Does it make you sad when your appleheads fight about who is superior, especially when you talk about love and unity?
Oh yes... That saddens me so much... When it comes to people, I never cared about any color or ethnicity or anything... I wasn't even looking at them in this way... For me there's only one race. Human Race. I loved, love and will always love every single human being on this planet. I would never want any of my amazing fans to hate each other for such silly matters. It's silly, honestly. No one is better than anyone. If they could only understand that our single purpose on this planet is to love and help each other to make a better place, for you and for me and the entire human race... That would be.. Paradise. We have nothing to gain from our ego. We hurt ourselves and everyone for egotistical thoughts that damage our future any form of relationships, either friendship or partnership or brotherhood or even with a significan other, basically with anyone. It's devastating to know that we are fighting each other instead of uniting. We are better than this. This is what I always wanted. I hope those people one day, sooner or later will understand what these words truly meant from the songs that I sang which are:
We Are the World
Man in the Mirror
Heal the World
Earth Song
They Don't Care About Us
Please... We need to end this toxicity of constant fighting and damage our souls.
Rumours travelled faster than test results at Princeton-Plainsboro. Half the hospital had already made up its mind about the new neurologist by mid-morning: bright, quick-witted, and if the whispers were right, utterly impossible to work with.
House, of course, heard it before she'd even finished unpacking her office.
“She’s sarcastic. Rude. No patience for fools,” Cameron had said with a note of disapproval in her voice.
House, sprawled across his office chair with his cane balanced across his lap, smirked.
“So, me in heels. Interesting.”
Foreman hadn't looked impressed. "She's already made a name for herself in New York. Brilliant, but apparently, she doesn't play well with others."
House twirled his cane lazily. "Maybe the others deserved it."
That earned him a sigh, the kind that implied everyone in the room was tired of being trapped in House’s conversational experiments. But the seed had been planted. A new neurologist with a bad reputation. He couldn’t resist.
Later that afternoon, he stopped by Diagnostics, leaned against the doorframe, and called out, "Kutner!"
Kutner looked up from the whiteboard. “Yeah?”
“There’s a rumor that the new neurologist eats junior doctors for breakfast. Fancy testing that theory?”
“Testing how?” Kutner asked warily.
“Ask her for a consult on a case. Make something up. Tell her I wanted a second opinion.”
Taub frowned. "You're using Kutner as bait now?"
House smiled. "It's called data collection. Go, my little guinea pig."
Twenty minutes later, Kutner returned, suspiciously cheerful, clutching a paper cup from the cafeteria.
“Well?” House prompted, leaning forward on his cane.
“She’s… nice.” Kutner sounded almost embarrassed by it. “Like, genuinely nice. She smiled the entire time. Asked me about the case, offered to come up and take a look herself.”
House's eyebrows furrowed. "No eye-rolls? No sarcasm?"
“None. She even gave me a coffee.”
House stared at him. "Either you hallucinated that, or she's plotting your murder."
Taub snorted. “Maybe the rumors are wrong.”
House didn’t answer. He simply pulled himself up and hobbled towards the door, saying, “There’s only one way to be sure.”
Her office was much smaller than his, yet neater, books aligned perfectly in order, a neat stack of medical journals on the desk, with the soft scent of jasmine wafting from the candle burning beside a mug half-full of tea. She looked up as he entered, her expression unreadable.
“Dr. House,” she said, tone polite but cautious. “I assume you’re here for an actual reason.”
He leaned against the doorframe. "Curiosity. You're new. Rumors are flying. I like verifying my own sources."
Her eyebrow arched slightly. “And you came personally to… audit my personality?”
“Something like that.”
She crossed her arms, lips twitching faintly. “And what do the rumors say?”
“That you're sarcastic. Rude. Difficult.”
“Well,” she said lightly, “one out of three isn’t bad.”
House’s smile flickered. “Which one?”
"Depends who's asking."
There was a pause, a quiet, charged silence in which both of them seemed to size the other up. Then, House gestured with his cane toward the hallway. “Kutner says you’re sweet. That’s either impressive acting or a neurological condition.”
She laughed softly, not the forced kind of laughter people used when they wanted House to like them, but genuine amusement. “I can be sweet. I can also be unpleasant. Usually depends on whether the person I’m speaking to deserves civility.”
House cocked his head, studying her. "So it's conditional."
"Everything is conditional, Dr. House."
He stepped closer, examining the charts on her wall as though he'd come for an actual medical reason. "So tell me….how do you decide who deserves it?”
"Intent," she said simply. "I can tolerate arrogance if it's honest. I can't tolerate incompetence disguised as authority."
House’s grin broadened. “You’ll fit right in.”
The following week, they crossed paths more often than mere coincidence could explain. House would “happen” to need a neurologist's opinion; she'd “happen” to stop by Diagnostics. Their exchanges were quick and sharp, full of dry wit and the kind of tension that made the rest of the team exchange knowing looks.
One afternoon, Wilson appeared in House’s doorway with a suspicious smile.
“You’ve been awfully interested in Neurology lately.”
House didn't look up from his paperwork. "Brain stuff fascinates me."
“I'm a doctor, not an idiot,” Wilson said mildly. “You like her.”
House finally looked up, narrowing his eyes. "I don't like people. You know that."
“Except this one.”
House didn't answer, and that, Wilson decided, was answer enough.
It was a Thursday evening when she showed up at his office, files in hand. “You forgot to sign these,” she said, stepping inside.
House took them wordlessly, signed without looking, then glanced up. “You didn’t need to bring them yourself. You could’ve sent an intern.”
"Maybe I wanted to see if the rumours about you were true," she said.
He smirked. “Which ones?”
“That you're brilliant. And impossible.”
House set the pen down and leaned back. “Both correct. So? What’s your verdict?”
She smiled, soft but knowing. "I think you hide behind impossible.”
For once, House didn't have a clever retort ready. His gaze lingered on her a beat too long, enough that the air between them seemed to hum with something unspoken.
She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “Goodnight, Dr. House.”
“Goodnight, Dr. Sweet-or-Rude,” he called after her.
Her quiet laugh echoed down the hall as House stared after her, a rare, thoughtful silence settling over him.
Wilson found him ten minutes later, still looking at the doorway.
“She’s got under your skin, hasn’t she?”
House didn't look up. "Don't be ridiculous."
But when Wilson left, House caught himself with a faint smile, the sound of her laugh still playing in his mind.
A/N: Sorry for being way for so much time!! But I’m here now! So I hope you like this little imagine!
Little continuation idea for ur last icky dad price?.. mayhaps?...
Something something somehow price manages to fuck reader and they feel so disgusting, not because the man they considered their dad is fucking them but because they love it? Which they did not know/expect at all. Obviously price isn't being nice about it either, calling himself reader's old man and dad every chance he gets
YOU GET IT. YOU SEE THE VISION
Somewhere, somehow, the wires in your head must have gotten crossed. Something was seriously wrong with you.
When John's praise used to fill you with pride, that thrill had started to buzz south. Your cunt would ache every time he'd squeeze your shoulder and tell you how well you'd done. It was fucked up to even think about. He surely just saw you as a kid. He was so much older, nearly twice your age. He could practically be your dad.
