Ms. Snowy @snow-snowball - Tumblr Blog

Snowy Medical student

19 yo multifandom

{masterlist} {rules} {request} {teglist}

English is not my first language!

🪩 2026 do reblog, but don’t copy or publish my work on other platforms, or translate (without my permission) into other languages. spam — block, hate — block, insulting my favorite writers — block.dividers belongs to me @snow-snowball

#snow snowball #don't copy #don't translate #reblog

Hey...

@snow-snowball

My notes, my muses… ❄️

I know it's been quiet here. No new stories. No updates. Just… silence. And some of you have been sending me sweet little messages — "are you okay?", "is the blog dead?", "snow, where are you?". The truth is — I have an exam coming. A big one. And right now, I have zero time for writing. But I haven't forgotten you. I remember every request. Every single one. I will write again. I will answer everything. I just need a little time.

So please be patient with me, my dears. And take care of yourselves while I'm gone.

❄️ Snowy ❄️

requests are open • i see you • i'll be back

#snow snowball #request #ask #im sorry #where am i #thank you #thanks for the submission!#love you guys

I wanted to check with you before requesting. Can I request character reacting and comforting female reader when she told him how she has suicidal thoughts? I'm not sure if I can request so please tell me if I can't! Thanks!

Hello, my muse. First of all — thank you for asking before requesting. That means so much more than you know. And yes. You can request this. I write about pain, about fear, about the quiet moments when life feels too heavy to carry. So this theme is not forbidden here. But please — let me be honest with you, the way I always try to be.

I will write this. Because I believe that even the darkest thoughts deserve to be met with gentleness, not silence.

But I will never romanticise suicidal thoughts. No "beautiful sadness". No "he saved me with one kiss". That's not how love works, and that's not how pain works.

Before you request — please tell me:

Which character touches your heart the most for this?

What setting do you want? (modern AU, coffee shops, or)?

And most important — are you okay, dear? This request worries me a little, in the softest way.

You are allowed to request sad things here. You are also allowed to just… stay and breathe for a while. Send it whenever you're ready. I'll be here. With cold hands and a warm heart, — Snowy❄️

#snow snowball #snowball’s request #anon ask #thanks anon!

hi snow!!!! hope this ask finds you well!! i really really love your weak hero works (/ω＼)

i was wondering if you could write something along the lines of “weak hero characters with a dancer s/o” !!

dancing / waacking is my passion and i’d love to see how you’d represent it ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

anyway, have a lovely day / night!! bye bye!!! (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

Hey, my muse. Thank you for such a wonderful request — and I'm so sorry for the delay. Right now I'm digging through all my requests while preparing for my exams and tests at the same time. But I heard your melody. So here it is — just for you. 🎵

Weak Hero characters with a dancer s/o (waacking /dancing headcanons)

headcanon with: Ahn Su-Ho, Yeon Si-Eun, Seo Jun-Tae, Park Hu-Min, Kang Woo-Young, Go Hyun-Tak, Geum Seong-Je, Na Baek-Jin.

wearnings: fem!Y/N. Fluff and soft moments — but also rough language and aggressive behaviour from some characters (Kang Woo-Young, Geum Seong-Je, Na Baek-Jin.). Mentions of violence, blood, fighting, bullying. timeskip boys. No smut. If you're uncomfortable with rough boys who slowly learn to be soft — this might not be for you. Read with care.

a/n: Thank you for trusting me with your passion, my dear. Dancing is a language I don't speak fluently — but I tried to listen with my heart. 🎶. English is not my first language, so please forgive me if something sounds strange or awkward. I tried my best to make these headcanons feel alive and honest — like a melody I heard and wanted to share with you. Thank you for being patient with me. 🎵

Yeon Si-Eun

Si-Eun doesn't talk much. But when you dance — he watches. Not with wide eyes or open wonder. Just… quietly. Intensely.

He notices everything: the way your wrists snap, the way your shoulders roll, the way you breathe at the end of a sequence.

Si-Eun doesn't consider dancing to be something useless. It's a sport — and not everyone can handle it. So he's proud of you. Not because you're the best, but because despite all the difficulties, you keep going.

As long as dancing makes you happy, he has no problem with it. Not a single complaint. Not even a sigh.

But if you start hurting your body — overtraining, skipping sleep, ignoring pain — he'll notice. He won't lecture you. That's not his way. He'll just sit next to you and calmly explain why it's dangerous. No raised voice. No disappointment in his eyes. Just quiet, solid care. Recommendations you'd be wise to follow.

"You look free. And happy…" he said once, handing you a towel and a bottle of water. A pause. Then, quieter,"That's good."

You almost dropped the bottle. That was the closest thing to a love confession you ever heard from him. And honestly? You didn't need anything more.

Ahn Su-Ho:

Su-Ho worships the way you execute those complex combos. He watches from the corner, mouth hanging open, as sweat pours down your face and drips onto the floor while you shift into a handstand and roll into this slow, sensual wave. Drool literally escapes the corner of his lips. He swallows — loudly. Si-eun stands right next to him, staring at his friend with pure, silent judgment.

Su-Ho is your number one fan. He comes to every single performance. He screams louder than anyone. He claps harder than anyone. And if someone dares to criticise your dancing? He just smacks the back of their head and goes, "You can barely stand on your own two feet. But my baby? My baby does that. Sucks to be you. Bite me."

If you lose a competition or something doesn't work out — he just grabs your face and covers it with kisses, mumbling between each one, "You're the best. You're the most talented. Got it? Got it? Got it."

He loves spending his free time in your studio. He tries to copy your moves — all clumsy wobbles and desperate flailing — and the whole room ends up laughing. But Su-ho just grins and announces, "Look how smooth I am. Jennie herself would beg me to be her backup dancer. Admit it."

Park Hu-Min (Baku):

Baku is fascinated. He literally sits on the floor with snacks and watches you practice like it's a Netflix series.

When you dance, his eyes go huge. Like a kid watching fireworks for the first time. His mouth forms a perfect little "o" and he forgets to blink. Sometimes he even forgets to breathe — and then he coughs violently because, well, air is still necessary.

Hu-Min sits on the floor with a bag of chips, but the chips go completely ignored. His head follows every move like a puppy watching a bouncing ball. If you do something especially cool — a sharp spin, a deep dip, a fast waacking hit — he actually gasps. Out loud. Like you just performed a miracle in front of him.

Si-Eun once asked him,"Why are you sitting like that?" Baku was literally leaning forward with both hands on the floor, chin practically touching the ground, eyes sparkling. He didn't even hear the question.

When you finish a routine, he doesn't just clap. He explodes. Jumping up and down, yelling "THAT'S MY GIRL! THAT'S MY ACTUAL GIRL!" — as if everyone in the room had forgotten and needed a reminder. Hu-Min runs to you even if you're drenched in sweat and pulls you into a hug so tight you squeak. He doesn't care. He spins you around once or twice, laughing like a child on a carousel.

If someone compliments you, he puffs out his chest like he personally taught you everything. "Yeah," he mumbles proudly, nodding way too many times. "Yeah, she's incredible. I know. I KNOW."

