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coolemmasulivan2 · 3 days ago

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There For You

Pairing: Mason Mount x Physician!Reader

Summary: You’re a physician at the club who’s grown close to Mason. However, after he suffers another injury, he begins to distance himself, leaving you confused and unsure of how to help him.

Word count: 2729

I'll be there when you need me most I'll be there if you're ever alone Together, we can grow old I can't leave you

It was your first day back at the training camp after two weeks off, and your stomach twisted in pain as you scanned the list of injured players and Mason’s name was at the top.

You hated seeing his name there. He’d been through so much already, and every setback felt like life was testing him a little too harshly. Ever since moving to the club, he’d spent more time in your office than any player should. It seemed like he couldn’t catch a break.

In those long hours spent tending to his injuries and working on his recovery plans, the two of you had built a beautiful friendship, not because he was a regular in your office, but because of who he was.

Even when he was hurting, Mason had a way of lightening the mood. He always managed a smile. It was the kind of smile that said, I’ll get through this. Somehow, I always do.

Maybe that’s why, little by little, you’d fallen for him. It wasn’t just his courage or his never-quit attitude, it was the way he smiled, even when life knocked him down.

The night before, you had watched the game against City, and you didn’t need to be there in person to know it had happened again. The moment you saw Mason sitting on the field, head down in defeat, your heart broke for him.

"No! Bloody hell! Someone get this guy to a witch." Your dad shouted at the TV, throwing his hands up in frustration. "Someone’s playing with his voodoo doll!"

"Dad!" You called out, shooting him a look as your little nephew that was Mason's fan sank on the sofa.

"What? It’s true!" He replied, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. The United scarf around his neck swayed as he turned back to the screen. "The guy’s got more than bad luck."

You opened the door and stepped into the medical office. Mason was already sitting on the examination bed, his head down, eyes fixed on his hands as they opened and closed into tight fists.

"Hey, Mason!" You greeted softly.

His head shot up, his expression briefly surprised. "Hey!" He said, his voice deeper than usual. He didn’t smile like he normally did. "I thought you were still on holiday."

"They don't let me have three weeks off during the Premier League." You said with a small chuckle as you pulled on a pair of blue gloves. "And it’s a good thing they don't Let's have a look?"

He didn’t say anything, just nodded and laid back on the bed, stretching out his legs.

As you started examining his leg, you kept your tone light, hoping to break through his mood. "You've been through worse, right? I mean, you're basically indestructible at this point." That earned you nothing. No laugh, no smile, not even a glance. Just silence.

You focused on your work, carefully testing for swelling and tender areas. Mason didn't flinch, didn't make a sound, but the tension in his jaw told you everything you needed to know.

You sighed softly, stepping back. "Okay."

"It's bad, isn't it?" He asked, his tone clipped, as though he already knew the answer.

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. "It's not great." You admitted, keeping your voice steady. "The scans will give us the full picture, but you'll need to rest for a few weeks, at least."

At that, Mason let out a short, bitter laugh. "A few weeks. Of course." He shook his head and sat up, his movements stiff and frustrated.

"I know it's frustrating." You said gently, trying to reach him. "But we'll make sure you heal properly, and you'll come back even stronger. You've done it before."

"Yeah." He said flatly, his tone ice-cold. "And look where that got me."

The sharpness of his words stung, catching you off guard. You glanced up, meeting his gaze. His face was hard, his usual warmth replaced with a wall of indifference.

"You're allowed to be upset." You said softly. "This is a tough break, but it's not the end. You're one of the strongest people I know, Mason."

He let out a small, humorless smile that never reached his eyes. "Thanks for the pep talk." He said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll add it to my collection."

Before you could respond, Mason pushed himself off the bed, grabbed his phone from the desk and walked out of the office without a second glance.

You stood there, speechless, the weight of his frustration and pain settling heavily in the room.

"So, he just left?" Your best friend asked, setting her beer down on the table with a thud.

"Yeah!" You said, still in disbelief. "I mean… I get it. He's angry and frustrated with everything going on, but I... I was just trying to help him." You took a long sip of your beer, then lowered your voice to a whisper. "I just want to help him."

Your friend gave you a knowing smile, leaning back in her chair. "You're so down bad for him."

You groaned, running your hands through your hair. "I know."

Your friend chuckled. "Honestly, I don't blame you. The guy's gorgeous. Moody, apparently, but gorgeous."

"It's not just that. It's… He's been through so much, and he still manages to stay so positive. He works harder than anyone I've ever seen. He deserves more than this."

"And yet, he shut you out."

"Yeah." You sighed, slumping back in your chair. "I don’t think it's personal. I think he's just… overwhelmed. But it still stung, you know? We've talked so much before. I thought I..." You paused, trying to find the words. "I thought I could be someone he leaned on."

Your friend reached across the table, squeezing your hand. "He will, eventually. Sometimes guys like him need time. Doesn't mean you're not important to him."

You gave her a grateful look. "I hope you're right."

The next morning, you were in your office early, sipping coffee and organizing your notes. You had barely slept, your mind replaying the tension with Mason over and over.

With a sigh, you shook off the memory and focused on the task at hand, jotting down follow-up plans for a few players. The knock on your door startled you.

"Come in!" You called, glancing up.

Your coworker, James, stepped in, clipboard in hand. "Morning." He said, his tone casual but hesitant, like he was bracing himself for something.

"Morning." You replied, eyeing him curiously. "What's up?"

He hesitated for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Uh… just wanted to give you a heads-up. Mason requested to transfer to me for his treatment plan."

You froze. "What?"

James gave a small shrug. "He asked me this morning. Said he wanted to switch."

"Why?" You asked, the word coming out sharper than you intended.

"I don't know." James said carefully "He didn't say much, just that he thought it would be better for him."

You stared at him, stunned. "Better for him? I don't understand. Why would he…" You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

James sighed. "Look, I didn't want to get into it. I know you two are friends, you have a close relationship, but If you want to know why, you're going to have to ask him."

For a moment, you just sat there, trying to make sense of what you’d just heard.

"I see." You said finally, your voice quieter now. "Thanks for letting me know, James."

James gave you a sympathetic look. "Hey, don't take it personally, okay? He's going through a lot. You know how players can get when they're injured. It's probably just his way of dealing with it."

"Yeah." You murmured, forcing a small smile. "I get it."

But as James left, you found yourself staring at your desk, Mason’s name at the top of your notes. Why didn’t he want your help anymore?

Mason was sitting on the bench in the locker room, phone in hand, as he responded to a text from his brother. He barely looked up when Bruno walked in.

"Hey!" Bruno said casually, shrugging off his jacket with an air of ease.

"Hey!" Mason replied, his eyes still glued to his phone. "How was training?"

Bruno snorted, tugging on a clean shirt. "Good." He said shortly, clearly uninterested in lingering on the topic. Instead, he glanced over at Mason. "James told me you switched to him for physio."

Mason shrugged, leaning back. "Yeah. Figured it's better this way."

Bruno raised an eyebrow as he sat down, pulling off his trainers. "Better for you or for her?" His tone was light, but his words hit home.

Mason's jaw tightened as he turned to look at Bruno. "What?"

"You and Y/n seemed close." Bruno said. "She's solid, actually gives a crap about us, which, let's be real, doesn't happen every day."

"James is solid too."

Bruno held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. Just saying, she might be wondering why you're icing her out." Mason didn’t answer, his gaze dropping to the floor. Bruno sighed as he stood, slinging his towel over his shoulder. "Whatever you're running from, just make sure you're not pushing the wrong people away, mate."

Mason stayed silent, the weight of Bruno's words settling over him. He kept his head down, listening to the sound of Bruno's footsteps as he disappeared toward the showers.

A week had passed, and you still hadn't managed to speak to Mason in person. You'd tried texting him multiple times, asking if something was wrong, if you'd upset him somehow, but he always left you on read.

Today, you were determined to put an end to the silence. It was your day off, but you knew Mason would be at the camp. So, you drove there, parking directly in front of his car and waiting.

As usual, Mason was one of the last to leave, even though he hadn't been training with the team. He emerged from the building, his bag over his shoulder and his coat zipped all the way up against the cold, as he made his way toward his car.

You took a deep breath and stepped out of your car. He didn't notice you at first, his focus elsewhere, but as you moved closer, emerging from the shadows, he froze on his tracks.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you standing there under the dim parking lot lights.

You suddenly felt nervous and exposed. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Slowly, both of you began to move, closing the distance until you were close enough to reach out and touch him.

"Hi?" You shot back. An avalanche of words was threatening to tumble out. "That's it? That's all you've got to say? Hi?" Mason opened his mouth, but you didn’t give him the chance. "No, Mason, I don't want your 'Hi.' I want answers. I want to know why. Why did you ask to be transferred to James? Why have you been ignoring me?" You kept going, every bottled-up thought spilling out. Mason stood there, silent, his gaze fixed on you. Even in anger, you were still cute. "Mason?" You demanded, pulling him out of his trance.

He blinked, suddenly lifting his eyes from your lips to meet yours. "What?"

You shook your head, letting out a sigh. "Have I done something wrong?"

Mason's swallowed hard, his gaze breaking away from yours. "You haven't done anything wrong, Y/n!" He said quietly.

Your chest tightened at his words. "Then why?" Your voice cracked, trembling under the weight of your emotions. "I thought we were friends, Mason."

Mason let out a sarcastic chuckle. "That's the problem!"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What?"

"I-- I don't want to be your friend." He said, his voice just enough to make you freeze. "I don't want to be your friend because I want to be so much more! I want to be the one who carries you to bed when you fall asleep on the sofa. I want to be the one you ask to open jars, the one whose hoodies you steal. I want to be the person who holds you when you cry and makes you laugh when you need it. I want to take care of you—not the other way around." His words knocked the wind out of you.

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. You weren't one to be left speechless, but somehow Mason had managed it.

"I... do you like me?" You said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mason bit his lip, almost nervously. "Was that not obvious?"

"But… why would you push me away? Wait--" Your eyes widened. "Did you do this because you were my patient?"

Mason let out a long sigh, his breath visible in the chilly Manchester air. "I'm tired, Y/n." He said, his voice low and pained. "You've seen me at my worst since the day we met. And I hate that. I hate that you've only ever seen this version of me: the injured, broken version."

"Mase--"

"No!" He interrupted, his voice cracking. "I feel like everything's going wrong. I feel like I’m failing as a footballer, as a person. And I hate that all you've seen is that failure."

You reached for him, your hands trembling as they rested on his arms. "Mason, listen to me." You said firmly. "The last thing I see you as is a failure." He turned his face away, but you cupped his face, gently forcing him to meet your gaze. "You’re the strongest, most hardworking person I know. Maybe you’ve had more setbacks than most, but you work three times harder than anyone else. I’m your physician, yes, but I’m also your friend. And I just want to help you. I want to be there for you, no matter what."

For a moment, he looked at you like you had hung the moon and stars. His hand rose hesitantly, cupping your cheek as if he were afraid you might disappear.

Slowly, his face leaned closer to yours, his lips brushing yours gently. When you didn’t pull away, your lips parted, and he kissed you.

The kiss was soft, hesitant at first, then deeper, carrying the weight of everything unsaid until now. For that moment, there was no cold air, no frustration, no confusion, just the warmth of his lips against yours.

When you finally broke apart, your breaths mingled in the frosty air. His forehead rested lightly against yours, his eyes searching yours as if trying to read you.

"I'm sorry." Mason whispered.

"For what?" You asked softly.

"For pushing you away. For being such a mess." He admitted, his eyes dropping to the ground. "You deserve someone who's got it all together, not someone who's barely holding on."

You shook your head. "Mason, no one has it all together. We're all just doing our best. And you're not a mess, you're human. You're allowed to feel frustrated, to have bad days. But you don't have to go through it alone."

"You make me want to be better." He said quietly.

"And you make me want to fight harder." You replied with a shy smile.

He pulled you into a tight embrace and you burried your face in his neck. The weight of his struggles seemed to melt away. The two of you stood there for a while, wrapped in each other's arms. When you pulled apart, he looked down at you and smiled.

You gave him a gentle smile, tucking your hands into your pockets, suddenly feeling shy. "So… go home, rest, and we'll talk... tomorrow? Properly this time."

"Properly." He repeated with a nod.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The night air was cold, but the warmth of the moment made it easy to ignore. Finally, you took a small step back as you said goodbye, offering him one last glance before turning to leave.

"Y/n." His voice stopped you in your tracks.

You turned. "Yes?"

He hesitated. "Do you… do you want to have dinner? Like... today!"

A smile spread across your face. "I'd love that."

#mason mount #mason mount fluff #mason mount x reader #mason mount imagines #mason mount imagine #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football imagine #mm7

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ninikrumbs · 22 hours ago

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fluff with boyfriend satoru. thats it.

boyfriendsatoru who's weary and exhausted from the weight of the world on his shoulders, fighting curses day in and day out.

boyfriendsatoru who's favorite part of the day is coming home to you, to the soft hum of your cozy apartment. Your warm smile and open arms a perfect remedy to melt away the exhaustion in his bones, along with the smell of a freshly made meal or takeout depending on how tired you were from your own missions.

"Welcome home, Toru!" The tender tone in your voice made his heart warm. Despite your tired eyes, you still stood up to greet him by the door. You wear wearing his shirt and nothing else with your hair up in a messy bun. And to him you looked so beautiful it almost hurt. How did he ever deserve you?

He closes the distance between you two, wrapping his arms around your smaller frame, hugging you tightly like someone was gonna take you away.

Tucking his head in the crook of your neck, he breathes you in and melts into your embrace. "Im home."

boyfriendsatoru who's house is now so full of life ever since you came in the picture, apartment now filled with cute trinkets, scented candles, plants and cozy throw pillows. A stark difference from his once cold and empty house that he only uses to sleep for a few hours before carrying the mantle as the storngest once more.

boyfriendsatoru who makes up for his absence due to long missions every chance he gets. He now demands for days off like other sorcerers and spends those days trailing behind you like a little puppy.

boyfriendsatoru who doesn't know what personal space is when it comes to you. Wanna shower? he's right there with you. Reading a book in bed? his using your chest as a pillow, purring like a cat every time your laugh reverberates from your body, might even offer to reenact your favorite scenes. Need to pee in the middle of the night? You get startled when he opens the door, sleepy face yawning as he scratches his toned tummy while he waits for you to be finished. Claiming that he can't sleep without you. Doing skincare? He's right beside you, waiting for you to pat in your toner and moisturiser on his face. Honestly, he's just a baby who loves you and wants to be included in everything.

"Toru, not that I mind..."

He looks up from his place on your chest, looking so sleepy and satisfied that you almost didn't wanna disturb him.

He yawns before answering you, voice laced with sleep. "What is it, sweets?"

You thread your fingers through his fluffy hair, giving him head scratches here and there and he basically purrs like a kitty on catnip. "You know you don't t have to spend every waking moment with me. I know you feel like you have to make up for the time we're apart, but its okay to make time for yourself you know."

In typical Gojo fashion, Satoru juts his lips out as his eyes water comically. "Does that mean you don't want to spend time me?"

"What? No!" You were somehow panicked and amused at the same time.

"You should've just shot me instead, that would have hurt less!" He cries, tightening his arms around your waist.

You shake your head at his theatrics, laughing fondly, "I didn't mean that you big baby."

Sparkly blue eyes stare back at you, "But Im your baby."

You snort in response. If only the world could see him now, the stongest so soft like this. But truly you felt lucky that monly you could see this side to Satoru. A side to him that you could keep all to yourself. The world can have the strongest, you only ever wanted Satoru. "Toru, I only meant that you might get tired of me if you don't have your personal space."

He scoffs, looking so offended. "First of all, there's absolutely no chance of me getting sick of you and second Ive had enough alone time to last me a life time."

The way he said the last part made it sound like it was no big deal but the thought of him coming home to an empy house with no one to turn to made your heart ache. "Toru.."

Seeing the look on your face, he quickly gives you a smile, "Don't look at me like that, sweets. Im fine, really. Its all in the past."

You were unconvinced but you didn't want to breach deeper into such a sad subject so instead you made a promise to yourself to make sure he never feels alone ever again.

You pull him up and wrap your arms around his neck, he snuggles into you but makes sure not to crush you under his weight. His warmth seeps into your skin as you caress his back. You murmur softly into his neck, "You have me, Toru. Always."

Gojo had to blink back the tears and stop his voice from shaking when he spoke, "And you have me."

"Just to be clear, you don't like personal space?" You ask, teasing lightly as you looked down at Gojo on you lap.

He gazes up at you, arms circling your waist, smirking cheekily as he answers, "I like your personal space."

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loverangels · 3 days ago

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a lovely night

pairings: timothee chalamet x fem!reader

synopsis: a run in turns into a date and slowly but surely you find yourself enchanted with timothee chalamet

part 1

The hours leading up to the evening dragged on endlessly. You tried not to overthink it—telling yourself it was just dinner, just a movie—but the thought of spending hours with Timothée in a setting so intimate made your heart race.

When the doorbell finally rang, you took one last steadying breath before opening it.