And if that wasn't a disgustingly hot thought.
You felt sick just thinking about it. About his large hands. How they would grip you so gently. How his beard would tickling your inner thighs.
You hadn't allowed yourself to have a good wank in weeks. No matter how hard you tried your mind kept drifting back to him. Which just left you achingly horny all the time. And working so closely with Price wasn't helping. He was such a devoted captain. Always making sure you were getting your work done. Bringing you food when you skipped lunch, spotting you during workouts. You were grateful for his guidance. But all the attention was overwhelming.
The 'dad' slip up was perfectly innocent. It happened to everyone. He was your superior, you did consider him as a kind of father figure. But as soon as the name slipped through your lips you were mortified. Now he would only ever see you as just a dumb kid. It was quickly forgotten about, but you had clung to the embarrassing memory. Knowing that in one small mistake you had ruined your chances with the man. Like you had any in the first place.
SUMMARY: Everyone just wanted to see her smile. He falls donw and gets a whole laugh out of her. How's that even possible??
PAIRING: james potter x reader
A/N: I'm really sorry foir making you guys wait so much foor another fic but I'm really getting stressed because of my finals. This is gonna be a little short but anyways I hope you like it!!
There was a certain type of warmth that clung to James Potter like a second skin—relentless, golden, loud. It was in his laugh, in the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, in how he practically bounced with energy when he walked into a room. James Potter didn’t enter places. He arrived. And whether you wanted to or not, you noticed.
You, however, were the opposite. Reserved. Quiet. Often mistaken for being rude, when in truth, you just didn’t see the need to exhaust energy on everyone. The Marauders, in particular, were always exhausting. Endearing, sure. But exhausting.
Sirius was chaos incarnate. Remus was observant and gentle, though a bit too fond of offering unsolicited advice. Peter tried too hard to be funny. And James—James was infuriatingly delightful. You didn’t like how easily he drew people in. You didn’t like how your chest warmed around him. But most of all, you didn’t like that no one could seem to make you smile… yet he managed to make you feel lighter just by being in the same room.
It had become a bit of a game. The others tried it all—Sirius with his pranks, Remus with his kindness, even Peter with his bumbling commentary. Each attempt to crack your stony demeanour ended in failure.
James never tried. Not once. He just carried on, laughing with Sirius, throwing apples at Peter’s head in the Great Hall, launching into Quidditch monologues that made absolutely no sense to you. And somehow, that made him more charming.
You had grown used to their presence in your orbit. Somehow, you were part of their strange little group, even if you didn’t speak much. You were the one who didn’t laugh. The one who rolled their eyes. The one who, by all accounts, simply existed alongside them.
It was a Wednesday evening. Rain battered against the windows of the Gryffindor common room. A fire crackled gently in the hearth, filling the room with a low amber glow. You were curled up in an armchair, a blanket draped over your lap, eyes flicking across the pages of a thick book.
Sirius was doing impressions. Remus was half-listening, scribbling notes for an assignment. James and Peter were arguing over who would win in a broomstick race through the Forbidden Forest—James was, as usual, full of confidence.
“I’m telling you,” James was saying, hopping onto the arm of the sofa with one leg swung over, “if I’d had my broom that day, I’d have made it through that thicket in under a minute. Easy.”
Peter snorted. “You’d have flown straight into a tree.”
James puffed out his chest. “I’m nimble.”
You didn’t look up, but you were listening. You always listened when James talked, even if you pretended not to.
“I could do a flip right now and land on my feet,” James announced proudly.
“Go on, then,” Sirius egged, his grin wicked.
With the kind of misplaced confidence only James Potter possessed, he launched himself off the armrest with a ridiculous twist—
—and faceplanted directly into the carpet.
There was a thump, followed by a sharp “oof!” as he groaned into the floor.
The room fell silent.
You looked up.
And for the first time in a very long while… you snorted. Not a polite giggle. Not a stifled chuckle. A full, unfiltered snort.
Everyone’s heads whipped around.
“Did you just—?” Sirius blinked.
“Oh my god,” Remus murmured, eyes wide.
Peter looked like he’d seen a ghost.
But James… James was still lying flat on the rug. Slowly, he lifted his head, cheeks squashed and hair sticking out in all directions.
He met your gaze.
And then he smiled. That smile. Soft, genuine, adoring.
“There it is,” he breathed, as though he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. “The laugh.”
You felt heat crawl up your neck, eyes dropping to your lap. You tried to hide it—too late. The room erupted into laughter, but James’s voice was the only one that lingered in your ears.
That night, the teasing was relentless. Sirius looked ready to throw a party. Remus gave you a smug little nod. Peter kept whispering, “I thought you were incapable.”
You were heading back down to the common room for a forgotten quill when you saw him sitting by the fire alone, glasses skewed, legs stretched out, a book open but unread in his lap.
He looked up as you entered.
“Hey,” he said softly.
You paused, unsure. “Hey.”
A beat passed. The fire crackled.
“I wasn’t trying to make you laugh,” James said, voice low and sincere.
“I know.”
“I mean—Sirius has a bet going, and the others are obsessed with seeing you smile, but me? I just wanted… I dunno. For you to want to laugh. For yourself.”
You looked at him, surprised. “You’ve really been waiting for that?”
He shrugged. “Not like… obsessively. But yeah. Kinda. It’s a good sound. Worth the wait.”
Your chest tightened in a way that was unfamiliar. Warm and aching and sweet all at once.
“James?” you asked.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for falling on your face.”
He laughed. “Anytime.”
You turned to leave, but then paused. You glanced over your shoulder, met his eyes, and let a small smile tug at the corner of your mouth.
Not a snort. Not a laugh.
But a smile.
And James Potter lit up like the sun was rising just for him.
The next day, Sirius tried three times to prank Filch just to impress you. Remus offered you a muffin he definitely hadn’t baked himself. Peter knocked over a goblet of pumpkin juice onto Snape’s robes.
You didn’t laugh.
But across the room, James caught your eye.
You smirked.
And he smiled back like it was a secret only the two of you shared.
So do you know the new podcast of darkest and harry, well maybe reader goes there and tells sotrys with her boyfriend. Her boyfriend can be one of them bur I would like if it was Niko or Kenny!
Episode Us - King Kenny
Summary: A cheeky joke about appearing on the Old & Bald podcast turns into a reality for you and Kenny.
Pairing: King Kenny x Reader
Genre: Fluff
Note: JOIN OUR SERVER FOR BETA SQUAD GIRLIES/FANS
Masterlist
You didn't think you'd actually end up on Old & Bald.
It started off as a joke, a cheeky suggestion you tossed at Kenny while watching an episode in bed, your head on his chest, his laugh bouncing through you like bass. He was eating grapes. You were stealing them.
"Imagine us on this podcast" You mumbled between bites.
"What would we even talk about?" Kenny said as he glanced down, amused.
"I'd tell them about the first time you tried to flirt with me" You said.
"Nooo, allow it. That wasn't even flirting, that was tactical stuttering" Kenny said as he groaned.
But apparently, the universe or maybe just Harry Pinero and Darkest Man heard your wish. Because two weeks later, Kenny grinned across the kitchen table, toast in one hand, phone in the other.