Hu-Min loves to film you on his phone — but his videos are always shaky because he's too busy cheering in the background. And if you watch them later, all you hear is his voice, "OHHH! DID YOU SEE THAT?! OH MY GOD. BABY YOU'RE INSANE. I'M MARRYING YOU."

And when you're tired after practice, he just pats the spot next to him on the floor, opens a new bag of chips, and grins,"You did good. Like… really good. Now sit. Rest. You earned it, superstar."

And his eyes are still sparkling. They never really stop when Hu-Min looks at you.

Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak):

Gotak is sharp. His words come out like quick jabs — honest, unfiltered, and sometimes way too harsh. He acts first, thinks later. And then, when he sees your face fall for just a second — guilt crashes into him like a wave. He looks away. Rubs the back of his neck. Mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "…sorry".

But here's the thing: he's not against your dancing. Not even close. Because Gotak understands. He used to be in love with taekwondo the way you're in love with movement. The discipline. The burn. The way your body learns to speak when words aren't enough. He had that fire once. He knows what it feels like to find your thing — the one thing that makes the rest of the world go quiet.

But he also knows what it's like to lose it. His knee. The thing he loved most became the thing he couldn't touch anymore. Hyun-Tak never talks about it. But his hand sometimes drifts to his old scar when he watches you dance. Involuntary. Painful. Loving.

And that's where the fear lives. He doesn't say "be careful" like a sweet boyfriend. He says it like a command. "Don't do that. You'll break something." Or "Are you stupid? That move is dangerous." It comes out sharp, almost angry. But his eyes — his eyes are terrified. You can see it. The flashback behind his pupils. Someone else falling. Someone else's dream cracking in real time.

One time you tried a new complex transition — a twist, a drop, something that made him shoot up from his chair before you even hit the floor. He grabbed your arm. Too hard. He didn't mean to. "What are you doing?" His voice was cold. But his hands were shaking. You pulled away, confused, hurt. And Gotak just stood there — frozen between wanting to explain and not knowing how. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "…I just…" Nothing came out. Hyun-Tak turned around and walked to the window. His back was stiff. His shoulders were tense. And then you heard it — a quiet, almost broken, "I don't want you to lose it too."

If someone says something stupid about your dancing — he doesn't shout. He just looks at them. Cold. Quiet. The kind of look that says "finish that sentence and I'll finish you." The person always shuts up.

Sometimes, late at night, Hyun-Tak admits things. Barely audible. Into your hair. "You look… different when you dance." "What do you mean?" "Lighter." He doesn't say beautiful. He doesn't say talented. But lighter — from him — means more than all of those words combined.

And when you catch him staring a little too long — he looks away first. Rubs his neck. Mumbles, "Don't get cocky." But the tips of his ears are red. And you know. You know exactly what he means.

Seo Jun-Tae:

Jun-Tae is shy. Not in a cold way — in a "I have no idea how to talk to girls and my brain short-circuits when you look at me too long" way. He's awkward. Clumsy with words. His hands never know where to go. Jun-tae stumbles over compliments. Tries to say something smooth — and then immediately regrets it and stares at the floor like it owes him money.

But when you dance — he forgets to be awkward. His eyes go soft. His mouth falls open just a little. Jun-Tae leans against the wall with his arms crossed, but there's no coolness to it. Just… wonder. Like he's watching something he wasn't supposed to see. Something precious.

If you catch him staring — he flinches. Looks away so fast you almost hear a whiplash. His ears turn pink. He starts fiddling with his sleeve or his phone or literally anything that isn't you. "I wasn't — I just — you were —" Jun-Tae never finishes the sentence. You learn to just smile and let him escape.

But here's the secret: Jun-tae brags about you. Just… not to your face.

When he's with his friends — Si-Eun, Su-Ho, Baku and Gotak — his whole posture changes. Jun-Tae sits up straighter. Puffs his chest out just a little. And casually, so casually, he drops, "Oh, my girlfriend? Yeah, she dances. Like… professionally." He pauses for effect. Lets it sink in. "She's really good. Like… REALLY good. You wouldn't get it. You don't have the eye for it."

If someone challenges him — "Yeah? Prove it." — Jun-Tae immediately pulls out his phone. Scrolls through his gallery (he has a whole folder dedicated to you, don't check the number of videos). And then he holds the phone out with both hands, like he's presenting something sacred. He watches their faces while they watch you. Looking for admiration. Looking for respect. For you.

And if someone compliments you? "Dude, she's actually insane." Jun-Tae just nods. Tries to play it cool. "Yeah. I know." But the smile that cracks across his face is huge. He can't hide it. He doesn't even try anymore.

In your presence, though? Jun-Tae clams up. All that confidence evaporates. You say something kind about him to your friends — and he hides his burning face behind his hands, groaning, "Stop. Don't. Please. I'll die. I'll actually die."

One time Su-Ho asked him, right in front of you, "Jun-tae, isn't your girlfriend the best dancer ever?" Jun-Tae froze. His soul left his body. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. And then he just… pointed at you. Without a word. And nodded aggressively. His face was crimson. You still tease him about it.

He's terrified of you getting hurt. But Jun-Tae never says it directly. Instead, when you try something risky, he just… hovers. Hands half-raised. Ready to catch you. Not saying anything. Just there. Nervous. Chewing his lip.

If you actually fall — or stumble — he's next to you in a second. Not yelling. Not lecturing. Just kneeling beside you, hands fluttering over your knee or your wrist, asking quietly, "Does it hurt?… Are you okay? Should I get ice?" His voice is so small. So scared.

And late at night, when he thinks you're asleep, Jun-Tae whispers things he'd never say during the day. Into your hair. Against your shoulder. "You're so cool when you dance. Like… so cool. I don't know how you do it." He pauses. Swallows. "I'm really lucky. Don't tell anyone I said that."

You pretend to be asleep. Every single time. Because you know — if you open your eyes — he'll shut down completely. And this quiet, awkward, secretly-proud version of him is your favourite.

Sometimes Jun-Tae tries to copy your moves in the studio when no one's watching. You've seen him through the window. He's terrible. Completely uncoordinated. But he's smiling. And when Jun-Tae catches you watching — he slips, falls on his butt, and just lies there on the floor, covering his face with both hands. "I'm fine. Don't look at me. I'm fine. Please leave."

You don't leave. You sit down next to him on the floor. And after a minute of silence, Jun-Tae peeks through his fingers. Shy. Embarrassed. Completely in love. "You saw nothing..."

Na Baek-Jin:

Baek-Jin is cold. Not in a cruel way — in a "I have more important things to do than feel emotions" way. His face rarely changes. His voice stays flat. He doesn't do grand gestures. He doesn't do soft words. He watches you dance the same way he reads a financial report — analytical, distant, unreadable.

But here's the thing: he likes it. Baek-Jin likes watching you dance. He just would never say that out loud.

When you're in your studio, moving, sweating, existing in that space — he sometimes stands in the doorway. Arms crossed. Leaning against the frame. His eyes follow you. Slowly. Deliberately. Like he's memorising something. But the moment you notice him — the moment you smile and wave — Baek-Jin just turns around and walks away. No explanation. No compliment. Just… silence.