Timothée stood there, framed by the soft glow of the porch light. He wore a dark button-up, the sleeves casually rolled to his elbows, paired with tailored pants that gave him an effortless kind of elegance. In his hand, he held a small bouquet of red and pink lillies.

“Hi,” he said, his voice warm and soft. For a moment, his gaze lingered, taking you in. “Wow. You look...” He faltered, a smile tugging at his lips. “You look stunning.”

The compliment caught you off guard, but you managed a quiet laugh, reaching for the flowers. “These are beautiful, thank you.”

“They reminded me of you,” he said, his tone casual, though the sincerity in his eyes made your cheeks flush.

You stepped aside to grab a vase, aware of his gaze following you as you moved. When you turned back, his smile widened. “Ready to go?”

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The car ride was unhurried, the city lights flickering past as the two of you slipped into easy conversation. Timothée had a way of making you feel like the only person in the world, his attention sharp and unwavering as he asked questions and listened, genuinely interested in your answers.

At one point, he glanced over, his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. “You know, I was worried I’d overthink tonight.”

“You?” you teased, raising a brow. “Overthinking?”

“Hey,” he said with a mock-wounded expression. “I’m serious. You’re...” He trailed off, searching for the words. “You’re just easy to be around. It’s kind of terrifying.”

The admission sent a warmth through your chest, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond, biting back a wide smile as you turned to look out the window.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The restaurant he chose was tucked away on a quiet street, intimate and understated. He held the door open for you, his hand brushing your lower back as you stepped inside. The soft hum of conversation filled the space, and the warm glow of candlelight made everything feel softer, closer.

Timothée pulled out your chair before settling across from you. “So,” he began, picking up the menu, “what’s the verdict? Am I off to a good start?”

You smirked, pretending to consider. “Hmm. I’ll let you know after dessert.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Fair enough.”

Dinner was unhurried, each course an excuse to linger and talk. Timothée was effortlessly charming, but what struck you most was how present he was. He didn’t check his phone or glance around the room; his focus stayed entirely on you.

At one point, he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Okay, tell me something you’ve never told anyone on a first date.”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “This is a first date?”

His grin widened, a touch of mischief in his eyes. “Do you want it to be?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, his voice dropping slightly, “you’re still here.”

Throughout dinner, the conversation flowed as easily as the wine, punctuated by shared laughter and the occasional quiet moment where his gaze lingered on yours just a little too long. Every story he told, no matter how mundane, seemed to come alive with his animated expressions, and you found yourself completely absorbed.

By the time dessert arrived, the rest of the restaurant had melted away, leaving only the soft glow of candlelight and the magnetic pull between you. As the plates were cleared, Timothée leaned back in his chair, his eyes soft as he said, almost to himself, “I could stay like this all night.”

Noticing timothees drawn look on your face you abruptly paused yourself hand instantly on your face 'do I have something on my fac' you ask almost nervous under his stare. Timothées lips pulled back in a smile shaking his head fondly.

'no nothing'

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

After dinner, you stepped outside into the cool evening air, the city quiet around you. Instead of heading straight to the car, Timothée paused, glancing at you.

“I have one more surprise,” he said, his tone conspiratorial.

“What kind of surprise?”

“You’ll see.”

The drive was short, and soon you found yourself standing in front of a small private theater. The marquee was blank, but inside, the lights were dim and the seats plush.

“You remembered,” you said softly as the opening credits of the classic film you’d mentioned earlier began to roll.

“Of course I remembered,” he said, settling into the seat beside you.

The room was quiet except for the hum of the projector. At some point during the film, your hands brushed on the shared armrest. The contact sent a spark up your arm, but neither of you moved away. Slowly, almost hesitantly, his fingers laced with yours.

You glanced at him, your heart pounding. He wasn’t looking at you, but the faint smile on his lips said everything.

By the time the credits rolled, the night felt like it had shifted. The ease between you had deepened into something quieter, more meaningful. As you stepped out of the theater, Timothée turned to you, his eyes soft.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said.

The park was quiet, the only sounds the rustle of leaves and the occasional chirp of crickets. You walked side by side, your pace unhurried, the night folding around you like a cocoon.

“So,” he said after a long silence, “what’s the verdict now?”

You laughed softly, glancing at him. “I think dessert sealed it.”

He grinned, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Good to know.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, his teasing drawing you out of your usual reserve. At one point, he challenged you to a race to the nearest tree.

“You’re on,” you said, kicking off your heels.

He darted ahead, only to slow dramatically near the end. “I think I pulled something,” he called back, feigning injury.

“You’re such a bad liar,” you said, laughing as you reached him.

Before you knew it, he grabbed your hand, spinning you in a playful circle before collapsing onto the grass. You fell beside him, breathless with laughter

The laughter faded, leaving only the sound of your breaths mingling in the quiet night. You turned your head, finding him already watching you. His expression had softened, the usual mischief in his eyes replaced by something deeper.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. Then, his voice broke the silence, low and rough. “Is this okay?”

Your heart hammered as you nodded, barely managing to whisper, “Yes.”

Slowly, achingly so, he leaned in. His lips brushed yours, soft and tentative, as though he was giving you the chance to pull away. When you didn’t, the kiss deepened, his hand coming up to cradle your face.

Time seemed to stop, the world narrowing until there was nothing but him—the warmth of his touch, the soft hum of his breath against your skin.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a small, almost disbelieving smile on his lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that all night,” he murmured.

You smiled, your cheeks flushed. “Me too."

And in that moment, everything else faded away.

@spideysbruh @annie-bby @lyracx @beautifulbluehairoff @joekbff @neteyamsbabymother @superiorbyfar @f4ndomfa1ry @cherryppick @lovelydeepresedkid @jolovesgg @thegraceofthisworld @that-jax @zjthecoffeeaddict @taraxyummy @inannamoon @redheadedcosplayer14 @theluckydelusion-blog @evangelinesecondacc @sstormzzz @gh0stlover69 @spideysbruh @gwenstacyspiderman @aaliyahhii @iheartpieck @who-is-s4h @leftpostharmony @annmburkss @counterstr1ke @hiiiiiiiiiiiiiooooooo @lalaking @kenqki @keisha-knell @mayghosts @idk-11s-blog @nobodylma00 @cosmicg1rls @yourrgirlchuck @8utter4lies @aki-ham @moonlightsgirl @ilovefamousmen11 @jasmincharming @inejghafawifesblog @pussyslayerhd @just-a-wayward-girl @generousspirit @loveabove @mackhawk0817 @thomasmichalcoke

(Tumblr won't let me add anymore tags here so I'll tag the rest in the reblogs!)

#fem!reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet x you #timothee x reader #timothee fanfic #timothee chamalet #timothée chalamet #timothee x you #timothee chalamet oneshot #timothee chalamet x y/n

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luvhaos · 15 hours ago

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how about “ i like you. a lot. like a lot, a lot” and joshua :)

joshua hong x reader 𖦹 word count: 853 2025 drabble dialogue game — open

content: drunk! joshua, pining, light angst and fluff

You’re on the ninth episode of the show you’re binging on Netflix when your phone rings. You glance at the screen, see Seungcheol’s contact photo, and you answer. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, sounding more than a little exasperated. “I’m sorry to call you so late but Chan, Joshua, and I went out tonight and Shua’s pretty tipsy. He keeps asking for you.”

Your heart stutters and suddenly, you’re more alert. You sit up, Seungcheol continues over the phone, “I need to take Chan home and he lives in the opposite direction of Joshua, and—”

“You need me to get Joshua home safe.”

“Yeah. Again, I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Cheol, I’m on my way. Just send me a pin.”

“Thanks.” After he hangs up, you see the pin and you pull on some jeans and a thick sweater. They’re at a bar on the other side of the city so you call a car to take you there. When you arrive, you squeeze through the crush of bodies until you find them at a table towards the back, the three of them cramped into the corner.

Seungcheol’s busy trying to get Chan to put his coat on but Joshua spots you. His face breaks into a smile, eyes curving into crescent moons and mouth opening to show a toothy grin. He cheers your name, reaching a hand out for you. You offer him yours and Joshua pulls you into him, burying his face in your stomach and wrapping his arms around you. “Wow,” you say to Seungcheol. “Seems like you all had a wild night.”

He chuckles, finally managing to zip up Chan’s coat for him. “Thanks again for coming.”

“Always happy to help.” You pat Joshua’s head, your heart pounding against your ribcage. “Come on, Shua, let’s get you home.”

“Okay,” he says, and you’re glad that he can stand and get his coat on on his own. You bid goodbye to Seungcheol and Chan, and you take Joshua’s outside for some fresh air while you wait for the Uber you called.

Joshua slings an arm around your shoulder, leaning against you. It’s unfair, you think, that underneath these yellow streetlights, Joshua still looks so handsome — all tousled hair and pink lips that stretch into a warm, drunken smile.

Your face is on fire at this point and you’re glad when the car arrives. Joshua, even though he’s tipsy, he opens the door for you and you climb in first. He follows easily and the car pulls onto the road. You’re looking out the window, watching the neighborhood bleed into the next. You chance a peeks over at Joshua, he’s staring with a tilted head. “You okay, Joshua?”

He hums, “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

You laugh lightly and Joshua says, “No, really, you don’t even know.” He shuffles closer and asks, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,” you murmur.

Joshua whispers into your ear, “I like you.”

You try to keep your tone even when you answer with, “I like you too, Joshua.”

“No,” he says. “ I like you. A lot. Like a lot, a lot.”

Your heart is in your throat and all you can reply with is, “You’re drunk, Joshua.”

He frowns. “But it’s true.”

“Joshua…”

His shoulders slump, and he shifts away slightly, gazing at you with sad eyes. “Why don’t you believe me?” Then, he adds: “Let me down now, then. If you don’t like me in the same way, say it now — it won’t hurt as much.”

You want to tell him everything you feel about him, how he brightens up every room he walks in, how you love his laugh, how you don’t know what a world without him would be like and that you don’t want to know.

But you can’t right now, not when he’s drunk. Not when he doesn’t fully know the gravity of what he’s saying.

“Tell me tomorrow,” you say and he lifts his head to meet your stare. “If you still feel the same way about me that you do now, tell me tomorrow and I’ll tell you how much I like you tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

The Uber rumbles to a halt and you usher Joshua out of the car. He clumsily opens the door to the complex, and you guide him into the elevator and towards his apartment. In front of his door, he says, “I’m going to call tomorrow.” He holds out his hand, pinky extended. “Promise.”

You wrap your own pinky around his. “Promise. Good night, Joshua.”

“Good night.” He enters his apartment, the door clicking softly behind him. You text Seungcheol that you got Joshua home and he tells you that he’ll pay for your car back to your apartment.

You get back home, your chest unbearably tight. As you lay down, you brace yourself for the inevitable disappointment of tomorrow and the heartbreak that will accompany it.

The next morning, you’re woken up by your phone’s ringtone. Sleepily, you answer it without even checking who’s calling. “Hello?”

“Hi.” It’s Joshua. “I promised I’d call. And I still really, really like you.”

#joshua hong x reader #hong jisoo x reader #seventeen x reader #joshua imagines #joshua scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios

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kingofbodyrolls · 1 day ago

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Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 4: face-off

In the quiet glow of a shared evening, you finally ask Jimin about Jiwoo, peeling back the layers of his heart while daring to reveal the scars of your own. You speak of the ghosts in your past, of love that hurt instead of healed, and he listens—truly listens—with the kind of tenderness you never thought you’d find. Jimin is everything you didn’t know your soul was yearning for, and now, in this fragile, shimmering moment, it feels like the universe is whispering that maybe, just maybe, you can do this. That love, real love, might finally be within reach.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 6.8k → Warnings + triggers: mention of illness, past character death (Jiwoo), mention of past domestic abuse (hitting), mention of past emotional abuse, FEELINGS 😭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Alright, brace yourselves—this one’s a rollercoaster of angst and sadness, okay? Like, grab your tissues sad. 😢 But I swear, hold tight because the storm does pass. You’ll get answers to all those questions we’ve been agonizing over, and while it’s emotional, it’s also unexpectedly soft—like a cozy blanket after a storm. 🌧️ All the raw, messy feelings are on display, but here’s the twist: healing is happening, and everything will be okay, I promise! 🫂 So let’s dive in, feel all the feels, and come out stronger on the other side! This whole story is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

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The months slip by like sand through your fingers, swept away by the rhythm of work and the gentle pull of evenings spent with Jimin and his enchanting daughter, Hwa-Young. April has arrived, dressing the world in a delicate lace of blossoms, and with each petal that unfolds, you feel your own feelings for Jimin unfurl, tender and vibrant. Like spring itself, they bloom quietly, yet with an ache that demands to be felt.

And yet, you’ve kept your feelings hidden, a secret cradled close to your chest. Namjoon, ever the wise confidant, keeps urging you to tell him, to stop letting fear hold you back. “You’ll feel lighter,” he says, as though love isn’t a tightrope strung between hope and vulnerability. But the thought of laying your heart bare terrifies you. You’ve been down this road before, and the scars remind you that even the most beautiful things can break. Still, deep down, you know—Jimin is not like the others. There’s a gentleness in him, a quiet depth that sets him apart. Yet still, you tread cautiously, balancing between longing and fear.

Today, he’s invited you to his rehearsal—a glimpse behind the curtain of his world—and like the ever-supportive “friend” (oh, how that word stings now), you’ve come. From your spot in the empty venue, you watch him test his mic, strumming a few chords on his guitar before diving headfirst into his setlist. His voice, low and resonant, fills the space, spilling raw emotion into the still air.

You’ve heard these songs a hundred times before—on the radio, in quiet moments together, and the ones he’s been crafting these past months—but somehow, they strike a different chord tonight. Each haunting lyric feels like a thread, weaving something sacred, and his voice... oh, his voice. It reaches you in a way that words alone never could, wrapping around your heart, leaving you breathless and undone.

Goosebumps ripple over your skin, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine—just for a moment—that the emotions he pours into his music might be meant for you.

As you watch him perform, lost in the way his fingers glide effortlessly across the strings, you find yourself wondering about the meaning behind his lyrics. What chapters of his life do they hold? What untold stories linger in the spaces between his words? Jimin is a mystery, and every haunting note he sings feels like a glimpse into a life he has yet to fully share with you.

“All right. With those sweet words of yours, you were doing your best to take every single thing from me. Look at yourself. Why don’t you want even more? You can want more. That suits you, babe. I hope you don’t change.”

His voice wraps around the room, raw and unguarded, and the lyrics cut through you, sharp and aching. There’s a truth in his words that stings, a vulnerability that feels too personal to ignore. It pierces your heart in ways you can’t explain.

A small part of you can’t shake the thought—these songs must be about Hwa-Young’s mother, no matter what he’s told you. He’s said they weren’t romantic, only friends, but these words… they feel too heavy, too deeply etched with sorrow and longing to be about just friendship. You can’t stop yourself from wondering if there are pieces of his past that are still too tender to touch, pieces he’s shielding even now.

And yet, as the melody rises, a weight settles in your chest. You remember what you told Namjoon months ago—that you weren’t ready to step into something complicated. And Jimin’s life? It feels like a song with too many verses, too many harmonies to untangle. The honesty of his voice, the rawness of his words—they’re pulling you in, but at the same time, the sheer depth of it all feels overwhelming. Why does love always have to feel so complicated?

You don’t even realize the tears streaking silently down your cheeks until you feel a small, warm hand wrap around yours.

“Y/N… why are you crying?”

The soft, curious voice pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you look down to see Hwa-Young gazing up at you, her big, concerned eyes watching you carefully. She’s been sitting beside you all along, a quiet witness to your unraveling.

You blink rapidly, trying to compose yourself, but the knot in your throat is hard to swallow. How could you explain this to her, this little girl who sees the world in innocent wonder? You can’t. You won’t.

With a shaky smile, you squeeze her hand and shake your head lightly. “I’m okay, sweetheart,” you whisper, your voice barely steady. But your heart clenches because you know the truth you can’t admit—not to her, not to Jimin, not even fully to yourself yet.

You’re falling, tumbling headlong into feelings for a man whose world is so much bigger than yours. And as much as you wish it wasn’t, as much as you long for simplicity, love never seems to come without its complications.

So, you settle on a simpler truth, wrapping it delicately in softness for her young heart to grasp. “Your dad is just so good at singing. It’s so beautiful, it makes me feel… sad in the best way.”

She nods thoughtfully, inching closer to you on the stools, her small shoulders brushing yours as if seeking silent comfort. “Daddy’s really good with words,” she says quietly, her voice carrying an innocence laced with wisdom far beyond her years. “He tried to make mommy happy with his words… but I think sometimes they did the opposite.”

Her statement lands like a whisper of thunder, quiet but resounding, leaving you staring at her. How could such a tiny soul speak with such weight? But before you can find a reply, she continues, her small voice carrying secrets as fragile as glass.

“When my mom got sick,” she murmurs, “he wanted to do everything for her…” Her words trail off, and instinctively, you lean toward her, drawing her into a gentle hug. Her warmth melts into yours, her resilience as humbling as her honesty.