"They want us on" Kenny said.
"Who?" You asked as you blinked.
"Darkest and Harry" Kenny said.
////_////_////_/////
You walked into the studio holding Kenny's hand, and it felt like the air itself crackled with good vibes. Lights were low and golden, like a cozy bar after hours, your fingers laced snug with his and he gave you that grin, the one that always made you feel like the only girl in London.
"You nervous?" Kenny asked, bumping your shoulder playfully.
"A little" You admitted.
"But more excited than nervous. I get to tell embarrassing stories about you on camera" You added.
"After you, then" Kenny said as he chuckled, opening the door and gesturing with an exaggerated bow.
The studio smelled like fresh coffee and rubber mic covers, and the space had that cozy, cluttered charm of creative chaos. Random frames of random people with no context lined the walls, past guests, inside jokes.
You spotted them instantly. Darkest was sat in a couch, humming tunelessly, while Harry poked at his mic in front of him with mock seriousness.
"Ah! The lovebirds have landed!" Harry said, standing and opening his arms.
"Kenny and his better half" Darkest said.
You grinned, giving Harry a hug and waving at Darkest, who promptly stood up and attempted a bow so deep he nearly toppled over.
Kenny just smiled and gave you that look. The one that said, don't say anything too mad. You smiled sweetly back.
"Ready to spill some tea?" Darkest asked.
"Boiling" You replied.
Soon, the four of you were seated around the table, each with a mic, water bottle, and bowl of colorful sweets. Cameras were on.
"Alright" Harry said, clapping once.
"Welcome to another episode of Old & Bald. We've got a very special guest--two, actually. The lovely, terrifyingly funny Y/N and her boyfriend, the man who dodges punches and jokes with equal finesse, King Kenny!" Harry added as the room erupted in claps.
Everyone laughed.
"So, you two. How long you been together?" Harry asked as he leaned forward.
"Almost two years" Kenny said, glancing at you with a little smile.
"And you still like each other?" Darkest asked, eyebrows raised.
"Debatable" You said, jokingly.
"Oh no, fair enough" Darkest said as he sat up straighter.
"So tell us how you bagged her, bruv. Because it's giving 'out of your league" Harry asked.
"Wow, immediate violence. This is how you lot wanna welcome me in your show yeah?" Kenny said as he chuckled.
"I was minding my business, and this man slid into my DMs using... get this... a 'family guy' meme" You said as you leaned into the mic.
"NAH. Kenny, say it's not true." Harry said as he slapped the table.
"It was a good meme!" Kenny protested, ears turning red.
"He sent Peter Griffin falling down the stairs and the caption said 'Me, falling for you" You said as you wiped an imaginary tear.
"You're telling me this is how you landed her?" Darkest said as he howled.
"It worked, didn't it?" Kenny said as he shrugged, smug now.
You told stories like that for an hour. Little things, how Kenny once accidentally took you to a cat cafe even though you were allergic, how you helped him pick out a new outfit and it ended up matching yours a little tooperfectly, how he talks in his sleep and once asked you to "pass the boxing gloves, darling" at 3 a.m.
In between stories, Harry and Darkest added their own chaos, asking rapid-fire questions like
"Who's more dramatic?" Harry asked.
"Her" Kenny said instantly.
"What would you do if you woke up and swapped bodies for a day?" Darkest asked.
"I'd stare at myself in the mirror for a solid twenty minutes" You said without hesitation.
"That's a bit weird" Kenny said as he raised his eyebrows.
"I'd just want to know what it's like to be a fighting machine. You'd probably spend the whole day in bed watching rom-coms" You said.
"That... is accurate" Kenny said defeatedly as he nodded thoughtfully.
You laughed so hard your ribs hurt. The set felt like a warm living room where you forgot the cameras were on. You leaned your head against Kenny's shoulder while he spoke about how proud he was of you starting your art page, how he kept all the little doodles you left in his boxing bag.
"That's disgustingly sweet. Get out" Harry said as he leaned in.
"Simps, both of you" Darkest said as he tossed a marshmallow at Kenny.
You thought the episode would wind down then but Harry leaned forward, elbows on the table, suddenly serious.
"So like... how do you lot make it work?" Harry asked.
"Huh?" You asked as you blinked.
"This industry is mad, man. Socials, dms, pressure but you two look solid" Harry said.
Kenny's hand found yours. His thumb brushed a slow circle over your knuckle.
"We talk. And when that doesn't work... we argue. Then talk again" You said as you smiled.
"Also she's the only one who'll tell me when I've got something on my face before shoots" Kenny said.
"And he's the only one who doesn't flinch when I cry during sad moments of an animated movies" You said.
You looked at each other. There was a warmth there that wasn't performative. Just honest.
"I can't lie, that's probably the best way to put it" Kenny said.
"Deep, now tell us your most toxic fight" Darkest said as he nodded like he'd learned something.
Kenny nearly choked on his drink.
"Do we tell them about the Ikea incident?" You said as you cackled.
"NO--" Kenny said.
"Oh, you have to now" Darkest said.
You told them everything.
The infamous Ikea fight where you two tried to assemble a bookshelf and ended up building the entire thing backwards.
"I told him the manual was upside-down" You said.
"And I said she was holding it upside-down" Kenny countered.
"It had pictures, Kenny!" You said.
The boys were dying. Darkest laughed so hard he nearly fell off his chair.
"And the best part" You said.
"We still kept the shelf. It's holding our matching mugs now" You added.
"That is the cutestbeef I've ever heard" Harry said as he wiped his eyes.
As the episode wound down, the energy was electric and light. Harry gave you the outro cue.
"Any last words, Y/N?" Harry asked.
"Love each other even when you're ridiculous. And if your boyfriend sleep-talks, record it" You said as you leaned into the mic.
"She has a whole compilation" Kenny said as he groaned.
"Drop the tapes!" Darkest shouted.
Everyone laughed again.
As you walked out, hand in hand with Kenny, the sky was ink-dark and full of stars. You felt light and silly and full of joy.
"That was fun" You said.
"I liked seeing you talk like that. You're funny, you know?" Kenny said as he smiled.
"I know. I was the best part" You said as you bumped your shoulder into his.
"Yeah, yeah. Go on, be smug" Kenny said as he laughed, head tilted back.
Outside, the night air was crisp. London felt alive.
You looked at him, at the boy who once sent you memes and now held your heart.
"You know" You said.
"I think this means we're official now" You added.
"We weren't before?" Kenny asked as he raised a brow.
"Podcast official is the highest level" You said.
"Better update my bio then" Kenny said, teasingly.
You laughed all the way to his car.
- end -
Hello lovelies!!! It's nice to be back posting here, I've got a lot lines up lmao.
I hope y'all have an amazing day, absolute love and guidance.
As I said everytime, send in some request and ideas!!
SUMMARY: You never understood why Ellie started hating you. One day she was teasing you with smirks and dry jokes, the next she couldn’t stand to be near you. But now, with blood soaking through your jacket and her hands trembling against your skin, you finally see the truth in her eyes.
WORD COUNT: 3,237 words
PAIRING: ellie willams x reader
You never understood why Ellie started hating you.