He never attends your performances. Not once. You've invited him. Multiple times. He always says the same thing, "I have work." No apology. No "maybe next time". Just a flat statement. And then he disappears into his study.

His obsession is quiet. Controlled. Invisible to everyone except you.

Baek-Jin knows your class schedule better than you do. He knows which choreographers are the best in the city. Baek-Jin knows when your shoes need replacing — not because you told him, but because he noticed the sole wearing down. And he never asks. Baek-Jin simply… arranges things.

A new bank transaction appears. A famous choreographer's name. A prepaid course for six months. You confront him, "Did you…?" He doesn't look up from his laptop. "You needed it." "But you could have asked—" "Would you have said no?" Silence. "That's what I thought."

If you miss a class — if you're sick, tired, lazy — he notices. And he's not happy. "You didn't go today." Not a question. A statement. His voice is even colder than usual. "I was tired—" "You're paying for it. Go. Or don't. I don't care." But Baek-Jin does care. That's the problem. He just can't say it like a normal person.

You once asked him, "Do you even like watching me dance?" He paused. Looked at you. For a long, uncomfortable moment. And then, "It doesn't bother me." That was the closest thing to "yes" you ever got from Baek-jin.

He never claps. Never cheers. Never says "you did well". But after a long practice session — when you're lying on the studio floor, exhausted, covered in sweat — Baek-Jin sometimes walks in. Places a bottle of water next to your head. And leaves. No words. Just the soft click of the door.

If someone else criticises your dancing — he doesn't defend you publicly. He doesn't argue. Baek-Jin doesn't shout. But that person's funding gets mysteriously cut the next week. Their project falls through. Their schedule gets complicated. Baek-jin never mentions it. You're not supposed to know. But you're not stupid.

His favourite moments are the quiet ones. When you're too tired to notice him watching. When you think you're alone. When you dance just for yourself — sloppy, raw, unfiltered. He stands in the shadows. Arms crossed. Face unreadable. And inside? Something shifts. Something aches. He doesn't have a word for it. He refuses to find one.

One night, after a terrible performance — you messed up. Forgot the choreography. Felt humiliated. You came home and didn't say a word. Just sat on the floor. Staring at nothing.

Baek-Jin walked past you twice. Didn't look at you. Didn't ask. On the third pass — he stopped. Stood behind you for a long moment. And then, without sitting down, without touching you, "You're still better than anyone in that room. They just don't know enough to see it."

Baek-Jin left immediately after. Didn't wait for a response. Didn't want one. But you heard him. And you remembered.

He doesn't attend. He doesn't applaud. He doesn't say "I'm proud of you". But your classes are always paid for. Your shoes are always new. Your name is always protected.

Kang Woo-Young:

Back in his school days, Woo-Young was the terror of the entire district — hot-tempered, rude, with fists that itched faster than his tongue could come up with an excuse. He fought over anything and nothing, talked to girls as if they owed him their lives, and had no idea what tenderness even meant. When you first started dating, he could snap "get lost, can't you see I'm busy" without even turning around. He could mock your clothes, your dreams, your dancing — simply because he didn't know how to handle any emotion except through aggression. You fought often. Sometimes he would storm out, slamming the door, and come back hours later with bloody knuckles and burning eyes. You cried. But for some reason, you never left.

Then something shifted. Not overnight — God, no. Woo-Young didn't know how to change quickly. But he started watching. Not just glancing — really watching. He saw how your face lit up when you talked about choreography. How you practiced the same move a hundred times until your knees bruised and your feet bled. How you never, ever gave up. And somewhere deep inside his chest, beneath all that teenage anger and fear of being soft, a tiny, unfamiliar thing began to grow. Respect? Admiration? He didn't have a word for it back then. He just knew he wanted to see you succeed. And that terrified him more than any opponent in the ring.

Years passed. The angry boy with bloody fists grew up. The fights became fewer. The slammed doors — quieter. Woo-Young learned, slowly and painfully, that being a man didn't mean destroying everything around you. It meant protecting. It meant staying. It meant swallowing your pride and saying "I was wrong" — even when every bone in your body screamed to do the opposite.

And you? You became an idol. A real one. With stages and lights and screaming crowds and magazine covers. You worked for it — bled for it — cried for it in his arms more nights than he could count. And he watched you rise. Not from the audience, not from the front row. He watched from the shadows, from the corners, from the places where cameras didn't reach. Because this was your moment. Your light. He wasn't going to steal it.

But when you came home — exhausted, glowing, still humming the melody of your latest song — that's when Woo-young became loud. Not with anger anymore. With pride.

"Did you see her?" he would ask anyone who visited your shared apartment. "Did you see what she did today? She was on national television. NATIONAL. And she smiled like it was nothing." He would puff out his chest, point at the screen, and narrate your every move like a sportscaster who'd had too much coffee. Your friends laughed. Your manager rolled their eyes. But Woo-Young didn't care. He was overflowing.

Sometimes, late at night, when the makeup was off and the stage lights were just a memory, you would catch him staring. Not at your face — at your hands. The same hands that used to shake after a hard practice. The same feet that used to blister and bleed. "You did it," he would whisper, more to himself than to you. "You actually did it. My wife is an idol. How the hell did that happen?"

He still doesn't understand dancing. Not really. He can't tell you the difference between waacking and voguing, can't name a single one of your choreographers, can't predict which move comes next. But he doesn't need to. Woo-Young watches you the way a man watches a sunrise — not because he understands the science of light and atmosphere, but because it's beautiful. Because it makes him feel small in the best possible way. Because it reminds him that something this graceful exists in the same world where he once only knew how to break things.

And when you win — when you hold up a trophy or cry tears of joy on a live broadcast — Woo-Young doesn't stay in the shadows anymore. He pushes through the crowd, wraps his arms around you (carefully, so carefully, because he's still strong enough to hurt without meaning to), and buries his face in your hair.

"That's my wife," he murmurs, voice thick with something suspiciously close to tears. "That's my wife, and she's the most incredible person on this entire planet, and I don't deserve her, but I'm never letting her go."

The old Woo-Young — the angry boy with bloody fists — would have laughed at a man who talked like that. Called him weak and whipped. But the old Woo-Young didn't know what it felt like to watch someone you love shine. To realise that your only job now is to stand behind her and catch her if she falls.

So he watches. He cheers. He tells everyone who will listen (and plenty who won't) that his wife is an idol, did you know that? He films your performances on his phone — shaky footage, because his hands still tremble with excitement — and watches them back alone at night, smiling like an idiot in the dark.

And sometimes, when you're practicing at home and you catch him staring from the doorway, you ask "What?" He shrugs. Tries to look cool. Fails miserably. "Nothing. Just… you're really good at that. The thing with your arms. The… you know." He waves vaguely. "The pretty move." You laugh. He blushes. And somewhere in the distance, the ghost of that angry teenage boy finally, finally puts his fists down.

Geum Seong-Je:

Seong-Je is a problem. Not a person — a problem. He smokes in school bathrooms, skips classes, hits first and asks questions later. There's always a cigarette dangling between his teeth, even when he talks. Especially when he talks. His eyes are cold and half-lidded, like this whole world bored him a hundred years ago.

