I’m not going to bother him with.

“You need those goggles.” He jokes, starting the video up again. The lack of interaction makes my body sag glumly. I feel invisible to him.

I toss the cheese, pasta lemon juice and pasta water together. The dish comes together quickly. A few spritz of seasonings has us sitting down to eat within ten minutes. I grab my glass of red wine, sucking down two glugs of it before slowly twirling my pasta onto my fork. Nico has already been eating, watching the Carolina and Islanders game play out in the living room. I’m scrolling through Instagram, looking for something funny to lift this dark cloud.

“This is amazing, baby. Thank you.” Nico murmurs, running his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip. An insurance commercial plays out on the screen, so I’m getting his undivided attention.

“I’m glad you like it.” I respond, not looking up at him, but turning the app off to focus on dinner.

Nico stills with his fork close to his mouth, reading me like an open book. When I don’t meet his gaze, his fork continues to his lips. He chews slowly, then slides his bowl to the side. His hand comes across the counter, stilling mine from nudging my pasta around. 

“What’s up?” I shake my head. “No. What’s up.”

“It’s stupid.” I huff.

“I doubt that.”

“I’m just having a bad day.” I push out. My lip wobbles weakly, so I tuck it into my mouth and bite down hard.

“Were those real tears, not onion tears?” I nod my head as one spills from my lashes. “Sweets.” He sighs, scooting his chair closer to me. He encloses me in a warm, soft embrace. His designer sweatshirt is a thick, comfy fabric that brushes welcomingly against my skin. I slide my hands up his thighs to his back, clinging to him. 

I feel so dumb and dramatic. Nothing bad has even happened. Why do I feel this way?

“Will you talk to me?” He asks against my hair, breath tickling my scalp.

“There really isn’t anything to talk about.” I sniff, weaving my hand between our bodies to wipe at my eyes. 

“You’re crying.” He points out simply.

“I’m just being dramatic.”

“You’re rarely like this.” He shakes his head, pulling back to see my face. His thumb and pointer finger tilt my chin up.

“I don’t want to be a distraction to you. You have more important things to focus on than me.”

“What’s more important to me than you?” His hand sneaks beneath the hem of my t-shirt and rubs along the length of my spine. I say nothing, just stare at him with my red, tear-rimmed eyes. I shake my head. “Yeah, nothing.” He knows that’s not what I meant. “Come here.” His hands work themselves under my thighs to move me into his lap. I look down into his face. I raise my fingers to trace along his nose and cheek bones, purposefully avoiding those dewey brown eyes. “Baby.” He finally tires of my avoidance.

“I think I just miss you.” I finally bubble out, tucking my falling hair behind my ear.

“I’m right here.”

“You know you’re not.” He pauses, staring back at me with measured eyes. “It’s fine.” I try to walk it back. “I’m marrying the captain; I know what I signed up for.” My fingers reach out and fiddle with the strings of his hoodie, hanging down his chest. “I think I just want to go to bed.” Nico says nothing. He lets me crawl off his lap, hands falling to hang by his sides. I grab my phone, leaving my dishes and untouched food on the counter. I can feel his gaze burrowing into my back as I head to our bedroom.

Nico comes in after the Canes- Islanders game ends. 

“You’re not wrong.” He mumbles to me as he pulls his sweatshirt off his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” I shake my head, not really wanting to get into it. “Hey.” His tone softens further. “I love you even when hockey consumes every moment of our lives.”

“I know. I love you too.” I avoid his eyes, picking at a piece of loose skin by my thumb nail.

Nico comes to the end of the bed, crawling up my body so he lays completely on top of me. his weight smothers me into the bed. He wiggles his cheek between my breasts. Reaching to his right, he places my hand on top of his hair. I do my part, weaving my fingers into his hair, kneading his scalp.

“I know this is hard for you. Thank you.” I lace our other hands together, squeezing his fingers in acknowledgement.

We are quiet for a few minutes. I lean forward, pressing my lips to his head. Nico sighs, settling deeper into my chest, breathing light. Eventually, his soft snores begin to ripple my shirt. I wrap my leg around his body, letting my foot rest against his solid thigh. I close my eyes, ignoring the fact that the bedroom light is on. Nico feels so good right here in my arms, nothing could move me.

My lips spread into a coy smile, taking comfort in knowing I’m the only person in the world who gets to see him like this. 

[darkstar225]

Twice’s 10th member has an allergy attack

A/N: So, I actually got an ask on Tumblr and this is how I got here :)

The request: Hi!! Could you do like 10th member being sick and clingy baby and not wanting to take her medicine? If you could write as Jihyo being the principal Caretaker I would love it! ❤️

Love you writings!!!

PS: Tysm for everyone that reads what I write, I hope I can bring a smile to your faces every time I post!  I hope whoever requested doesn't mind that I changed the request a little just so it wouldn't repeat something I already posted, but the vibe is the same as in being sick so yeah- xx

__________________________________________________________

When she woke up with a runny and stuffy nose, itchy eyes and a headache she knew what was coming. Y/N has been suffering from allergies since she was a kid and an allergy attack wasn't uncommon, actually, it's pretty much her daily life.  The point is, what triggered her allergy this time? Opening her eyes while scratching them, 'cause they're super itchy, she looked around and her answer was right on her face, she didn't clean her room for some time and it got dusty. This, is the cause of her death, jk. (Unless...) 

Y/N - Why didn't I clean my room before this happened? UGH *sneeze*

Jihyo - Baby? I heard you complaining about something so I came here asap to see what's wrong with you.

Y/N - Omma Jihyooo, I need love!

Jihyo - Don't play around Y/N L/N... What happened sweetheart? (the mood changes as she sees her state -miserable-) 

Y/N - I've allergic rhinitis so I've got an allergic attack because of my room :(

Jihyo - What's triggering you hon?

Y/N - Mostly the drapes, they're so dusty...

Jihyo - I'll take them off and put them on the washing machine, while I'm at it go take a hot bath so you do some misting with the steam. And no, you don't have an option, go. Now.

Y/N - Okay, okayyy, but are you gonna cuddle me after Mom?

Jihyo - Stop with that 

Y/N - Don't act as if you don't like it, mama

Jihyo - Fine, just 'cause you're my cute child 

Y/N entered the group when she was really young so this isn't an odd occurrence in the dorm. Being away from her parents she needed some support and as a leader, Jihyo promised she'd care for Y/N as her own (spoiler though not really: she did, reeeeeally well)

While Jihyo put the drapes on the washing machine, Y/N stayed sitting on the bed waiting for her to come back, even if most of the time her personality was like Tzuyu's she could beat Sana on clinginess while sick, you can only dream of counting how many times she cried over not going to a schedule for being under the weather and not having anyone to hug and hold onto. After sneezing 15 more times after Jihyo left (Yes, she counted. Being bored does that to people), her mom came back to the room and glared at her as soon as she saw that she remained lying down. 

Jihyo - What are you still doing here? *raises eyebrow*  

Y/N - You left me, obviously I'm waiting for you silly :)

Jihyo - Why? *sighs*

Y/N - I missed you! You're there for so long 

The second Y/N finishes the sentence Jihyo lets out a motherly smile and goes to hug her baby. Even after some long minutes, Y/N doesn't seem to want to let go but Jihyo has to give her a bath and get some medicine on her, even if she knows the struggle this is gonna be. Y/N hates taking medicine, she's so stubborn that Momo had to hold her down the last time she was sick so Mina could put the medicine in Y/N's mouth. 

Jihyo - Let me go a little cuddle bug

Y/N - Nooo, you're so comfy omma

Jihyo - We've to get to the bathroom so you can take a bath so this runny nose becomes a little bit better

Y/N - Can you carry me? I'm so tired from all the sneezes, they're making my headache worse

Jihyo - Fine, up we go

They get out of the SMC bedroom with Jihyo carrying Y/N like a baby with her legs around her waist and head resting on her shoulder. As they get to the bathroom, Jihyo tries to take Y/N off of her so she can get the bath ready, followed by a thousand whines and complaints about how she shouldn't do that and how she didn't love Y/N if she let go lol

Jihyo expected this from the maknae but it doesn't make it any easier, with some persuasion she managed to leave Y/N seating on the toilet and finally turned the tap on with some hot water so it could create some steam. Picking Y/N up and putting her in the bathtub was hard, she didn't wanna let go so Jihyo had to get in with her, some skin-to-skin never hurt anyone (Y/N is a sucker for it when she's feeling icky). With Jihyo behind and Y/N laying on her chest she washed her hair and cleaned just her back for comfort, Y/N assured her she could clean herself well so this was just to shower her with the care and love that she needed. She knew the absence of the members was affecting their maknae for going to Switzerland without them, the rest of the SMC finished school but she didn't so she had to stay behind to attend classes (which sucked, she complained sm JYP considered asking the head of the school for some leave so she could travel, but 3mix -the moms- didn't allow it to happen 'cause studies should come first even if she's an idol) and Jihyo stayed with her 'cause who are we kidding, it's her child we're talking about. 

Y/N - Unnie, my head is hurting a lot...

Jihyo - Your eyes are red too, stop scratching them! When you take your medicines everything will be okay love bug

Y/N - I don't wanna. And it tastes horrible!

Jihyo - Don't be like that, or I'm gonna need to call the manager for help.

Y/N - Noooo, omma! Why?

Jihyo - Nothing of that. Let's finish the bath and you're gonna take your medicines.

Just like a petty kid, Y/N turns around and crosses her arms while sulking. Jihyo gets out of the bathtub and grabs Y/N by the arms and sits her down on the toilet again so she can dry herself first and change clothes before doing the same for her spoiled youngest. After finishing she tries to get Y/N to walk by herself to bed while she gets the medicine and some soup with no success. After some scolding -out of love ofc- she carried Y/N bridal style to bed and quickly got the medicine.

Jihyo - It's meant to make you sleepy love, it's grape your favourite! 

Y/N - It's not my favourite! I hate medicine, I don't want it unnie :(

Jihyo - That's your problem cutie pie, take it now or I'm gonna have to force it down your throat 

Y/N - Dang- fineeeee

A little later, Y/N started feeling sleepy and made grabby hands to Jihyo who happily climbed on the bed and leaned down on the headboard so Y/N could lay between her legs with her ear to her chest. Listening to her unnies quiet and calm heartbeat made her feel safe and loved, and remembering how her sisters care for her always made her heart warm. With the peace she always gets in the presence of her members she fell asleep. 

Jihyo - You see? It wasn't that hard to drink it, was it? 

Jihyo - Y/N...?

Looking down, she noticed that the younger girl was sleeping with her mouth open snoring quietly. For her, Y/N looked adorable, her adorable maknae. After updating the members on the situation they all sent messages and did a video call with the baby before she slept, the girls could only think one thing:

We love our dear maknae. 

A/N: I apologise for any errors, English is not my first language. Pls, let me know if there's something wrong, ty for reading <3

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

7. are there any writers/ artists you drew (or still draw) inspiration from?

8. are there any whumpy quotes that have stuck with you throughout the years?

9. what’s your controversial whump opinion?

Thank you for the ask! :D From this ask game.

7. are there any writers/ artists you drew (or still draw) inspiration from?

I think I draw inspiration from pretty much everything I come across (even if it's just a case of "oh my god not like that" 🤣)

A big inspiration for worldbuilding and vibes are video games, which are harder to pin on an artist, but does it count as inspiration to wonder "what would it take for @starlit-hopes-and-dreams to call me a bitch? 🤔"

8. are there any whumpy quotes that have stuck with you throughout the years?

Not really. I'm bad with quotes.

9. what’s your controversial whump opinion?

I believe a lot of people only consider whump as a genre as far as they like it, or it's currently popular. A lot of "general" statements fall flat and are outright ridiculous once you move away from "rather young male char gets actively hurt by a second char."

In my opinion, the things that make whump whump are: a) it's fictional b) it's not desired by the char (hello horny kinkposting in the whump tag) c) it is created or consumed with the focus on the pain.

For me, the char could be alone in a cell for a decade, with no one outright hurting them. The char could fall down a cliff and get impaled on a broken log. The char could get chased out of the village by an angry mob. The char could have to use their magic for some reason until they faint. The char could need wound treatment without painkillers. There are so many wonderful ways to hurt our poor fictional guys out there.

Now I do think certain sub-genres under the umbrella do well to have their own tags, because angst and sickfic for example are less physical. People browsing them probably don't want to see someone get disemboweled, and I really do not wanna see a runny nose. That doesn't mean I don't consider them part of the wider community.

[wannabe-fic-writer]

Natasha Romanoff x Reader - Intimacy

Summary: You’re holding on to every moment with her.

Warning: N/A

Word Count: 1,257

* * * * * * * *

You always loved this time of year, the very beginning of Autumn.

The leaves haven’t started to fall yet, but they have changed color, leaving the trees beautiful shades of red, orange, and yellow. Those colors perfectly compliment the pink and orange hues that the sunset paints the sky in.

Alongside the beauty of that is the chilly weather, perfect for hoodies and sweaters, hot tea and cocoa. Everything about the season was inviting and warm.

The whistle of the kettle cuts through your reverie. Drawing your gaze from out the window, you turn to the stove and cut the burner off, then grab the kettle and pour the steaming water into both mugs.

The pleasant aroma of cranberries instantly wafts from the mugs into the air, further setting you into the vibe of the season. While preparing both teas, your eyes shift to the living room, landing on the redhead sitting on the couch.

Blue light glasses are perched on her nose, protecting her gorgeous green eyes from the bright light of her tablet as she reads. Occasionally she sniffs, her nose having been a little runny thanks to the chill the season provides.

Your smile grows a little at the sight of the thick fluffy socks on her feet, the ones you bought her that have little pumpkins scattered all over them.

Looking up from there, you take in the rest of her lounging around outfit: her, seemingly favorite, pair of black joggers along with a t-shirt and red and black flannel.

A frown pulls onto your face. That’s not just some red and black flannel, it’s yours.

You pick up both mugs of tea and carefully walk into the living room, setting them on the coffee table before you settle onto the couch. Natasha is quick to scoot over, passing you your tea and grabbing her own before she invites herself into your personal space, snuggling into your side.