“You know…” she muses after a pause, her tone lightening as her little legs swing idly beneath the stool. “Daddy never kissed Mommy.”

Her soft giggle catches you off guard, and you blink down at her, confusion flickering across your face. “Daddy never made love to my mommy either,” she adds with a grin, her words innocent yet jarring, sending heat rushing to your cheeks. You can’t tell if she fully understands what she’s saying, but her candor leaves your heart racing in your chest, your pulse hammering loud and unrelenting in your ears.

Your gaze instinctively shifts to the man she speaks of, and there he is—onstage, lost in his music, fingers coaxing melodies from his guitar, his voice weaving stories that feel like silk and sorrow all at once. If what she says is true—if Jimin never had that kind of relationship with Hwa-Young’s mother—then how...?

Questions bloom in your mind, wild and restless. And just as your thoughts begin to spiral, Jimin’s song comes to an end, and he looks up, his gaze locking onto yours across the room.

Time seems to halt.

The light casts a soft halo around him, his blonde hair glowing like threads of gold, his skin luminous under the stage lights. He looks ethereal, almost unreal, as if he belongs to another world entirely—a celestial being rather than a man who feels so deeply it hurts to watch.

And yet, it’s his eyes that anchor you, pulling you into the moment. They seem to see right through you, their warmth a balm and a spark all at once. Your breath catches, your chest tightens.

It’s in that instant you realize: you can’t keep dancing around these questions, these unspoken truths that hang between you like threads in a web. If there’s one thing you’re certain of, it’s that you can’t love a man while standing in the shadow of another. You deserve to know, to understand.

As Jimin gives you a wink, you feel the weight of the conversation you know you need to have. It’s time. Time to ask him about Jiwoo. Time to find out where she fits in his heart—and where you might belong in his story.

Jimin runs a hand through his hair, the strands clinging to his forehead where sweat beads at his hairline, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder if it’s fair—how effortlessly breathtaking he looks, even like this, raw and unguarded under the stage lights.

Beside you, Hwa-Young slips her tiny hand into yours, her warmth grounding you in a moment you didn’t realize you needed. “I like you, Y/N. You’re nice,” she says, her words simple but disarming, like sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky.

A lump rises in your throat, and you feel the sting of emotion prickle your eyes. It’s as though this day is conspiring to undo you, one tender moment at a time. Pulling her into your arms, you hug her tightly, your voice soft as you reply, “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”

The rest of Jimin’s rehearsal blurs like an impressionist painting—notes and movements smearing together into a beautiful haze. Before you know it, the three of you are seated in his car, the hum of the engine steady beneath the weight of your thoughts. Jimin’s voice mingles with Hwa-Young’s soft chatter, but your mind is elsewhere.

There’s something bubbling beneath the surface of your chest—an ache, a pull, an unrelenting tide of feelings that refuse to be silenced. They prickle at your skin, a mix of anxiety and anticipation, urging you to seize this moment. You know the talk you’ve been dreading is inevitable. You can’t avoid it any longer.

The car slows to a stop in front of Jimin’s home. His home—a place that has slowly begun to feel like your own in a way that terrifies and comforts you all at once. You follow them inside, the air heavy with unspoken words.

Jimin pauses, turning to you with a smile so soft it feels like it might break under its own tenderness. “I just need to put Hwa-Young to bed,” he says, his voice low and warm. “It’s way past her bedtime. Do you mind waiting here?”

You nod, settling onto the couch, the silence of the room wrapping around you like a blanket, but before Jimin can lead Hwa-Young away, she giggles and steps forward, her sleepy eyes sparkling with playful insistence.

“No, daddy. I want Y/N to read to me,” she says, her little voice carrying a hint of mischief, though the puffy redness beneath her eyes betrays her exhaustion.

Jimin exhales a soft sigh, but his smile lingers, a look of affection flickering across his face. He gestures for you to follow, his voice gentle. “Looks like you’ve been recruited,” he says with a small laugh.

You chuckle softly, your heart lightening despite the weight of the day, and rise to follow Hwa-Young into her room. The familiar rhythm of bedtime routines feels comforting as you help her brush her teeth, slip into her pajamas, and settle her under the covers. As you sit beside her, her eyes glisten with a warmth that makes your chest tighten.

There’s a sweetness to this moment, so simple and pure, yet it feels like it holds the weight of something bigger. As you help tuck her in, you can’t help but think of the life Jimin has built—the love, the care, the quiet strength—and wonder if you could truly belong in it.

“I’ve never seen my dad so happy since he met you,” she says, her voice small but carrying a truth that lands heavy in the space between you.

It’s like a gentle punch to your gut, the words so innocent, so pure, and yet they shake you to your core. Your throat constricts, an unexpected lump rising, as if the weight of her words is just too much to bear after such an emotional day. But you manage to smile—soft, fragile—and reach out to caress her forehead, letting the gesture speak for you when words seem inadequate.

You don’t need to say anything, because deep down, you already know—his happiness is something you’ve felt, too. That quiet, simmering certainty that there’s something more between you and Jimin, something undeniable, even if it’s still untold.

Hwa-Young interrupts your reverie, her small finger pointing to a well-worn book by her bedside. “Can you read this story for me?” she asks, her voice a soft plea. You glance down at the title, something about a princess who has faced the harshest of trials—siblings’ jealousy, the loneliness of her crown, a prince who offers help, but she stands strong on her own... until a single moment fractures her strength.

What kind of children’s book is this? you wonder, a touch bemused. But you say nothing, opening the pages, and as you read, her eyelids flutter slowly, the rhythm of your voice pulling her toward sleep like a lullaby.

As her breathing slows, her little body softening into the warmth of the blankets, you run your fingers gently through her hair, the silky strands slipping between your fingertips like whispers of tenderness. “Sweet dreams,” you whisper, the words barely audible, but they feel like a promise.

And in that moment, as she drifts off into a peaceful slumber, you realize that perhaps this—these quiet, fleeting moments—is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever known.

Then you step out of Hwa-Young’s room, the door clicking shut with a softness that feels almost sacred. The quiet hum of the house settles over you like a fragile veil as you make your way back to the living room. Jimin is there, sunk deep into the sofa, his posture loose with exhaustion. Even in the dim light, the weight of the day clings to him, but there’s something comforting about his presence—grounding, like an anchor in a restless sea.

You sit down beside him, close but not quite touching, and it feels like your heart is trying to break free from your chest. It thuds relentlessly, a drumbeat urging you forward. Today has been emotional, raw, and unguarded—a day of truths—and you decide, in this rare moment of quiet, it’s time to seize your courage.

“Jimin?” you breathe, his name barely more than a whisper as it escapes your lips. His gaze lifts to yours, tired but warm, his eyes carrying that soft, unspoken affection that always manages to disarm you.

“Hm?” he hums, leaning slightly toward you, his exhaustion not dimming the kindness in his face.

You hesitate, searching for the right words, your thoughts a tangled mess. It’s not a question you want to rush—it feels delicate, like glass. Your fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt, an outlet for your nervous energy, and your eyes flicker around the room as if the walls might give you answers. Finally, you steady yourself and exhale.

“I was wondering about Jiwoo… Hwa-Young’s mother,” you begin, your voice trembling with hesitation. “If you could tell me about her?”

For a moment, the room feels suspended in time. Jimin’s expression shifts, softening further as an almost wistful smile curls at the corners of his lips. His gaze turns introspective, like he’s reaching into a box of memories he hasn’t opened in a long time. Then he leans forward, his hands sliding over yours, steadying them, grounding you.

“What do you want to know?” he asks, his voice gentle, like the beginnings of a lullaby.

You swallow, feeling the weight of the moment press against your chest. “Well… everything you feel like sharing.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping for a moment as he collects his thoughts. When he speaks again, his voice carries a warmth, a tenderness that wraps around the edges of his words.

“Jiwoo was my childhood best friend,” he begins, his tone both nostalgic and reverent. “We were inseparable. Through school, through everything. She was… home. We had this bond that I think only happens a few times in a lifetime. She was the kind of person who could make the world feel a little less heavy just by being in it.”

His words settle in the air between you, and your heart clenches. You nod, urging him silently to continue, even though a part of you aches at the depth of the love he’s describing.

“We were there for each other,” he says, his voice dipping lower, as though he’s talking more to himself than to you now. “In every way that mattered. She wasn’t just my friend; she was family. My constant.”

You watch him closely, the soft glow of the room casting gentle shadows across his face, and though his voice remains steady, you catch the faintest glimmer of sadness in his eyes. It’s as though he’s letting you into a sacred part of his heart, piece by fragile piece.

And as he pauses, the quiet stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with an understanding that doesn’t need words. You brace yourself for what comes next, your fingers still caught beneath his, his warmth anchoring you as much as your presence seems to steady him.

“One day, she went to her doctor for what she thought was just a routine checkup,” Jimin begins, his voice dipping into something heavy, laden with the kind of memory that lingers like a storm cloud. “But then she called me right after… crying her eyes out because they told her she had cancer.” His body folds slightly at the recollection, shoulders slumping under the weight of the past, and your heart feels like it’s sinking into a bottomless well.

He pauses, swallowing hard before continuing, his fingers unconsciously tracing over yours as though grounding himself in the present. “She started talking about everything she hadn’t done… about the life she hadn’t lived. She was terrified. You know, Jiwoo always talked about wanting kids someday, but she never found the right guy.” His lips quirk upward briefly, bittersweet, before the sadness returns to his gaze.

You nod softly, the room seeming smaller, quieter, as his words draw you deeper into his world.

“I tried to tell her… over and over again… that cancer didn’t have to take her dreams away. That she still had time. But she didn’t believe it,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, the cracks revealing the depth of his pain. He exhales shakily, squeezing your hands as though searching for strength in your touch.

“Then she asked me,” he continues, his voice almost trembling with the weight of the memory, “if I’d have a child with her.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch as his eyes shimmer with unshed tears.

“And I—” he sobs gently, his vulnerability raw and unfiltered. “I wanted to do anything for her. Anything. She was my best friend, and this… this was the one thing in life she wanted the most.”

A lump forms in your throat as you see his pain laid bare before you, unguarded and achingly real. Your chest tightens as the truth of his words settles deep in your heart.

“So even though I’d never felt that way about her,” he says, his voice soft but firm, “I said yes. I agreed.” His hands clench yours a little tighter, as though he’s afraid of losing something even now. “I donated my sperm, and she had her eggs fertilized. That’s how Hwa-Young came to be,” he finishes, his voice quiet but resolute, the ghost of a smile barely brushing his lips.

For a moment, silence stretches between you, but it isn’t empty—it’s filled with unspoken emotions, grief, and love, all tangled together in a bittersweet symphony.

His tears fall freely now, and you realize your own are trailing down your cheeks, unbidden. You don’t know where his tears end and yours begin, as they mix and soak into your joined hands. The moment feels sacred, fragile, as though the two of you are holding not just each other, but also the echoes of Jiwoo and everything she left behind.

And though your heart aches for him, for her, and for the beautiful little girl asleep in the room beside you, it also swells—because this man, with all his pain and all his love, is showing you a part of himself he’s never shared with anyone before.

“So, she became pregnant,” he begins, his voice trembling, “and she managed to carry to term, but…” He pauses, running his free hand over his face, wiping away the tears that seem endless. “Her cancer… it got worse. And she… she didn’t want to get treatment while she was pregnant. She didn’t want to risk the baby.” He huffs out a breath, a sound too broken to be a sigh, drying his damp cheeks with trembling fingers.

“After she gave birth,” he continues, voice cracking under the weight of the memory, “they gave her the terminal diagnosis.” His hands clench yours tighter, as if holding on to the present will keep the past from pulling him under. “And all I could think… all I could do… was try to give her everything she ever wanted—the child, the life, everything she dreamed of.” His voice shatters on the last word, and he sobs openly, the years of sorrow spilling out at last.

You pull him into a hug, holding him close as his grief crashes into you like a tidal wave. His sobs are muffled against your shoulder, but his pain is louder than words.

“I know,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, “I know people have always questioned my feelings for her. Wondered what we really were to each other. But she… she was like a sister to me. My best friend. My constant.” His words falter as he pulls back just slightly to meet your gaze, his tear-streaked face lit by the soft glow of the living room light. “I don’t know how to explain the bond we had. She wasn’t my lover, but she was my everything. And when she died…” His voice catches, and he lets out a shaky exhale, eyes shimmering with fresh tears.

“When she died,” he whispers, his throat tightening with every word, “Hwa-Young was only six months old. I was so young… so unprepared to be a father. And my career was just starting. The spotlight was on me, but I wanted to shield Hwa-Young from it all. I had to shield her. But it’s been…” He takes another shaky breath, his voice breaking again, “it’s been so exhausting—carrying it all. All the grief. All the questions. All the feelings.”

Your chest aches as you watch him, the weight of his story pressing into you like a stone. You nod softly, words failing you, because how can you begin to comprehend the burden he has borne? How can anyone?

You tighten your arms around him, hoping he can feel the warmth of your care, the silent promise that he’s not alone. Slowly, gently, you move back just enough to look him in the eyes. His gaze is raw, brimming with sorrow and vulnerability, yet there’s a flicker of relief in the depths of his brown irises.

“I’m so sorry, Jimin,” you whisper, your voice trembling but full of sincerity. “You’ve carried so much for so long. You’ve given so much of yourself.”

And in that moment, it feels as though the two of you are suspended in time, surrounded by an unspoken understanding—a shared fragility and a promise of healing.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper again, your voice thick with emotion. “I can tell how much she meant to you.” You pause for a moment, letting your thoughts form, delicate as flower petals. “If my best friend were dying, I’d do anything for him too—even giving him a child if that was his dream. I’d want to give him something to hold on to. Something to leave behind.”

Jimin looks at you then, and it’s as if the world stills around you. His eyes, swollen from tears, soften into something deeper—something like gratitude, like he’s finally been seen, truly understood for the first time.

“I think it’s beautiful,” you continue, your voice trembling, “what you did for her. The greatest gift you could’ve given her.” You reach out, drying the tears that continue to slip down his cheeks, your touch as tender as the words you’re trying to say. “And now you have her little piece of forever. A part of the love and the friendship you shared. That’s… that’s so precious, Jimin.”

Your voice cracks as the weight of his story settles deeper into your chest. You choke back your own tears, your breath hitching. “It’s really beautiful.”

And somehow, as broken as the moment feels, there’s a strange healing that takes root within you. His story pulls at your soul, stitching up places in your heart you didn’t even know needed mending. The depth of his love for Jiwoo, for Hwa-Young, only strengthens the feelings you’ve been carrying for him. And in this raw, vulnerable space, you no longer question his past or the bond he shared with her. No, now you see it for what it truly is—a love so pure, so selfless, that it only brings you closer to him.

Jimin’s breath catches, and then he sobs again, burying his face briefly in his hands before looking back at you. “Before she died,” he whispers, his voice breaking, “she made me promise her something.” He pauses, the air between you fragile and electric, like the calm before a storm.

You lean closer, your voice soft but steady. “What did you promise her?”

His lips tremble as he exhales, gathering the strength to say the words. “She made me promise that I’d find love,” he says, his voice heavy with the weight of years spent carrying that promise. “But I… I’ve never been able to. Not until…” His words trail off, and suddenly he moves closer, so close that your foreheads are touching.

You can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the steady rhythm of his heart echoing in the quiet between you. Your chest tightens, and you inhale deeply, summoning every ounce of courage.

“Jimin?” you whisper, your voice barely audible, trembling like the edge of a song.

He sniffles, his voice rasping but soft. “Yeah?”

Your eyes meet his, and in them, you see everything—his pain, his hope, and something new, something meant just for you. You exhale shakily. “I think…” you pause, grounding yourself in the moment, “I think I’m falling for you.”

A stunned silence stretches between you, and then he exhales, his lips curving into the softest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. “I think…” he says, his voice almost breaking with emotion, “I think I’m falling for you too.”

The weight of his confession hits you both at the same time, and suddenly, laughter spills out between the tears. It’s unsteady and messy, but it feels so good—like the tension and sorrow of the past have finally given way to something warm and freeing.

You cling to each other, laughing and crying, your hands tangling in his as the world around you fades away. It’s chaotic, it’s raw, and it’s imperfect—but it’s yours. It’s the start of something neither of you can deny anymore. And for the first time, it feels like everything is exactly as it’s meant to be. Just right.

You wake to the soft prod of a small finger poking your cheek. A sleepy groan escapes your lips as you stir, shifting against a source of warmth beneath you. Blinking your eyes open, you’re met with Hwa-Young’s beaming face, her smile bright enough to rival the morning sun.

“Are you and daddy together now?” she asks innocently, her big, curious eyes studying you with a playful twinkle.

Confusion flutters through you until you glance down—and your heart stops. You realize you’ve been lying on top of Jimin, his chest a comforting pillow throughout the night. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you sit up abruptly, your movement jostling him awake.

“Wha—what?” Jimin mumbles groggily, his hair adorably tousled as he sits up too, looking at you with sleepy, startled eyes. His blush mirrors your own, painting his cheeks a delicate rose as realization dawns on him.