He's rude. To everyone. Teachers don't bother with him anymore. Students cross the street when they see him coming. His knuckles are scarred. His words are sharp. He doesn't apologise — ever. That's the Seong-Je everyone knows.

Then there's the rooftop. His rooftop. The only place where he doesn't have to pretend. Seong-Je goes there to smoke, to think, to exist without people staring at him like he's a ticking bomb. That's where he first saw you dance. No music. No stage. Just you — barefoot on dirty concrete — moving slowly. Arms like water. Body bending and swaying like you were in a completely different world. A softer world. A cleaner world. The cigarette fell from his lips. He didn't pick it up.

Because here's the thing: Seong-Je's hands are bloody. Not literally — not always — but metaphorically? Absolutely. He's hurt people. Bruised people. Made people cry. His hands know violence better than they know anything else. And your hands? Your hands make shapes. Soft shapes. Fluid shapes. Shapes that have never punched a wall or grabbed a collar or shoved someone against a locker. That's the line between you. And Seong-Je feels it every time he watches.

He doesn't understand dancing. Doesn't care about technique or genres or whatever. He just sees you — moving like you're untouchable — and suddenly his own hands feel heavy. Dirty. Wrong for this space.

Seong-Je never interrupts you. Never claps. Never says a word while you're moving. He just sits on the concrete, lights a cigarette, and watches. His knuckles are bruised. Your arms are floating. Same rooftop. Two completely different worlds.

When you finish — when you finally notice him sitting there — you smile. Every time. You're not afraid of him. That confuses him more than anything.

"You're still here," you say.

"Yeah," he says. "Obviously." Then he looks at his own hands. The scratches. The dirt under his nails. He shoves them into his pockets.

He doesn't tell you that he's thinking about the contrast. About how you look like something that shouldn't exist in his world — too clean, too light, too good. And about how his world is nothing but broken glass and split lips and the metallic taste of someone else's blood.

He doesn't tell you that when you dance, he feels like a stray dog watching a bird. Like something filthy pressing its nose against a clean window. But he keeps coming back. Every night. Same time. Same spot.

One night, after a fight — a bad one — Seong-Je shows up with blood still drying on his knuckles. His lip is split. His shirt is torn. He sits down heavier than usual. Lights a cigarette with shaking hands. "Are you okay?" "None of your business. Keep dancing." You don't argue. You start moving again. Slow. Gentle. The same angelic movements that make him forget, for a few minutes, what his hands have done. He watches. His bloody knuckles rest on his knees. His cigarette burns between his fingers, untouched.

When you leave — when you wave goodbye and disappear down the stairs — he stays. Looks at the spot where you were dancing. Then looks at his own hands.

The blood has dried. The cigarette has gone out.

Seong-Je lights another one. Doesn't smile. Doesn't cry. Just sits there, a rough bully with bloody hands, replaying your soft movements in his head like a prayer he doesn't deserve to know.

"… Angel," he mutters to the empty rooftop. The word tastes strange in his mouth.

Please do not copy, repost, translate, or publish my work on other platforms (TikTok, YouTube, Wattpad, Instagram, etc.) without my explicit written permission. Do not claim my writing as your own. Do not use my dividers or banners without tagging me (@snow-snowball). Reblogs are welcome and loved! They help my music reach more ears. 💕 If you see my work somewhere else without my name on it — please let me know. Thank you for respecting my time, my tears, and my late nights. © 2026 snow-snowball. All rights reserved.

is there a reason you only do fem!Y/N

Forgive me for taking so long to answer this. I'm a girl myself… so writing for a female reader just feels more natural to me. Please don't be upset — I simply don't feel confident when I try to write for other genders.

#snow snowball #request #snowball’s requests #anon ask #thanks anon!

I sent in 2 requests but please take all the time you need!

Yes, my muse. I saw both of your requests. And I'll write them — the moment I have air to breathe and time to sit at my piano. Thank you for looking at me and my little blog this way… the melody of your soul is simply beautiful.

#snow snowball #request #anon ask #thanks anon!#snowball’s requests

Can you make the screen black and the words white for smaus as smaus normally have white screen and black words? Only if you can and you don't mind of course! Thanks!

Forgive me, my dear — I didn't fully grasp your message. You see, I recently moved to an Instagram-style format for my smau chats. So now my screen is black, and the words are white. (You can spot this in my latest chat posts.)

#snow snowball #snowball’s requests #reqs open #anon ask #thanks anon!

I have several questions about your rules! Thanks in advance!

How many requests can I send at once?

Would you do the same prompt with different characters whether it's the same or different fandoms?

Can we request for male reader, female reader, gender neutral reader, etc?

Can we request characters from different fandoms in a request?

Are there any topics you won't do like rape, suicide, etc?

Do you do poly ships x reader?

Would you mind if we request for Alternate Universes or Aus like AU where the character lives happily?

Would you mind if the request is suggestive, implied sex, or mentioned sex but no explicit sex?

Can we request Dom/sub, creampie, bondage, cunnilingus, spanking, finger fucking, size kink, deepthroating, threesome, virginity loss, squirting, nipple play, praise kink, shibari, voice kink, breeding kink, overstimulation, body worship, crossdressing, coming in pants/underwear, and lingerie? I don't want to request something that makes you uncomfortable!

For Lads requests, can we request non mc reader?

What kinks would you accept for requests?

Can anons request smut?

Can we request dark mode for smaus?

Can we check with you if you received our requests?

Oh, thank you, dear, for asking such questions. I apologize for not elaborating as thoroughly as I could have, but I will do my best to answer each of your questions in detail!

1) So! I'm not that popular of a writer here, and my audience, although small, is very comfortable, so you can send as many requests as you want. I see every request and I complete them in a timely manner. Due to lack of time, I feel quite ashamed in front of you, guys, but I promise to complete every request (I've had some cool ideas hanging around since the summer of '25, and like some kind of bitch, I can't start working on them, I'm sorry!!!!).

2) I don't see anything wrong with giving the same idea a try but with other characters. Because — my muse — each character is unique; I hear a completely different melody from each soul.

3) Oh, to be completely honest with you… lately, my heart writes more easily for a female reader. I could still try to write for another gender, but it would be a different kind of song, and not an easy one. Forgive me, my sweet note.

4) Hmm… that would be a fusion of completely different musical styles — like classical colliding with hard rock. But you know what? It sounds wonderfully strange and exciting. I think… we could try that.

5) You've touched on a very important topic, my attentive listener. I write stories where pain and darkness sometimes play — but only within a melody I choose myself. I will never write scenes where the music turns into a scream without consent.

Here are my "silent notes" — themes that will never appear in my work, because they simply don't resonate with my soul:

The heaviest — what I will never pick up:

Rape and any form of sexual violence (including scenes involving minors)

Coercion, loss of control, drugging

Orgies and group sex — too chaotic for my music

Incest — a dissonance I don't wish to hear

Detailed descriptions of suicide — I couldn't write that beautifully or correctly, only painfully. So just… no.