It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when she used to smile when you walked into a room. She’d make sarcastic comments that weren’t exactly mean, just sharp enough to make your cheeks burn. There was warmth in her then—something careful, buried deep, but real.
And then, one day, it disappeared.
No argument. No incident. No words exchanged. She just flipped a switch, and suddenly you were the last person she wanted to see. If she could avoid you, she would. If she couldn’t, she’d be cold, clipped, or outright cruel. The rest of Jackson had no idea what happened. Neither did you.
You asked Jesse once.
“She’s weird,” he said, with a shrug that didn’t hide the hint of worry in his voice. “You didn’t do anything. She just… shuts people out sometimes.”
But that didn’t help the way it gnawed at your chest.
Especially not today.
The air outside is bitter and sharp as you saddle up, snowflakes drifting lazily down as you tie your pack. Jesse’s voice carries across the stable.
“You and Ellie are on patrol. East route.”
You freeze. Of course. Of course it’s you and her.
You glance over your shoulder. Ellie’s already pulling herself onto her horse, barely sparing you a glance. Her jaw is tight. She doesn't say a word.
Great.
You mount up silently, trailing behind her as the two of you head out of the gates. The quiet between you is deafening. Only the soft clop of hooves and the whistle of wind fills the space.
The cold bites through your gloves. You tug your scarf higher and try not to think about how far this patrol is going to stretch. The East route isn’t short. You’ll be stuck with her for hours.
And she still won’t look at you.
The snow crunches under your boots as you dismount at the first checkpoint, a partially collapsed cabin half-buried beneath frost. Ellie hops down without a sound and begins her sweep. You follow behind, keeping your distance.
Your mind drifts—like it always does—back to the day it all changed.
You were laughing at something Dina had said. Ellie was walking past, and you turned to greet her. Just a simple “Hey.”
She looked at you like you were something stuck to her boot.
After that, the walls went up.
You tried once—just once—to ask what you’d done.
“Did I… piss you off or something?”
She scoffed, not even looking at you. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
That was months ago.
Back in the cabin, you both move in silence. You clear the back rooms, she checks the kitchen and front. When you return, she’s crouched over an old drawer, rummaging.
You lean against the doorway. “Nothing upstairs.”
She doesn’t respond. Just closes the drawer with a snap and brushes past you, the touch of her shoulder colder than the air outside.
You sigh.
“Y’know, this would be a lot easier if you weren’t pretending I don’t exist.”
Ellie freezes. Just for a second. Then straightens up, not turning around.
“You done?” she says quietly.
You blink. “What?”
“I said, are you done?”
Her voice is low, tight with something you can’t quite name. Anger? Hurt?
Before you can respond, she pushes the door open and walks out into the snow.
You follow. Because what else can you do?
You’re halfway through the forest when it happens.
The snow makes everything feel muffled—like the world is holding its breath. The trees close in tight, branches heavy with white. You and Ellie walk on foot now, horses tied back a ways. It’s quiet. Still.
Too still.
The infected come fast. A screamer first, then two runners. You dispatch one easily, but the other—larger, faster—catches you off-guard. It barrels into you, teeth snapping, and knocks you to the ground.
Your shoulder slams into a rock.
Pain flares white-hot.
“Shit!” you gasp, kicking out wildly. Your knife slips from your hand.
The runner snarls, pressing down on your chest. You scream for Ellie—then hear the blast of her shotgun. The weight on you goes slack.
Ellie’s above you in a flash, face pale, eyes wide. “Fuck, fuck—are you okay?”
You blink up at her, dazed. Her hands are on you, checking your side, your shoulder.
You wince hard. “Think it’s dislocated.”
“Shit,” she breathes, visibly shaken. “Okay, okay. Hold on.”
You’ve never heard her sound like this before—scared.
“Ellie—”
“Shut up. Just breathe.” Her voice cracks. “Don’t talk.”
She kneels beside you, her hands trembling as she takes off her backpack and rummages for supplies. You watch her through the blur of pain—how her brow furrows, how she keeps glancing at you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear.
You can’t help it. “Why… do you care?”
Her hand stills.
She doesn’t look at you. Not yet. Just wraps your arm in a makeshift sling, movements stiff and silent.
Then she sits back, snow crunching beneath her. Her breath comes out in a shaky cloud.
“I didn’t want to lose you,” she whispers.
Your heartbeat slows. Or maybe it skips.
“What?”
She finally looks at you. Her green eyes are glassy now, the cold turning her cheeks red, but it’s not the wind making her look like this.
“I didn’t tell you sooner because—” Her voice breaks. She swallows. “Because every time I care about someone, they get ripped away from me. Joel. Riley. My fucking parents. Everyone.”
She looks away.
“I thought if I pushed you away first, I could stop it before it happened.”
You stare at her. “That’s why you’ve been—”
“Yeah,” she mutters. “A complete asshole. I know.”
Silence settles between you, thick as the falling snow.
You don’t know what to say.
Not until you see her wiping at her eyes quickly with the back of her hand.
“Ellie.”
“What?”
You shift slightly, ignoring the pain. “You didn’t lose me.”
Her gaze flicks up, hesitant. Scared.
You meet her eyes. “I’m right here.”
And something in her face crumples. She leans forward, resting her forehead against your good shoulder. It’s a fragile touch, scared and desperate all at once.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” she mumbles. “You didn’t deserve any of it.”
Your uninjured arm wraps around her.
“I know,” you whisper. “But… I still care about you. Even if I don’t understand you most of the time.”
That makes her huff a laugh. Wet. Shaky. Real.
“You shouldn’t.”
“But I do.”
You sit like that for a while—two bodies in the snow, hearts beating fast against the cold, years of fear and loss held between you.
And somehow, something begins to thaw.
Later, when you both get back to Jackson and your shoulder’s properly set, Ellie lingers at the door of the infirmary.
You glance up. “You heading out?”
She shifts awkwardly, hands shoved in her pockets. “Only if you want me to.”
You pause.
“Ellie.”
“What?”
“Stay.”
Her eyes soften, a flicker of hope breaking through the guilt.
She sits beside you.
This time, you’re the one who reaches out.
A/N: sorry for not posting for a while but I'm here now!! finals are destroying and I need a vacation soooo I'll see if I can post anything more!
Summary: While Chunkz returns home after a sleepless filming challenge, you quietly share a slow, tender morning together.
Pairing: Chunkz x Reader
Genre: Fluff
Masterlist.
Note: I am SO BACK, I miss writing for Chunkz. My man fr.
You're in Atlanta with your boyfriend. Well, he is needed here for filming, mainly for the collaboration with another youtube group managed by other management.
You came along because he wanted you to come. If Chunkz was to work then he wanted to come home being with you in the place the both of you will be staying at temporarily while being in Atlanta.
You took a leave from your work and you packed your things mainly essentially.
Staying at the place was really bad. You've got nothing else to do besides waiting for him to come back after filming and being a guest on streams.
Chunkz told you that you should go for a stroll at some mall for shopping, have your nails or hair done sometimes but strolling by yourself wasn't your thing anyways.
You're barely sleeping one morning, the sun shining can be seen through outside giving a sign that it's nearly morning.
Knowing that you're alone kinda makes you a bit lazy to do anything since it's early morning.