Laying your arm over her shoulder as her head lays back against your chest you say,“ I don’t recall you asking to wear that Ms. Romanoff.”

“I don’t recall needing permission Ms. Y/ln.” She replies in jest, a hint of a smirk on her face when she turns her head to look at you.“ What’s mine is yours were your words, if I remember correctly.”

A low laugh falls from you at that. You indeed welcomed her into your apartment with those words and you meant them.

The two of you had been dating for a year when Natasha first came over. There had been many apprehensions on both your parts throughout that year, the main one being if you could truly trust Natasha not to hurt you and her’s being the same.

Your relationship started as nothing more than sex. In your line of work, it was hard to find time to even think of dating, even harder to trust people. That didn’t mean you lacked the need for intimacy; it was just hard to get.

Natasha was very flirty when you met, always one to make a comment or gesture that was full of hidden implications, and soon enough a crush developed on both of your parts.

Just as soon as your crush began, you started filling that need for affection with her. At first you only hooked up after parties, using the alcohol you consumed as an excuse to wind up in each others beds. But the both of you realized, all too quickly, how much you’d been craving touch and feel in the past.

You also realized how comforting it was to have someone to go to. Someone who you knew would be there for you. So those hook ups extended to whenever one of you needed the other. You hadn’t admitted it was need but that’s exactly what it was.

The life you lived was too hard to not have someone by your side and you were the first to admit that. It caused a rift between you and Natasha for quite some time as she wasn’t ready and didn’t think she deserved the absolutely pure love you were offering, but in the end the redhead couldn’t tell stay away.

On one particular mission, Natasha nearly died and that served as a wake up call. While she was terrified at the thought of not being enough for you, she was more scared that she would have died and you never would’ve known how much she cared for you.

So she begged for a second chance, more like a real first chance, and you granted it.

Being physically intimate came with ease but the emotional aspect was difficult. It started slowly, both of you tiptoeing around each other uncertainly, but you soon grabbed the reins and carefully guided yourself and Natasha through the beginnings of your relationship.

You introduced each other to the idea of being open and vulnerable with another person, to the idea of trusting someone with things you didn’t think you could ever share.

Natasha was always aware of how serious the relationship was, knowing that if it wasn’t, neither of you would’ve made such an effort to make it work. However, she understood, on another level, how serious it was when you invited her over for the first time.

She’d been in your room at the compound more times than either of you could count, but that’s not where you invited her.

Quite far from the compound, you had your apartment. It was your getaway from the hectic life of an Avenger. When you needed space, time, or just a breather, you would go to your apartment. It was your safe haven. No one had been there aside from you.

It was a huge deal that you wanted Natasha to be apart of that aspect of your life, which is why she was so nervous about coming over. You eased her nerves by telling her “make yourself comfortable, what’s mine is yours” and that meant the world to Natasha.

Back in the present, you can’t help but chuckle at the memory.“ That is indeed what I said. I believe your reply was a very wide eyed I love you.” You lovingly tease.

“Oh my god,” Natasha groans, dropping her head as you continue to laugh,“ it was a serious thing and I didn’t know what else to say.”

Her words make a smile form on your face. With a low hum you drop a kiss on her head.“ I genuinely couldn’t imagine if it hadn’t happened that way.” It being that that was the first time either of you had said those three little words.

Natasha shifts to place a soft kiss on your lips, warming you from the inside out.“ The statement still stands.”

“Good,” kissing her once more, you pull her closer, resting your head against hers.“ Cause I love you too.”

A moment of silence passes, both of you sipping at your tea and snuggling closer to each other. When Natasha grabs her tablet again and nudges her glasses back up her nose you ask what she’s reading.

“Meditation by Marcus Aurelius.” She replies.

“Read it to me?” You ask sweetly.

Natasha smiles, then clears her throat and reads,“ the things you think about determine the quality of your mind. Your soul takes on the color of your thoughts. . .”

Her velvety voice leads you into a sense of absolute bliss and you revel in the soft intimacy of the moment, your eyes closing as you hang on to every word she speaks.

* * * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @blackxwidowsxwife @yumusak-yastik @b-5by5 @fayhar @lostandsearching @iliketozoneout​ @alotofpockets @caspianalexander @yeeterthekeeper @ecruzsalaz @natasha-danvers

[babyjakes]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | whumptember 2022

prompt | sick

pairing | daddy!frank adler x little!reader

warnings | sfw daddy and little relationship, reader has a cold, brief mentions of medicine and nebulizer treatments, one (1) bad nautical pun, frank is so soft it physically hurts 😃

word count | 472

okay so if you haven’t read my daddy!frank stuff before, here’s the scoop: i only write sfw stuff for frank bc in my mind he is strictly sfw given his role in the movie gifted. something about writing smut for him just doesn’t work for me so whenever i write him as a daddy, it’s strictly in the caregiving role and nothing sexual!! it’s really worked for me and i love the safe!dad vibes he radiates 🥺🫶

so when reader’s sick, the most important thing for frank to do is just be nearby. he knows his baby gets anxious when she’s not feeling well so he cancels all work immediately and stays by her side for as long as she needs 💖

maybe one time reader gets a really bad cough/cold 😔👎 (which i recently had lol) she’s got a runny nose, sore throat, and a bad headache, and it lasts for days 😔😔

frank stays by her side the entire time, mostly snuggled up on the couch during the day. reader’s a little worried about passing the illness into him but he’ll have none of that, “let me hold you, pumpkin. i’ll be okay, need to make sure i’m taking care of my honey bee” 🥺😭

frank’s got the ultimate collection of dvd’s, so she gets to watch all her favorite movies. he also takes a trip to the store to grab all her favorite soft foods: yogurts, puddings, ice cream, soups, etc. maybe he spoon feeds her ice cream as they snuggle, trying to get any food in her just to help keep her strength up. “c’mon, sweetheart. can you take a few more bites for me? know it must feel good on your throat, bubba.”

maybe her favorite stuffie “catches” the sickness too so they need a little care as well 🥺💖 it makes it less scary for reader, to be doing it with her “friend.” so when she has to take medicine, or do a neb treatment, or stuff like that, her teddy bear skipper (see the cute boat pun??🥺) takes a spoonful, gets his own little mask, etc 🥺😭 frank plays right along, knowing it’ll help keep her anxieties at bay

nights when reader’s sick, she get to snuggle up with frank in his bed. usually she sleeps in her own room, since it’s equipped with all her little stuff. but whenever she needs or wants it, frank always lets her join him in his own bed. he keeps a glass of water and a box of tissues on the nightstand, rocking her softly as her eyelids grow heavy. “close your eyes, honey bee. need to get lots of rest so you can feel better soon. the boat’s at the dock waiting for our next big adventure”

🥺💖😭🫶 i LOVE soft!daddy!frank i would DIE for soft!daddy!frank 😔🙏

[yoongisleftearring]

snowball

-> Pairing: stranger!jeongin x gn!reader

-> Genre: fluff

-> Word Count: 907

-> Notes: no warnings

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

Winter was your favourite time of year. Sure, the frozen fingers and toes weren't fun and neither was the runny nose and mild cough that came with not wrapping yourself up properly in the freezing cold. You loved snow, at least for the first few days after it fell. That's why after the first snow of the year, you and your best friend decided to go to the local park, sledge in hand, ready to pretend like you were kids again as you played around in the beautiful white blanket that covered the grass as far as the eye could see.

You and your friend ruled to have a snowball fight to the death, the first to surrender is the loser. And, the loser had to buy the hot chocolates after, with all the fancy toppings included. To say you and your friend were competitive was an understatement, the game had started out quite calm, each of you would pick up a small piece of snow and hurtle it toward the other while the other tried to dodge while laughing too hard to see properly. But, over time the vibe had started to change from carefree to downright vicious when the snowballs started to gradually get larger in size, sure to give the other a shock on impact.

There were families and couples scattered around the park, all partaking in similar activities to yours although maybe not quite as violent. The majority of those other people stayed away from the ruthless match that was ongoing, which is why, when you picked up your largest snowball yet, too big to fit in one palm, let alone two, and aggressively threw it in the direction of your friend who had managed to duck right before it hit them, you were surprised when you heard the sound of impact. In the excitement, you must have closed your eyes but upon hearing the sound of snow hitting something, you opened your eyes straight away. Laying there on the ground was your best friend, who sat there howling in laughter as they looked up to a man who seemed to be around your age. You could see some snow slide off the surface of his jacket as his sharp eyes pierced yours.

"Oh my god, this can't be happening," you cried as you jogged towards the man, who looked utterly unimpressed. Upon reaching him, you took in his long, and sharp eyes that were the darkest shade of brown you had ever seen. His cheekbones were prominent and his face angular, he was really handsome. You cringed. "I am so sorry," you began, heat beginning to flood your cheeks in embarrassment and you were sure the shade of pink which your cheeks had been painted because of the cold had only darkened. The man seemed to have little response to your words so you tried again, "That was meant for them, I really am so sorry," you rambled, the man's eyes seemed to sparkle with mischief at your words.

"Well, maybe you could make it up to me. You really hurt me after all," he smiled, the dimples on either side of his cheeks making an appearance but you were too" focused on his words to take notice of that.

"Oh my god, I hurt you? I am so sorry, I got carried away," you pleaded but failed to notice that all hints of agitation had long since left the man's face, if even there at all. "What can I do? I'm so sorry."

"First, stop saying sorry-"

"Sorry," you mumbled, earning a playful glare from the man and just when you were about to apologise for apologising, you stopped yourself, common sense finally kicking in.

"Second, what's your name?" he finished as he looked at you, he thought you were a rambling mess, but a cute rambling mess.

"My name?" you questioned, he nodded with a closed-lip smile. "It's Y/n."

"Hi, Y/n. I'm Jeongin," he laughed warmly causing you to smile as you watched him awkwardly introduce himself.

"Hi, Jeongin. It's nice to meet you," you wave and the man smiles widely, giving you a small wave back.

"Maybe we could do this again," Jeongin began, "meeting, I mean. Not you hitting me with a giant snowball." You wince at his words, causing him to laugh at your expense. "Don't worry, I'd take a giant snowball any day if it meant I got to speak to a beautiful person like you."

You let out a breathless laugh as you feel your cheeks heating up once again which only made Jeongin smile wider as he wondered how lucky he was to bump into someone so cute. "Well, I do owe you for the assault, so, maybe I could get your number?" you asked timidly, your heart was beating faster than you thought was humanly possible and it definitely didn't slow down when you saw the man smile and reach down into his pocket to fish out his phone, opening it, ready for your contact. Your slightly shaky fingers (which you weren't sure were due to the cold or the handsome stranger standing in front of you) take hold of Jeongin's phone and quickly enter the new contact. You hand the device back to him, him promising to text you as he said his goodbyes to you and your friend before walking away, deeper into the park. You stood there in shock as your friend celebrated beside you while simultaneously mocking you.

[dailyreverie]

Oh Holy Night

A/N: This is for day 7 of the December writing even though today is already the 8th. I'm sorry! I'll catch up at some point of the month! O Holy Night was playing for the most part while writing this, so it kind of has the vibe of that song. This fic is also for @autumnleaves1991-blog 's and @clydesducktape Writer Wednesday!!

Day 7 - Catching a cold || Tissues, savory soup, and cuddles.

☃️ December Writing Challenge! 🎄

Pairing: Llewyn Davis x reader

Word Count: 937 words

Warnings: Homelessness, sickness, f words.

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As soon as you heard coughing coming from the hallway, you already knew who it was. It had been freezing outside, it had been like that for the past week, and the only thing that crossed your mind whenever the wind sent a chill through your bones, or whenever your nose began to get runny, was Llewyn Davis.

You wanted to believe you and Llewyn were going somewhere, that those occasions in which his lips have found yours right there in your living room - occasions that have been showing up more frequently every time - could only mean that his feelings were the same as yours. But Llewyn disappears, you know him to do so, and so when he doesn't come back after a few days, you let it slide even as much as it tries to affect you.

But now, with his pale skin and his awful dry cough, your feelings don't even come to float, they were long forgotten as you dragged him inside.

"Jesus, Llewyn. How long have you been sick?" Your eyes were filled with worry, your hands quickly removing layer after layer of snow-damped clothes from Llewyn's shivering body. When another coughing fit was your only answer, you could only sigh. "You know you can come here whenever Llew, where even have you been? You can't roam the streets like this!"

Llewyn lifted his hand to stop you, coughing lightly still. "I know, I just..." His voice is painfully rough, making you wince at the same time he does. "I didn't want to bother you with this."

He is down to wearing only a sweater when you grab his shoulders and look straight into his eyes, glossy from the flu and tired from whatever life had thrown at him the past few days. "You are not a bother." Your hand cups his cheek, and when he closes his eyes, you are sure he might fall asleep right there, standing in the middle of your living room.

Your hands are gentle when they push him to guide him to the couch, sitting him on the spot closest to the heater with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around his shoulders, right next to the make-shift Christmas you had placed next to the window, a box of tissues arriving into his hands once he was comfortable.

Llewyn's gaze got lost on the lights of your tree in a matter of seconds, inspecting it up and down with an easy smile. Yours, however, was lost on him, even from the kitchen as you warmed up some soup, you couldn't look away from Llewyn's sleepy form.

"Is one of this mine?" His voice brought you back to reality. "'Cause that's a lot of gifts, just saying."

He was warm again, you knew it when you heard his sarcasm again. You chuckle softly, bringing him the soup and sitting on the opposite side of the couch facing him.

"You are not getting anything if you keep scaring me like this." You warn him, making him roll his eyes to look at you as he takes a spoonful of soup.

The only sound in your small apartment is O Holy Night playing from the radio, the static and the calmness of the song giving you some sort of comfort as you lean sideways on the couch still looking at Llewyn. His nose keeps running, even more now with the soup, but his throat is not bothering him as much anymore.

"I got sick about three days ago," He begins, answering your question from earlier. "The subway was cold, someone sneezed, and the next day I woke up feeling like shit." You stare at him, and the worry in your eyes makes him smile droopily.