Animal cruelty

Cannibalism and guro (bloody mutilation in a sexual context)

What I kept silent about before, but now say openly — my shame and my lesson:

The reader's skin color — I once mentioned it inadvertently in a story and saw how uncomfortable it made so many of you. I'm sorry. Since then, I've understood: my reader has no color, only a melody of the soul.

Weight and physical appearance of the reader — I don't write "slender fingers" or "curvy hips." My reader is simply "you," and your body is perfect in its uniqueness. I won't measure it with words.

Pedophilia and large age gaps — it makes me so uncomfortable that my hand wouldn't even lift to write it for the sake of an "interesting plot." No.

Religious themes — I respect every faith and the lack of faith. It's too easy to hurt someone's sacred things. I'll stay silent where music might become offensive.

Nationality and ethnicity — my stories are for everyone who hears me. No flags. No borders.

Political questions — there's no room in my blog for arguments about power, laws, or parties. There's only love, pain, fluff, and angst.

I believe that even the most complex and dark themes can be explored without crossing the line of consent. So please — trust my tags and my intuition, as if you were listening to a vinyl record and knew exactly which track to turn the volume down on.

6) As I told you before, my muse… I don't like that sound. So — for better or worse — my fingers will never find those keys.

7) Absolutely! I love AU! It's like discovering a new genre of music — or blending styles together until they birth an unexpected hit. If you've seen my Russian Telegram channel (or honestly just my writing anywhere), you already know: I'm a huge AU fan. So many of my works and ideas live there.

8) I love writing sensual and light scenes. Honestly, straight-up wild (what? haha) sex? I'm just not good at describing it. I don't know why. No matter how many times I try, the melody of that kind of work makes every single string tense up. So — hints of sex, or sex without detailed descriptions? I don't mind writing that.

9) Oh, sweet Beethoven… hahaha.

Like I said before — I'm not really a fan of horny content. I prefer fluff or angst. But soft, gentle sex (without the steamy details, haha) — that I could write.

So out of that whole long list… I'll pick the ones that are safest for your health. (Kids, I'm a med student. Trust me — even hickeys on the neck are harmful. They mess with your blood vessels. Don't even get me started on strangulation.)

The ones I'd write:

praise kink;

oral sex (but not shoving a character's dick down the reader's throat to tear her mouth open — oh my god, Jesus, I've seen fics like that and they were disgusting, personally speaking);

size kink (within reason — not "tearing the reader apart");

loss of virginity… debatable, honestly. But if it's consensual (even after marriage — a wedding night), then I don't mind;

shibari — seems safe enough, as long as it doesn't cause the reader pain;

overstimulation (it's like a moaning melody — not from pain, but from pleasure);

body worship (a positive melody. I like that one).

What I will NOT write:

anything with sharp objects;

no bodily fluids (look, I know I sometimes write detailed murder scenes or whatever — and I always warn you first. But in sex? That's just disgusting);

no ice play or hot wax;

oh, and definitely no omegaverse (it's so strange that I can't even read it as a reader, let alone write it).

Hah… I'm giving the impression of someone who only writes fluff and angst, aren't I? Haha.

10) Of course, my muse.

11) I think I already played this melody for you in question #9. I accept the kinks that don't hurt, that feel safe.

(A little note I forgot to add earlier:) — please don't ask me to write about a character trying to insert… anything (even a cucumber) into the reader. The sounds are just too obscene. My ears close up. — and about aphrodisiacs (someone sent me that request yesterday)… I'm sorry. I won't write wild, desperate arousal. I'll soften it. Always. That's my song.

12) Yes, you can send any requests that touch on smut. Just — let them dance within the notes I've already played for you above. If something falls outside that melody… I'll listen and decide. Either I'll write it — my way, soft and slow — or I'll gently say no.

13) If you mean stalking or something along those lines… m, I think I could try. I'd just leave the right tags and warnings — so everyone knows what they're walking into. I don't love those themes, honestly. But for a little variety? For a different rhythm in the setlist? …Why not.

14) Yes. I receive every single request — without fail. And each one goes right into my drafts, where I keep them safe… so I can write your song, one note at a time, my beautiful melody.

Music doesn't tolerate lies, my dear listener. You asked — I answered, note by note, without a single false chord. I'm not a perfect writer. My hands tremble from lack of time. I'm ashamed of the ideas I've left hanging since summer. Sometimes I write things that make me blush later. But I'm here. And I hear you.

You can come with any request — even the strangest, even the quietest. If it resonates with my soul — I'll write it. If not — I'll gently say no. But I will never mock you or ignore you.

Thank you for asking. Thank you for staying.

Your Snowy 🎵

#snow snowball #snowball’s requests #anon ask

angst — 🎵 fluff — 🎶 horny — 💿 fun — 🪩

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

BNHA MASTERLIST'S:

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

Headcanons:

Boy & man (Midoriya Izuku, Bakugo Katsuki, Kaminari Denki, Todoroki Shoto, Hanta Sero, Monoma Neito). 🎵🎶

Gentleman (Bakugou Katsuki; Kaminari Denki; Kirishima Eijiro). 🎶

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

JJK MASTERLIST'S

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

Headcanons:

Sukuna:

Soccer player. 🎶

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

WEAK HERO MASTERLIST'S:

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

SMAU:

I love you, you know that? (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Go Hyun-Tak; Park Hu-Min; Seo Jun-Tae). [request] 🎵🎶

Do you want to sit on my face? (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je). 💿

Don't write here again. (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je). 🎶

Strong arms. (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je). 💿

Sassy girl. (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je). 💿

Their messages when you are in a coma. (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je). 🎵

She’s busy, dude. (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je). 🎵

Wrong number… part 1 part 2 part 3 (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je). 🎶🎵

➽───────────────❥

ONESHOTS:

Na Baek-Jin:

Dr. Vampire (3,3k). 🎶🎵

Yeon Si-Eun:

My protector (3,4k) [request]. 🎵🎶

➽───────────────❥

Headcanons:

Awkward moments (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je). 🪩

Jealous (Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Seo Jun-Tae; Park Hu-Min (Baku), Go Hyun-Tak (Gotak), Na Baek-Jin; Geum Seong-Je) [request] 🎵

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

SWEET HOME MASTERLIST'S:

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

Headcanons:

Shut up, mum! (Cha Hyun-Su, Park Chan-Young, Tak In-Hwan, Kim Yeong-Hu, Kang Seok-Chan). 🎵

In this world you’re my sunshine… (Cha Hyun-Su, Park Chan-Young, Tak In-Hwan, Kim Yeong-Hu, Kang Seok-Chan). 🎶💿

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

TWILIGHT MASTERLIST'S

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

Headcanons:

Pretty boy part 1 part 2 (Paul Lahote; Seth Clearwater; Sam Uley; Leah Clearwater; Embry Call; Quil Ateara; Jacob Black). 💿🎶

His friends saw your quarrel part 1 part 2 [request]. 🎵

➽───────────────❥

ONESHOTS:

Carlisle Cullen:

You’re my life. [request] 🎶

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

LADS MASTERLIST'S

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

Headcanons:

Wink. (Sylus, Caleb, Zayne, Xavier, Rafayel). 🎶🪩

Your children have been hurt. (Sylus, Zayne, Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel). 🎵

BREAKING DISHES! (Sylus, Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel.) 🪩🎶

You slapped his ass and complimented him. (Sylus, Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel.) 🪩💿

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

TBHK MASTERLIST'S

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

Headcanons:

Sweetie. (Kou Minamoto, Hanako, Teru Minamoto.) 🎶

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

BIG TIME RUSH MASTERLIST'S

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

Headcanons:

You call him "baby". (James Diamond, Logan Mitchell, Carlos Garcia, Kendall Knight.) 🎶

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

#snow snowball #snowball’s request #snowball’s headcanon #snowball's masterlist #jjk x reader #lads x reader #bnha x reader #twilight x reader #tbhk x reader #btr x reader #sweet home x reader #weak hero x reader

1. AGE RESTRICTION (18+) This blog contains mature themes including smut, dark content, angst, violence, and triggering topics (see: Vampire Baek-Jin, Yandere themes). If you are a minor, do not follow, like, reblog, or send asks. I will block anyone with an age under 18 in their bio.