Your boyfriend is gone to another filming and hasn't came home since yesterday due to their filming for another last to fall asleep but this time they are collaborating with AMP squad.
He's probably gonna come home sooner or later this morning. If the challenge is still going, then they have been awake for literally over 24 hours by now.
Well technically, you've woken up an hour ago. Already finished making and eating breakfast and deciding to go back to bed since you have nothing else to do.
Feeling a movement in the bed, shifting at the other side opposite to yours. You opened your eyes seeing your boyfriend now laying besides you.
You turned to face him and just stared at him, due to just waking up and well, he's just nice to stare at sometimes to admire his face. He noticed you woke up and now staring at him.
"Did I woke you up? Sorry bout that" He said.
You shook your head slightly in response as he moved closer to you now that he knows you're awake.
"Was barely sleeping when you came in" You said.
"How's work? Did you win?" You asked being curious about his work since he had mentioned about a competition about lasting not to sleep.
"Nah I didn't, but I got 5 grand on me as an offer to be eliminated" He smiled lazily due to tiredness.
"That's a fair trade, half the price" You said.
"I think Niko and Aj have a high chance of winning" He said. He really loves his brothers so much and you loved him for that.
"I know that Niko is not giving up" You said. Having too much confidence to your friends.
"I'm in the top 4 though, I'm cool with that, you know what I mean?" He said with a proud smile.
"You did great, you should be proud" You said to him. He rarely wins challenge but that's besides the point.
He hummed in response. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer to him. He missed you next to him already after a long day of not seeing each other.
"There's breakfast in the kitchen if you want to eat, I can reheat it for you" You said to him.
"Nah, I'm not feeling it" He said, nuzzling his head closer to your neck.
"Go get some sleep then, you deserve it" You said.
"I'll take you out for anything you want later when I wake up" He said barely audible.
"We're going shopping then? Nando's afterwards" You stated not moving, letting him embrace you.
"Yeah" He said, fully closing his eyes by now.
Usually you'd argue about him always paying for you whenever you guys go out. It's not that you didn't want to be treated sometimes but him paying everytime doesn't sound fair when you can really afford to pay for yourself.
You always point out that you can pay for yourself but he always said that it's on him, saying that he initiated it then he's going to pay for it.
It'll basically end up as a pointless argument and then he'll have his way eventually. You didn't have energy to argue about it now but maybe later.
You let him get some sleep and ended up falling asleep as well. Sleeping in peace next to your man.
At least you'll have some time with him spending money for both of your fits and have a nice date together. That's a story for another time.
- end -
Hello lovelies!!! So, I am super sorry for ghosting for days lmao HHAHAAHAHA but I am here now.
SUMMARY: At Bill and Fleur’s wedding, George Weasley can't take his eyes off you—Fleur’s charming and seemingly shy cousin. But when he finally gathers the courage to ask you to dance, he discovers you're far more playful and bold than he expected. What starts as a teasing flirtation under fairy lights soon sparks something deeper. (fluff)
WORD COUNT: 2,727 words
PAIRING: george weasley x reader
The Burrow had never looked quite so magical. Strings of golden fairy lights hovered in mid-air, twisting like fireflies above long wooden tables set with delicate china and platters of French delicacies. The garden, usually wild with weeds and gnome holes, had been transformed into a tapestry of summer blooms and fluttering white silk. A string quartet played beneath a floating canopy, and laughter rippled through the warm evening air.
George Weasley leaned against a tree just outside the circle of celebration, a glass of champagne cradled in his hand, watching the guests swirl around the dance floor. He’d been scanning the crowd for you all night—not that he’d admit it out loud.
You stood out like moonlight on the lake. Dressed in a flowing lavender gown that hugged your figure just enough to be elegant and left enough to the imagination, you were a vision. Your hair, loosely curled and swept to one side, framed a face he couldn’t stop looking at. Fleur’s cousin, they’d said. Maid of honour. French, like Fleur, but with a softness to your voice that hinted at long summers spent somewhere warmer, slower, sweeter.
George swallowed hard and looked away, trying to appear nonchalant. His twin brother, Fred, didn’t miss the glance.
“Oh, Merlin,” Fred drawled, sidling up beside him. “You’re staring again.”
“I am not,” George muttered.
Fred tilted his head dramatically. “Then I suppose you’ve just got a kink for tree bark. Honestly, mate, it’s getting embarrassing.”
George sipped his champagne and didn’t reply. But his eyes flicked back toward you—just for a second.
Fred followed his gaze and grinned. “You’ve got it bad.”
George gave a long-suffering sigh. “She’s Fleur’s cousin. Practically royalty in this setting. I don’t think she even knows I exist.”
“Oh, please,” Fred scoffed. “You’re the best man. That makes you the other half of the wedding's royal couple. It’s practically your moral duty to talk to her.”
George didn’t reply, but he didn’t move either.
Fred leaned in. “Unless you want me to do it for you.”
That got George moving.
He placed his glass on the nearest table and straightened his jacket, brushing imaginary dust off his lapels. “Fine. But if I make a complete fool of myself, I’m hexing your eyebrows off.”
Fred smirked, already smug. “Deal.”
George made his way across the lawn, weaving between guests, his heart thudding harder with every step. You stood near the edge of the dance floor, chatting to Gabrielle and sipping something pale and sparkling. Up close, you were even more breathtaking. There was something effortless about you—the way you laughed, head tilted slightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. The world seemed to hush as he reached you.
You noticed him before he could open his mouth. You turned slightly, one eyebrow raised, your lips curving with mild interest.
“Bonsoir,” you said lightly, your accent melodic. “The famous George Weasley, yes?”
He blinked. “You know who I am?”
“Of course. Fred’s slightly less troublemaking twin. The one with the better smile.”
George chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that.”
You tilted your head. “Should I be worried that you’re here to ask something scandalous? Or is this the part where you finally ask me to dance?”
He laughed, caught off guard. “You don’t miss a beat, do you?”
Your grin widened, mischief flickering in your eyes. “Non. But I do love a bit of fun. Especially if it includes a handsome redhead.”
George was stunned into silence for a moment. You had looked like the sort who’d demurely decline a compliment, maybe blush and say something polite. Not the sort to tease him with a cheeky smile and a directness that made his chest flutter.
He offered his hand, bowing slightly. “Then I’d be a fool not to oblige. May I have this dance, mademoiselle?”
You pretended to consider, fingers tapping your glass. “Hmm… Only if you promise not to step on my toes.”
“I’ll do my best. But I can’t make any guarantees—I’m a Weasley, we’re known for causing chaos.”
You took his hand with a smirk. “Well then, Monsieur Chaos. Let’s see if you can keep up.”
He led you onto the floor just as the quartet transitioned into a slower, more romantic number. He placed a hand on your waist, surprisingly tentative for someone so often loud and full of bravado. You noticed the way he looked at you, unsure yet enchanted.
“You really don’t talk much, do you?” you teased, swaying with him under the floating lights.
“I do,” George said, eyes locked on yours. “Just… not when I’m this distracted.”
“By me?”
He nodded. “I thought you’d be shy. Quiet. But you’re not. You’re trouble in a dress, aren’t you?”
You laughed, genuine and bright. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all night.”