"You should have come here." You speak in a whisper, not wanting to break the calm atmosphere if you dared to speak louder.

"I didn't want to get you sick," Llewyn confesses, leaving the empty bowl on the table in front.

"I don't mind getting sick if it means you are safe, you have to understand that." You scoot closer to him, close enough to feel his forehead with your hand to check for a fever. When you make sure he doesn't have one you move your hand to the back of his neck, scraping his scalp with your nails, feeling his knotty curls wrapping around your fingers.

"I would have felt bad." Llewyn turns to look at you, his face just an inch away from yours, away enough for you to see the way his eyes travel from your eyes to your lips. "I didn't want you to feel like since we kissed a few times and then I can show up like this."

"I want you to show up," You admit, completely helpless from the way he is looking at you with such depth, with the Christmas lights shimmering in his night-dark eyes. "That's all really, I... I like you... I like you showing up."

Llewyn's flu leaves your mind when you stretch to kiss his lips softly, just for a soft kiss that has him melting under you as he kisses you back. It is a quick kiss, because you both knew you can't both be sick, but when you pull apart color is back in Llewyn's cheeks and the smile on your face can't be wiped away.

He is quick to pull you to his side with a kiss to the top of your head, draping the warm blanket around both your shoulders while the radio keeps playing staticky Carols that play in the background of the rest of your night.

❄️❄️❄️❄️

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[cheelduh]

How to Not Kill a Ginger (High School Au!)

Part 5 to the series hehehe

Parts: 1 2 3 4

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Synopsis: Childe’s stomach stirs when you take care of him, and he’s not sure if it’s because of his major crush on you or just plain old diarrhea.

Warnings: Swearing. Graphic descriptions involving the true idiocy of teenage boys.

Words: Abt 2.6k

Note: Sorry I sort of half assed this. I have big ideas for the next part tho ✨😮‍💨

If there's one thing you're sure of, it's that Teucer knows how to throw one hell of a tantrum.

Him and his brother, Anthon, under your watch, manage to get into a petty squabble that's been airing for the last fifteen minutes. You've done everything, from offering candy to promising an extra hour on the switch, but your efforts do not bear fruit.

What did you tell Childe again? Oh yeah, that babysitting kids was a breeze. Apparently it's not a breeze. Maybe something more like a shart. A chunky, messy one at that.

"Listen dude," You reason to Anthon, the oldest of the bunch gently. "Where did you hide his toy?"

Anthon sticks a tongue out at you, and you nearly cry at the intensity of the insult. "Not telling."

Your patience runs thin.

"C'mon Anthon," Tonia lectures from her chair on the table like the godsend she is. "Just give him his toy back. You're being so annoying." She's taking the words right out of your mouth.

"Not until he apologizes!" Anthon crosses his arms, huffing. "He ate my cheese string!"

"There are more cheese strings!" You exclaim, opening the fridge to prove your point. "I'm sure Teucer's sorry for taking yours. Just pick another one."

"But it's not the same! He took the last cheddar and mozzarella one, now there are only mozzarella ones left." He speaks in between Teucer's wails. You wonder if this is a daily occurrence.

Tonia sighs, gets up from her chair, and hands the eldest her cheese string. "Just take this and give him his toy back."

Almost immediately, Anthon reaches a hand behind the tv table and pulls out the miniature Mr. Cyclops, then throws it point blank at Teucer's feet.

Teucer wails louder.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, shoulders sagging under the stress of being a temporary teenage mother.

Then you take a deep breathe, voice booming over Teucer's cries, Anthon's grumbling, and the clicking of Tonia's tongue. "Let's make a cake!"

Everything in the room stills. Even Teucer's loud cries comes to a halt, and he inhales so sharply that the streak of snot over his lip goes right back into its origin.

You wince inadvertently.

"Poggers!" Anthon cheers, and his siblings join in, laughing and clapping in excitement.

Tonia's eyes widen in confusion when she briefly pauses from her rally. "Wait a minute. What are we celebrating? We can't bake a cake for no reason! It won't taste nearly as good."

Everyone stops to ponder.

Then you snap your fingers in realization, and the kids huddle around you. "How about a 'get well better' cake for your big brother?"

They erupt in cheers again, but you shush them gently, wink an eye for extra measure. "We have to be quiet! He won't get better if we wake him."

The three nod in understanding and begin shushing each other, failing to conceal their giggles.

As you watch them making their way into the kitchen, bounce in their steps, you can't stop the warm smile that reaches your eyes.

That smile soon becomes a frown of horror when Anthon cracks an egg over Tonia's head.

-

The cake is not half as bad as you thought it would be initially. Between mixing the ingredients and ceasing the kids minus Tonia from being menaces to society, you were able to find middle ground.

Eventually Anthon found interest in finding ways to lick the batter whenever you turned around, and Teucer found comfort in your left leg, latching onto it as if it were a life line.

Just like how Venti latches onto his stupid little bottle of wine disguised as a water bottle. Seriously, you’ve never talked to him sober, and at this point are afraid of what’s he’s like lucid.

Tonia had been the only one taking things seriously for the most part, except for the sprinkles-to-icing ratio. She drowned the entire cake in sprinkles, the mere sight adding on the ghost of an ache in your teeth.

It looks like twilight sparkles took a fat dump on it.

"Okay besties," You inwardly curse yourself for giving into Gen-Z vocabulary as you brush your hands on the apron. "I think we've done a pretty decent job."

"It looks so pretty!" Tonia grins widely, eyeing the edible pearls she strategically placed. She quickly strikes down a finger Anthon tried to poke into the icing, with the accuracy of a true warrior.

You shudder at the thought of Childe teaching her how to stab someone with safety scissors.

"Can we add candles?" Teucer asks, but Tonia clicks her tongue in distaste.

"It's not a birthday cake." She crosses her arms judgementally. The power in her glare reminds you of La Signora, strangely enough.

You ruffle his copper coloured locks anyways, and his grip on your thigh tightens. "We can add candles if you want Teucer."

He nods his head and snuggles deeper into the side of your leg. Your heart warms up considerably.

After the candles are poked in, you try to shrug him off. "C'mon dude, just for five minutes. You don't want me to drop the cake before your brother can get a bite do you?"

Reluctantly, he obliges, and runs off to help Tonia collect utensils to take up to Childe's room.

Anthon's on door duty, kicking away any toys that serve as obstacles in your way like a professional soccer player.

Once you four make it up the stairs in front of the designated room, Anthon doesn't bother knocking. He barges in like he owns the place, chin up high and a signature smirk on his face that he probably learnt from his older brother.

Childe fumbles awake, kicking the air whilst in shock by the chaotic sound of the door hitting the wall and Teucer screaming "Happy Birthday!" at the top of his miniature sized lungs as he runs in to plop right on top of his older brother.

His bewildered expression soon turns into something of a loving smile as he begins to process what is happening, eyes lighting up despite the deep bags that frame them.

Tonia places the plates on his side table, right next to the empty soup bowl you placed there earlier. She climbs up onto the bed as well to join in on the hug.

Anthon approaches at last, hands in his pockets as he coolly acknowledges his older brother. Instead of a bone-crushing hug like the other two are indulging in, his opts for a fist bump that Childe happily reciprocates.

Then finally, between the shield that are his siblings, his cerulean eyes land on your near the doorway, then trail down to the cake in your oven-mittened hands. He averts his gaze back to your own, and grins so wide his cheeks start to throb.

"Big brother! We made you cake." Teucer moves his head from his chest to face him. "So you can get better."

Childe's laughs ring in your ears, but you don't shy away from the sound. It's a pleasant, something that you wish to hear more of in the near future. Sure enough he laughs a lot at school, but the genuineness of it at home, surrounded by his siblings, stirs something deep within you.

"How thoughtful of you." He ruffles his hair, then his eyes widen as he ushers the two off of him. "You guys can't be near me! I don't want you to fall ill as well."

"But-but how will we feed you the cake without getting close to you?" Tonia frowns, and her two brothers nod in unison.

You chuckle lightly, approaching the bed with the cake in your hands. "I'm sure he has enough strength to feed himself. The hugs and kisses surely must've energized him."

To be honest, Childe's all green in the face and the last thing on his mind would be to indulge in the cake. You understand the feeling all to well. With his nose clogged up, throat all sore, there's no way he'll stomach it. It took a lot of nagging on your part to get him to finish the soup earlier as well.

He blows the candles anyways, clapping along his siblings and letting Tonia drop a fat chunk of the golden cake onto his plate. You find it endearing, regrettably so. His dedication to keeping their dreams is admirable in more ways than you can count.

This is the same guy that wears meme shirts to school, topped off with douchey sunglasses to give him a pristine vibe. The same guy that punches holes in walls like a Kyle. The very boy that flexes his toned biceps in-front of you during lunch time, successfully ruining your appetite.

"Wait a minute..." Childe inspects the cake closely, narrowing in on the candles. "Why is there an eleven?"

Teucer scratches his neck sheepishly. "Those were the only candles we had left."

After another short-lived laugh, Childe manages a bite as everyone stares in expectation, the sound of a tight crunch enveloping the room, making you grimace in secret. If Childe feels like puking out his guts right now, he's doing a hell of a job hiding it from his darling siblings.

You're glad nobody forces you to take a bite, or it would've been a double homicide right then and there.

Soon enough, one by one the children file out of the room, satisfied with their visit. The reality is that they don't want to miss an episode of backyardigans.

Once they leave, you approach him with a napkin. He gets the gist, spitting out the remnants of the cake you slaved over for about two hours.

"Colour me impressed." You snort, moving the cake aside so you can take a seat on the open space next to him. "How're you feeling?"

"Amazing." He exclaims, eyes red like a crackhead's, nose runny, with goosebumps kissing his pale skin. He sure does look...amazing.

"Cool." You say, abruptly getting up. "I'm gonna vibe with the kid—"

His hand shoots out from underneath the blanket, clammy palms wrapping around your wrist to keep you locked in place. You gulp in anticipation.

"You kissed me." Childe reminds you, eyes twinkling in mischief, a vicious grin plastered over his stupidly handsome face.

You try not to choke on your words. "You have circumstantial evidence at most." No attempts are utilized to pull away from him.

He raises a teasing brow, and you give in because the tension is thick. Thicker than the tension between Albedo and Kaeya when the latter shamelessly unzips his front to show more of his biddies. You have no idea why he hasn’t been dress coded yet.

"Fine." You snap out of your impure thoughts, and huff out, frustrated all over. "I kissed you on the cheek."

"Still a kiss though."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes. Also, cute nails." He points out, hand moving down to grasp your fingers. The act is intimate, his caress gentle and caring. Despite his brash, violent personality, he shows you a completely different side to him that hatches butterflies in your stomach.

"Thanks." You show off the bright jewels on your index. "You have a real nail technician in the house."

Tonia has some serious talent.

When he taps one of the jewels, you slap his hand away. "Careful there dude. These cost me a fortune."

His chuckles die down and he smiles again, but this time apologetically. "They didn't trouble you too much did they? I know they can be loud."

"I like loud." You answer him truthfully. "They're fun to be around. Not nearly as chaotic as you."

He blinks in mock offence, eyes narrowing shrewdly. "You come into my house, talk to my siblings, and have the nerve to insult me? Right after taking advantage of me?"

"If you don't shut up, I'll also have the nerve to rip you a new one." You reply dryly with the innocent curl of your lips.

"Bet."

You're about to lunge at him and scream a string of obscenities that no one has ever heard of before, but the Archons are listening and you don't want his siblings to grow up without someone to look up to. Wait a minute—scratch that. You'd be doing them a favour if you wiped his existence right here and now.

You have a fragile heart though. So you sigh, and grab a fistful of sheets in both hands instead.

Childe's grin turns into a petrified scowl.

"Oh no," He pleads, weakly fighting you back. "Have mercy! Please!"

You have loads of mercy. Just not enough for him.

When you have him wrapped in a successful bundle, Childe can’t help but beam, laying limp in his confines.

“What are you smiling about?” You inquire, pulling out the medicine from his box, pausing momentarily in shock. “Wait a minute, don’t tell me you’re into these things you freak.” Head snaps up so fast you nearly suffer from whiplash.

He’s about to answer you but his words turn into a fit of shallow coughs.

“I’m into whatever you’re into.” Childe’s shrug is nonchalant. “Even if that means I have to be tied up. Kinky by the way.” He winks, and you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you hold the spoon up. The dark reddish medicine swirls in deep hues.

“Shut up and open your mouth.”

“Girlie, I don’t think you understand how contradicting that statement is.”

You momentarily wonder if it’s too late to abort yourself.

—

Childe awakens at the crack ass of night, sweat slick, sticky all over, tousled hair sticking to his forehead. He’s a panting mess, eyes darting around the dark room, inhaling, exhaling, mind in a haze from the fever. Gaining somewhat of a grip on reality, he fumbles around to turn on his lamp, throat parched and in need of water.

When he manages to find the switch, he recoils at the brightness, adjusting to the sudden change in his vision. On his side table, there’s a bologna sandwich tucked safely in plastic wrap, a glass of room temperature water, and a bottle of painkillers.

His eyes disregard most of the things, finding interest in the bright pink sticky note next to the painkillers. Unable to ignore the dryness of his throat and the pounding of his head, he quickly gulps a pill down with most of the water, instantly feeling the relief of hydration.

Then, he pounces on the note, giddiness overtaking him despite the pang in his muscles, and the general feeling of absolute shit.

I had to leave. Don’t worry about your siblings, they’re all tucked in and fine. Except for Anthon maybe. Apparently he’s mildly lactose intolerant and thought it was a good idea to overdose on chocolate milk when I was busy with Teucer. Anyways, get better soon stupid.

— Y/N

He safely tucks the note under his pillow, edges of his lips turned upwards, warmth flooding his veins when he takes another look around his surroundings.

The room itself is cleaned, floor cleared from the initial clutter and the cool shiny collector’s knives he buys off of Amazon safely hung over the wall, not littered on his desk like they usually are.

The homework he was supposed do, but most likely wouldn’t, is already completed, stacked neatly atop each other.