2. INTERACTION POLICY

BE KIND. No hate, insults, or bullying towards me or other followers.

SPOILERS: Tag your spoilers for Weak Hero, Sweet Home, MHA, etc. I will do the same.

ASK BOX: Open for questions, theories, or just to chat! I love talking about characters.

3. COPYRIGHT & REPOSTING (READ THIS)

DO NOT copy, repost, translate, or publish my work on other platforms (TikTok, YouTube, Wattpad, etc.) without my explicit written permission.

DO NOT claim my dividers or banners as your own.

DO reblog! I love seeing my work on your blogs.

4. CONTENT WARNINGS I write about heavy topics: Blood, injury, death, parental abuse, anxiety, possessiveness, and horror themes (vampires/monsters) . Triggers are listed at the top of every fic. Please read them before proceeding.

#snow snowball #rules

REQUEST GUIDELINES

OPEN: Headcanons, Smaus, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

DO NOT REQUEST: NSFW involving minors (aged-up characters only), incest, yandere (unless specified), or specific cultural portrayals that I might misrepresent. (more).

BE SPECIFIC: "Can you do headcanons for Bakugou?" is fine, but "Can you do headcanons for Bakugou reacting to a reader with a fire quirk?" is better.

LIMIT: Max 4 characters per request.

Fandoms: JJK, Twilight, Haikuyu, KNY, MHA, Lads, BTR, The Walking Dead, Tokyo Revengers, Weak hero, Twinkling watermelon, Mantis, True Beauty, Sweet Home, Brave Citizen, All of us are dead, Strangers from hell.

Characters List:

JJK:

Gojo, Toji, Sukuna, Yuji, Nanami, Choso, Ino, Yuki, Maki, Megumi, Yuta.

Twilight:

Carlisle, Jasper, Alice, Emmett, Seth, Jacob, Paul, Leah, Sam, Embry.

Haikuyu:

all.

KNY:

all.

MHA:

all.

Lads:

Sylus, Caleb, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne.

BTR:

Logan, Carlos, James, Kendall.

The Walking Dead:

Rick, Carl (18 yo), Glenn, Daryl, Abraham, Negan.

Tokyo Revengers:

all.

Weak hero:

Ahn Su-Ho, Yeon Si-Eun, Seo Jun-Tae, Park Hu-Min, Kang Woo-Young, Go Hyun-Tak, Keum Seon-Gje, Na Baek-Jin.

Twinkling watermelon:

all.

Sweet Home:

Cha Hyun-Su, Park Chan-Young, Tak In-Hwan, Kim Yeong-Hu, Min Seo-Jin, Kang Seok-Chan, Bang Jin-Ho.

All of us are dead:

all.

Strangers from hell:

Seo Moon-Jo.

Mantis:

Shin Jae-Yi and Lee Ha-Nul.

True Beauty:

Han Seo-Jun, Lee Su-Ho, Kang Su-Jin, Lim Ju-Kyung, Choi Soo-Ah, Yoo Tae-Hoon, Han Go-Woon, Han Joon-Woo, Jeong Se-Yeon.

Brave Citizen:

Han-Su-Gang, Lee Moon-Ki.

ATLA:

Firelord Zuko, Aang, Sokka, Toph and Katara

#snow snowball #snowball’s request #jjk x reader #lads x reader #bnha x reader #multy

#snow-snowball masterlist -> Link to masterlist #snowball’s writing -> All original fiction #snowball’s headcanon -> Headcanon posts #snowball’s smau -> Social media AUs #snowball’s fluff -> Soft/Comfort #snowball’s angst -> Pain #snowball’s dark -> Mature/Violent/Horror #snowball’s requests -> Answered asks

#jjk

#bnha

#tbhk

#twilight

#btr

#twd

#kny

#weakhero

#sweethome

#lads

#snow snowball #snow-snowball masterlist #snowball’s writing #snowball’s headcanon #snowball’s smau #fluff #angst #dark #snowball’s requests

ABOUT ME – MS. SNOWY

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

✧ THE BASICS ✧

name: Snowy (or Ms. Snowy) age: 19 birthday: March 1st (Pisces season!) pronouns: she/her

occupation: medical student 🩺 vibe: tired but caring, always cold hands, coffee in one hand and a textbook in the other.

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

✧ A LITTLE MORE ABOUT ME ✧

🏐 VOLLEYBALL I played volleyball in middle school and high school! It taught me teamwork, discipline, and how to dive for a ball I probably shouldn't have gone for. Old habits die hard.

📖 TRANSLATOR

📝 WRITING & TIME Being a medical student means I don't have a lot of free time for writing. But when I do find a moment? I pour my heart into it. Thank you for being patient with my slow updates.

🎵 MUSIC LOVER I'm a total melomaniac (music lover). My playlists are chaotic – one moment it's soft piano, the next it's loud rock. Music fuels my writing and my study sessions.

🐾 ANIMALS I love animals. All of them. If you send me a photo of your pet, I will cry happy tears.

💬 PEOPLE PERSON I genuinely love talking to people. My ask box is always open – whether you want to request something, share a thought, vent, or just say hi. I will always try to meet you halfway.

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

✧ MY FAVORITE ANIME ✧

🥇 My Hero Academia

🥈 Demon Slayer (Kimetsu no Yaiba)

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

✧ SOCIALS & CHANNELS ✧

Telegram channel: click

TikTok: click

Tumblr: @snow-snowball ☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

✧ FUN FACTS ✧

❄️ My birthday is March 1st. Gifts are not expected, but love letters in my ask box are always welcome.

❄️ I am a medical student, so if I disappear for two weeks – I'm probably in an exam hell. I'll be back.

❄️ I have friends from all over the world. Talking to them makes me feel like I'm traveling without leaving my room.

❄️ I have a soft spot for fluff and comfort, but I also love angst (the painful kind).

❄️ My dividers and banners are made by me! If you use them, please tag me: @snow-snowball

☆━━━━━☆━━━━━☆☆━━━━━☆━━

✧ CLOSING WORDS ✧

"My hands are cold, my words are few — but if you stay, I will burn for you."