You laugh nervously, running a hand through your hair in a feeble attempt to ground yourself. Jimin chuckles too, rubbing the back of his neck, though his embarrassment doesn’t erase the tender smile tugging at his lips, “Muckin’ aren’t you up early?”

Hwa-Young, ever the morning sprite, shakes her head matter-of-factly. “No, no, you guys slept in. So, are you dating now?” Her voice is sweet, but her question lands like a thunderbolt in your chest, setting your heart racing.

How is it that a child’s innocent words can so effortlessly crack open your emotions, leaving them raw and exposed?

Jimin turns to you, his eyes wide with surprise, then softening into something deeper—something vulnerable yet sure. Your gaze drops to your hand, hesitantly reaching for his. When your fingers touch, his warmth steadies you, grounding your swirling thoughts.

You swallow the lump in your throat and look back at him. “If you want this,” your voice is barely above a whisper, “then I want this too.”

For a moment, the world stands still. Jimin’s smile grows, tender and genuine, his eyes brimming with quiet joy. “I guess… I guess we are,” he says, his voice carrying the kind of softness that makes your heart flutter.

Your eyes flick to Hwa-Young, her grin impossibly wide as she watches the exchange like she’s been waiting for this moment forever. “Would that be okay with you?” you ask her gently, your voice laced with sincerity. After all, this little girl holds a piece of Jimin’s heart, and you’d never want to intrude on that if she didn’t welcome you.

Hwa-Young’s response is instant—a squeal of pure delight as she throws her arms around you both. “Of course, it’s okay! I’ve been waiting for this to happen!” she cries, her excitement contagious.

Her small arms mash you and Jimin together in a tight, giggling hug, the three of you becoming a tangle of laughter and warmth. Jimin’s arm curls protectively around both of you, and you feel him press a light kiss to Hwa-Young’s hair.

Your eyes meet his over her head, and in his gaze, you see it all—the joy, the relief, and the quiet promise of something beautiful beginning. You’re a mess of laughter and emotions, but in this moment, wrapped in their embrace, everything feels right. Like the first rays of sunlight after a long night, you feel hope bloom in your chest, warm and endless.

The rest of the day unfolds in a blissful haze of warmth and laughter. With Jimin and Hwa-Young, it’s all simple joys—playing silly games, dramatic rounds of charades, and bursts of giggles during hide-and-seek. The house feels alive, filled with the kind of happiness that settles in your soul like sunlight after a storm.

When evening falls, Jimin takes over the kitchen, whipping up dinner with a grace that mesmerizes you, even in its simplicity. The meal is delicious, and afterward, Hwa-Young’s sleepy yawns signal bedtime. You offer to tuck her in once more, her tiny arms wrapping around your neck as you read her favorite story until her soft, even breaths fill the room.

By the time you find yourself nestled in Jimin’s bed, the world feels quieter, softer, like it’s holding its breath just for the two of you. You lie beside him, the dim light casting gentle shadows across his face. His presence is steady, grounding you in a way that feels both new and eternal.

Your gaze lingers on him, your chest swelling with emotions you can barely contain. Pride, gratitude, love—it’s all there, an unspoken symphony playing between your heartbeats. Slowly, your hand reaches out, your fingers brushing against the softness of his cheek.

“Thank you, Jimin,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. His eyes meet yours, warm and patient, as if he’s willing to wait forever to hear what you have to say. “Thank you for sharing the love you had for Jiwoo.”

His hand moves to cover yours, gently pressing it against his cheek. There’s something in his touch that feels like a promise—like he’s anchoring you to him, silently vowing to keep you close, to never let you go.

“You were really brave,” you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of what you’re about to say. “So I want to be brave too.” You blink, inhaling deeply, willing the courage to surface. “I want to tell you about my relationships.”

Jimin nods, his head sinking deeper into the pillow as his eyes remain fixed on yours, filled with quiet understanding. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push—he just waits, offering you the safe space you need to unravel your thoughts.

“You’ve met my brother Yoongi, of course,” you begin, your voice soft but steady. “Both him and my best friend Namjoon… they’re very protective of me.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Because,” you sigh, your breath hitching as you press forward, “because I have a bad track record with men.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and raw, but instead of recoiling, Jimin shifts closer, his hand gently intertwining with yours. His touch says everything you need—it’s okay. Take your time.

You exhale shakily, your gaze flickering to the ceiling as memories resurface. “I’ve been with men who didn’t value me, didn’t see me for who I was. They took pieces of me, left me feeling smaller, like I wasn’t enough.” Your voice cracks, but Jimin’s hand tightens slightly around yours, grounding you. “It’s made me cautious, made me put up walls I didn’t even realize were there.”

You glance back at him, your voice softening. “But you’re different, Jimin. You’ve never made me feel small or unsure. With you, it’s like… like I’m finally breathing fresh air after years of holding it all in.”

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, his gaze unwavering, filled with something so tender it makes your chest ache. “You’re not small, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice steady but rich with emotion. “You’re more than enough.”

His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, grounding you with the warmth of his touch as a tear slips free from your eye. He doesn’t speak, but the steady rhythm of his fingers against your skin tells you that he’s listening, that he’s here.

You inhale shakily, the words heavy on your tongue but begging to be said. “I don’t know why, but all the men I’ve been with—they’ve either been manipulative, cheating, or full of red flags I should’ve seen but didn’t,” you murmur, your voice trembling under the weight of memory. “The most recent one, Mark… this was a few years ago…”

You pause, closing your eyes as you brace yourself. His hand tightens slightly on yours, a silent assurance that you can take your time.

“He hurt me,” you continue, your voice barely above a whisper, “not just emotionally. He was cunning—so good with his words, so convincing. He made me believe every lie he told, every false promise.” Your voice cracks, and you force a laugh, though it’s brittle, hollow. “And then one day… one day, he hit me.”

The words hang in the air, raw and exposed, like a wound that never fully healed. You dare to glance at Jimin, and what you see makes your chest ache—a storm of pain, anger, and heartbreak swirling in his eyes, all for you. He says nothing, but the way he looks at you feels like a vow: No one will ever hurt you again.

You laugh softly, the sound tinged with bittersweet triumph as you add, “So… I hit him back.”

His eyes widen for a moment, and then a spark of something else—something close to pride—flickers in them.

“I don’t go around hitting people, I swear,” you say quickly, shaking your head with a small, self-deprecating chuckle. “But Mark? Mark deserved it. And then I left him. For good.” You let out a deep sigh, sinking further into the pillow, as though shedding the memory and its weight. “I haven’t dated anyone since. Not because I didn’t want to, but… I’ve been scared. Scared it would all happen again.”

Your gaze drifts to Jimin, and your hand moves on its own, your fingertips brushing against his lips. The softness of them makes you shiver, makes you feel something you haven’t felt in a long time—hope.

“But you…” your voice falters, your touch lingering against the plush curve of his lips, “you’re not like the men I’ve known before. You’re gentle, and kind, and so good—so good it terrifies me. And yet…” You pause, the confession tightening in your chest like a butterfly trapped in a jar. “And yet, I’m still scared.”

His lips part slightly beneath your fingers, a breath of warmth brushing against your skin as his eyes lock onto yours, steady and unwavering.

“Scared of this,” you whisper, your voice cracking with vulnerability, “of letting you in, of giving this—us—a chance.”

Your hand trembles as you pull away, but before you can retreat, Jimin reaches for you, his fingers curling gently around yours and pulling your hand back to his chest. You can feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm, strong and reassuring.

“But I want you,” you admit, your voice barely audible, the words spilling out like a confession to the night. “I want to try, even though I’m scared.”

For a moment, the world holds its breath. His hand moves to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away the tear that lingers on your cheek. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he whispers, his voice soft but full of quiet conviction.

And when he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, it feels like a promise—unspoken but unmistakable. The past may have left its scars, but with him, you feel the fragile beginnings of something new. Something healing. Something worth the risk.

He inches closer, the warmth of his body drawing yours like a tide to the shore, and the gap between you dissolves into nothing.

“Mark sounds like a fucking dick,” he murmurs, his voice low but laced with quiet fire. “I’m proud of you—proud that you stood up for yourself and left. And I swear to you,” his voice softens, trembles with a vow he’s desperate for you to believe, “I’d never do anything like that. Ever.”

He’s so close now, your noses brushing, the air between you charged and trembling, and it would take nothing—nothing at all—to close the gap and press your lips to his. But you hold back, caught in the moment’s fragile beauty, afraid to shatter it.

“You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. His breath mingles with yours, his words steady and sincere, but then they falter. “And I… I just hope I won’t disappoint you.” He exhales shakily, his vulnerability like an exposed nerve. “I haven’t been in many serious relationships.”

You study him in the dim light, your gaze tracing every detail that makes him so heartbreakingly human. The tiny freckles scattered like constellations across his skin. The slight curve of his crooked teeth when he speaks. The crescent moon shape his eyes take when they crinkle, even when he’s this close to breaking. The ink that stains his finger and wrist, marks of stories and promises etched into his flesh.

Everything about him is imperfect. Everything about him is beautiful. And your chest tightens with the force of it all, the way his presence fills every hollow part of you without even trying.

“Maybe…” you murmur, the words catching as your eyes lock with his, “maybe we can figure it out together?”

Your breaths intermingle, his so warm against your lips it feels like a whisper of what could be. His eyes search yours, wide and shimmering with something fragile, something hopeful.

“I’d love that,” he breathes, his voice soft but sure, and then he moves—finally closes the distance.

When his lips meet yours, the world tilts and stills all at once. His taste is intoxicating, a delicate blend of something musky and sweet, like vanilla threaded with amber. It’s not just a kiss—it’s gravity, pulling you into his orbit, tethering you to him in a way that feels both grounding and weightless.

You wrap your arms around him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though holding on to him could anchor you in this moment. His touch, the way his body molds to yours, feels like home. Like comfort. Like every shattered piece of your heart finally has a place to rest.

This—he—is what you’ve been waiting for. And as the kiss deepens, you realize he’s not just what you want; he’s what you need.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12 @rinkud @allie-in-the-moon

→ Author’s endnote: okay, real talk—how are you holding up? Because oh my god, I was absolutely SOBBING while writing this. Like, ugly crying, tissues everywhere, red-nosed Rudolph levels of chaos 😭. But I swear on all that is good and fluffy, things are finally looking up now! No more gut-wrenching, soul-crushing angst (well, maybe just a sprinkle here and there for spice), but I promise, it’s time for healing 🥹 So grab your emotional support snacks, because we’re entering the soft era! 🫶

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claiestve · 3 days ago

Note

hey pookie 😽

could i request an isaac fic where he takes pickle to the japanese countryside (maybe to meet his mother’s parents or smth)?

ILY CLAI YOUR WRITING IS AMAZING IDK WHAT YOU SAY

𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐭 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠 ꨄ Isaac

˜”* ❝𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜.❞

⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ɪꜱᴀᴀᴄ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏ ᴊᴀᴘᴀɴ.

⎯୨⎯ " " ⎯୧⎯

“It’s pretty, right?”

Your husband asked, searching your face for approval. He got so much more than that. As you looked at the waterfall before you, your face was plastered in awe. You wondered why Isaac wanted to show you this place but now you figured why.

You tried to respond, but the beauty of it all left you speechless, your words lost to the force of nature before you. The cool mist on your face felt like a gentle embrace as if the waterfall was sharing its secret with you—something ancient and serene.

Isaac smiled softly, watching you. “I knew you’d like it,” he murmured, his voice barely rising above the sound of the water. He stepped closer, his hand finding yours, grounding you in the present, in this moment.

You squeezed his hand, finally finding your voice. “It’s... incredible. I—I don’t even have words for this.”

He chuckled, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, standing there in the silence of the world’s wonder, connected by more than just the view, but by the shared stillness of the moment.

“I was hoping you’d like this place so we could come out here during the summer,” Isaac said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative.

“Hm? Why the summer?” You looked up at him, your curiosity piqued.

Isaac glanced down at you, his expression softening. “It was a bit of a family tradition,” he said slowly. “My mom’s side, they live just a few hours away. I haven’t seen them in... well, it’s been almost 18 years.” His voice caught, just a fraction, as the weight of those years settled. “I used to come out here with them when I was a kid. My grandmother would bring us every summer—she used to say the falls had magic in them, said they could ‘heal’ you.”

You could hear the nostalgia in his voice, the longing for a piece of his past. “I’ve wanted to bring you here for a while. I guess... I guess I’ve been putting it off. But now, seeing it with you—it feels like it’s finally the right time.”

You looked at him, sensing the deeper layers of his words. The falls weren’t just a pretty place to him—they were part of his history, part of a family he’d lost touch with. You’d known about his mother’s side of the family, of course, but hearing him say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“Do they still live out here? I’d love to meet them.” You smiled at him, trying to heal his inner child who wanted to relive that peace.

Isaac hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting to the waterfall again as if the answer might be hidden there in the water.

“They do,” he started, “My aunt and uncle live about an hour away, and my grandmother’s old house is still standing, though... it’s not the same anymore.” His voice faltered momentarily, and you could feel the weight of the years pressing down on him, like old memories rising to the surface.

“I haven’t been back since the last time I saw them,” he continued, the words coming more like a confession. “I was just a kid when we... lost touch. The murders– it all fell apart so quickly. And I guess I just... let it slip away. Didn’t know how to get back, didn’t know how to face them again.”

“Hey,” You offered your eyes as a ladder to freedom, “We don’t have to visit if you don’t want to. If you’re not ready, we don’t have to, okay?”

Isaac’s breathing started to slow down as he looked at you again. As if you were a type of stress relief. Your presence gave him the space he needed to feel less afraid.

“I know…” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “It’s just– I never thought I’d go back. I was so… angry, for so long. And now, it feels like… I don’t know, like I’m standing on the edge of something I’m not sure I’m ready to jump into.”

You stepped closer, your hand finding its way to his chest, just over his heart. "You don't have to jump, Isaac. You can just dip your toes in, and see how it feels. And if it's too much, we leave. But we're in this together, okay?"

Isaac leaned down and kissed the top of your head, a gesture that spoke volumes without needing to say another word.

"Maybe... we’ll try the summer," Isaac said quietly, lifting his head to look at you with a mix of resolve and relief. "One step at a time."

You nodded, a feeling of peace washing over you as if everything had aligned just right.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

first of all, immediate yes. i luv this idea so bad

also, im fully convinced if we keep writing isaac fics he might find the keys to the dungeon and escape.

ty for requesting kieran, ilyt

#zsakuva #asmr #sakuverse #isaac rhoades #<3 #im too heartbroken to write love stories #but i will #yes i made them married #they literally have matching rings i think im allowed to

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hugherin · 1 day ago

Text

HEAVEN CAN'T HELP ME NOW.

when zaya decides to spend her vacation in Davos to escape from reality, but ends up crossing paths with Nico Hischier, who has the same goal. pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 4.

pairing: nico hischier x oc! reader.

warnings: none <3

You hesitated, the cold of the night feeling even sharper as the voice echoed again. Slowly, you turned around, already knowing who you would see.

"Andrew?"

He was there, standing with the same confident posture as always, but something about him was different. Perhaps it was the contrast between New York and Davos, or perhaps you were the one who had changed.

"Zaya. I knew it was you." He took a few steps closer, his face illuminated by the warm lights of the lobby. "What are you doing here? In Davos, I mean."

"Vacation." you replied, trying to keep your voice neutral. "And you?"

"Same. Needed a break from the city. Isn't it funny?" He chuckled softly, as if the coincidence were some sort of private joke. "Two New Yorkers ending up here, on the other side of the world."

You offered a brief, forced smile. "Yeah, funny."

An awkward silence settled between you, heavy with unspoken words and memories neither of you wanted to revisit.

"Are you okay?" Andrew asked, tilting his head slightly. "I mean, since... well, since we broke up."

Your eyebrows shot up, surprised by his directness. "I am. And you?"

"Yeah, of course. It’s just... you seem different." His gaze lingered on you with an intensity that made you want to escape.

"Maybe because I am different." You crossed your arms, whether to keep warm or to shield yourself from the conversation. "Time does that to people, don’t you think?"

Andrew smiled, but there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. "I guess it does. Well, I won’t bother you anymore. It was nice seeing you, Zaya. Maybe we’ll run into each other again?"

"Yeah, maybe." You kept your tone distant as he walked away.

Pulling your coat tighter around you, you stepped outside the hotel. The air was icy, biting, yet strangely comforting. The northern lights were already dancing above, as if they had been waiting for you. Shades of green, lilac, and gold swirled together, undulating like a melody only the universe could hear.

You found yourself on a wooden platform that extended beyond the hotel, a space designed for guests to marvel at the natural spectacle. Alone, except for your thoughts, which gathered like snowflakes — silent but persistent.

Andrew.

Seeing your ex-boyfriend here, thousands of miles away from where you thought he belonged, left a strange unease in your chest. It wasn’t sadness or longing. It was something deeper, more unsettling: a mirror he had held up, showing a version of yourself you barely recognized.

For the past few years, your life had been a race against time. Endless meetings, unreachable goals, nights too short and days even shorter. You always justified the exhaustion by telling yourself you were building something, but now, looking back, you weren’t sure if you had built anything other than a gilded cage.