Childe swears his heart bursts in his chest, exploding into tiny particles that overheat his entire body.

There’s no way in hell a few days worth of homework is gonna bring his failing mark up, but then again it’s the thought that counts.

While the sandwich is catered to his nausea, bland and plain for easy digestion, an easy fill, it’s the best meal he’s ever had in his life.

[vannahfanfics]

Happy are the Apples

Word Count: 1900

Fluff, Sick Fic, Domestic, Hurt and Comfort, Crushes

Summary: Pony has fallen ill with a cold. She laments the fact that, being so far away in Japan, she cannot have her mother's tasty apple pie that she always cooked for her when she was sick. Well, a pouty Pony will not do, so Neito's just going to have to make this apple pie, now won't he?

Vannah’s Vibes: “The Cure” by Lady Gaga

Here is the fic I wrote for the BNHA Background Character Bang! Please check out the amazing art done by my partner jackiejonzz as well, it’s super cute!

“Achoo! Ugh…” 

Neito nearly jumped out of his skin as the air split with a loud sneeze. He sat bolt upright in his chair, making it squeak as it scraped harshly across the wooden floor. It took him a few moments to realize where he was; it was only when the pencil stuck to his forehead fell off that he remembered that he had been downstairs in the common room studying at one of the tables. Well, attempting to anyway. He rubbed the red indentation that the wooden pencil had left in his skin and scowled at the writing utensil, which was now resting in the crease in his textbook. So much for that…

He jumped again as another, even louder sneeze cracked in the air like a whip. With a mutter of “What the…?” under his breath, he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up to walk over to the ring of sofas on the other end of the common room. He leaned over the back of the nearest one, squinting, and was greeted with a mess of blankets. The tips of two brown horns peeked out from the top. “...Pony?” 

The blankets wiggled around, and then Pony popped her head out. Her blonde hair was piled messily on her head in a bun in-between her horns, curly and unwashed. Her nose was bright red, and her eyes were watery and weary. She gave him a petulant sniff, then rubbed the underside of her runny nose with the side of her index finger. 

“Sorry, Neito. Did I disturb your studying?” she asked. Her voice was nasally and thick. 

Neito sure as hell wasn’t going to admit that he had been passed out drooling instead of studying, so he just shrugged, “No.” He propped his elbow up on the back of the couch to tuck his cheek into his hand, then raised his eyebrow at her. “What’s up with you? You have a cold?” 

“Yes,” she lamented. She flopped back against the throw pillows with a sigh, looking downright miserable as she pouted up at him. “It came on all of a sudden, and now I am miserable.” She heaved another sigh and poked her lips out even more. “Ahhh… At times like this, my mama would make her wonderful apple pie…” Tears flooded her already watery eyes, and Neito inwardly groaned. 

If there was one thing he had never been able to refuse, it was Pony’s pouty face. 

“Apple pie, huh?” he echoed, trying to seem less interested than he was. With a little whimper, Pony nodded and turned on her side to snuggle into the sofa. Neito tapped his index finger a few times against his cheek; was he really about to go through all the effort to make an American-style apple pie just because Pony was sick? 

Oh, damn it. Yes, he was. 

So that’s how he found himself carrying a bunch of grocery bags into the dorm kitchen after scouring the Internet for traditional apple pie recipes. He doubted it would be the same as Pony’s mother’s recipe, but the one he had found was award-winning or whatever, so it would have to do. He propped his smartphone against the coffee machine with the directions pulled up on the screen. As he was rolling up his sleeves and preparing to get to work, he heard shuffling from behind him. He turned around to see Pony standing in the entryway, her blankets wrapped tightly around her pale and sweaty form and her red, irritated eyes wide. 

“Neito… What are you doing?” 

“What does it look like?” he huffed and turned around to start taking the ingredients out of the bags. “I’m making you an apple pie.” 

He could see Pony’s face immediately light up in the reflection of the microwave, and he couldn’t help the satisfied little grin that pulled onto his lips. Yes, he much preferred her smiling to being miserable. He began peeling, coring, and slicing the apples into wedges, which he piled up onto a plate. As he worked, he could feel Pony’s eyes boring into him, making the hairs on the back of his neck prickle; when he turned around, she was now sitting at the small dining table in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Pony, shouldn’t you go back and lay on the sofa?” he asked, still holding one of the half-sliced apples in his hands. “You’re sick, you need to rest.” 

“Yes,” Pony admitted while plucking a few tissues from the box she’d brought with her. After blowing her nose and sniffling, she then looked at him with a sleepy smile. “But my favorite part about Mama’s apple pie was being in the kitchen while she cooked. It just smells so nice, and it always made me feel better.” 

For some reason, Neito found himself blushing. He hurriedly turned around so she wouldn’t see. She’d always had that weird effect on him. 

After he was done slicing up all the apples, he stepped over to the oven to preheat it. He then grabbed a saucepan and set it on a burner, which he flipped on. The electric coils immediately heated up to a bright red. He dropped half a stick of butter into the pan and idly swirled it around with a spatula until it melted, then added the flour. He continued stirring it around until it formed a thick paste. He pulled the spatula up, then grimaced at the stringy, gooey muck that clung to it. 

“So… Why apple pie?” he asked as he began adding the other dry ingredients and water. He turned to look at her while continuing to blend the mixture in the saucepan. She had her head laid on her arms, watching him with lidded eyes and a smile. It made his heart thump in his chest. 

“It is a traditional dessert in America,” she explained, then yawned. When she rubbed at her eye, it was so cute that Neito had to turn around to bite down on his bottom lip so he didn’t release the little squeal that tried to slip out. Ugh, what was wrong with him? It was just Pony… Sweet, adorable, cute Pony who he couldn’t stand to see sad… 

I might have slept so hard my brain oozed out of my ears, he thought with a quiet sigh. 

The sugar and butter mixture was boiling now, so he flipped it off and started preparing his pie crust. As he fit the pie crust down into the pan, he asked, “So do you miss it? Home?” 

“Of course I do,” she answered. Honestly, it was a perfectly acceptable answer, but it still made a pang of jealousy rip through him. He tried to focus on arranging the apple slices in the crust instead of the temper tantrum he kind of wanted to throw. Pony sniffed again, and then said, “But I love it here at U.A., too. I have learned so many amazing things, and I have grown stronger. And of course, I have met so many great people, like Neito.”

Neito froze. Then he grinned stupidly, the jealousy immediately being replaced by a rush of warmth and adrenaline. He was glad he was facing away from Pony now because it was just impossible for him to wipe that stupid grin off his face. As he finished arranging the apples and grabbed the saucepan to begin slowly pouring the mixture in, he said simply, “Oh, is that so?” 

“Of course! With Neito around, I could never be too homesick.” 

Neito’s arm gave a little jerk, and he cursed as some of the sticky, syrupy filling slipped out to splotch onto the counter. He finished filling the pie and slapped the top crust onto it, threw it in the oven, and then used a rag to carefully clean up the still-hot filling. As he tossed it into the sink, he let out a quiet sigh, trying to get ahold of himself. Pony was just too cute for her own good, and it was going to get him into trouble one of these days. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Neito said finally after he’d composed himself, walking over to join her at the kitchen table. It would take quite a while for the pie to bake. He leaned his cheek in his hand, smiling down at Pony. She mirrored it with that sweet little smile of her own, and gosh, did it just make his heart melt. 

Neito was going to have to face the fact that he was not brainless, but rather, he was just down bad for Pony Tsunotori. 

It didn’t take long for the scent of the baking apple pie to fill the kitchen. Pony breathed in deeply, her eyes fluttering closed, and then released a content sigh. 

“Mmm… It smells so good…” 

“Well, don’t get your expectations too high,” Neito sniffed with a small smirk. “I’m sure it won’t hold a candle to your mother’s.” 

“That’s okay,” she said, opening her eyes again to smile sweetly at him. “I will love it anyway because Neito made it for me.” 

This time, Neito couldn’t hide the way his expression twisted in embarrassment. He tried to cover it with his hand, but even sick, Pony was observant; her eyebrows cinched in confusion as his face lit up red, and his expression twisted into some weird blend between a smile and a scowl. “Did I say something odd?” 

He could lie. He could misdirect; he was quite good at that. But he really didn’t want to do that. Smiling wanly, he lowered his hand from his face and looked at her with a nervous little grin. 

“You really don’t know how cute you are, do you?” 

“Me? Cute?” 

“The cutest, unfortunately,” he sighed with a shake of his head. He then gave her a soft grin, reaching out to gently brush a strand of her hand from her face. “You do things to me that I don’t quite understand, Pony.” 

“Silly Neito!” Pony hummed, her eyes scrunching up as she smiled. “I think you just have a crush on me!” 

“Well, that would explain why I was so compelled to make you apple pie.” 

Pony giggled at this, then pulled herself up into a sitting position. She gathered her blankets around herself, then scooched her chair around the table until she was right up next to him. She tossed her messy hair over her shoulders, then snuggled up into the junction between his neck and shoulder, careful not to poke him with her horns. Neito’s heart stuttered, but he wrapped his arm around her anyway, enjoying the warmth slowly rolling off of her. 

“Are you trying to get me sick?” 

“We have a saying in America—‘What’s mine is yours.’” 

“I don’t think that should apply to colds,” Neito said with a scowl of distaste, and Pony laughed. She turned her face to look up at him, and he just melted into those big, beautiful blue eyes—beautiful even though they were watery and red and kind of crusty. Sighing, he rested his head carefully against hers and closed his eyes. “Well, it’s a good thing I decided to make apple pie then, since I’m going to get sick now.” 

Pony just cuddled further into him with another contented hum. He began to rub her back soothingly through the blankets. The scent of sweet apples danced around them, and Neito could not help but be momentarily grateful that of all the places Pony could be, she was right there with him. 

[caecilius-in-horto-ubi-sedebit]

Tim Drake is Disabled!

welcome to Pip's Projections! (fair warning im working mostly from oooold memory and vibes, im no expert)

neurodivergence!

i definitely get autism spec vibes from Timbo (maybe ADHD). His special interest– one of them, rather– being crime, and specifically high-profile, hero-adjacent crime.He seems to hyperfocus on anything crime related, and fixates automatically on such things– like where he's focused on the crime story on the TV when his dad is being awful

he also, at least from where im sitting, seems to have emotional dysregulation problems and problems recognizing his emotions in the moment and working through them– my most vivid example is when his dad dies, and he stuffs down his feelings, and either can't or refuses to communicate or emote, which is something i struggle with when i cant fully parse a feeling

hyperfocus, a deep drive for perfectionism– which isn't exactly a trait of autism or ADHD, but I've seen a lot of overlap, a need to be doing something– he rarely rests, and there's little (afaik) showing him just chilling, seeming to obsess over details (yes, he is a detective, still) and overthinking scenarios, especially possibilities

seems kinda socially awkward, but like not debilitatingly so, though his interests– that we've been shown– are fairly restricted, and often tie back in to crime and vigilante stuff

a large swathe of abilities, many of which are previously undisclosed, indicating a disinclination to share with friends/family/colleagues/whatever one's latest exploits

routines. this is less about him having to have the same day/week over and over, and more about planning. he has a plan, and he obsesses over also having a plan for every possible variation (control issues, i relate, except i ahte routines with a passion funny enough)

mental illness!

spicy spicy major depression, generalized anxiety, and the obligatory PTSD, for all vigilantes. also, i feel, maybe some depersonalization-derealization– though i dunno if id say full on disorder or if thats just symptoms, you know? love them differential diagnoses

the major depression... i mean the vibes alone? his friend dies, and he sinks into his grief to the point where he tries to clone said friend. whenever he suffers a loss, he retreats, and then he stuffs it all down, and if that doesnt scream major depression, i should get a new diagnosis

the anxiety?? i guess this ones more abstract, but the feel of the way he holds himself for one? its all shoulders up, sometimes literally poking up, even hunching slightly, generally in the shadows, covering the eyes. thats just me in public.

also the overthinking, though it does fit with the neurodivergence, in terms of how meticulous it all is, how in advance, it also works here. the fact that he needs these plans, and props, and extra everything, and a mask under a mask, that's an anxiety disorder.

i feel like the PTSD is just a given, right? like, he's definitely got some stress from all them traumas, you know?

the dissociation– depersonalization and derealization– comes from how his inner monologue sounds while he's in conflict. true, he's probably desensitised to the panic of violence, but he still sounds detached, like he's seeing the things happen, but he's not really aware, or like, present. that's just from the mood, the gutcanon if you will

physical illness!

goodbye spleen! obvi this means our boi Timmy is immunocompromised. he has to take antibiotocs whenever he's ill at all, and if his white blood cell count gets too high (afaik, i have a spleen, i just googled), and he should NOT be in direct contact with anyone showing symptoms of shit, even if it's just the common cold.

so that's a wee bit disabling. also, from personal experience, your immune system sucking means you are always sick, even when you have no reaosn to be. So have fun imagining Red Robin interrogating a goon, and having to pause to blow his runny nose. I know I shall.

immune system problems also happens to be exhausting. not just because of upkeep, but because your body is trying so hard to repair itself, but it is too weak– for Tim, because some asshole stabbed him in a not-so-vestigial organ, for me because collagen fuckery– and all that trying takes up your energy. so i think Red Robin goes out less often than the others, because he needs more rest, as a precaution and as recovery

tl;dr he could be disabled, DC. he could be ND, DC. he could be so much cooler, DC!

i need more outright disabled characters. in the meantime, tim is my comfort probably disabled character

[baubaes]

hi! is there a chance for Jemily with no22? some angst maybe? cheers🤗

Well hello to you to! And of course there is!

@thatonecurlygirl prompt list 22

“I can’t give you what you want.”

Ship: Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau

Word count: 5,4k

Genre: angst/hurt/fluff/very very light nsfw? i have no clue how to label this

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, injuries, classic criminal minds vibes :^)))

Summary: "Right now, Emily Prentiss was dead. She, however, was on a plane to Paris." aka JJ taking care of staked Emily, the blackbird flashback and events around it.