The dance was slow but full of tension, the good kind. He spun you gently, guiding you back with ease. The warmth of his hand on your back, the closeness of your bodies, the scent of cinnamon and something woodsy clinging to his jacket—it all made your head feel a little light.
“Fred said you were staring at me,” you said, tone teasing.
George flushed. “Did he now?”
“He also said you had a crush.”
George raised an eyebrow. “Did he also mention he talks complete rubbish after two firewhiskies?”
You smirked. “So… you weren’t staring?”
He leaned in slightly, voice low. “Oh, I was. But I didn’t think you noticed.”
“I always notice,” you replied, your voice softening. “Especially when it’s someone like you.”
He blinked. “Someone like me?”
“Charming. Bit cocky. But sweet when you think no one’s looking.”
George didn’t have a response for that. He was sure he could come up with something clever, something flirty—but your words hit deeper than expected. No girl had ever summed him up so perfectly in one breath.
You twirled again, and when you came back into his arms, your expression had changed—less playful now, more sincere.
“Why didn’t you talk to me earlier?” you asked.
George shrugged. “Didn’t think I had a chance.”
You looked at him for a long moment. “You’re George Weasley. Of course you had a chance.”
He grinned then, unable to hold it back. “I’ll remind myself to have more faith in the future.”
“Please do.”
As the music wound down, neither of you moved. The guests were clapping politely for the musicians, but it felt like you and George were in a separate moment altogether, wrapped in the golden hush of twilight and the hum of something new, something exciting.
He cleared his throat. “Would it be terribly forward if I asked you for a walk? Just a short one.”
You slipped your arm through his. “It would be terribly forward if I said no.”
You strolled together toward the edge of the garden, where the noise dimmed and the stars peeked through the haze. There was a bench under a willow tree, and you sat together, your knees brushing.
“Can I ask you something?” he said after a pause.
“Of course.”
“Were you really surprised when I asked you to dance?”
You smiled at the memory. “A little. I thought you’d be more like your brother. Loud. Always performing.”
“And I’m not?”
“Not exactly. You’re… quieter. At least with me. More thoughtful.”
He looked at you, something tender in his eyes. “You bring that out of me.”
Your breath caught.
Neither of you moved, the moment stretching like taffy between you. Finally, George reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“You’re not what I expected either,” he said quietly. “I thought you were sweet. Innocent. The kind of girl who’d run the other way from a bloke like me.”
“And now?”
“Now I think you might ruin me.”
You smiled, slow and deliberate. “Maybe I will.”
He kissed you then. Soft and careful at first, as if making sure you wouldn’t disappear. You kissed him back with a smile in your lips, one hand curling into his lapel.
When you pulled back, both of you were breathless.
George touched his forehead to yours. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”
SUMMARY: After years of chaos, pranks, and pretending not to care, Niko’s jealousy finally gives him away. One kiss later, everything changes—and their legendary friendship might just become the love story no one saw coming.
WORD COUNT: 2,686 words
PAIRING: niko omilana x reader
There were two things everyone knew about you and Niko.
One: you’d been best friends since primary school, and two: you were insufferable when you were together.
Not in the awful, mean-spirited kind of way. No—your brand of chaos came in the form of pranks, inside jokes, and a total disregard for consequences whenever you were side by side. Whether it was swapping the sugar with salt in Sharky’s kitchen or convincing strangers in public that Niko was a runaway prince from a tiny island nation, the two of you thrived in shared madness.
And through it all—through birthdays, teenage angst, heartbreaks, successes—you’d never crossed that invisible line between “best friends” and “something more.” Even if, sometimes, the way he looked at you lingered just a second too long. Even if you sometimes caught yourself staring at his hands while he talked, wondering what it would be like to hold them without it being a joke.
But neither of you dared to speak it. You were too afraid of ruining what you had.
“Alright,” Niko whispered beside you, eyes scanning the open plaza where your next prank was about to unfold, “you ready?”
You grinned, tucking your phone into your back pocket. “Born ready.”
The plan was simple—classic distraction-and-diversion. Niko would pretend to be an art dealer auctioning off invisible sculptures in front of a small crowd, and you’d play his dramatic ex-girlfriend, storming in with a fake letter exposing him as a fraud. All for content, obviously. But more importantly, for the thrill.
As Niko took centre stage near the fountain, you kept to the side, watching with that familiar mix of pride and second-hand embarrassment as he launched into character.
“Ladies and gentlemen! I present to you a piece worth over £10,000. Handcrafted by the air itself…”
People started to gather, curiosity piqued. You waited for the perfect moment to barge in. Just before you did, a man approached you—tall, sharp suit, and a confident smile that said he was used to getting his way.
“You part of this little stunt?” he asked, eyes flicking from Niko to you.
You smirked. “What stunt?”
He chuckled, clearly entertained. “Right. You’re trouble, aren’t you?”
“Depends who’s asking.”
He held out his hand. “James.”
You didn’t take it. “I’m busy.”
James didn’t seem to care. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping. “Come on, you’re too pretty to be caught up in fake art sales. How about you ditch this and let me buy you a proper drink?”
Before you could respond, a shadow appeared at your side. Niko.
“Everything alright here?” he asked, voice casual—but with an edge.
James glanced at him. “We were just talking.”
Niko’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Doesn’t look like she was enjoying the conversation.”
You raised your eyebrows slightly. You’d seen Niko annoyed before—usually when someone spoiled a film or ate the last slice of pizza without asking. But this? This was different.
James scoffed, raising his hands. “Didn’t realise I needed permission.”
“You don’t,” Niko said smoothly. “You just need to learn how to take a hint.”
James narrowed his eyes but backed off, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.
The second he was out of earshot, you turned to Niko. “What was that?”
He shrugged, still watching the man’s retreating figure. “He was a creep.”
“I had it under control.”
“I know.” He paused. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you, that’s all.”
Your heart stuttered. It wasn’t what he said. It was how he said it—low, sincere, and unguarded. Like he hadn’t meant to admit it out loud.
“Why?” you asked, quietly.
Niko blinked. “What?”
“Why didn’t you like it?”
There was a beat of silence. And for once, the air between you didn’t feel playful. It felt… fragile.
“Because,” he said slowly, “I don’t like other people thinking they can have you.”
The words hit harder than expected. You stared at him, your usual grin forgotten.
“Niko…”
He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Look, maybe this is the worst idea I’ve ever had, and God knows I’ve had some bad ones—but I need to say this.”
You didn’t move. Couldn’t.
“I think I’ve been in love with you for a while,” he admitted. “And I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. But seeing that guy—watching him look at you like you were some prize—it made me realise I’d rather take the risk than stay silent.”
Your heart thudded in your ears. “You’re in love with me?”
“I think I always have been,” he said, almost sheepishly. “Even back when we used to sneak out of school to get ice cream and lie about it to your mum.”
A laugh bubbled out of you—half nerves, half disbelief. “You idiot.”
“Yeah.”
“You absolute idiot.”
“Is that a good ‘idiot’ or a bad one?”
You stepped forward, closing the gap between you. “Good. Very good.”
He smiled, relief flooding his face.
Then, without thinking, you reached up and kissed him.