– Snowy ❄️

#snow snowball #about me

Boy & man

with: Midoriya Izuku, Bakugo Katsuki, Kaminari Denki, Todoroki Shoto, Hanta Sero, Monoma Neito.

warnings: headcanon, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, first love, mention of fights, mention of injury, timescape.

a/n: hey! here's a new work! thank you so much for reading me! these are my headcanons, if you don't agree, just don't read!

Midoriya Izuku

Boy:

• It was during his first year at U.A. that Midoriya found himself in his first real relationship. That year was a whirlwind of color and peril, and you noticed him almost by accident—drawn not by his strength, which flickered so uncertainly then, but by the unyielding core of his morals and the way he viewed the world.

• Izuku was perpetually flustered by intimacy. Every touch, every lingering glance, every smile you aimed his way sent a visible jolt through his nervous system. He would flinch and retreat if your hands accidentally brushed, creating a distance that felt, to you, like a quiet rejection. His timidity bruised your heart in ways he couldn't comprehend.

• This indecision bred silent, serious arguments. During one such fracture, you decided to end things—just as the war between heroes and villains erupted into its final, desperate act. Yet when you stood with the others, pleading for him to come back from the abyss, something fundamental shifted in him. In that moment of absolute peril, you were there. Not running, not hiding. Just... there. He realized that the danger he carried was nothing compared to the emptiness of your absence.

Man:

• Years later, Midoriya has changed. His exterior is still dusted with freckles and earnestness, but inside, he is forged steel. His movements are deliberate, his words carry weight, and the wisdom in his green eyes speaks of battles survived and lost time reclaimed.

• He is no longer the boy who recoiled from your hand. Now, he is the one who reaches for you in a crowded room, the one who initiates an embrace without a trace of self-consciousness. He learned his lesson in fire and blood: hesitation almost cost him you forever. He will not make that mistake twice.

• That is why you find yourself frozen, watching as this man—your man—lowers himself to one knee. In his scarred hands, a velvet box opens to reveal a ring that catches the light like a promise. His gaze is steady, unwavering, a silent challenge to the universe. If you take it, know this: Izuku Midoriya’s heart, his life, and his future will be irrevocably bound to you.

Bakugou Katsuki

Boy:

• In his youth, Katsuki was a storm of pride and impulse, and he cut people to the bone without even realizing the sharpness of his words. A relationship with him was a trial by fire; his need to dominate often smothered your own heroic spirit, leaving you second-guessing your every move, feeling more like a sidekick than a partner.

• He never noticed the light dimming in your eyes. Or rather, he chose not to notice, because acknowledging it would have forced him to confront a conscience he had buried deep beneath layers of explosive rage.

• Everything fractured the moment you shielded him from Shigaraki's decay. When he saw you crumple, nearly erased from existence, Bakugou screamed with a raw, visceral agony that shook the very foundations of the battlefield. The realization that you could vanish in an instant shattered the pedestal of his pride, grinding it down to fine, worthless dust.

Man:

• Now, Katsuki bolsters you. He will back your plays, no matter how absurd the idea seems on paper. If it makes you smile? He's already loading the gear. Your happiness is his new benchmark for victory.

• His perception is razor-sharp. He notices the micro-shift in your shoulders when you're tired, the slight falter in your step when the world has been cruel. He knows exactly what to say to pull you back from the ledge—or when to just sit in grumpy, supportive silence with a cup of tea. He would level a city block just to see that specific, brilliant smile that makes his heart hammer against his ribs like a grenade going off.

• With you, Katsuki learned to modulate the volume. He learned to soften his abrupt movements. He will never forget the day you flinched, genuinely believing for a split second that he might strike you. The horror of seeing that fear in your eyes taught him a lesson no villain ever could. The volatile boy learned tenderness. He became a careful man—all for the woman he loves.

Kaminari Denki

Boy:

• Frivolity was his calling card. Kaminari acted first and thought... well, rarely. He ignored pleas to “grow up,” though to his credit, when the lightning struck and the stakes were real, he could focus with surprising clarity.

• But the perverse comments were a constant. From first year onward, you endured the leering glances and inappropriate jokes that earned him countless thumps to the head. You hated how his eyes, along with Mineta's, seemed to linger just a moment too long. It made your skin crawl.

• The turning point came not from a villain attack, but from your tears. After a particularly crude, thoughtless joke, he saw you crying. The sight of those crystal droplets falling from your beautiful eyes and shattering on the floor did something strange to his chest. It tightened. His palms grew sweaty. For the first time, he felt the weight of his own stupidity.

Man:

• The Pro Hero is now a portrait of restraint. The lewd comments have vanished from his vocabulary entirely. If Mineta even breathes a suggestive syllable in your direction, Kaminari delivers a corrective shock with the speed of a reflex.

• He is your living shield. At public events, he positions his body to block camera angles when your hero costume reveals too much, or when you simply cross your legs. He is not possessive; he is protective. He ensures no “scandalous” photo of you ever surfaces online, not out of jealousy, but out of a deep-seated need to keep your dignity safe from the depravity of strangers.

• Gone is the class clown. In the field, Kaminari is focused and compliant, assessing plans with a sharp mind. If he disagrees, he no longer whines; he presents a calm, logical counter-argument. He is a partner in every sense of the word.

Todoroki Shoto

Boy:

• Stoicism was his fortress, and he kept the gates locked even in love. Shoto was a good friend and a dutiful partner, but his emotional indifference was a cold wind. It made you wonder if you were a part of his life or merely a piece of furniture he'd grown accustomed to seeing.

• He would lose himself in training for hours, forgetting meals, forgetting texts, forgetting you. When you brought it up, he would nod with that placid expression, acknowledging the logic of your words, and then proceed to ignore them completely.

• He chafed at questions. Where are you going? How long? Who with? To you, they were simple gestures of care. To Shoto, they were chains of control, an echo of his father's suffocating regime. A massive fight left you two in a frozen silence that lasted for days—until the final war thawed everything with its brutal heat.

Man:

• Hero Shoto now asks the questions first. How was your day? Did you eat? Are you okay? He craves the mundane details of your life because they are proof that you are his. His love is no longer a quiet assumption; it is a visible, tangible warmth.

• He mastered the art of balance. He trains to maintain his edge, he saves the world with ruthless efficiency, and he makes sure he is walking through the door before 11 PM. Because that is your time.

• Now, if he comes home and you don't greet him with a kiss on the cheek and a “How was work?”, a flicker of genuine anxiety crosses his features. It is his one glaring weakness, a punishment worse than any wound. And you, of course, are fully aware of this power. You wield it occasionally, feigning coldness just to watch him squirm, just to draw out a plea that is far sweeter than a simple apology.

Hanta Sero

Boy:

• Sero was easygoing to a fault. He let things slide, preferring the path of least resistance to avoid unpleasantness. It made him low-maintenance, but it also made him absent. When you fought, he would simply leave to “cool off,” not realizing he was leaving you to stew in a simmering pot of resentment.

• He took the guys' jokes at your expense lightly. You're not mad, right? He didn't know that your laughter was a mask, and that the pillow was damp with tears from the casual cruelty of his classmates and the indifference of your own boyfriend.