A/N: i thought of way too many scenarios when even though Emily and JJ are literally in love, it could never work out. here's one of them :^) i hope you'll enjoy it!! xx ana apparently i just can't imagine a scenario in which these characters could have a peaceful, quiet and happy life, im so sorry

Emily felt drained.

She was all hurting, really bad, her head was killing her, not only from the beating she received those several days ago, but also the mere stress of all this.

It was pretty baffling for her to realize that she survived this whole ordeal.

She couldn’t say for how long she was out; it felt both like a blink of an eye and an eternity.

And she really thought that she died, when she eventually lost consciousness in Morgan’s arms. That still felt like ages ago.

It was all really confusing, but then again, she couldn’t spare too much of her strength to dwell on what actually happened. Emily just felt too weak to try to keep her eyes open for too long and that resulted in her reality being pretty much scattered.

When she woke up in a hospital room, she was dazed and overwhelmed. They’ve put her on some strong painkillers after the surgery and most of the time right then felt like a blur. She thought she heard some voices in her dream, maybe doctors, maybe… Was it JJ?

She heard bits and pieces of conversations, somebody commenting on her condition in a low voice, nervous footsteps circling around the room, the dimmed rhythmical sounds of all the equipment she was hooked to, some sort of buzzing and a one sided conversation that had to be a phone call.

Was it just some bizarre dream?

A way for her subconscious mind to cope with the anxiety surrounding the recent events?

Whether it was real or not, it let her stay in this state of slumber brought to her through an IV drip.

Despite all that, she felt really grateful. She wasn’t sure where to channel this gratitude though;

Her team for backing her up?

The doctors for patching her up in the OR?

God, for allowing her to continue her existence?

Then again, she wasn’t sure if the last one existed, nor that the almighty entity would waste its time on making sure little old her survives.

It was comforting though, that her last moments on this Earth managed not to be spent with Doyle, even if that was against her will, so in theory, she didn’t have much of control over this.

Memories of him were a combination of ones that she’s made as Emily Prentiss and ones that she’s made as Lauren Reynolds. As Emily, it consisted of all those moments when he threatened her and her team, he kidnapped her, tortured her, nearly killed her…

As Lauren she was able to saw his more… Humane side.

Lauren was his girlfriend. Lauren lived with him,

Lauren shared her joys and fears with him. Lauren loved him.

But that was Lauren.

She wasn’t real. An identity, that’s all that she was.

And even though Emily tried to convince herself that Lauren’s feelings were perfectly compartmentalized away from her own, deep down she knew she was lying to herself.

Was Doyle ever somebody she actually loved?

She definitely despised him, but it felt like now she was obligated to despise even her own self for ever having feelings for this monster. Positive ones anyway.

Right now, Emily Prentiss was dead.

She, however, was on a plane to Paris.

It was all coordinated by Hotchner and JJ.

Nobody else knew.

Her team, her friends, her loved ones were about to attend her funeral in a few days.

She imagined confused look on Spencer’s face, Garcia’s eyes filled with tears, Morgan frowning and looking away. Would Rossi be sad, or would he finally feel relieved to be ridded of her impulsiveness and comments on literally everything?

She imagined her mother, who obviously was not on it, throwing a pile of soil on the coffin. That would not hold her body inside. Would she cry? Would she stay composed even at a funeral of her only child? Well, again, it wasn’t real real, but she wouldn’t be able to realize that.

For some reason, she figured JJ would’ve taken it upon herself to feel guilty, despite knowing what was going on.

They both knew it was the only way to make it all work.

Emily worried about everyone, but there were two people she worried about the most. Spencer and Penelope.

They both were incredibly strong, but she couldn’t be sure how would they deal with this.

She worried, since Reid did not cope well with losing authorities. And even if he would never admit it to her face, she knew that he looked up to her.

The thought of that made her feel the bile appear on the back of her throat.

That kid has lost so many people already… And he internalized all that, it had to be weighing on him every single day. It felt cruel to add another person to that list.

She had to keep thinking about the bigger picture to even remotely be able to deal with all that.

Now Garcia was somebody that Emily truly loved.

It was hard to imagine her being sad over her „death”.

Not because of the probability of the blonde being sad,

rather the severity of her grieving, Emily would imagine.

Penelope was one of those people who were able to feel so much, maybe even too much sometimes.

And on a daily basis it was wonderful. That’s what’s made her such an incredible, empathetic human being, who, despite their job, was still able to not only - be cheerful, but to cheer others up as well.

When she thought of that, it felt as if her heart could break to million pieces.

It was strange, how in that moment she should still feel the pain;

They’ve stabilized her after the surgery, but there were still bruises on her face, stitches across her abdomen, burnt skin on her chest. And she did feel it, but it was blurred, far away.

The feeling that made her grasp reality to the point of hyperawareness was the emotional pain.

Somehow she was able to compare it to the pain of being staked.

She still wasn’t sure what was a proper emotional response in that situation.

It wasn’t in the manual, or in training, despite people having to go… Well, faking your own death was like going undercover, in a way.

Both at the Interpol and the FBI, nobody taught her how to feel, while pretending to be dead.

She knew how to make it happen technically, more or less. After all, Lauren had already died. Her old team, JTF-12, was able to pull that off those several years ago. Including her of course.

But that was Lauren. An identity, which, sure, she’s been tied to for quite some time, living as her, acting like her, becoming her in a way.

Still, just an identity.

Right now, there wasn’t a disguise, an identity to toss away, allowing her to come back to her regular life.

Right now her regular life was supposed to cease to exist.

Before, she thought about her goal and the fact, that she survived. She was grateful, in some way she felt obligated to take care of Declan and she wouldn't be able to do that, if she was actually dead, right?

Even though she knew that she had no right to feel attached to the boy as much as she did, she just couldn’t help it. The image of him as a toddler, walking around the room in Doyle’s house stuck in her head. She couldn’t shake it off. And even before Doyle found her, that image caused her to have problems with falling asleep from time to time.

Emily never seriously thought of herself becoming a mother, for that role to be the main purpose of her life. She was afraid of screwing her potential children up, because she knew that even if she meant well, it wouldn’t guarantee them turning out okay. And her line of work made it impossible to both realistically approach the idea of maternity - she didn’t have a partner and if she were to be a single mother - it would be impossible to keep up with the BAU - that job was just too demanding; but also she saw so many downright evil, just unimaginable things that people were capable of doing to one another. How could she ever be able to shield a child from that?

Suddenly, all these ridiculous, small things that she wouldn’t think twice about made her feel as if each and every part of her life was just slipping through her fingers, right there, right then.

That one window in her apartment, the one with the wide windowsill, she loved to sit on it and watch the sky. Sergio would curl up in her lap or right next to her, on the windowsill, quietly purring, when she would pet his black fur. It didn’t happen often, because most nights she'd come home so exhausted, all she could basically do was just pass out on her bed. And Sergio would sleep on a pillow right next to her, despite Emily's promises to herself that she will teach him to stop, because she'd wake up covered in his fur with a runny nose.

But when she had a chance to do that, it made her mind stop racing, at least for a few minutes. That barely ever happened anywhere else.

Now she realized that Sergio was alone in her apartment and she panicked. But just for a second, because then she remembered JJ in the hospital, telling her that Penelope took him in. Of course she did. He'd definitely be surrounded with love. She wished she could've just taken him with her though, since she's already been missing him. Silly little fur ball, making her fall in love with him gradually. Penelope wouldn't be able to resist his charm for sure, she thought to herself, smiling. Still, she felt really sad.

Emily realized that she’s left so many things behind.

She didn’t think of herself as someone intensively attached to material possessions, but all these had a sentimental value for her and that was the only thing that mattered.

The thoughts invading her head were random, coming to her without any particular sense or order, falling on her mind like an avalanche.

And she thought about that crumpled up picture, capturing her with her friends when she was a teenager, back in Rome.

A cross, that her mother gave her on her first communion. She wasn’t ever really wearing it, but she liked knowing that it was safely tucked away in one of the drawers in her closet. It brought her some strange kind of comfort.

A box with letters she’d exchange with her father when she was a kid, because even though they moved around together as a family, he still would have assignments all around the world. So he would leave for a single weekend, or for several months at a time. No matter how long or short was he leaving for, he’d always try and send her a postcard, hence the collection of them, both from huge cities in Europe and Asia and tiny places she’s never even heard of before in America or Australia.

Maybe she wasn’t going through this box ritually on some settled schedule, but every once in a while she would look at those tacky pictures of touristy little towns, as well as simple, beautiful pictures of great historical monuments or watercolored landscapes of picturesque countrysides. And they'd make the corners of her lips rise up just a tiny bit.

All that with a couple words reading simple greetings, scribbled in a hurry, in her dad’s small, not exactly neat handwriting, on the back of each and every one of them.

„Love you, Dad” summed up every single message.

And looking at those words made her feel warmth, both now and when she was a little girl. Her father wasn’t very talkative and he rarely told her he loved her unprompted. So she got used to reading these words, instead of hearing them from him.

She cherished these postcards and anytime she’d go through them, she noticed some kind of feeling spread throughout her body, that felt like pure joy, but also love and safety.

Kurt Vonnegut’s "Sirens of Titan".

Morgan lent it to her a few months ago.

The book was by her bed, bookmarked with some crumpled receipt for groceries she’d found at the bottom of her purse, when she'd had to suddenly break away from Rumfoord and Kazak on the jet.

She’s read it before, truth be told, (in Italian and back in the ’80s), but Morgan insisted that she just had to read the original version. And even though there was a stack of books she wanted to read going back at least two years sitting on her bedroom floor, dangerously leaning against the radiator, the day she brought it home, she placed the Sirens on the very top of her bedside table, instead of the stack.

She’d imagine Morgan would appreciate that gesture.

Morgan, her partner.

Morgan, who held her before she passed out.

Morgan, who always had her back.

And she tried to do the same for him in the field.

He’s saved her ass countless times.

Emily wished she could have had his back right now.

She realized with a paralyzing fear that it could last forever.

Doyle could lay low, undetected for years.

Would it keep Morgan up at night?

Would he blame himself, wondering?

If he'd gotten to her seconds earlier, if he had only ran faster, if he’d found her sooner, would it change anything?

Thinking about that made her fists clench suddenly.

If she had any fingernails left, they would surely dig into the skin of her palms very painfully right now.

Emily felt this overwhelming guilt filling her chest, making her throat feel as if it was closing, her teeth grit.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, as if the jet’s cabin had become decompressed and she couldn't reach the oxygen mask.

"You’re doing okay?"

She heard the soft and calming voice of her only companion on this flight, naturally besides the pilot.

JJ was looking at her with those big, worried, blue eyes and even though Emily’s first instinct was to nod, as she did just that, she felt her eyes watering.

"I can't stand the thought of all of them grieving over a lie."

She mumbled out.

"Emily, you know that this is the only way. We’d never make them go through this, if there were any other options. They will understand."

JJ’s voice became more firm with the last sentence, she was obviously in a mind space reserved for dealing with crisis.

"I really thought that was it, you know?"

Emily asked, a little startled at the sound of her own voice.

She couldn’t recall the last time she’s held an actual conversation with another person, one that wouldn’t consist of barely understandable mumbling as a form of communication on her end.

"There came that point, where the pain went away, I guess I went into shock. I heard Morgan’s voice and I wanted to keep my eyes open like he told me to so bad, but I just couldn’t. I felt like I was slipping away and it felt so… Easy. I wasn’t scared at all. I… I knew you guys would take care of Declan, if I wasn’t around. And that all of you would be okay."

She said, trying to piece together everything that happened.

"And apparently I've coded in the ambulance? I had no idea, but some glimpses are coming back to me, slowly. But it was like I’d fallen asleep."

She added, her face reflecting her mind in a state of deep contemplation.

Her thoughts were interrupted by JJ’s voice.

"Thank God, you didn’t…"

Emily only now noticed that with every word that she spoke, JJ’s eyes became more and more glossy. She frowned.

"Hey, I’m here."

She leaned in and smiled faintly.

"Its gonna take way more than some branding and a little stake for you to get rid of me."

JJ laughed, wiping the tears away, before they had a chance to flow down her cheeks.

"Why would I ever want to get rid of you?"

Blonde asked, her voice now soft, her expression puzzled.

Emily felt something strange in her chest.

At first her brain assumed it had to be her burnt skin and damaged nerve endings, but no.

It felt nice, it wasn’t painful.

That warmth, spilling around her insides.

She didn’t have a witty comeback to her question. She wanted to think it was because of the meds making her hazy, but she wasn’t sure anymore. She just looked down at her chest and frowned again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The first thing I’m doing, when we get to Paris is having this removed."

She heard her own voice.

"How could a brand hurt more than getting staked?"

"Maybe it’s a psychosomatic itch you’re scratching? The brand left an emotional toll, Doyle established dominance over you by marking you as his, a stake… I mean you overcame death. The ultimate victory over your foe. Why suffer a pain you’re proud of?"

JJ wondered, actually trying to analyze all that. She looked at her, now amused.

"Or you could always get another tattoo."

Emily laughed at that. JJ continued.

"You know, something transformative? Like a… A phoenix. Or a blackbird."

"I love the song."

Emily said.

"But something tells me, I shouldn’t tread in your waters."

JJ looked at her with a questioning look.

"Come on, JJ. Something’s obviously different about you. You commandeered an Interpol jet. You’re profiling me."

JJ looked down and sighed. Emily continued.

"Why didn’t you say your transfer was a backstop?"

At that JJ’s expression turned to a confused one, indicating that what the other woman said was the truth.

"Oh, I know that look. The 'I can’t trust anyone, but myself' look. I invented it."

Emily added, trying to make it sound funny, but ultimately, it still came out serious, because it was true. JJ smiled at her slightly, but she looked sad.

"Do you ever feel like you’re in way over your head?" Emily nodded, wanting her to continue.

"I got assigned to an information hunt. Instead, I am chasing an unsub, who killed my informant."

"What would Hotch tell you to do?" Emily asked without hesitation. That’s how she found her way around during any investigation, ever since she joined the BAU.

"Focus on victimology, let behavior lead the way…"

JJ listed out loud.