Andrew had been part of that. Not because he was toxic or problematic — he wasn’t. But your relationship had been an extension of that same suffocating routine. Planned outings that felt like obligations, conversations squeezed between phone calls. Nothing flowed. Nothing grew.

You sighed, your gaze fixed on the sky, as if seeking answers among the stars. It was ironic how only now, far from everything, you realized how stagnant you had become.

And somehow, Nico was the opposite of that.

The way he talked about the simplest things as if they were extraordinary. The taste of the local coffee, the texture of the snow, the way the sunrise painted the mountains. He had an almost irritating ability to find beauty in the mundane, something you had forgotten how to do.

But it wasn’t just that. Nico made you feel alive.

When he was around, it was as if a part of you, long dormant, was waking up. You laughed more. You felt more. And for the first time in years, you wanted something you couldn’t quite name.

As these memories danced through your mind, the aurora seemed to grow even brighter, as if the universe wanted to join in your thoughts.

"I need to change." you whispered, the words nearly swallowed by the wind.

You needed to leave behind the safety of a predictable, monotonous life. You needed to embrace the unknown, even if it was terrifying. Deep down, you knew that staying as you were wasn’t living — it was merely existing.

Meeting Andrew had been a painful reminder of that, but also a gift. He had forced you to face the truth: the life you had in New York wasn’t enough.

And Nico... He was the spark you didn’t know you needed. You weren’t sure what that meant or where it might lead, but for the first time, you were willing to find out.

You stood there a while longer, breathing in the frigid air and letting every nuance of that night imprint itself on your memory.

You thought you were alone — until the sound of footsteps echoed on the wooden platform behind you. Your heart quickened as you turned.

Nico appeared, hands stuffed in the pockets of his coat, an easy smile on his face.

"Do you always sneak up on people like this?" you asked, still startled.

"No." he said, tilting his head slightly. "Do you always step out into the cold alone to think about life?"

You shrugged, wary. "What are you doing here?"

"Some teammates are staying at this hotel. The bar was getting unbearable, and then I saw you step outside..." He paused, glancing at the northern lights. "I figured this would be more interesting."

"Interesting? Or just spying?" you teased, crossing your arms.

"Let’s call it intellectual curiosity." he replied, stepping closer. "So, what brought you out here? Escaping something too?"

You hesitated. "Not exactly. I guess I just needed some air. Things can get... stifling sometimes."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Stifling how?"

"You know, expectations, the kind of stuff that makes you feel like you’re stuck in a bubble." You looked at him, surprised at how much you were sharing, and quickly added, "Anyway, I just needed to clear my head."

Nico fell silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on you before he smiled in a way that made your stomach flip. "You should pop that bubble, then."

"It’s easier said than done." you retorted, looking back at the sky.

"Maybe it’s easier than you think." he said, leaning casually against the platform railing. "When was the last time you did something just because you wanted to, without worrying if it made sense or was practical?"

You thought for a moment. "I have no idea."

"Exactly what I figured." His sideways grin was both infuriating and endearing. "I bet you have a mental list of things you’ve always wanted to do but never dared to try."

"Like jumping off a cliff?" you joked, raising an eyebrow.

"If that’s on your list, let me know. I’d love to see it." He laughed. "But seriously, Zaya. You should try doing things that have absolutely nothing to do with your routine."

"Like what? Give me an example."

"Ah, that would ruin the surprise. And I’m terrible at making lists on the spot." he said, tilting his head as if analyzing you. "But I guarantee that if you try, you’ll feel more alive."

"Alive?" you echoed, skeptical.

"Yeah. You know... that feeling where the whole world is buzzing around you." His smile was playful, but there was genuine warmth in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. "Alright, poet. I’ll think about it."

"Just think?" He took a step back, already starting to walk away. "I thought you were braver than that."

"Good night, Nico." You tried to sound firm, but the amusement in his voice disarmed you.

"Good night, Zaya." He glanced back one last time before disappearing into the lobby, leaving you standing there, still smiling, his words echoing in your mind.

The muffled sound of snow falling outside was the first thing you noticed as you woke up. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the heater, and the soft light of dawn seeped through the curtains. You stretched lazily, your mind still clouded with memories of the night before.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you pulled a cozy sweater over your pajamas before heading to the small kitchenette. Making coffee was almost a ritual — an anchor.

The coffee machine hummed softly as you waited, your eyes drifting to the fogged-up window. Outside, the world was a sea of white, with snow blanketing everything in an untouched layer. It was beautiful, almost too perfect.

The smell of coffee filled the air, and you poured yourself a mug, cradling it in both hands to absorb the warmth. As you turned to walk toward the armchair by the window, something caught your attention.

A folded piece of paper was tucked under the door.

Frowning, you set the mug down on the table before bending to pick up the note. The fold was neat, and your name was written on the front in casual handwriting.

"Zaya,

I figured you could use some ideas to step out of your comfort zone. Consider this a challenge.

— Hischier.”

Your curiosity grew as you unfolded the note, revealing a list:

Zaya’s List

- Jump into a frozen lake (I bet you won’t dare).

- Ski off the trail (but only if you survive the lake).

- Hike up the mountain to watch the sunrise (bring hot chocolate).

- Sing karaoke at the tavern. Pick a terrible song.

- Attend the town’s Masquerade Ball. (Don’t you dare say no.)

You chuckled softly, surprised by his boldness and how he seemed to know exactly what you needed — a little push.

But one thing still puzzled you. How did he know your room number?

You hesitated for a moment before grabbing your phone and dialing his number. He picked up on the third ring.

“Zaya, calling me already? I thought you’d ignore the list.”

“How do you even know where I’m staying?” you asked directly.

“I have my ways." he replied, laughing.

“Ways? That sounds suspicious.”

“Let’s just say I’m good at finding things out. What do you think of the list?”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous but brilliant, I know.”

You rolled your eyes, even though he couldn’t see it. “You seriously think I’m going to jump into a frozen lake?”

“I’m certain you will.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Oh, you will.” The confidence in his voice was both infuriating and oddly captivating.

“I should ignore you, but…” You hesitated. "What’s the address and time for the masquerade ball? Since it seems so essential.”

He laughed, a warm, light sound. “It’s in two days, at the hall in the main square, 9 PM. You’ll stand out, I’m sure of it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Can’t wait, Zaya.”

Before you could reply, he hung up, leaving you with the note in hand and a smile you couldn’t quite suppress.

The night arrived shrouded in mystery. The hall in the main square looked like something out of a dream — a mix of classic elegance and magic. Delicate lanterns hung from the arched ceiling, casting a warm golden glow over the space. Masked figures glided across the room like characters from an old tale, their elaborate outfits catching the play of light and shadow.

From what you’d read, it was a charity ball benefiting a nearby retirement home. It wasn’t surprising Nico had invitations—he was not only born here but also a well-known figure.

You hesitated at the entrance, adjusting the mask that covered half your face. You’d chosen something understated yet elegant, with black lace details to match your dress. You didn’t want to draw too much attention, but there was something thrilling about hiding behind a mask— like you could be someone else, just for a night.

Your eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar face—or rather, a familiar mask. Nico had mentioned he’d be there, but the hall was crowded, and he had a knack for disappearing.

A waiter passed by with a tray of sparkling wine glasses, and you grabbed one, taking a sip to calm your nerves. The string music filled the air, its rhythm making your body instinctively want to move.

And then, you felt it.

A light touch on your shoulder, followed by a low, amused voice in your ear. “I like the dress. It suits the whole mysterious vibe.”

You turned, and there he was.

The mask Nico wore covered most of his face, intricately detailed in silver that shimmered under the lanterns. But you recognized the smile. He held a glass in one hand, the other tucked casually into the pocket of his perfectly tailored black suit.

“And you? Do you frequent masquerade balls, or are you just an expert at looking out of place?” you teased, hiding your smile behind your glass.

“Out of place? I thought I was nailing the mysterious alter ego.” He tilted his head slightly. “You look stunning, by the way. But I imagine you already know that.”

“And you’re still laying it on thick with the compliments.”

“If it’s true, it’s not overdoing it.” He extended his hand, his eyes glinting behind the mask. “May I have this dance?”

You hesitated for a moment, but there was something about the way he looked at you—a confidence that felt impossible to resist. Setting your glass on a passing waiter’s tray, you took his hand.

He led you to the center of the room, where other couples were already dancing. The music shifted to something slower yet still lively, and Nico’s steps were surprisingly steady, as if he’d done this a thousand times.

“I didn’t know you could dance." you remarked, trying to keep up with him.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” he replied, a playful smile on his lips.

“Like what?”

“For example,” He spun you effortlessly before pulling you back, closer this time. “I like making strange lists to help people stuck in their routines.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out already.”

“Okay, then another: I’ve never been to a masquerade ball before. I’m improvising.”

You laughed, relaxing more in his arms. “You’re doing pretty well.”

“And you? How are you doing with the challenge?”

“I’ll jump into the frozen lake tomorrow morning if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said with complete sarcasm.

“That’s one I wouldn’t miss."

The conversation flowed easily as you danced, and for a moment, the rest of the room faded away. The music, the people, even the masks—none of it seemed to matter besides his presence.

When the song ended, Nico didn’t let go immediately. You stayed there, close enough to feel his warmth, your eyes locked. Behind the masks, it felt like there were no secrets—just the electric tension of something new and unexpected.

“I told you this ball was essential." he murmured.

“And I still think you’re exaggerating.”

He tilted his head, as if about to say something else, but then smiled. “Maybe. But I have a feeling you won’t forget tonight.”

Before you could respond, he pulled you into another dance, as if the world outside could wait. And for the first time in a long time, you believed it could.

The space between you shrank with every step. His scent—warm and woody—mingled with the slightly crisp air drifting in through the open windows. You found your gaze straying to the details of his mask, as if trying to read something hidden there.

“Are you analyzing me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow behind his mask.

“Maybe." you replied with a playful edge, a smile tugging at your lips.

“And what have you figured out so far?”

“That you love attention but pretend you don’t.”

He laughed — a genuine, contagious sound. “You’re good at this.”

“Not as good as you are at making ridiculous lists.”

“Ridiculous, but effective.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. Instead, it carried a certain ease, amplified by the way his eyes remained fixed on yours, as if he were seeing beyond what you allowed.

“You said you’ve never been to a masquerade before.” you remarked, breaking the quiet. “What made you come to this one?”

“Because you came.”

The answer was straightforward, without hesitation, and you felt heat rush to your face, even with the mask partially concealing your embarrassment. He didn’t look away, and you realized he hadn’t said it to impress — it was simply the truth.

“And if I hadn’t come?”

“I’d probably be at the tavern with my teammates. But something told me you wouldn’t miss this.”

He smiled again, and you realized you were smiling too. As the music ended, you both stopped dancing, though he didn’t let go of your hand right away.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked, his voice low.

“Get out?” you repeated, raising your eyebrows.

“Not literally. Just… away from the ballroom. There’s a balcony out back with an amazing view of the mountains.”

The idea of escaping the crowd seemed tempting, especially with him. You nodded, and he led you through the room, effortlessly weaving past other dancers.

The balcony was wide, illuminated by a few lanterns hanging on the stone walls. Snow fell in light flakes, melting as they touched the warm wood of the floor. Outside, the air was colder but purer, and the view was breathtaking: snow-capped mountains glimmering under the soft moonlight.

“Definitely better than the ballroom.” you remarked, hugging your arms against the chill.

“Agreed,” he said, slipping off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Better?”

You nodded, feeling the immediate warmth.

The two of you stood there, side by side, silently taking in the mountains. The wind toyed with strands of your hair, and you noticed Nico watching them, as if trying to decipher something unspoken.

“I didn’t expect this." you said finally, breaking the silence.

“This what?”

“This trip. You. Everything feels… different from what I imagined.”

“Different is good?”

“It is. I think it is.”

He smiled, and the way his eyes softened when they met yours made your heart race.

A stronger gust of wind sent snowflakes swirling, sparkling under the moonlight. You pulled his jacket closer, inhaling the faint scent of him that lingered in the fabric. There was something about it that warmed more than just the cold night.

Nico was still beside you, closer now. He leaned on the railing, staring at the view like he was trying to absorb every detail. The confident smile he often wore had faded, replaced by something more thoughtful.

“Enjoying the night so far?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You turned to him, meeting his gaze through the mask. “More than I expected.”

“Good. My reputation depends on it.”

“Oh, really? And if I’m not impressed?”

He tilted his head, his smile returning, but this time with a hint of challenge. “Then I guess I’ll have to try harder.”

“And what else do you have to offer?” you teased, though your voice came out softer than you intended.

Nico didn’t reply immediately. He studied you, his eyes glinting as if he were reading something you hadn’t realized you were showing. Then, he stepped closer, until the space between you felt almost nonexistent.

“I could show you." he said, his voice so low it was nearly a whisper.

Your heartbeat quickened, but you didn’t pull away. There was something in the way he spoke— each word deliberate yet impulsive.

“Are you always this confident?”

“Only when I’m sure of something.”

“And what are you sure of right now?”

He smiled, a blend of assurance and tenderness. “That you want this as much as I do.”

Before you could respond —or even think of one — he closed the distance.

The kiss was warm and unhesitating, as though he knew exactly what he was doing. At first, it was firm, almost teasing, but then it softened, growing deeper and more consuming. His hands alternated between your waist and your hair, and the world around you seemed to vanish. No more cold wind, no more snow, no more mountains—just the heat of him, the pressure of his hands, the way he tilted his head to draw you closer.

Time blurred. The kiss carried a rhythm that shifted between bold and gentle, as though he were exploring every nuance while still leaving room for you to take the lead.

When you finally pulled apart, it was just enough to meet his gaze again. Your breath was unsteady, and his smile had returned—smug yet impossibly endearing.

“Impressed now?” he murmured, looking into your eyes like he didn’t already know the answer.

#hugherin #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier fanfic #nicohischier #nico hischier #nico hischier au #nh13 #nhl x reader #nhl fanfic #hockey player x reader #hockeyfic #hockeyfanfic #nico hischier x you #nico hischier one shot #nico hischier series #new jersey devils x reader #new jersey devils imagine #WDhugherin

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sociopathicartist · 2 days ago

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Redamancy - The act of loving in return

(PART 3 OF THE SERIES APRICITY)

DUST/MURDER SANS X READER

Dust would never tell anyone, but sometimes whenever he laughed with you and watched as the corners of your eyes crinkled and your soft lips curled into the smile he loved, he felt sad.

Why did he feel sad? There were many tragedies about his life, but you smiling was not one of them.

He would watch as you looked for him every time you entered a room, and he saw your face light up whenever you noticed him lurking.

Why did he feel almost… Guilty?

Maybe the times when your hands gently traced around his shoulders as you fixed the hood to his jacket gave him a weird remembrance of a time when he was loved.

He used to be someone. Something.

Or maybe it was how you trusted him so openly despite knowing every horrible thing he’s done. Maybe that made him feel sad. He didn’t want to hurt you, to use you. He wasn’t, but some part of him was scared that he would end up doing so.

It was hard to be able to trust himself on these things. There was a time when he would never even be able to fathom killing his brother, let alone the entire underground population, but here he was now, a murderer.

A monster.

Despite everything, the horrible flashbacks he had, the weird sad feeling he had whenever he saw you, despite it all, some part of him told him that it would be okay. At least it would be okay in the moments where he got to trace his phalanges through your hair while you sat in front of him, happily watching the movie that you’d put on the TV.

Fuck, it would be over for both of you if anyone figured out how many kisses you’d stolen from each other in secret. If anyone found out how deeply he longed to be entangled with you as you whispered to him that it was alright, that nothing bad had happened to him yet and he would wake up tomorrow and it would all be okay.

Whenever he was loved.

Whenever he was someone’s brother. Whenever his home felt like home.

He didn’t have enough time with you. Maybe the guilty and sad feeling came from knowing that he couldn’t do this forever with you. You would die. Or he would die. Or you two would fight so bad that everything you’d both worked for would be over like that- gone and as the two of you had never held each other.

One day it would happen. One day one of you will end up alone- whatever the circumstances are.

Was it selfish of him to wish that if anything happened, he was the one who died? That the memory of him in your mind stayed warm and fond, and that he didn’t have to go on living without you?

Whenever it happens one day, his scattered dust will still have visions of you. In the impossible world where he has become beyond living, and he is now gone into another life, his soul will still call for your name every night. Your beautiful face will still be housed in every corner of his mind, and as his life dissipates into the void, he knows that the sick, gross, and humiliating feeling of pure want and need for you will never go away as long as the multiverse still has your hands in it.

Whenever he wandered along Snowdin, broken, dusty, and despised.

Maybe it was how you hugged him tightly as you cried, wanting to get out of the castle and wanting a better life for the both of you. Maybe that’s what gave him the sad feeling.