It wasn’t fireworks. It wasn’t a cinematic moment set to music.
It was real.
Warm, soft, and years in the making.
When you pulled away, Niko stared at you like you’d just rewritten the laws of gravity.
“So…” he breathed. “This is happening?”
You nodded. “Yeah. It’s happening.”
He took your hand, lacing your fingers with his. “Still wanna do the prank?”
You laughed. “We already caused a scene. Might as well commit.”
He grinned, grabbing the fake letter from your pocket. “Then let’s cause chaos—as a couple.”
“Ugh. We’re going to be even more annoying, aren’t we?”
“Absolutely.”
Later that night, after you’d posted the prank video and ignored the group chat’s cries of “I KNEW IT,” you lay next to him on the sofa, shoulders touching, his arm draped lazily over yours.
“You’re my best friend, you know,” you said softly.
He turned his head to look at you. “You’re mine.”
“But now you’re also my boyfriend.”
“Bit weird, innit?”
“The best kind of weird.”
He smiled, and the look in his eyes told you one thing for sure:
This friendship was never going to be ruined.
It had just levelled up.
SUMMARY: After his third divorce, James Wilson seeks comfort in the home of his lifelong best friend. But one drunken heart-to-heart reveals a love that’s been quietly waiting all along—changing everything with a single kiss. (fluff)
WORD COUNT: 2,187 words
PAIRING: james wilson x reader
The rain had been falling in relentless sheets for hours now, painting streaks down the living room windows as if nature itself mourned alongside him. The soft hum of the television was the only sound competing with the rhythmic patter of water on glass, but neither he nor she was paying attention to the old black-and-white film playing. They’d seen it a hundred times.
James Wilson sat hunched at one end of the couch, one leg tucked underneath him, nursing the last half of a whiskey he’d barely touched. His suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor, tie loosened, shirt untucked. He looked worn out, not just physically, but spiritually—like a man who had misplaced every version of himself he’d ever been.
The reader, his best friend for over two decades, sat opposite him with her legs pulled up, a blanket draped over her lap, and a glass of wine in hand. She was watching him rather than the film, her heart a tangle of compassion and something far deeper—something more dangerous.
James was crashing on her couch again. His third divorce finalised just two days ago, and this time, he hadn’t even pretended to cope alone. He’d shown up on her doorstep in the rain, suitcase in hand, half-heartedly joking about how she might want to install a guest room just for him. She’d hugged him without a word and cooked him dinner before he could even change his shirt.
“You know,” he muttered now, voice hoarse from disuse, “I think I might just be... fundamentally broken.”
She tilted her head. “Don’t say that.”
“No, really.” He gestured vaguely with his glass. “Three marriages. Three failures. All of them started with such optimism. And ended like this. Me. On your couch. Again.”
He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sigh. His eyes—still so soft, so intelligent—were clouded with self-doubt.
She hesitated. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass. “Maybe you just haven’t found the right person.”
“Or maybe,” he said, looking at her now—really looking—“I’m not meant to find her. Maybe I was built for short sprints, not marathons. Maybe I’m just... not built for forever.”
The words settled between them like fog. She turned her gaze back to the flickering television screen, trying to pretend her heart hadn’t clenched. She’d always been there. Always. Through every wedding, every divorce, every night he called too late asking if she wanted to grab food because he couldn’t stand his own thoughts. She knew the real him—not just the polished oncologist with the gentle voice and kind eyes. She knew the version that broke, over and over again, and kept pretending he didn’t.
“James,” she said quietly, “can I tell you something?”
He blinked. “Of course. What is it?”
She set down her wine glass on the coffee table and folded her legs under herself properly, heart pounding like a drum in her chest. Her mouth felt dry. It was terrifying to say it—to finally speak what had lingered in the shadows for so long.
“I’ve loved you,” she said, voice barely a whisper, “for a long time.”
He didn’t move. For a moment, it felt like the world stopped spinning.
“I didn’t say anything because... well, you always seemed to be falling in love with someone else. And I didn’t want to be one more person who got added to the list. But I’ve always been here. I’ve always seen you.”
His brow furrowed slightly, the weight of her words pressing on him as though the very foundation of his reality had shifted.
“I thought you were just—” He faltered. “I mean, I knew we were close, but...”
“I never expected anything from you,” she continued, biting her lip. “I never wanted to complicate your life more than it already was. But I can’t sit here tonight and listen to you say you’re not meant for forever when I’ve spent all these years waiting to show you that you are.”
His hand ran through his hair, tousling the curls at the back of his head. “Jesus…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she added quickly. “It’s just... I couldn’t keep it in anymore.”
For a moment, silence reigned—thick and trembling. Then, slowly, James reached across the couch. His hand found hers, warm and hesitant, and he held it like it was fragile.
“You’ve always been the one constant,” he said, voice cracking. “The one person who never walked away. And I was so damn blind.”
She shook her head, eyes welling. “You weren’t blind. You were just trying to survive.”
He leaned closer, their faces just inches apart now. The room seemed to shrink around them, the sound of the rain dulling into white noise.
“You mean it?” he asked. “You’ve really... loved me this whole time?”
She nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Yeah. I really have.”
His lips brushed hers so gently at first it felt like a dream. But then he kissed her again—deeper, with years of longing wrapped into a single touch. His hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek, and she felt herself melt into him completely. The years, the pain, the what-ifs—they all slipped away in that kiss.
When they parted, she gave him a watery smile.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch tonight,” she said softly.
James looked at her, and in his eyes was something she hadn’t seen in him for a very long time—peace.
He nodded, slowly, like he was letting go of a lifetime of grief.
“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”
They walked to the bedroom together, fingers intertwined. No fanfare. No fireworks. Just quiet understanding and something sacred building between them. She pulled back the covers, and he lay down beside her, still dressed in his rumpled clothes. She curled into his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her, his chin resting gently atop her head.
For the first time in what felt like centuries, James Wilson slept soundly. And beside him, the woman who had always seen him for exactly who he was—flaws, kindness, and all—finally felt whole.
The rain slowed to a drizzle. The house, once filled with quiet ache, now held something gentler: the sound of two hearts finally resting in rhythm.
SUMMARY: In a world scarred by silence and survival, love finds a way to whisper hope… (fluff)
WORD COUNT: 1,470 words
PAIRING: henry burrell x reader
DISCLAIMER: So I just want you guys to know that I know that Henry died with Sam (I played the game and see the series) but he's so beautiful, how could I not make an imagine where everything's alright??!!!
Winter had fallen soft over Jackson.
Thick snow clung to the rooftops and treetops, a hush settled over the streets, and for the first time in months — no, years — the world felt still. Safe. Human.
Your boots crunched quietly along the frozen path leading up to the small cabin you, Henry, and Sam now called home. Smoke rose from the chimney. A warm glow flickered behind the curtains. Somewhere inside, Sam was probably drawing, and Henry was likely pacing as he always did when you were out of sight longer than ten minutes.
He’s going to lose it when I tell him.
The thought alone made you smile — and wrap your coat tighter around yourself.
When you first met Henry and Sam, the world hadn’t given you much to smile about. You were passing through Kansas City, keeping your head down and your knife close, and they were just trying to survive the day. Sam had taken to you instantly — curious and sweet — and Henry had… well, Henry had tried not to.