"Exactly. Who did your unsub kill?"

"The one person I was getting through to."

"Why?"

Emily continued with her questions, seeing that they initiated JJ’s thought process.

"Because I was getting through to…" JJ said, frowning.

"I was getting through to her. What if she was about to expose her killer? Someone on the inside…"

Emily could tell that JJ needed somebody else to look at her situation and see it in from a different angle. JJ got really pensive, her eyes glued to some nonexistent point in space.

"It sounds like it's time for you to be the blackbird and flip the script." Emily said slowly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I guess it does." JJ said with a tiny smile, before getting up.

"Hey, why won’t you try and sleep at least a while? We won’t be landing for several hours, so…"

"Right. You should try and sleep too. I’ve been in a coma, so I caught some Zs, when you think about it. Medically induced ones, but still. You on the other hand must be exhausted."

Emily’s face was covered in grey, purple and yellow spots, but JJ’s face, even though not bruised, still indicated that she had a rough couple of days. She had bags under her eyes, her cheeks pale, instead of slightly flushed like they normally were, her face tired.

They both looked quite miserable.

JJ just smiled in response, but her eyes weren’t a part of that smile. Her eyes stayed sad.

She walked to another seat, so she could try and lie down.

Emily wanted to let JJ rest, because she suspected that by suggesting sleeping, she actually had an excuse to take a nap herself, even if it was supposed to last only few minutes. She deserved a good night sleep, Emily thought to herself, watching the blonde struggling to find a comfortable position. When she eventually succeeded, Prentiss leaned back in her own seat, looking out the window. Her chest was still burning, but she wouldn’t even flinch. Her eyes, almost independently from her will, landed on the other woman every couple of minutes. She watched JJ’s chest move rhythmically, until her breathing became really deep and really steady and she was without a doubt asleep.

She knows what’s happening,

Emily thought to herself.

And so does Hotchner.

Yet, they’re going to have to look at the rest being in pain and they’re going to have to pretend that they’re going through the same thing.

And when she thought about Hotch, it wasn’t that hard to imagine.

He would keep himself perfectly composed in pretty much any situation she ever saw him in.

He was able to calculate his next move without showing as much as a microexpression.

It could be a little unsettling sometimes, but then again when he was surrounded by his family, when he was with Jack, he would expose this softer and loving side of himself. Just a bit. It was quite the view.

Emily had no doubt that he was a good father. And a good man.

He really was great at planning, thinking ahead like no one else;

he had his way of smoothly dealing with issues that inevitably came up during their investigations.

All those things made him an incredible section chief.

Emily was certain that she could trust him with her life. And she did.

It would be hard for anyone to keep such a burdening secret from people you are constantly around.

Eventually, you could start believing the lie, but that also took dedication. It was even harder when you had to lie to people that were actually a part of your life, people that you were close to.

It’s one thing to be undercover and to keep a secret from people you’re trying to infiltrate. During such operations it felt justified to do that, choosing the lesser evil, the end justify the means and all that.

It’s a completely different thing to do that to your friends and family.

"The secret to getting away with lying is believing with all your heart. That goes for lying to yourself even more so than lying to another."

A quote by the author Elizabeth Bear, that she's memorized from reading her New Amsterdam series more than once. She was repeating it in her mind, not being able to stop.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath in. She knew that they made the right call. Still, it was just devastating, thinking what they voluntarily sentenced themselves to.

She tried to calm herself down with proper breathing. It helped.

Emily finally decided to try to sleep. She thought that since she was still medicated, she’d pass out easily, but that didn’t happen.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw faces of her team members. She felt like her chest was being crushed. Breathing didn't really help.

After what felt like forever of forcing herself to fall asleep without any luck, she opened her eyes and just kept them open. She focused her gaze on what was behind the window.

The clouds, barely visible in the navy skies.

She didn’t do it on purpose, but she realized that she started to dissociate.

And she let herself do it.

The numbness felt better than the stinging guilt.

She didn’t really register it, but tears left her eyes, falling on her lashes and cheeks, as her deep, dark eyes focused on the navy color in front of her, forty thousand feet above the ground.

She couldn’t tell how long it took, but only JJ’s turning in her sleep, simultaneously throwing a bag off the seat made Emily come back to reality. Blonde didn’t wake up. She looked really peaceful.

She thought about not seeing her for God knows how long. It stung, to a point of her gasping. Afraid, that maybe that could’ve woken her up, Emily wiped her tears away, but JJ’s eyes stayed closed. And these intrusive thoughts came back to roam inside her head.

Sure, JJ wouldn’t be with the BAU now, since she’s had that informant operation, but no doubt, she would still see them. They were a huge part of her life after all.

Emily watched her face, calm and soft, imaging it twisted in pain and grief, having to pretend one of their own was dead.

In her mind, JJ was one of the strongest people she knew. She was persistent, hardworking and incredibly professional, but she was also kind, nurturing and very loyal.

What she was doing for her at this very moment proved it perfectly.

She knew that JJ accepted her part in this plan on her own and if she were to start trying to talk her out of it (never mind that it was also too late for that at this point), she wouldn’t change her mind. To be fair, if they switched places, she would do the same for JJ, but still, she couldn’t stop worrying about the woman sleeping on a seat across from her.

Emily watched her friend and it brought her some sort of comfort, a feeling of safety.

She finally dozed off, trying not to think, but focused on JJ’s steady breathing instead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Emily, we’ll be landing in about an hour."

She heard, opening her eyes, and she saw JJ standing in front of her, one of her hands on her shoulder.

"I thought you’d like to change before the transfer."

Emily’s hand landed on top of hers, holding both of them on her shoulder.

"Oh, right. Thank you, I…" she looked down at their hands, trying to focus. "We’ll have to say goodbye soon, right?" she blurted out, looking back at her face.

JJ sighed and sat down right next to her, not taking her hand away, but instead, intertwining their fingers and resting both their hands in Emily’s lap.

"Well, it seems so."

She smiled, but her eyes were reddened, filling with tears once again.

Emily’s gaze was glued to their hands, watching JJ’s wrist and fingers, so delicate right now, but perfectly capable of throwing a good punch. Her eyes stopped at the ring on her finger; Henry’s birthstone. She felt that strange feeling again, that warmth spreading throughout her body.

"It’s not going to last forever. We will find Doyle."

JJ mumbled out and Emily held her breath.

"I know, but… I will miss you so much."

Emily said, before instinctually putting her arms around blonde’s waist, to which she responded with wrapping her arms around her neck. JJ tried to be gentle, because of Emily’s condition, but brunette only held her tighter.

They were so close right now, that she could hear the other woman’s heartbeat. It was slightly elevated.

JJ pulled back just a little, so she could look at her face.

"I will miss you as well." she whispered, their eyes laid on each other.

JJ said the next sentence so quietly, that Emily could barely hear it.

"You’re very special to me, you know that?"

Emily wouldn’t be able to logically explain why she did what she did next, but somehow her hands ended up on both sides of JJ’s face and she leaned in, placing her lips on blonde’s ones.

She wasn’t thinking, but as she kissed her, the other woman immediately kissed her back. Emily felt soft palms cupping her face, her eyes closed. That kiss was filled with so much pain and longing and some kind of desperation.

But it made her whole body fill up with that warmth.

Emily wasn’t even sure what that was, so she tried to be gentle. She ended up kissing JJ in a somewhat shy manner, yet the other agent was deepening the kiss with each second, making it more and more passionate. Emily felt her back hitting the wall and a moan left her throat, captured by the kiss. JJ reacted by slowing down, moving her fingers across her face, running them through her hair. Emily was still cupping JJ’s face, her skin felt so soft and warm under her fingers when she brushed them across her cheeks. Their tongues slowly swirling around one another, this time Emily caused JJ to gasp, as she bit her lower lip. She responded with kissing brunette even more eagerly, so Emily brushed her fingers along her neck, resting them on her shoulders. One of her hands was caressing the skin covering JJ’s collarbone. At that she sighed, barely audibly, but Emily caught it. Her fingers moved towards the skin covering her breastbone.

JJ suddenly pulled back and broke the kiss, leaving both of them breathing heavily, blood flowing through their cheeks and lips.

Emily placed her hands back on JJ’s shoulders, she didn’t mean to make her feel uncomfortable.

Finally, after what felt like forever, she broke the silence.

"JJ, I…" she didn’t even know what to say. It wasn’t right. She had a loving husband, a family. She didn’t mean to ruin it for her.

"We don’t have to talk about this." she said quickly and Emily felt strange. She took her hands off of her shoulders and leaned back, so there was space between them.

"I… Dont… Look, if we won’t see each other for…"

She started, but her voice broke, when she realized what expression showed up on JJ’s face.

Regret.

Emily felt so many contradicting things in that moment, that she basically froze. JJ was looking away.

"You went through something traumatic, we all did. It’s only natural to crave human contact then. And it can present itself in many different ways. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s fine."

"JJ, it means… It means everything for me."

Emily choked out, placing her hand on top of blonde’s. JJ turned her hand, so she could squeeze Emily’s one between her fingers.

She smiled looking at their hands, but only for a fraction of a second. And then she took her hand away, only to look Emily straight in her eyes. She seemed sad, but also… Agitated.

"I can’t give you what you want, Emily." she said quickly, getting up.

"There’s too many reasons why. And… You have to leave."

JJ stated, sort of matter-of-factly.

Emily couldn’t really comprehend what just happened. But all of the pain, both physical and mental suddenly came back, not dimmed anymore.

This was… This wasn’t the time for this. Come on, Emily, it’s time to compartmentalize again. You used to be so good at this!

Well, before joining the team anyway.

"We’re landing in 15. You have to change, definitely cover up these bruises at least a bit." JJ continued talking, her voice morphing back to that task-oriented tone. She was taking clothes and makeup out of the bags, handing the items to her. "Hurry."

Emily felt like she couldn’t move, but she forced herself to get up and do what she needed to. They weren’t looking at each other and even though she wanted to scream, she kept perfectly quiet.

Compartmentalize. It’s not the time. It didn’t mean anything.

They landed and after JJ made sure that the right person was waiting outside to drive Emily to a safehouse, she stood in front of her and hugged her. Emily wasn’t really expecting that right now, since the atmosphere was so tense.

"I will miss you, no matter what." JJ whispered and even though Emily was so stunned from the pain and all around confused, she knew they couldn’t part without a proper goodbye.

"Thank you, for everything. Take care of them." Emily said and she embraced her tightly, one last time. Emily wanted to say that she’ll miss her like crazy, but it felt both like too much and not enough.

She didn’t want to let them turn this into a final goodbye.

"Of course. I will see you soon, okay?" JJ smiled and Emily smiled back. It wasn’t the best forced smile, but she just couldn’t do better in that moment.

"Goodbye, Jennifer." she said sounding way too official, taking a first step out.

"Goodbye, Emily."

Prentiss turned away and quickly made her way to the parked car.

She saw JJ’s face one last time through the tiny window.

The car left the landing strip and disappeared in the night.

„Goodbye, Emily.” she thought to herself, as she caught her own reflection in the side mirror.

„Goodbye, Emily.”

JJ whispered, placing a red rose on the coffin.

[leelysian]

Unwell

genre: slight angst with fluff ending, implied crush au, one shot

pairing: female reader x best friend!Minho

word count: 1.4k

context: you're terribly sick, you haven't told anyone but your best friend somehow knew something was wrong when you wouldn't reply to his numerous texts.

A/N: this may or may not have turned into a rant because I was sick for the past few days akskakdksks

Seasonal flus were the worst. Slightly chilly from hot or slightly warm from cold and suddenly your body decides, “You know what? I don’t vibe with this weather. I’ma just break down.” You had a mild fever and a cold. While the fever was mild, it was annoying because you weren’t sick enough to just pass out for hours and having a cold meant your nose either:

Dried up like the Sahara which ended up burning your sinuses and it felt like your skull was on fire.

Got blocked like the path between the North and South Korea; nothing got in or out which meant breathing through your mouth which also dried up.

Runny like the Amazon river, there’s crumples of tissue paper all over your floor. Your nose was red, rough and raw from blowing so much, the delicate skin was irritated.

Here you were, slumped on your bed with the covers on top of you but a leg and an arm sticking out because it got too hot to be fully under the covers and too cold to be fully without. Sleep eluded you the previous night, you just couldn’t sleep, it wasn’t gonna happen. Somehow you’d fall asleep only to wake up a little while later, and end up tossing and turning in your bed. Because you were unsuccessful in your attempts to get a good night’s rest, you woke up with a pounding headache from your eyelids to the back of your head. Your whole body ached.

Leftovers in your fridge were finished so you forced yourself to get up and heat some instant noodles to eat with your meds. Water tasted bitter. Your appetite vanished. Eating was agonising because afterwards you felt suffocated, an invisible pressure on your torso prevented you from breathing fully, your lungs not taking in air fully so your breaths were short. Hell, peeing was a chore. At least you weren’t on your period, maybe if that happened, you’d actually die. Imagine having to frequently change pads/tampons and underwear while feeling like you got ran over by a truck. Were you overreacting? Maybe. But it was allowed at this point.

So in short, you were suffering since the past two days. You were absolutely miserable. You wanted to cry but crying meant your nose getting runny then eventually blocked and then a headache so you sucked it up. You brought a hand to your head to massage your head because it hurt, grimacing by the tangles and the grease. You reached for your phone, unlocked to see various social media notifications which you cleared and messages from your friends which you also elected to ignore and reply to later. Playing a playlist with slow music with medium volume and dropped it back on the bed, you closed your eyes and let the soft melodies flow into your ears in hopes of helping you forget about your headache once again. This is how you held on to your last shred of sanity but you failed to hold on to your consciousness and fell into a dreamless sleep. 

You woke up to a cold compress on your forehead, your room clutter and mess free, the windows open and something nice smelling. You thought you were dreaming when a face you know all too well walked into your bedroom with a bowl. “Minho? what are you doing here? Get out. I’m sick, you’ll get sick too.” you rasped. “Well, about time you acknowledged my existence, even if it’s to tell me to get out. I should’ve been here earlier, maybe it would’ve been helpful if you told me you were dying in your pigsty of a room.” he snapped. He put the bowl on your nightstand, you realised it was water, he was probably going to replace the cold compress. 