Amongst the many other things he would never tell you- one of them was how scared he was. He got along so well with you and it was horrifying. Everything he had come to know with you could be ripped from his life. All of the nights you spent with him laughing and talking about another life together, or talking about your day- or just anything. All of the times he had brushed your hair for you when you felt too weak and you were too demotivated to even bring yourself to view your face in the mirror. All the times he had convinced Nightmare to let you come along with him and the other two skeletons on a mission- just so that you could have fun in the city and stay in the cozy hotel beds while he went out with Horror and Killer on a life-threatening mission.

It could be ripped from him in a moment.

And one day- it would be.

But sometimes on the nights when he didn’t get to sneak across the castle so that he could lay with you for just a few moments longer, he’d find himself in the garden looking up at the stars and wondering about another world where the two of you could be together fully.

He dreamed of being able to take you out on dates like he wanted and getting to watch you as you got ready for the day. He wanted so bad- so inhumanely, disgustingly, painfully bad to be able to wake up with you in the mornings and brush some hair out of your face as he admired you.

You were just breathtaking- fucking- he couldn’t even put the right words on it. His expansive vocabulary was suddenly drained as his mind went numb with nothing but the mere thought of you. Did you know that he watched you as you laughed and that he thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen? Did he ever tell you that?

It was so easy for him to think about the times when he would lay on the floor at night in his room while Papyrus slept soundly, wondering why his life had turned out like this and why he had no motivation to do anything anymore. You knew he was a horrible person, and he had told you of the awful things he’d done, and yet you loved him still.

Did he ever tell you that there was a time when he laughed with his friends, and nothing had changed yet? Had he told you about the good parts of his life that made what he had to do so much worse?

Will there ever be a time when you are no longer such a large part of him? It was insane to think that there was once a time when he didn’t even know you existed- and worse- a time when he didn’t even care if you were dead. Will he ever be able to take the stuffed animal off his bed that he only likes because you got it for him?

Whenever he had nothing.

He prayed to nonexistent gods throughout the multiverse that there would be a time when he doesn’t feel like the best thing he can do for you is stay away from you for the rest of your life. All he’s doing is making it harder for you whenever he dies.

Obviously, he will die. Come on, there’s no way he can keep doing this for the next five hundred years. He keeps waiting for the day that someone will nick him just right despite all of his fighting, and he will be gone for good this time.

He hoped that once he’s gone, you’re able to laugh with someone else as you laugh with him. That you can watch the same movies with someone else that you’ve watched with him. That you still love him, but you’re at peace without him, and you’re happy.

Is it selfish of him to want to listen to your heartbeat every night as he falls asleep?

Will there be a day when you no longer wake up with things to tell him? Whenever he’s dead and gone, will you be able to wake up in the mornings and not wish that he was there?

When he’s gone, will you notice?

Some selfish part of him hopes that he’ll always have a place in your heart.

Maybe he gets sad whenever he watches you struggle in his favorite video game that he’s trying to teach you how to play. You keep messing up on the same level, and you’re grinning at him as you’re asking how in the world he’s able to beat it.

You’re his best friend. His lover. He hopes that you never learn how to beat his favorite game so that he can keep teaching you how to play it forever.

Maybe the sad feeling comes from the little warm feeling in his ribcage that he gets whenever he watches you walk away, and he’s already missing you.

Maybe it’s because as he listens to you talk with him, and time slows while he stares at you and takes in everything about you, he realizes that he’s viewing every moment with you like it’s already happened. There will be a time when he won't get to experience this again, and he won't get to feel your soft hands cup his face and be told that you love him no matter what.

Whenever he was loved.

Whenever he was someone’s brother. Someone’s friend.

Whenever he looked at home and smiled.

Whenever the life that he had known started to become cruel, his world crumbled.

Whenever he wandered along Snowdin dusty, broken, and despised.

Whenever he had nothing.

Whenever he was nothing.

Can some part of him still believe that despite everything, your hands will reach out to him, hold him, and remind him of a time when he was loved?

#undertale #undertale au #undertale alternate universe #sans #sans undertale #sans x reader #sans x you #sap #classic sans #sans headcanons #dust sans #dust tale #dusttale #murder time trio #murder sans #bad sans gang #bad sanses

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m-jelly · 18 hours ago

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The new room

Levi x fem reader

Sheriff Levi and you are having your first baby. The two of you decorate the new room together.

Levi tapped his thumbs against the wheel as he drove home from his shift at work. He glanced at the passenger's seat and saw the cake, flowers and some new paint rollers. He smiled to himself, glanced at his wedding ring and felt pride fill him. Levi had married you, his childhood sweetheart, a few years ago and was the happiest man in the world.

You met as very little kids and as soon as six-year-old Levi saw you, he said to you, your mother and his mother that he wanted you. The two of you were joined at the hip and when you were old enough, you started dating. You were each other's first in everything. You got married in your early twenties and you helped him become sheriff.

The two of you were the most talked about couple in the town, the true love married couple that was made of dreams. You had your moments where you'd have tiny fights, mainly because Levi was overly protective of you and you were incredibly friendly too.

Levi parked up and grabbed everything before approaching his perfect home. A gentle smile spread on his lips when he heard music coming from the home. He hurried inside, took his hat off and slipped his boots off. He sprinted upstairs to the new room.

There you were in all your beautiful glory wearing dungarees dotted with paint and a six-month belly standing out. He leaned against the doorway and just watched you dance around the baby room as you painted the walls.

He placed his gifts down on the painting table before approaching you. He pressed his chest against your back and wrapped his arms around you. He placed one hand on your belly and gently rubbed it. He placed loving kisses up your neck and along your shoulder.

You hummed a laugh. "Welcome home, Levi. Good day at work?"

"Mm, it was okay."

You placed your brush down before turning to face Levi. "Let me guess, it was boring because I wasn't there?"

He wrapped his arms around you. "You know me so well."

You tilted your head and kissed him. "I do."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too."

He picked you up making you giggle. "You're so sexy." He sat you in the window and purred. "Every time I look at you I keep thinking about how we made our baby."

You ran your hands up and down his body. "I do too." You grabbed his belt and yanked him close. "You were a passionate animal."

He kissed and sucked your neck. "You just do things to me."

You tangled your fingers in his hair as Levi covered you in kisses. "Oh, wait." You pulled from him. "What's that?"

Levi looked over at the gifts on the table. "I bought you some flowers and cake. Oh, also new rollers to help us paint."

"Thank you, that's so sweet of you."

Levi took your hands and showered them with kisses. "Shall we have some cake and tea? How many cups of tea have you had today?"

You hummed as you thought for a moment. "I don't think I've had one yet."

He lifted you off the seat and pulled you close. "Let's have a cup then."

You played with his hair a bit. "Sounds lovely." You giggled. "You'll have to let me go to do that though."

He tilted his head and kissed you over and over. The two of you melted as your tongues moved together and bodies pressed as best as they could with your bump. Levi slipped his hand into your dungarees and under your shirt.

You panted and purred. "Levi."

He released you. "Sorry, sorry, cake and tea."

You giggled as he ran off. "Thank you." You followed him down to the kitchen and sat at the island. "You're very excitable today."

He placed a slice of cake in front of you and your tea. "I'm just a man deeply in love."

You sipped your tea as you watched Levi. "What would you have done if I said no to you when we were kids. When you proudly claimed I was yours."

He ate a bit of cake and hummed. "Impossible. I'll always have you."

"You'd make it your mission to always have me?"

He nodded and gulped. "I became a man of justice for you, a sheriff. If you would have said no, I would have become a criminal for you. I'd steal you."

You giggled. "You're cute." You reached over and caressed his cheek. "Levi. I'm so lucky to have you."

"I'm the lucky one."

You nibbled your lip. "How about you steal me tonight?"

Levi growled. "I'd love to."

@ladycheesington @levisbrat25 @nyxiieluna @li-anne @galactict3a @youre-ackermine @thebobaprincess @2moth-anon2 @cypidity @nbinairyn @bts-spnlvr12 @darkstarlight82 @emilyyyy-08 @levistealeaf @pelicanpizza @hideandgopeep @notgoodforlife @demonic-bird @searriously @anti-cupid @abiatackerman

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itscoucouharry · 1 day ago

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Through the Glass- Harry Styles oneshot

Y/N is admitted into a psychiatric hospital…

The sterile smell of the hospital clung to the air, faintly mingling with the citrusy scent of the flowers Harry always brought. You sat cross-legged on the stiff couch in the visitor’s room, dressed in the loose-fitting hospital sweats they provided. The pale walls felt heavy, pressing down on you despite the bright, artificial light overhead.

When the door opened, you didn’t have to look up to know it was Harry. His footsteps were deliberate, familiar, as though he didn’t want to startle you.

“Hey, love,” he said softly, his voice warm and grounding.

You glanced up, your heart aching at the sight of him. Harry looked like himself—messy curls, a knitted cardigan over a simple t-shirt, and a soft smile that didn’t quite hide the worry in his eyes. He held a bouquet of sunflowers in one hand and a small, wrapped package in the other.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice quiet but steady.

He placed the flowers on the table between you, their bright yellow petals standing out starkly against the gray room. “Thought these might brighten things up a bit.”

You managed a small smile, your fingers playing with the edge of your sleeve. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

Harry pulled up a chair, sitting close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. He set the package on the table, nudging it toward you. “I brought you something else, too. Thought it might help on the tougher days.”

You hesitated before unwrapping it, revealing a soft, oversized blanket in your favorite color. It felt like a hug in fabric form, and your throat tightened as you ran your fingers over the plush material.

“Harry…” you began, your voice breaking slightly.

“I just want you to be comfortable, even in here,” he said quickly, his green eyes searching yours. “I know it’s not easy, and I can’t fix everything, but… I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away, ashamed of the emotions bubbling to the surface. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” you murmured. “I’m such a mess, Harry. You deserve someone… whole.”

“Stop that,” he said gently but firmly, reaching out to take your hand in his. His fingers were warm, calloused from years of guitar-playing, and they wrapped around yours as if to anchor you. “You’re not a mess. You’re human. And you’re going through something really hard right now, but that doesn’t make you less deserving of love.”

The sincerity in his voice cracked something open inside you. You’d spent so long feeling like a burden, like your depression had stolen the best parts of you and left behind someone unworthy. But Harry didn’t seem to see it that way.

“You show up here every time,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Even when I push you away, even when I can’t give you anything back. Why?”

“Because I love you,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And love doesn’t just disappear when things get hard. It grows. It fights. It stays.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Harry reached out to gently wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. “You don’t have to do this alone, okay? I’m here, no matter how long it takes.”

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the gratitude swelling in your chest. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something—hope, maybe—begin to take root.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your voice shaky but earnest.

Harry’s smile widened, soft and full of relief. He shifted his chair closer, pulling the blanket over your lap and wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

For a while, you just sat there together, the world outside fading away. And though you knew the road ahead would still be hard, Harry’s presence made it feel a little less impossible.

#harry styles one shot #harry styles x plus size reader #harry styles #niall horan imagine #harry styles angst #liam payne x reader #one direction #plus size reader #liam payne #harry styles fanfic #fanfictherapy #harry styles fanfiction #fanfics

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jeeseth · 1 day ago

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I DON’T UNDERSTAND — bang jeemin x f!reader

you has to move to a new country due to your father's work. you face difficulties in school as you cannot understand the language and culture of the new place. however, everything changes when you met jeemin, who sincerely helps you adapt and feel comfortable in the new surroundings.

tags 💭 — fluff?, non-idol au, high school au, fast burn, foreigner!reader, sensitive!reader, slight cursing, bullying and etc, lowercase intended, mens dni, grammatical errors .

as you stared nervously out the window of your private car, your dad reached over and patted your shoulder gently.

"don’t worry, you’ll make friends in no time." he said with a reassuring smile. you forced a small smile in return, trying to hide your anxiety.

you were on your way to your new school — your fifth school in three years. ain’t that crazy? basically, your dad’s job means that you have to move around a lot. this time you were moving across the world, and it meant starting a whole new life in a completely different country.

thoughts swirled anxiously inside your head as the car pulled up to the front gate of the school. it was a large, intimidating building with an imposing facade. you felt small and vulnerable as you stepped out of the car and followed your dad towards the entrance.

as you and your dad walked through the school halls, you could feel the weight of curious stares following your every move. everyone was already in their groups, chatting and laughing. it felt like you’re an outsider, like you didn’t belong here.

you two finally made it to the office where you was immediately introduced to the principal and a few teachers. they all smiled warmly and said all the usual welcoming words, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place.

after the formalities were over, you was assigned a senior student tour guide to help you navigate the school. and that was how you met the bang jeemin.

when you first laid eyes on her, you was blown away. she was so beautiful and confident. she had long, glossy dark brown hair and piercing eyes. as she approached, she smiled warmly and extended her hand in greeting.

"i’m jeemin, i’ll be your little tour guide and help you settle in." jeemin smiled as she speaks in english to you. her voice was soft yet firm and she had a friendly manner that instantly made you feel at ease.

you introduced yourself in a shy voice and shook her hand, feeling your palm grow sweaty. jeemin didn’t seem to notice though (hopefully), or if she did, she didn’t show any signs of it. after that, jeemin gave you a quick tour of the school, showing the classrooms, cafeteria, and other important areas. one place you wouldn’t be able to get out of your mind was the library. the library is so huge and you feel like you can die happy right now.

as we made our way to the dormitory, you couldn’t help but notice that jeemin’s english was not as fluent as the other students. she would occasionally struggle to find the right words, and her pronunciation was a bit off. but you don’t mind it one bit. she’s fully korean after all.

as we reached the dorm building, jeemin turned to you with an embarrassed smile and apologized in a soft apologetic voice. "sorry, my english not very good," she said sheepishly. "i will try my best though."

you shook your head and smiled warmly at her, telling her that you indeed do not mind it all. instead, you find it to be quite cute that she’s trying her best to communicate and guide you despite the language barrier.

"it’s okay, i understand you." you smiled softly in which jeemin smiled back in return. jeemin’s face brightened at your words and she seemed to relax a little (a lot).

"okay so, you like the room?" she asked, gesturing towards the dorm room we had reached. you nodded and followed her into the room. the room was small but cozy, with two beds and a couple of desks. there was even a little window that let in some natural light. oh you love it already. perfectly matched your aesthetic.

jeemin continued showing you around the room and pointing out important things like the bathroom and the mini fridge. as she did, you couldn’t help but notice how naturally she moved around the space, as if she knew it well.

finally, we stopped in the middle of the room and she looked at you with a smile. "is comfortable for you?" she asked, gesturing to the space around us.

you giggled softly at her english cause you find it absolutely adorable. how could anyone be this cute while trying to communicate? you softly nodded again and smiles back, feeling a little bit more at ease in this new environment.

"yeah, it’s nice. thank you for showing me around."

jeemin’s face lit up at your response, and she beamed at you with a relieved smile. "you’re welcome." she replied softly. "i happy to help."

there was a moment of comfortable silence between us, and you suddenly felt a strange sense of connection with jeemin. maybe it was the fact that you were both ‘outsiders’ in a way — she with her imperfect english, and you as the new foreigner. finally, jeemin broke the silence and changed the subject.

"so, where you come from?" jeemin asked, tilting her head slightly in curiosity.

you snapped out of your thoughts and look up at jeemin with a soft smile. why did you just realised how tall this girl actually is. "australia." you replied with a short and simple answer since you don’t want jeemin to get confused or anything.

when jeemin told you to tell her more, you were a little surprised at the fact that she’s genuinely is interested in what you’re saying. even though she might not understand. you smiled and told her more about your home country, how it was different from this one, and some of the things you liked about it. jeemin listened intently, asking simple and short questions and showing genuine interest in what you had to say. as we talked, you could feel your anxiety slowly melting away. jeemin had a way of making you feel comfortable and at ease. before you even knew it, we had been talking for a good half hour. it feels like a minute to you.

just then, jeemin’s phone buzzed with tons of messages. she glanced at it and then looked up at me with an apologetic expression.