You caught him watching you when he thought you weren’t looking. Protective, sharp-eyed, always tense. But there was something gentle underneath it all. Something careful. You didn’t blame him for guarding it.
By the time you reached the outskirts of Wyoming together, his hand had found yours more than once. And when Jackson opened its gates, they didn’t just take in two brothers and a stray woman — they took in a family.
The cabin smelled like stew when you opened the door.
“Hey!” Sam greeted you with a wide grin, flipping his sketchbook closed and jumping off the couch. His fingers moved quickly, signing, You took forever. Henry was gonna go look for you.
“Sorry, bud,” you laughed, ruffling his hair. “I got distracted by Maria. She caught me for a chat about the market stalls.”
Sam rolled his eyes in mock sympathy and disappeared back to the sofa. You closed the door and turned — and there he was.
Henry stood in the kitchen, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.
“You alright?” he asked, voice casual, but the worry showed in the tight set of his jaw.
“Of course I am,” you said, stepping closer. “Just… needed a walk.”
He pulled you into a hug without another word, wrapping his arms around you like the world still might try to steal you away.
“I hate when you do that,” he murmured into your hair.
“What?”
“Leave without saying why.”
“I was nervous.”
That made him lean back, eyes scanning your face. “Nervous about what?”
You chewed your lip.
And then — you took his hand, led him gently to the armchair by the fire, and sat down opposite. Sam glanced over, but didn’t interrupt. He knew your “serious face” by now.
“I’ve got something to tell you,” you said softly.
Henry tilted his head.
“Okay. Should I be worried?”
You let out a soft breath and reached into your coat pocket, pulling out the small square you’d been keeping there all day — a scrap of cloth you’d stitched, in secret, for weeks now. When you unfolded it, the tiny symbol you’d embroidered sat in the centre:
A star. A heart. And beneath it... a rattle.
Henry stared at it.
Then back at you.
Then down again.
“Is this—” His voice broke. “Wait. Wait, is this what I think it is?”
You nodded, lip trembling.
“I’m pregnant, Henry.”
The silence stretched for just a heartbeat.
Then his eyes went wide.
“No shit?”
You laughed through a watery smile. “No shit.”
“You’re serious?”
You took his hand and placed it gently over your stomach. It was still flat, still quiet — but something flickered there now. Something new. Something alive.
He inhaled like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
Then suddenly — he was on the floor in front of you, on his knees, both hands cupping your waist like you might float away if he let go.
“Holy crap,” he whispered. “Holy crap, baby. We’re— We’re having a baby?”
Tears welled in your eyes. “Yeah.”
He kissed your stomach. Just once. Gentle. Then looked up at you like you’d just told him you’d rebuilt the moon.
“You’re amazing,” he said. “You’re— God, I don’t even have a word for it. I’m freaking out.”
“Good freaking out or bad?”
“The best kind,” he laughed, resting his head against your stomach. “Like... end-of-the-world-miracle kind.”
You ran your fingers through his hair, heart full to bursting.
Later, after dinner, you found Sam in his room — legs kicked up, drawing what looked like a knight fighting a dinosaur.
“Hey,” you said, tapping the doorway.
He looked up, grinning, and signed, Henry’s been smiling like crazy. Did you tell him something funny?
You chuckled and crossed the room, sitting beside him.
“Something even better,” you signed slowly, careful with your fingers. We’re going to have a baby.
Sam blinked.
Then again.
Then his mouth dropped open and he jumped to his feet. WHAT?!
You laughed as he signed excitedly: For real? Like a real baby? Is it gonna live here with us?!
Henry walked in just in time to see Sam launching into a flurry of signs.
“We told him,” you said over your shoulder.
“I can tell,” Henry grinned, stepping in. “Sam—hey—slow down, slow down.”
Sam spun to face him, signed with wide eyes, Is the baby gonna be like me? Deaf?
Henry paused.
Then crossed the room and dropped to Sam’s eye level.
“I don’t know, buddy,” he said gently. “It might be. It might not.”
Sam looked uncertain.
“But listen to me,” Henry said, touching his arm to get his attention. “If the baby is like you, then that’s a blessing. You hear me? That’s the best thing that could happen.”
Sam's shoulders relaxed. Then he signed, Can I teach them how to sign?
You beamed.
Henry ruffled his curls. “You’re gonna be the best big brother in the world.”
That night, Henry hardly slept.
He tossed and turned, arm draped over your waist, occasionally sitting up to check that the covers hadn’t slipped below your belly. At one point, you stirred and caught him staring at the ceiling, eyes glassy.
“You okay?” you murmured.
“I don’t know how to do this.”
You turned to face him. “Henry—”
“No, I mean, I want to. God, I want to. I’m just scared. I couldn’t even keep Sam safe. Not really. I couldn’t protect him from what happened to us before. And now we’ve got a baby coming, and it’s like—what if I mess this up too?”
You reached for his hand under the blanket.
“You didn’t mess up, Henry. You saved Sam. You got him here. You protected both of us when we didn’t have anything. That’s what a father does. You already are one.”
He exhaled shakily.
“Do you think they’ll be safe here?” he asked.
You paused.
“I think this place is as close as we’ll ever get to safe. And whatever happens... we’ll face it together.”
Henry kissed your forehead.
“I love you.”
You smiled in the dark.
“I love you more.”
The following weeks flew by.
Everyone in Jackson quickly noticed the change — Henry was even more attentive than usual. He insisted on carrying anything heavier than a loaf of bread. He asked Maria a million questions about the clinic. He started building a second crib for Sam’s stuffed animals “for practice.”
Sam, meanwhile, was beside himself with excitement. He drew picture after picture of you with a baby bump, you holding a swaddled newborn, Henry crying (which you loved), and himself wearing a superhero cape labelled “Best Brother Ever.”
Your belly grew. So did your heart.
One evening, Henry stood behind you in the mirror, hands around your waist, gently rubbing the swell beneath your shirt.
“Look at you,” he whispered. “God, you’re glowing.”
“I look like I ate an entire bear.”
“You look perfect.”
You smirked. “You always say that when I’m grumpy and sore.”
“That’s because I always mean it.”
You leaned back into him, closing your eyes.
“I can’t wait to meet them,” you murmured. “To see you hold them.”
“I think about it every second,” he said quietly. “Every single one.”
That night, you woke up to a strange flutter in your belly.
Not painful. Not sharp.
Just... new.
You gasped, placing a hand over the spot. Then shook Henry gently awake.
“Henry,” you whispered. “They kicked.”
His eyes flew open.
“What?”
You grabbed his hand and pressed it against your stomach.
And just like that — the flutter came again.
Henry’s face crumpled with emotion.
“They’re real,” he whispered. “They’re really coming.”
You both laughed, kissed, cried a little.
And in that tiny wooden cabin, the future didn’t feel scary anymore.
It felt like hope.
A/N: MY MAN HENRY HAS TO HAVE SOME LOVE YALL!!!! HE'S LITERALLY SO CUTE AND SUCH A NICE PERSON I LOVE HIM!!!!
Also I've been working on this for a while so I hope you like it! Working already in part2.