“You look terrible.” he said. “Gee, thanks.” you retorted. “You need a shower.” he advised. “Nooooo.” you whined and snuggled further into the covers. “Come on, y/n, there’s no way you’ll get better if you feel disgusting. I’ll help.” He said and snatched the blankets. “Minho, stop. You’ll get my germs.” He sighed and rolled his eyes, “Don’t worry about it now come on.” he said and helped you sit up then suddenly with strength you didn’t know he had he carried you princess style to the bathroom and you yelped. “Jeez y/n you’ve lost so much weight.” he tsked. “Do you think you can wash your hair on your own?” he asked as he sat you down on the counter. “I’ll be okay.” you replied tiredly. “If you need help, just ask.” he said and adjusted the water temperature in the shower then left.

You took your time showering, the first five minutes just standing under the warm water which opened up your sinuses, having the steady stream of water beat down over your back and easing your sore muscles. You washed your hair slowly, so as not to tire your arms out. Stepping out of the shower, you felt immensely better, finally able to breathe a bit easier. Drying off, you wore your fluffy bathrobe and walked out to see a big shirt (one you ‘borrowed’ from Minho) and pajama shorts laid out on the bed. Thankfully, he didn’t lay out underwear for you. You dressed up and got settled back in bed, already tired again.

You unlocked your phone and saw the concerned texts from Minho because you weren’t answering them or his calls and felt guilty. A knock resounded from your door, “come in.” you said and Minho walked in with a tray. “Well well, finally I see y/n and not a corpse.” he teased. Whatever was on that tray smelled heavenly and your stomach rumbled. He put the tray down on your lap and he brought the back of his hand to your neck to check your temperature. “Hm, your fever has probably gone down but I think it’ll be back.” he notes. The whole time you stared at him. “Hey. I’m sorry I ignored your texts.” you said and twiddled with your thumbs, the guilt unbearable. He took your hands in his own, “It’s fine. I’m sorry for snapping. I was just worried and scared. I thought you actually died at first glance and I panicked.” 

He turned to the tray and lifted the lid from the bowl, “It’s chicken rice porridge. Eat up and take your meds.” Your eyes were still downcast, “I can’t I feel horrible afterwards.” and you explained in detail. “It’s probably acidity, clearly you’ve been eating junk and it’s not sitting well in your stomach. This won’t cause you discomfort. At least eat a little bit. Please? For me? I made this for you.” he said and used the signature kitty eyes. You looked up and he’s already holding a spoonful of the warm concoction. You hated when he pulled the look on you, you could never say no to those eyes but then again you didn’t want to because that porridge looked pretty darn appetising. You opened your mouth and Minho fed you the gloopy goodness. 

You could’ve just eaten yourself but you quite liked being pampered so you said nothing. Minho carefully spoon fed you the whole bowl, blowing delicately on the first couple of spoonfuls until the rest became tepid. Halfway through the bowl you felt full so you told him you didn’t want to eat anymore but he pulled the kitty eyes again, and now you’re stuffed. He handed you the glass of water and meds which you gulped down and went to clean up. He came back and stood awkwardly in your doorway. “You’re leaving already?” you asked sadly. “Do you want me to?” he asked back. “No grab my laptop and come watch Spirited Away with me.” you pouted. He smiled, got the laptop from your desk, grabbed one of the sweatpants he left from previous times he’s been to your place to change into, and then settled in bed next to you under the covers. 

You took one of your many pillows and settled your laptop on it and settled back. “Hey, Minho?” you called. “Hm?” he enquired. “Thanks for taking care of me.” you smiled softly. He was going to say something snarky but decided against it and said, “It's alright.” About half an hour into the movie he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder and he looked bewildered to see you’ve fallen asleep on him, breathing softly. He turned off the laptop and placed it on the ground before wrapping his arms around you, placing your head over his chest and reclining back. He looked at your sleeping face with soft, adoring eyes and a gentle smile. He gently rubbed your back with one hand when suddenly you stirred and threw your arm over his stomach. Slowly, he too, drifted off to sleep with dreams of you and him together.

[taetaemilktea]

Bring the Soup

Summary: “Bring the Soul” blessed us with some high quality sickie Tae content. What else happened behind the scenes? Hugs, tears, and soup.

Sickie: Taehyung

Caretakers: Jimin, Yoongi, Hoseok (Jungkook?)