"i must go now," she sighed. "have extra class to attend."

you pouted slightly and nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment. you had been enjoying your conversation, and you didn’t want it to end. but jeemin was already gathering her books and packing up her bag. good things always doesn’t last long after all.

you watched quietly as jeemin gathered her things. no matter how much you hate to admit it, you’d be lying if you said you’re not gonna miss jeemin’s presence. you’re not sure why but she has this thing that makes you feel comfortable around her immediately. even though she’s a lil awkward.

jeemin noticed your pout and disappointed expression and she smiles to herself. you’re being so adorable in her eyes. "i’ll come back later." she smiled, reassuring you that she won’t leave you that long. (jeemin could never)

you nodded and sighed quietly. "okay, see you later jee." jeemin was taken aback by the sudden nickname but eventually she chuckled afterwards. gosh. you’re too cute. jeemin feels like she could die from your cuteness.

a few hours later, jeemin finally returned back to the dorm room. forgot to mention to you guys but, jeemin is indeed your dorm mate. she was still in her school uniform and looked tired, but her face brightened when she saw you sitting on your bed, studying.

sensing a presence in front of you, so you glanced up and saw jeemin standing in front of you, holding out two small cartons of milk — one with chocolate and one with strawberry. it took you a moment to realize that she wanted you to pick one, but didn’t know how to ask you that in english.

you smiled at her and pointed to the strawberry milk, knowing it’s your favourite. jeemin grinned back and handed you the carton, then sat down on her own bed, resting her chin on her hands and watching you curiously.

slowly, you opened the carton of strawberry milk and took a sip, savouring the sweetness. jeemin watched you with a small smile, her head tilted slightly as if she were studying your reaction.

after a moment, she decided spoke up, her voice soft. "you like?” she asked, pointing to the carton in your hand. you giggles before nodding which make jeemin grins happily. not to mention but jeemin was contemplating her life decision when buying the milk. wondering which flavour would you like and what if you can’t drink any milk.

the next morning, you was woken up by the sound of birds chirping outside the window. groggily, you sat up and rubbed your eyes, trying to adjust to the brightness of the sunlight streaming in through the curtains. as you stretched and yawned, images from the previous day started to flash through your mind. jeemin's friendly smile, her warm presence, the way she had tried to make you comfortable in a foreign environment.

suddenly, you realised that you hadn’t seen jeemin since she had left for her yet another extra class the day before. you looked around the room, but she was nowhere to be seen. her bed was made, and the room was empty. you frowned, feeling a pang of disappointment. you had hoped to see jeemin again this morning, to chat with her and maybe get to know her a bit more. but it looked like she had already left for class.

and that’s what you thought. and you were wrong. you flinched and your mouth dropped open in surprise as the door suddenly burst open and jeemin appeared, breathing heavily and holding a plastic bag full of food. you hadn’t expected to see her at all, let alone with breakfast in tow.

jeemin looked up at your expression and gave you a sheepish smile, gesturing towards the food in her hand. "um, breakfast." she said in her broken english.

it suddenly dawned on you what she had been doing. she had gone out early to get us food for breakfast. you felt a warm feeling in your chest, touched that she had thought of you and done something so kind. you smiled back at her and nodded. "thank you." you grinned, getting out of bed and stepping closer to her.

as you got closer, you could smell the aroma of freshly cooked food wafting out of the plastic bag. your stomach growled loudly, reminding yourself that you didn’t eat anything at all yesterday. jeemjn laughed at the sound of your grumbling stomach and set the food down on the desk. she started to unpack the bag, revealing an array of different breakfast items — eggs, sausage, toast, and some fruit.

it all looked delicious and you couldn’t help but feel grateful that she had gone through the trouble of getting it all for us. jeemin gestured for you to sit down at the desk and she began to plate the food. you took a seat at the desk and watched as jeemin expertly prepared the food, carefully dividing everything into two portions. she moved with a grace and ease that was almost mesmerizing to watch. ugh. fine. everything she did is mesmerising.

finally, she placed a plate in front of you, piled high with food. she then sat down in the chair opposite you, looking at your expression expectantly.

"eat." she said, gesturing at the food. her tone more like demanding but whatever! you eagerly dug into the food, savouring each bite. it was delicious — the eggs cooked just right, the sausages perfectly seasoned. you realised that you had been so anxious and distracted the previous day that you hadn’t eaten anything at all.

as you ate, you occasionally glanced up at jeemin. she was watching you closely, a satisfied smile on her face, as if she was happy to see you enjoying the food she had gotten for us.

"you’re so damn cute gosh." jeemin mumbled in korean. you look up from your food and look at jeemin with a confused look as if silently waiting for her to translate that. jeemin saw your reaction and chuckles before brushing it off just like that. now you’re so damn intrigued. what was she saying.

we ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the clinking of silverware on plates. the sun streamed in through the window, casting a warm glow on the room and enhancing the feeling of contentment between us.

once we had finished eating, you put down the fork and looked up at jeemin. "thank you so much for the breakfast," you grinned, feeling a lump form in my throat. "it was really kind of you to get it for me."

on the other hand, jeemin who only understood the ‘thank you’ part smiles softly, telling you that it’s nothing and she’s willing to do it again and again for you. is she flirting now?

after breakfast, you and jeemin left the dorm room and made our way to class together. the sun was shining, and a gentle breeze cooled the air.

as we walked, jeemin chatted quietly to you, pointing out different landmarks around the school and sharing snippets of gossip about the other students. her English was much better today, and her pronunciation was slowly improving. and you couldn’t be more than proud. you listened intently, enjoying the sound of her voice and the way she would laugh softly at her own jokes. you couldn’t help but feel grateful for her presence by your side. in a place where you felt so out of place, she was a constant source of comfort and familiarity.

we eventually reached the classroom and jeemin led you inside. the teacher greeted us with a friendly smile and gestured towards the seats in the back of the room. you sat down, and jeemin took the seat next to you.

throughout the class, you found youtself stealing glances at jeemin. she was so focused on the lesson, her eyes fixed on the teacher and her notebook filled with neat, precise notes. you couldn’t help but admire her diligence and intelligence. and damn. she’s so pretty.

as the teacher droned on, you found your thoughts drifting away from the lesson. instead, your mind was filled with thoughts of jeemin — the way she always seemed to know what to say, the way her hair fell gently around her face, the way her eyes sparkled when she laughed. everything about her seems to make your heart skips a beat.

suddenly, you was jolted out of your thoughts by the sound of the bell signalling the end of the class. the teacher dismissed us and the sound of the other students getting up and packing up their bags filled the room. you looked over at jeemin, who was already packing up her things and getting ready to leave. you quickly packed up your own bag, eager to spend more time with her.

just as we were about to walk out of the classroom together, jeemin turned to you with an apologetic expression.

"i um dance practice," she said. "you go back to the dorm, okay?"

you felt a pang of disappointment at this news. you had been hoping to spend more time with her. but you nodded understandingly and mumbled a quiet, ‘okay’.

as jeemin walked off towards the dance studio, you turned and started making your way back to the dorm alone. the hallways felt eerily quiet and empty now that jeemin was no longer by your side. as you walked, your mind began to wander again. you found myself thinking about jeemin — wondering how her dance practice was going, what she was doing, and if she was thinking about you too.

you snapped out of your thoughts by the sudden impact of being pushed against the locker. ypit back hit the metal surface with a thud, and you let out a cry of surprise. as you tried to regain your bearings, you looked up to see who had pushed you. standing in front of you was a tall, bigger boy with a mean expression on his face. shit. you’re fucked up.

"watch where you’re walking, foreigner." the boy sneered at you, his eyes narrowing in a menacing glare. his friends stood behind him, snickering and whispering. seriously? he’s the one who suddenly pushed you against the locker.

"wait, you’re cute though." the boy grinned.

you was taken aback by the sudden change in the boy’s tone. he had gone from being hostile to calling you cute in the span of seconds. you couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or if he was playing some kind of game. his friends snickered again, watching with amusement as their leader continued to talk to you.

"yeah, she got a pretty face." he said to his friends, his eyes never leaving you. the way he looked at you made you extremely uncomfortable, his gaze raking over your body appraisingly. you tried to push past him, but he stepped in front of you again, blocking your way.

"where you going, pretty?" he asked, a smirk on his face. "you’re not trying to leave already, are you?"

you felt a pang of fear and anxiety. this boy was clearly looking for a fight or at least some kind of reaction from you. you tried to remain calm as you replied to him softly, "i just want to go back to my dorm."

the boy leaned in closer to you, close enough that you could feel his (nasty) hot breath on your face.

"and why should I let you do that?" he said, his voice low and taunting. you swear you’re about to piss yourself right now. this is too scary for you.

suddenly, you heard a commotion behind you, and you turned around to see jeemin grabbing the boy by his collar and pulling him away from you. she looked angry, her eyes flashing fiercely. that’s really hot though. wait what.

"what do you think you’re doing?" she demanded, her voice sharp. you does not understand anything because they are speaking in korean.

the boy looked surprised at first, but then a sneer appeared on his face. "relax," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "i was just talking to this pretty girl."

jeemin scowled at him. "well, you’re done talking now." she snapped, her hold on his collar not loosening one bit. the boy opened his mouth to protest, but jeemin cut him off. "and if i ever see you bothering her again, you’ll regret it."

the boy’s expression darkened at jeemin’s threat, but he didn’t dare argue back. his friends shuffled nervously behind him, not wanting to get on jeemin’s bad side as well.

jeemin released her grip on the boy’s collar, giving him one last glare before turning to face you. her expression softened as soon as she saw the look on your face — fear mixed with relief — and she took your arm gently.

"come on." jeemin said, her voice calm and steady. "let’s go back." you nodded wordlessly, still reeling from the encounter. as we walked away, you couldn’t help but turn back to look at the boys one last time. they were still standing there, watching us go with expressions ranging from anger to grudging respect.

as we walked down the hall together, you felt a wave of gratitude towards jeemin. she had arrived just in the nick of time, saving you from who knows what kind of situation. you turned to her, feeling your throat tighten with emotion.

"thank you." you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. " i don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up."

jeemin only smiled softly before gently ruffling your hair. she might not understand what you said but she can tell that you’re thankful for her for saving you earlier.

we walked in silence for a moment, the sound of our footsteps echoing in the nearly empty hallway. you felt a sense of safety and comfort in jeemin’s presence, knowing that she would protect you from any danger. finally, we reached the dorm room, and jeemin pushed open the door for you to walk in first. the room was just as we had left it, quiet and cozy. jeemin shut the door behind us and locked it before sitting down on her bed.

you walked to your own bed and sat down, feeling a bit shaken up from the encounter. you started to unpack your bag, trying to focus on something other than the events of the hallway.

jeemin sat on her bed, watching you closely. she could tell that you was still shaken up by what had happened in the hallway, and she wanted to ask if you was alright. but she wasn’t sure how to ask, not sure if you would want to talk about it or not. after a few moments of silence, she spoke up, her voice soft.

"you okay?" jeemin asked, her concern evident in her voice. in which, you only nodded in response. doesn’t really want to talk about it.

jeemin frowned, not fully convinced by your nods. "are you sure?" she asked again, scrutinizing your face for any signs of discomfort. "tell me. i listen even if i don’t understand."

jeemin’s words had an immediate effect on you, making your heart skip a beat. it was both surprising and touching that she was willing to listen to you, even though she might not understand everything you said due to her limited english.

"i’m just a bit shaken up from that guy in the hallway, that’s all," you sighed, your voice a little shaky. "he was being really aggressive and it freaked me out a bit."

jeemin nodded, her expression serious. even though she might not have understood every word you said, she could still pick up on the tone and emotion in your voice.

"i see," she said, her voice soft. "it must’ve been really scary for you."

you continued talking to jeemin, sharing more details about the encounter with the boy in the hallway. despite her limited english, her expression and body language showed that she was genuinely interested and listening to you. you could tell that she was trying her best to understand, even though there were definitely words and phrases that she didn’t recognize. as you spoke, you found yourself feeling more and more relieved. it was cathartic to be able to share what had happened with someone, and even though jeemin couldn’t fully understand everything, just having her listen and respond was comforting.

while you was talking about the encounter in the hallway, you noticed that jeemin had a small, amused smile on her face. you raised an eyebrow at her, not understanding why she was smiling at a story about you being harassed.

"i don’t understand but i love you."

you stopped talking mid-sentence, dumbfounded by jeemin’s sudden declaration. had I heard her correctly? did she really say “I love you” in the midst of your story about being confronted in the hallway. you stared at her, your eyes wide and mouth open in surprise.

"wait, what did you say?" you asked, your voice cracking a little bit. you was sure you had heard her wrong. there was no way she had said “i love you” in the middle of your story, right?

jeemin’s smile widened, and she repeated herself clearly this time.

"i love you." she said again, her voice calm and steady. "i don’t understand everything you are saying, but i know i love you."

your heart skipped a beat again at her words. she had really said it, you hadn’t misheard her. she had confessed her love to you, despite not fully understanding the words you had been saying.

you didn’t know what to say in response. you was both shocked and flattered by her sudden declaration, and you knew that your face must be flushed with color. you stared at her for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts.

"but why?" you finally managed to ask, still reeling from the unexpected declaration. "you don’t even understand what I’m saying most of the time. how can you love me?"

"language barrier won’t stop me from loving you."

jeemin’s words hit you like a ton of bricks. she was right — despite our language barrier, her love for you was strong regardless.

"but… how?" you asked, still baffled by her confession. "how can you love someone who you can barely communicate with?"

jeemin shrugged, her smile never wavering. "it doesn’t matter," she said simply. "language isn’t everything. i can see how kind you are, how hardworking you are, how much you care about others. that’s why i love you."

"i’ll learn english for you. i’ll do my best to understand you." jeemin smiled, gently caressing your hand. she brings your hand to her lips and press a gentle kiss on the back of your hand.

#jeemin #bang jeemin #jeemin izna #izna #iland2 #izna x reader #izna x fem reader #bangjeemin x femreader #kpop #jeeseth #dew’s 🍈

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cta-nagito · 2 days ago

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It's funny how I gradually went from "Well, this sad. I'll forget about it in a few days" to "I love these childs so much!! My heart aches for them!! I watched them grow up!! and die…" in relation to most of ALNST characters. I watched VIVINOS mv long before and when first ALNST videos started appearing it was "Mmm… okay, sad, beautiful, but not as impressive as many of previous ones". For a long time, this characters were nothing special to me, I didn't know much about them and didn't really care.

But slowly, slowly, I learned more about them. A lot of the things that were theorized and analyzed in depth turned out to be sadly simple. They're all just little wild sad childs. I think my mistake (maybe many people's too) is that I initially thought of them through the prism of modern society and generation. But they're not. They're not even close. The world they lived in is literally a rectangular box. Everything they know is just a crooked imitation 1/10000 of how humanity used to live. They're all not 'normal' people, because the concept of 'normal' simply does not apply to what people are like in their world. No one explained so many basic things to them. They were treated cruelly and inhumanely, no matter how obedient they were.

Each one grew up as best they could, while remaining an immature child inside.

They all deserve deep love and compassion.

#alien stage #alnst #alien stage till #alnst till #alien stage sua #alnst sua #alien stage ivan #alnst ivan #alien stage mizi #alnst mizi #alien stage luka #alnst luka #alien stage hyuna #alnst hyuna

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purinipod · 16 hours ago

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what would dating them be like? pt. 3

ft. choso and ino

author’s note: part one | part two

𐙚 choso kamo

• first impressions: choso seems like someone who is constantly overthinking everything. he doesn’t know how to act around you at first, which only makes him more endearing. he’s not awkward in a clumsy way, but more like he’s unsure of how much to share or how much to keep to himself. his deep, intense eyes reflect a lot of thought and emotion, but he holds back his more vulnerable side until he feels you out.

• dates: choso enjoys simple, calming dates where there’s room to just be. he’ll take you to a cat cafe or a little-known park, somewhere peaceful where the two of you can talk or sit in comfortable silence. he might bring you a book he’s reading or share something he finds interesting, slowly inviting you into his world. there’s no rush—just slow, sweet moments of connection.

• pet names: choso’s pet names are soft and unassuming, like “moon,” “baby” or “sweetie.” he doesn’t like anything too over-the-top, preferring something gentle that feels intimate but not overwhelming. the way he says them makes you feel like you’re the only one he’s ever said it to.

• interactions: choso has a calm energy that helps ground you. he’s the type who listens intently to everything you say, even the small details. his affection shows in the way he looks at you, his hand subtly brushing yours, or how he’ll just sit next to you, letting silence speak for itself. he doesn’t rush into things, but when he’s with you, you feel valued.

• what you argue about: your arguments usually stem from his overprotectiveness and the way he bottles up his emotions. he gets frustrated when he can’t find a way to protect you from everything—whether it’s physical or emotional—and sometimes he ends up pushing you away when he feels overwhelmed. you argue when he refuses to open up about his own struggles, shutting down emotionally instead of sharing with you. you just want him to lean on you, but it takes him a while to realize it’s okay to do that.

𐙚 ino takuma

• first impressions: ino gives off a laid-back, easygoing vibe that’s hard not to like. having grown up together, it feels like he’s always been around, which makes him seem comfortable and familiar. but even with that comfort, he still has a quiet intensity that makes you feel special. it’s clear he cares deeply, even if he doesn’t always show it in the most obvious ways.

• dates: ino’s idea of a date is thoughtful and full of the little things. he’s the type to put together gift baskets filled with all your favorite snacks, books, or little trinkets that show he listens and remembers every detail. one of his favorite dates is a trip to the aquarium, where you can get lost in the beauty of the sea life and enjoy each other’s company in a peaceful, mesmerizing setting. he also loves taking you for a picnic, where he’ll pack your favorite foods and set up a cozy spot in the park, so you can relax together and just talk for hours. for ino, it’s all about creating moments that are intimate, relaxing, and full of connection.

• pet names: ino’s pet names are sweet and endearing, often things like “babe,” “princes” or “cutie.” he’s not overly extravagant, but the way he says them always sounds warm and genuine. sometimes he’ll call you “my girl,” a little reminder that you’re the one he turns to no matter what.

• interactions: with ino, everything feels easy and natural, but there’s always this undercurrent of affection. he’s the kind of boyfriend who constantly checks in with you, asking if you’re okay or if you need anything, just because he wants to make sure you’re happy. he’s always doing little things for you—whether it’s grabbing your favorite drink or pulling out the chair for you at dinner. his love language is acts of service, and you feel it in every thoughtful gesture.

• what you argue about: the biggest source of tension is when ino sometimes acts like you’re still just friends, especially in front of others. it’s like he forgets that you’re more than that, and while he doesn’t mean to hurt you, it can feel like he’s not fully acknowledging the depth of your relationship. he’ll make jokes about how “we’re best friends since birth basically” or forget to refer to you as his partner, leaving you feeling a little sidelined. this usually leads to arguments about him not being fully present as a boyfriend, even though his actions show he cares. you’d remind him that being affectionate and open about your relationship is important to you, even if it’s hard for him to adjust from the friendship zone.

@purinipod pls don’t steal any of my work

#𐙚 let mira cook !#jjk headcanons #jjk x black reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jjk fanfic #choso kamo #choso x black!reader #choso x reader #choso headcanons #ino headcanons #ino takuma #ino takuma x reader #ino x reader #ino takuma x black reader

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ikkyfics · 5 hours ago

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Unspoken Words

James Potter x f!reader

Summary: The two of you started finding each other almost naturally, as if something drew you together in the midst of the darkness. It wasn’t planned—it never was. Maybe it was the need to remember that you were alive, that there was still something beyond the war, beyond the blood and the fear.

Warnings: during the first wizarding war, sensitive content, angst, with changes to suit the context

Masterlist

The chaos of war offered no respite. Each day, the shadows seemed to creep closer, swallowing everything that had once been beautiful or hopeful. You lived with a constant knot in your stomach, an unrelenting weight pressing against your chest every time the clock marked another day. You knew you weren’t the only one. No one was safe. Not in those times.

The missions for the Order were growing more dangerous, and every return felt like a miracle. Adrenaline coursed through your veins like fire, burning away your strength, your faith, until all that remained was exhaustion. You could see it in the others too, especially in James. He tried to hide it, of course. Always with that cheeky smile, a joke ready on the tip of his tongue, as if the world around him wasn’t falling apart. But his eyes told a different story.

There was a shadow there, something you hadn’t seen before. A weight on his shoulders that didn’t belong to the James you once knew. He was the kind of person who lit up any room he walked into, but now, even that light seemed dim, almost extinguished.

The two of you started finding each other almost naturally, as if something drew you together in the midst of the darkness. It wasn’t planned—it never was. Maybe it was the need to remember that you were alive, that there was still something beyond the war, beyond the blood and the fear.

That night, the Order’s base seemed quieter than usual. The group had just returned from a brutal mission. You could still smell the smoke clinging to your clothes, the memory of chaos etched into your skin. Your mind was so saturated that you didn’t even notice when James entered the room.

He didn’t speak at first. He just looked at you. And there was something in his gaze that made your heart stop for a moment—something raw, desperate, as if he were drowning and you were the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low, rough.

You nodded, but it was a blatant lie. He knew it. So did you. But in that moment, words felt insignificant, hollow against the weight they carried.

“Come with me,” he said, reaching for your hand.

You didn’t hesitate. You let him lead you, climbing the stairs to one of the rooms in the base. The door closed behind you, muffling the distant sound of voices downstairs. There, in the quiet of that space, it felt as if the world outside ceased to exist for a brief moment.

James approached slowly, hesitantly. His fingers brushed against your skin, trailing up your arm until they cupped your face with a tenderness that contrasted with the desperation in his eyes. “Just… just help me forget, even if it’s only for a little while,” he whispered.

And that’s exactly what you did.

There were no sweet words, no whispered promises in the dark. Just two bodies seeking warmth in the cold of war, hands grasping tightly as if trying to keep each other from vanishing. It was raw, intense, heavy with emotions you didn’t dare name.

Afterward, as you tried to catch your breath, he held you. There was no need for words in that moment. He simply held you, his fingers tangled in your hair, as if he needed you to remind himself that he was still alive. And you realized you might need him in the same way.

There was something unbearably painful about it all. Because even in that moment of closeness, you knew you couldn’t ask for more. You couldn’t let yourself wish for something the war could snatch away in the blink of an eye. And as you looked at James, while he closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh, you knew he felt the same.

The days passed in a blur, a mixture of missions, losses, and heavy silences. With every new departure of the Order, the tension in the air became almost palpable. You knew what each departure meant, each Apparition to an unknown place: a real chance of not coming back.

James seemed to feel it more intensely when it was you who left. He never said it outright, but you could tell by the small gestures—how he sought you out before every mission, how his fingers lingered just a little longer than necessary when adjusting the collar of your coat, or how his gaze seemed to fix on you, as if he were trying to memorize every detail.

“Be careful,” he said every time, his tone firm but laced with something that made your chest tighten.

“I always am,” you replied, a short smile that never reached your eyes.

He exhaled softly, as if your answer wasn’t enough. “I mean it. If something happens to you…” He stopped, unable to finish the sentence.

“James…” you began, but he shook his head, cutting off any attempt to comfort him.

“Just… come back. Promise me you’ll come back.”

You always promised, even though you both knew it was a promise neither of you could truly keep.

And he seemed to cling to that, because every time you returned, there was a renewed urgency in his embrace, as if he needed to reassure himself that you were there, alive, whole. He held you with an intensity that made your heart race, that made the world outside disappear completely.

“I thought…” he began one night as the two of you lay side by side, the room lit only by the faint moonlight streaming through the window. He paused, his voice faltering.

You turned to him, resting your chin on your hand, waiting for him to continue. “Thought what?”

“That you wouldn’t come back today,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. “And I don’t know what I’d do if that happened.”

Your chest tightened, the weight of his words settling like a stone in your heart. But you didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Because even in that moment, when he seemed so vulnerable, so honest, you knew the war didn’t allow for more than this.

Instead of responding, you reached out, entwining your fingers with his. It was a small gesture, but it felt like enough. At least, for that moment.

The missions continued, and with them, the distance between you seemed to grow in a way that felt almost cruel. But the moments you shared, though brief, were enough to keep you connected.

One night, after an especially dangerous mission, you entered the base with your body exhausted and your heart heavy. James was there, waiting. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, but as soon as he saw you, his face softened, an obvious wave of relief washing over him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, crossing the room in two long strides.

“I’m fine,” you replied, even though you weren’t. But James didn’t seem convinced.

He cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your cheeks. “I don’t know how you do it,” he murmured, almost to himself.

“Do what?”

“Come back in one piece when everything around us is falling apart.”

You didn’t respond. There wasn’t an answer that could ease his worry, and you both knew it. So instead, you let him pull you into a tight embrace, his warmth anchoring you in the chaos.

“Promise me you won’t put yourself in danger for anyone,” he whispered against your hair.

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“Promise anyway.”

There was something in his voice that made your chest ache, a tremor he tried to hide but that you could feel.

“I promise,” you said, even though both of you knew it was a lie.

That night, when he took you in his arms again, there was an urgency in his touch, an intensity beyond anything you’d shared before. As if he were trying to etch every piece of you into his memory, as if that was all he could hold onto.

And as you lay together later, his fingers tangled in your hair, you realized you were completely lost. You loved him. Loved him with a force that left you dizzy, with a desperation that made your heart ache.

But the war didn’t allow for that kind of love.

And in the silence of that night, you wondered how much longer you could both keep pretending this was enough.

The Order’s base was shrouded in a strange, heavy silence, as if the walls themselves knew what had transpired that night. The mission had been a disaster. A plan that had seemed solid crumbled under the unpredictability of the Death Eaters. An ambush. You’d barely escaped—but not all of you. A part of you could still hear Caradoc’s scream as the curse struck him. And though you knew there was nothing you could have done, it didn’t make the weight in your chest any less unbearable.

You sat in a corner of the makeshift living room, the smell of smoke and dust still clinging to your clothes. Your hands trembled slightly as you tried to process it all—the faces you’d never see again, the void each loss left behind.

That’s when James appeared.

He entered the room with quick strides, his eyes scanning until they found you. The relief on his face was immediate but was quickly replaced by something darker, heavier. He crossed the room in a few long steps, stopping right in front of you.

“Why do you do this?” he asked, his voice low but laced with tension.

“Do what?” you replied, exhaustion making your voice barely audible.

“Put yourself in danger like this.” He knelt in front of you, his hands gripping yours tightly, as if afraid you might disappear then and there.

“James, I didn’t have a choice,” you tried to argue, but he shook his head, his eyes shining with a mixture of anger and desperation.

“You always have a choice,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly. “I saw you out there. You could have protected yourself. You could have gotten out before... before that happened.”

“And leave everyone else behind?” you countered, your voice finally gaining strength. “You know I can’t do that.”

“I don’t care about everyone else!” he exploded, his voice echoing in the empty room. Then, as if realizing what he’d just said, he lowered his tone, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I care about you.”

The words hung in the air, weighted, making your heart falter. James looked away for a moment, his fingers still clutching yours as though they were the only thing keeping him anchored.

“I can’t…” He paused, his voice breaking. “I can’t lose you. Not you.”

“James...” you began, but he raised a hand, silencing you.

“Just listen,” he said, his voice raw. “I know this... all of this is chaos. And I know nothing we do here is safe or fair. But every time you go out there, I’m left... I’m left thinking the worst. Imagining what it would be like to come back here and not have you here anymore.”

There was something so vulnerable in his gaze that you felt a physical ache in your chest. He looked like a man on the edge of a cliff, holding on with the last of his strength.

“And I don’t know what to do with that anymore,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Because no matter what happens out there, you always come back. But what if one day… what if you don’t?”

You could feel the tears forming, burning behind your eyes. The words were stuck in your throat, a knot impossible to untangle. He didn’t need to say more. You knew what he meant, and you knew you felt the same.

“I promise,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling.

James looked at you, his dark eyes locked onto yours, as if willing himself to believe every word you spoke, even knowing he couldn’t.

“Promises mean nothing in war,” he said, his lips curving into a bitter smile.

But he pulled you closer anyway, his warmth pressing against your face, his fingers threading into your hair. The embrace wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, as if he was trying to hold you together while he still could.

And in that moment, with the world crumbling around you, you made your decision. You couldn’t keep those words to yourself any longer. Not after this.

James held you like you were the only solid thing in a world falling apart—or perhaps it was he who feared unraveling. His fingers, hardened by battles, were unbelievably tender as they brushed against your skin. The warmth of his palm on your cheek was an absurd contrast to the coldness you felt everywhere else. And as he looked at you, there seemed to be a war waging within him, something he wanted to say but couldn’t.

But you could.

The years of silence, of swallowed words and repressed emotions, weighed on your chest like a million tons. You had sworn to yourself that you wouldn’t say anything, that you wouldn’t burden him with the responsibility of responding to something so immense in such uncertain times. But now, seeing him there, as human, as broken as you were, it didn’t feel like you had a choice.

“James…” you began, your voice low, hesitant, but heavy with everything you felt.

He blinked slowly, his deep blue eyes locking onto yours. You saw the moment he realized. The moment he knew what was coming.

“No,” he said, the word barely a whisper.

Your throat tightened, but you pressed on. You had to.

“I can’t keep this in anymore,” you said, your voice cracking. “I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter, because it does. It matters more than anything.”

James shut his eyes tightly, as if your words caused him physical pain. When he opened them again, they glistened, a mix of emotions you couldn’t fully decipher.

“Please, not now,” he pleaded, his voice rough.

“Why not?” you asked, the pain evident in your tone.

“Because I don’t know what to do with it,” he admitted, the words spilling out quickly, desperately. “Not now. Not when everything is like this. Not when I can’t promise I’ll be here to… to give you what you deserve.”

His honesty cut through you like a blade. He wasn’t trying to push you away, wasn’t rejecting what you felt. He was scared. Scared of you saying those words and him not being there to hear them again the next day.

“James…”

He interrupted, leaning closer, his hands cradling your face as if you were the only thing holding him together.

“I know,” he whispered, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath against your lips. “I know what you feel. I feel it too. But… please, wait. Just a little longer. Let me do this right.”

You wanted to scream. To tell him there wasn’t time, that tomorrow wasn’t guaranteed, that he needed to know now. But the vulnerability on his face, the intensity in his gaze, stopped you.

Instead, you nodded, even though every fiber of your being wanted to do the opposite.

“I’ll wait,” you whispered.

James exhaled deeply, as though he’d been holding his breath since the beginning. And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t like the other kisses. There was no rush, no raw desire like so many times before. It was slow, almost painfully so, as if he were trying to memorize every detail, every sensation. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that seemed to defy the chaos around you.

When he pulled back, James’s eyes stayed on yours, his forehead resting against yours.

“I’ll always come back,” he promised, his voice steady, though the faint tremble in his hands betrayed the fear he was trying to hide.

You wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him.

But deep down, something in you knew that promise was as fragile as the world you lived in. And as he pulled away, his fingers sliding slowly from your face, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change forever.

Even so, you let him go.

And in that moment, as the door closed behind him, the weight of the unsaid words pressed on your chest in a way that almost suffocated you.

There had been something different in the past few days. A pause in the storm that was the war, as if, for a brief moment, the world had forgotten the chaos. The attacks had lessened. There had been no losses in weeks. And, strangely, James seemed lighter.

The shadow that usually lived in his eyes, heavy with loss and responsibility, had vanished. He smiled more, even laughed, as if there was something out there, on the horizon, that made him believe in a future. You didn’t dare to ask what it was, but you saw it in every little gesture — in the way he looked at you, as if he were holding onto a secret, something he was just waiting for the right moment to share.

It was comforting and terrifying at the same time. War was no place for hope, and yet there it was, stubbornly lighting up James Potter like a flame that refused to go out.

But that night, something was wrong.

You felt it before you knew it. Like an invisible weight pressing on your chest, an unease you couldn’t explain.

That was when the news came.

“The Ministry was attacked,” someone said, their voice urgent and fearful. “Death Eaters. Multiple injuries.”

The world stopped for a moment. The blood in your veins turned to ice. You knew he was there.

“James,” you whispered, his name leaving your lips like a silent scream, even as your mind refused to accept what your body already knew.

Without thinking, you Apparated. The air around you seemed to shatter as you moved, the magic yanking you violently to the scene of the attack.

And then you saw him.

Amidst the chaos — the ruins of the partially destroyed Ministry, the screams and moans of the wounded echoing in the distance — he was there. Fallen.

The sight of him lying amidst the wreckage hit you like a blade to the heart. Your mind rejected what your eyes were seeing. James couldn’t be… He couldn’t.

You ran to him, your knees hitting the blood-soaked ground with a force you didn’t feel. Your entire body was numb, consumed by waves of relentless agony.

“James!” Your voice tore from your throat, hoarse and desperate. Your hands trembled as you touched him, brushing blood-matted hair from his forehead. He was so cold. Motionless.

“Please, no. James, open your eyes. Talk to me!”

You pulled his body into your arms, ignoring the blood staining your clothes, your fingers pressing against the side of his neck, searching for a pulse. Nothing. Your heart begged for a miracle that would never come.

“Don’t do this to me!” your voice cracked, and hot tears streamed down your face, mingling with the dirt and blood. You clutched the front of his jacket, shaking him gently, as if that could bring him back.

“James, please. You said you’d come back. You promised! You asked me to wait!”

Your chest heaved with broken sobs, the air feeling like poison as you yanked at the blood-soaked fabric of his jacket. That was when you felt something hard and unfamiliar in one of the pockets.

Confused, trembling, you reached for the object, pulling it out. It was a small velvet box, now stained with blood.

The world stopped.

Reality hit like a punch to the gut. You knew what it was before you opened it. Your hands shook so badly you almost dropped the box, but somehow, you managed to open it.

Inside, a ring glinted.

And then everything collapsed.

The pain was no longer a wave; it was a flood, drowning you in grief. He had been planning to propose. That was the reason for the light in his eyes these past few days. The hope he had carried.

“James…” your voice was a whisper, trembling, as you held the ring in one hand and his face in the other. “You can’t… You can’t leave me like this. I love you.”

The words finally came out, but it was too late. He would never hear them.

“I love you!” you shouted now, your voice breaking into a cry of pure agony. “You weren’t supposed to do this. You were supposed to stay. You were supposed to… hear me.”

You pulled him closer, holding him so tightly your arms ached. It was as if physical pain was preferable to the crushing weight in your chest.

A hand rested on your shoulder.

You flinched, your heart racing, and turned your head to find Sirius, looking as devastated as you felt. His expression was a mixture of grief and concern, but you recoiled as if he meant to take James from your arms.

“No!” you screamed, clutching his body to you. “Don’t take him from me! I won’t let go!”

Sirius tried to speak, but his voice failed him. Remus appeared just behind him, his face so wrecked he looked like he was holding himself together by sheer will.

But none of it mattered. Nothing in the world mattered.

“I didn’t say…” you sobbed, your words fragmented as you buried your face in James’s bloodied hair. “I didn’t tell you I love you… I should have said it. I should have…”

You rocked his body gently, as if the motion might bring him back to life, as tears fell uncontrollably. It was unfair. Cruel.

And the ring box, still clutched in your blood-stained fingers, felt like the final blow — a reminder of everything that could have been and never would be.

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