Word Count: 1150

Author’s note: This is my first BTS sickfic! I hope you like it! If you’d like to see a part 2 with sick Sope, please let me know! xoxo

~~~~~

Jimin winces as he sees Taehyung stifle a wet, sickly sneeze into the crook of his arm from his position on stage. The poor boy had carefully pushed his mic out of harm’s way to avoid shattering the members’ eardrums with his typically booming sneezes.

Taehyung had been complaining of a sore throat and a runny nose since the group left Berlin the day before, clinging closer than normal to Jungkook as they walked through the airport and landed safely in Paris. He had retired to his hotel room early that night, looking quite sad and miserable to be missing out on opportunities to explore one of his favorite cities. Jimin had bid him good night, handing Taehyung a pack of tissues and reminding him to text if he needed medicine or some warm cuddles. Jimin hadn’t heard from his soulmate until they walked into the stadium that morning for rehearsals.

Now, Jimin frowns as Taehyung’s stifled sneeze has turned into a fit of shaky and painful coughs. He walks over to Taehyung, enveloping him in a back hug and resting his chin on Tae’s shoulder. Taehyung lets out a few more coughs into his mask before leaning his head down against Jimin’s. Jimin frowns at the warmth in his friend’s skin, mentally noting the need to find some fever reducer.

“You alright?” Jimin tries to look into Taehyung’s eyes that were currently shaded between a mask and his newsboy cap.

“Yoongi-hyung thinks I caught a cold,” he sniffles. “But I think it’s the plague.”

Jimin chuckles, “Let’s finish this soundcheck, and then we’ll find you some tea, yeah?” Taehyung just nods and sighs. If Jimin were to be honest, it sounded more like a hoarse wheeze than a sigh.

“Poor Tae,” Jimin squeezes him tighter, aiming to push some of his good vibes into Taehyung before the long concert day ahead of them.

-

Hours later, moments after the Bangtan members have bowed and waved their goodbyes to ARMY, Taehyung finds himself in the exact same place—enveloped in Jimin’s comforting embrace.

This time, tears stream down his cheeks and he can’t help but let out choked, hoarse sobs. Jungkook approaches, and crouches down upon seeing his poor friend in a state of absolute misery.

“Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Taehyung just cries harder as Jungkook rubs the back of his neck.

“Is this how you feel when you see me cry?” Jungkook laughs. Taehyung just tries to focus on the maknae’s big, warm hand on his back. He really just wants to lay down and cry into Jimin or Jungkook’s shoulders. There are too many people here—too many bodies bustling about their post-concert duties—and it’s making Taehyung’s head spin. The distant sounds of ARMY cheering, while most often invigorating to Taehyung, just make him feel sadder at the thought of disappointing the fans. Jimin and Jungkook help him up, despite his continually flowing tears, and lead him away to the safety of the other members.

-

“Taehyung-ah?” Hoseok knocks on the hotel door. “Can I come in?”

Hoseok waits patiently until he hears the lock click open. Taehyung stands, barely, with wet hair from showering and clad in his soft pajamas. His eyes are red and swollen from crying, as is his nose from all of the constant sneezing and nose blowing.

“Aish, you look miserable,” Hobi frowns.

Taehyung just hums hoarsely in response, moving back so Hoseok can walk in.

“Are you sure you want to be here?” he adds. “What if you get sick, Hobi-hyung?”

Hoseok rubs his shoulder, “It’s alright, I just came to check in on you. Yoongi-hyung is coming soon with soup for you too. He won’t admit it, but he started to tear up at seeing you after the concert,” Hobi winks, then giggles. Taehyung chuckles alongside him, grateful that Hoseok was there to comfort him and, honestly, extremely grateful to hear that Yoongi was also bringing over some food. A warm bowl of soup was what Taehyung had needed all day.

-

An hour later, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Yoongi were sat up together in Taehyung’s hotel bed. A French black and white film, one of Tae’s favorites, played on the TV, frequently punctuated by Taehyung’s sniffles and the constant hum of the dehumidifier that aimed to alleviate the dryness in his sore throat.

After Hoseok and Yoongi had brought Taehyung some food, they had planned to head back to their rooms to relax after the day’s events. But Taehyung’s teary eyes and squeaking voice, pleading them to stay, convinced them to spend the rest of their evenings taking care of their poor member. Hoseok had pulled him into a hug while Yoongi pulled back the covers on the hotel bed, knowing Taehyung needed to rest.

Now, Taehyung was beginning to doze off, the half-eaten bowl of soup laying forgotten on his lap as the warmth of his fever and the aches of performing all day pulled him closer and closer to sleep. Sadly, a tickle in his nose rudely interrupted him. Yoongi’s eyes were pulled from the film as he heard Taehyung’s breath start to hitch. With a member on either side of him, Taehyung chose in a split second to aim his sneeze downward, “hH’!... hH’ESSHHhuh!”

“Arghh!! Taehyung-ah!”

Taehyung looked down to find Yoongi in the midst of attempting to grab the still half-full bowl of soup from his lap before he spilled it everywhere. Taehyung sniffled, “I’m sorry, hyung.”

He handed Yoongi a tissue from the box on the bed so that the rapper could wipe off his arm, grabbing one for himself and giving his nose a pitiful blow.

“Ahh, it’s alright,” Yoongi sighed as he placed the bowl on the bedside table. Hobi laughed, “Yoongi-hyung will kill you if he gets sick, Taehyung-ah.”

Taehyung just sunk deeper under the covers and cuddled into Hobi’s side.

“M’sorry,” he murmured, closing his eyes. Yoongi rolled his eyes, but pulled the blankets up over his friend and looked up at Hoseok, then at the lamp. Hobi nodded in understanding before Yoongi even said anything, and flicked off the light, wrapping his arms around Taehyung. The three laid down, and Taehyung’s congested, ragged breathing evened out. Eventually, Hoseok too fell into deep sleep, exhausted by their thrilling Paris concert. Yoongi smiled as he glanced at the two sleeping boys.

He inwardly sighed, knowing that he and Hoseok would wake up in a day or two with the same sore throat and runny nose that afflicted their poor winter bear. He would deal with that when the time came. For now, Yoongi flipped over, curling up with his back against Taehyung’s and feeling the feverish heat radiating through Tae’s pajamas. He didn’t care. It felt quite nice on his aching shoulders. A few moments later, Yoongi’s breathing matched Taehyung’s and Hobi’s, and the three boys slept soundly through the night.

[hes-writer]

Insecurities (2)

Summary: Harry is good friends with Camille and Y/N is insecure

Warnings: angst (ish)

Word Count: 2.6k

Read part 1 here

Y/N did not have the best body but it was ‘good enough’. She didn’t have the brightest personality but it made her who she is. Her style wasn’t extravagant—it was simple and casual. And she wasn’t the best at anything. In fact, everything she knew was at the surface level—she couldn’t delve too deep into a conversation about politics, argue that Socrates was the better philosopher to Descartes or discuss how writing a song in F major gave off a happier vibe than a minor key. 

All these proved that she can fit in but she cannot necessarily stand out. Maybe that was the problem. Y/N didn’t know much but she knew enough. 

She knew that her insecurities were getting the better of her because she had never ended on friendly terms with an ex. Nor did she fall so deeply in love with anybody else aside from Harry. It was causing an inner turmoil in her tummy that made Y/N sick to her because something was wrong and she didn’t know how to fix it. 

Y/N was aware that it would be unfair to him to say that he couldn’t communicate with Camille again. So what was she to do? Wallow in the depths of self-pity, hoping that Harry would magically read her mind and do it himself? Of course not.

Y/N bit her lip, hearing the door open and close as Harry exited her apartment. He said a quick goodbye to her, informing her of his whereabouts before leaving with a peck to her head. Harry assumed she was resting a bit—as she often did while she was studying. She could get moody most of the time too and maybe that’s why he didn’t think much of it when she hummed in response. 

Alone with her thoughts, Y/N felt a tear drip to her hairline, cooling her skin with the path it took. Her chest crumbled with a shudder as a small sob managed to rip through her throat. The sound reverberated in the barren room to echo back in her ears and it reminded her of how weak she was. Very weak that she was doubting her self-worth for a man that was so stable, so sure, and completely unapologetic for being himself. 

Y/N compared herself to a lot of people she deemed better than her. She didn’t predict that she would compare herself to Harry. To be so insecure and shaky with herself—unsure whether she was enough or not. It wasn’t right but she couldn’t help but feel unworthy of everything. Jealousy directed to Harry for having something that she wanted—confidence. Insecurity projected to Camille for being someone that she wanted to be because sometimes being yourself isn’t enough. 

It was the sad reality of having a mind like Y/N’s and she so badly wished that she could specifically rewire her brain to not think like that. She should be happy with what she’s got. Her body, her mind, her little quirks that Harry absolutely adored but she despised. Not once did Harry explicitly cross-sectioned her and Camille to each other but it felt like his friendly words and supportive actions towards her told enough. 

She can never be Camille and Y/N was disappointed in herself because of that. 

------

When Camille answered the door for Harry, his mind was figuring out ways to comfort her as a friend. She greeted him with a small smile, wiping the grin off of his face, fully knowing that it used to be much wider, brighter in a sense that it made her face more angelic. He really did love her with the fullness of his heart. It made him frown a bit, toeing off his Chelsea boots beside the closet nearby. His socked feet pattering against the cold marble of her house, sending a chill down his spine.

“Want some tea?” Camille asked, noticing his shiver. She plugged in the electric kettle having been already filled with water beforehand despite his retorts. Camile never really listened to him. Regardless, he stretched his arms over his head, puffing his cheeks out as he situated them on his slim hips,

“How are you?” His quirked brow caused her to pause, slowly shutting the drawer that held the various teas she could offer. Her demeanour put him off--she used to be more lively. 

“Better now that you’re here,” Camille responded, seeming to float on her feet to grab two mugs from the cupboard. Her feet tiptoed to the high shelf, failing to get the object and causing her to huff in frustration. A warmth behind her back and a small touch to her elbow made her freeze, Harry’s tattooed arm passing in her peripherals to help her out, his height easily becoming an advantage. 

He took a couple of steps back, watching her turn around hesitantly, “T-thanks,” She ducked away from him to pour the boiling water in the mugs. She gulped, shaking her head softly to try to get rid of her thoughts. Harry had moved on from her-- that she knew for sure, but Camille couldn’t help the persisting thoughts overtaking her mind. She still wished that he held feelings for her. They were together for quite some time and she just couldn’t believe that feelings could disappear that quickly. Hers was still lingering around, like the ghost of a smile that he showed her right now. A relic of what they had, soon vanishing from her grasp and existing only her memories.

“Are you really okay? The tabloids can be a bit tough,”

The more she thought about it, the more she was sure of her answer and the problem that arose with it. The fact was she was okay, and frankly, she felt a bit guilty having Harry come over all the way here for a dilemma that he thought was about the media. She felt as though she tricked him just so she could see his built frame, hear his raspy voice, and fill her senses with his natural scent--just like she used to before they broke it off; before she let his good nature slip between her thin fingers to replace him with who she thought was better. Camille missed him to the point of desperation, a little white lie that had him caging her in a corner to help her alleviate the pressure of the outside world. 

He spun slightly on the stool, pausing when he saw her lips stutter around her words.

“The media doesn’t bother me,” She admitted, lashes casting downward to the floor. His heavy hand cradled her shoulder, shooting her a gentle smile.

“Hey, you don’t have to lie. It’s me,” His voice was soft, piercing her insides with remorse. “Just Harry. You and me, remember?”

She stared at him longingly, yet he failed to notice the heart eyes she was currently oogling him with. It used to be her and Harry. Camille and Harry, together against the world. He used to say it when things got too rough; when the pressure of everyone drowned them from what was important--each other. 

“Not anymore. It’s you and Y/N now,” Despite hating the fact that the curly-haired man wasn’t hers anymore, Camille couldn’t spit the couples’ name out in spite. Although her heart ached to have him back, the logical part of her knew that he was happier in the arms of someone else.

He furrowed his brows in a confused manner, wondering why Y/N was suddenly in the picture, “What was that?”

Camille swallowed harshly, deciding to rip the words from her throat, “I still love you, Harry.”

Harry dropped the hand from her should, eyeing the steaming cup of tea wafting in the air. He was taken aback by her words, not knowing what to say but aware that his feelings for her were nonexistent.

“C-Camille, you know I’m with her,” He began, hoping that his words did enough to comfort her. “I love Y/N.”

She blinked, a tear splashing on the counter, fully prepared of his response but it did not come any easier. It still hurt to hear him admit that what they had was in the past. “I know,”

“I’m sorry,” He pulled small body towards him, wrapping his arms around her in a hug, his chin resting at the top of her blonde head. Camille let herself be cradled for what she knew was the final time, savouring the moment that his strong arms protected her from anything that could ever hurt her, even though she hurt him first. 

Harry felt a push to his chest, the blonde woman wiping away a few stray tears, chuckling at the situation, “You should probably go back home to her now,”

He admired her bravery, putting up a strong front for his happiness, unlike his petty self. “Friends?”

She nodded in agreement, pushing him towards the front door, “Yes. Now, go!”

---- 

The door creaked open, Harry’s head peeping out of the crack before carefully pushing the barricade to let his slim body through. His head whizzed in confusion as he saw the living room lights switched off, just as he’d left it, not seeing his love sitting on the carpet engaging in her studies. Usually, he’d be able to hear her before he saw her but silence met his ears tonight, leaving him scouting for an explanation in curiosity. 

Small sniffles echoed from her bedroom door as he took timid steps, the floorboard weeping with each movement. He twisted the knob, gently revealing Y/N’s slouched body, back against the headboard. Her eyes widened at his presence, quickly palming her damp cheeks to her hairline in an attempt to hide her tears. The tip of her nose was blush pink and a little runny, but he couldn’t care less about her appearance. What matters the most to Harry right now was his little honey crying and he didn’t know why-- so he asked. 

“And don’t say it’s nothing. You’re crying.” His lips were set in a thin line, turned down at the sides. 

Y/N peeked at him through her wet lashes, hesitating with her words, leaving her mouth agape as they stared at each other. Harry’s face was mounted with worry, brows furrowing as if to weigh out the possibilities.

“Where did you go?” Y/N asked with a tone that Harry could not quite comprehend. 

He strode to the side of the bed, shifting his bum on the soft mattress. She didn’t move farther away, yet she did not scoot over to his body like she usually would. “I went to see Camille,”

“Why?”

The moisture in his throat managed to vanish in the short time span-- he swallowed heavily. “S-she needed me,”

Y/N’s breath hitched, snapping her head down towards her hands fiddling with a minute stain on the bedsheet while Harry’s head flopped to try to catch her stare. He could always affirm what she was thinking off just by a glance at her eyes. 

“Hey, hey, what’s this about?” Harry hummed mildly, caressing an arm across the expanse of her shoulders. “Need’ to tell me so I can fix it,”

And his words hurt, despite the meaning behind them because he was Harry and he is nice and kind to everyone he meets. Y/N’s clouded mind couldn’t help but think of the worse--what made her so special? Did she even stand out to him or was she just like everyone else? Before, she felt on top of this world special but to know that he could do the same for anyone else was a slap to the face. 

“You come running every time she needs you?” She shrugged his arm off, moving her legs in a criss-cross position under the sheets to feel more stable. Harry tilted his head in surprise at the sudden change in her mood.

“She was sad about the tabloids, I had to go. She called me--,” 

“I know. I heard.” Y/N snarked. Looking out to her window, she could see the sun slowly setting across the horizon--she couldn’t wait for this day to be over.

Harry didn’t know what to say, his eyes held confusion and wonder to what she was pertaining to. Was Y/N jealous?

“‘Said she was the ‘kindest, sweetest person’ you’ve ever been with’. I wonder where I’ve heard of that before--oh wait,” Y/N zeroed in on his figure, a crease was firm on her forehead. “Is that just something you say to everyone?”

The staredown she was giving him had him shaking in his boots; his mistake fluttering in every corner of his brain, alarm blaring that he truly fucked up. He didn’t even realize the gravity of his words, knowing that deep in his heart, he only wanted to make Camille feel better. 

“Did you even mean it when you said it to me?” Her voice cracked a bit during the duration of her question, reminiscing the context to which he let the words slip past his pink lips. It was the first time he professed his love for her, complimenting her with butterfly-inducing graces that had heart thumping through her chest. “Did you mean it when you said that you loved me?”

“Of course I did,” Harry responded right away, shaking his head in rejection at her accusation. “Don’t you dare question it. I love you. Always,” 

She breathed in deeply, letting his response sink in her bones, left to wonder where this conversation would go.

“I-I didn’t realize I said that to her,” He started off, scrambling for words without getting tongue-tied. “I swear I didn’t. I was only trying to make her feel better..”

“But you hurt me instead,”

“I didn’t mean to!” He almost yelled in frustration, voice dwindling when she moved away from him slightly. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

He took her hand in his, grazing his thumb against her silky skin. “I love you, Y/N.”

She didn’t move an inch, trying to categorize what was real and what was a shadow of her doubtful thoughts against him. 

“Camille used to be that person but she’s not anymore--you are.” Harry stuffed a hand in his hair, tugging at the roots as he chuckled humourlessly, “I was blinded by love but not anymore. She didn’t feel the same way a-and she cheated on me.”

Y/N tightened her fingers around his, making him smile subtly, his dimples concaving against his cheek. He returned the squeeze back to her, “And then I found you. You showed me how to love again and what it’s like to be loved.”

His unoccupied fingers lifted her chin up so that he could gaze into her lovely eyes while he dictated honest words from to bottom of his heart, “I love you.”

Sometimes Y/N couldn’t help but let her insecurities drown her in distasteful thoughts. Words created by her saboteur to tear her down because she believed she didn’t deserve the love she shared with Harry-- because she was too plain, too broken to be given a love’s miracle that she forgot how much he did love her.

And at this moment, observing the emotions that flooded his eyes, his face and the aura he was presenting as if he would be lost without her---she knew that look. It was the same loved up gaze that he gave her across the console while he thought she was too distracted by keeping her eyes on the road. She felt it burning her cheek as she read the materials for her courses, deeming her too engrossed in learning that Y/N wouldn’t notice the admiration he held for her. The look that draped over her naked body when they made love, her hair acting as a curtain from the ministrations of the outside world while she rode him with passion. Harry stared up at her with ardent, her eyes blissed out and pink lips damp with their heated kisses--a look of love that she noticed despite the pleasure overtaking her body.

He loves her and only her. 

——

hello! I’m not sure if you guys are liking the content I put out or if tumblr is just being weird 😩😫

anyways, I hope you enjoyed this!

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[chrjiho]

                       HEADCANONS WEEK #1: DECEMBER

what are your muse’s months aesthetics like? anything that applies to both your muse’s character and the month?

aesthetic: frosted windows / numb fingers / empty coffee cups / crackling fireplaces / lost loves / fuzzy socks / layers of jackets / darkened skies / crisp air / fresh snow / awaiting spring

how does your muse relate to the month they were born in? is it important to them?

jiho identifies with december quite a bit, born screaming into it twenty-eight trips around the sun ago and growing older with it every passing year, he feels it in daily life; the way the world gets dark earlier, the feeling of a cold wind, of sinking into big sweaters and long socks. breath fans out in frigid weather like a breath of smoke, as if the world around him knows of such cravings. he identifies with the shape of christmas trees and the lights hung outside of houses, the way seoul shapes and shifts under snow and frost, the lifted shoulders of passerby on the streets, brightly colored coats and gloves. 

it’s the most desolate month of the year, everything already dead and passed and nothing new yet blooming, but essential. quiet. patient. he likes to think of himself that very same way.

do they believe the month they were born in has any influence on how their personality has grown?

tw :// drug mention, drug abuse

jiho very quickly learned that december birthdays mean a few things growing up.

at age six he learned that christmas is different for starters, presents usually split between the days or given all at once, but he didn’t mind that all too much. another was that parties were more difficult to plan and there were a lot of things you couldn’t do; a lot of friends were away for the holidays, beaches and theme parks less desirable during harsher months. he usually ended up having his party among a couple friends in his dads restaurant because it was free and they didn’t have a lot of disposable income at the time, but it was colored with confetti and party favors, a homemade cake the size of the dining table. during those times, december meant friends, comradery.

at age fourteen he learned that december meant end of term tests and a short break of reprieve from school, it meant watching his dad cook for the christmas dinner between the two of them, the small apartment they housed themselves in smelling of baked goods and stuffing, a christmas ham. growing up in december used to mean family.

at seventeen december meant sneaking away with his girlfriend, kissing behind the school and holding hands for warmth. it meant hiding under the covers and runny noses, it meant frozen fingertips and toes, giving up his jacket even though he’s freezing because she was shivering. it was when whatever cool he had been able to muster slipped from his grasp when he saw her, how he felt old school, grade school, feeling the space between their hands like it could hold endless lifetimes of passionate yearning. december once meant rebirth, intimacy -- it meant first love.

at twenty-two december meant waking up in unfamiliar places with a pounding headache, dry mouth. december meant walking home underdressed, t-shirts and ripped jeans, it meant drinking in public parks under the cover of night. at twenty-two, december meant freezing, dying, fading, december was aching. another year counted like lines on a cell wall, lines on the porcelain of his bathroom sink, his own reflection in the mirror appearing like cracks in the glass. it meant death, the crunch of leaves, fresh snow turning to brown slush, slippery ice, not careful where he steps. december was once the dark days.

now, at twenty-eight, after friends and family and lovers have all left, after his greatest mistress, her skin pretty white powder, was left behind for what he hopes is forever, he sat alone through most of december. he stayed in his apartment and watched movies, always cold and buried in layers of clothes, face peeking out from sweaters with a remote in hand, food in his fridge and a roof over his head. he spent the month just grateful to be alive, had gone out with friends for drinks on his birthday, a small affair but a good one, had been presented with a cupcake right there at the bar top, folded over in a laugh, another round of shots, before returning home alone, sleeping better than he had in a long time.

now, december is just another month.

do they believe in horoscopes and zodiac signs? if yes, how do they represent them?

jiho lays on his couch, sunken into the depths of a big sweatshirt, the excess fabric practically having hidden him from sight as he scrolls on his phone. instagram - dead, twitter - dead, youtube - dead, he sighs, scrolling through endless apps, looking for old games, something to play with, when his thumb hovers over a pink icon he hadn’t clicked since he downloaded it -- an astrology app. some girl he had been talking to awhile back coaxed him into downloading it, claiming it was a great life coach and yada, yada. he tried to get into it, but it didn’t really stick. now, however, he finds himself clicking on it, looking around for his sign and reading the daily horoscope out of boredom and curiosity. the words come up on his screen and his eyes scan over the first line briefly,

“ building up a wall between you and someone else may be making you feel safer somehow, dear sagittarius. after all, if you aren’t vulnerable, then you cannot be hurt -- “

he silently locks his phone and rests it on his chest, fingers tapping the back of his case as he debates reading the rest of it, indulging the invisible star-reader further, when he ultimately decides, “ nah, we’re not dealing with that today. “ and gets right back onto social media.

do they relate to other months as well? do they think there are people born in other months they vibe more with or less with?

jiho tends to get along more with fall and winter babies as they often have more in common, but he likes people from spring and summer months quite a bit as well, though he sometimes struggles to relate to them. there’s a certain warmth to them that is perhaps lacking in months like his own, a different energy that they bring to the table that balances out his really well. in particular i imagine he gets along best with ( excluding his own december ) january, april, and august babies the most from a purely aesthetic standpoint.