• He was lazy, always ready to ditch training with Denki. It was a harmless quirk until the day a villain almost took you from him. When he couldn't stop it, when he realized his slacker attitude had left him too weak to protect the one thing that mattered, something snapped. He wanted strength. He needed it.

Man:

• Sero now confronts problems head-on. He talks through conflicts, refusing to let negative energy fester between you. (He may have attended a few communication seminars on the down-low, a secret he will take to the grave).

• When Mina let slip about the nights you cried over the boys' jokes back at U.A., Hanta felt like the world's biggest idiot. He never intended for you to suffer. Now, he polices his friends with a vigilant eye and a roll of tape. A hand creeps too low on your back? Smack. “Oi! Talk to my wife with some respect!”

• You've noticed his new routine: extra hours in the gym, sparring with Kirishima, morning runs with Shoto. He's driven. When you finally ask him why he's so desperate to kick everyone's ass lately, suspecting it's guilt over the old injury you've long forgiven... he just pinches your cheek gently and flashes that bright, signature grin.

• He's not trying to be Number One. He's just trying to be strong enough for you.

Monoma Neito

Boy:

• In his teenage years, Neito was defined by an exceptional, theatrical ego. He was a hero for the prestige, for the family name, not necessarily for the people. He saw others as either stepping stones or obstacles.

• When you first started dating, he intended to use you. He was convinced Bakugo harbored feelings for you and planned to twist that knife. To his genuine shock, you were utterly, infuriatingly devoted only to him. The truth eventually surfaced, of course, shattering your delicate heart into a thousand sharp pieces.

• He never apologized. Apologies were for the weak, for those who made mistakes. Monoma did not make mistakes, or so he told himself. Guilt was a foreign concept... until he saw the light leave your eyes. The raw, red-rimmed emptiness on your face was a more devastating blow than any Quirk could deliver.

Man:

• The unhealthy ego has been excised. Neito finally realized that his obsession with tearing others down was the very thing that kept him stationary while everyone else soared past him.

• He became a student of people. He remembers the little things with frightening accuracy. When Tetsu-Tetsu mentioned your allergy to oranges, Neito cut citrus out of his life entirely, paranoid that even the scent on his breath might make you ill. It was overbearing, but undeniably sweet.

• With age came the understanding that an apology is not a sign of weakness; it is the cement that fortifies trust. And so, after all these years, you find a Pro Hero standing at your doorstep. He is humbled, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers—a specific detail you mentioned in passing during your very first year at U.A. He remembered. He remembers everything.

© 2026 do reblog, but don’t copy or publish my work on other platforms, or translate (without my permission) into other languages. Any coincidences are coincidental! The dividers belong to me! If you want use them, just tag me: @snow-snowball Requests are open!

#snow snowball #mha #mha x reader #mha headcanons #bakugou x fem!reader #izuku x y/n #monoma x you #todoroki x reader #denki x y/n #sero x reader #bnha x reader #snowball’s headcanon

Gentleman

with: bakugou katsuki; kaminari denki; kirishima eijiro.

summary: His gentlemanly act. Headcanons about the things he does with you! (part two?)

warnings: fem!reader; soft; headcanon; contrived quirks; a blind!reader with kirishima (your quirk akin to Toph Beifong's seismic sight); Bakugou: years 2-3 at U.A. Denki: tear 1 at U.A and Pro-hero Denki. Kirishima: year 3 at U.A.

a/n: Content created solely for entertainment purposes. Don't read this if you're uncomfortable (I don’t why but… okay 😐). I'd appreciate your opinion on this! It will help me improve. English is not my first language, so I apologise for my mistakes. The dividers belong to me! This work is available on my Russian Telegram channel and on TikTok.

Bakugou Katsuki (Your quirk: Quirk Amplification):

• This guy? A gentleman? Seriously?

• Well, as it turns out, Katsuki is the hidden “prince on a white horse” type.

• It’s just that his personality won’t let him openly show his true feelings. Bakugou desperately wants you to know how much you mean to him. Even if he does it in his own way, you don’t need much to understand him. And for that, Katsuki is grateful.

• This guy is always shielding you. No matter where or when, he’s standing in front, ready to take the first hit.

• “You idiot?! What if something had happened to you?!” — he yells, rushing over to the injured girl. Bakugou carefully lifts her into his arms and carries her to safety. “Stupid pawn!” After setting her down on a stretcher, he lightly flicks her forehead with his knuckle. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if you got hurt.” And when no one’s looking, Katsuki softly presses a kiss to her cheek with his chapped, bitten lips. “Please… be careful.”

• Even when you’re hanging out with mutual friends, Bakugou will keep you covered with his shoulder. If he senses you’re uncomfortable, he’ll just grab your hand and lead you away.

• He may not be a fairytale prince or a cheesy romantic — but he’s a hero. This boy loves you sincerely and will always come to your rescue.

• Oh, right! Almost forgot! He forbids you from pairing up with anyone but him. No, Bakugou isn’t jealous, what are you talking about? So what if he once punched Denki just for complimenting you? That was different. Katsuki doesn’t trust anyone with your protection — not even All Might. No one but him can take care of you the way he can (even if it doesn’t always seem that way to you).

• Gentleman rating: 7/10.

Kaminari Denki (Quirk: Serpent):

• This guy has read way too much romantic manga.

• He’s literally the definition of a gentleman.

• But the thing he does most often? Holding the door for you or pulling out a chair so you can sit down.

• The girls in your class were absolutely shocked. That pervert? And gentlemanly? God, it was almost impossible to imagine. But who cares what others think of him? For you, he’s tender and attentive — and that’s all that matters.

• “Right this way, sweetheart!” — Kaminari says, holding the door to the mall open. He seems way too cheerful today. The guy keeps hopping from one spot to another. The heroine’s snakes hiss in irritation, making him jump in fright. “Whoa, whoa! Easy! Calm down!” — Throwing a hand forward, Kaminari puffs out his chest and puts on a dead-serious face, as if about to start the most boring and pointless lecture ever. “We’re not here to argue,” — the snakes exchange confused glances — “we’re here for some beautiful lingerie for Y/N!” — Well, some of the reptiles in the girl’s hair can’t handle him acting this way toward their “master,” so they lunge at him and bite, injecting venom. Guess it’s a trip to the hospital.

• No matter how much of an idiot he can be, Denki is still a man. And as a man, he invites you to a fancy restaurant. After all, the #6 Hero can afford such luxuries. The girl puts on a gorgeous dress that makes the pro’s jaw drop.

• “Oh my God, thank you for such a wonderful bride-to-be!” — Giggling at her future husband’s antics, the heroine gets into his car. Once at the restaurant, she catches glances ranging from envious to admiring. But it seems like her companion couldn’t care less. He walks with his head held high, his whole attitude screaming: “Yeah! That’s my future wife! Eat your hearts out, bitches!”

• Gentleman rating: 9/10.

Eijiro Kirishima (Quirk: Earth Control):

• This guy always carries anything heavy.

• No, it's not because “I'm stronger and you can't do anything anyway.”

• Kirishima knows you're a strong girl. His girl. That's exactly why he worries about your health — the “lady” kind.

• “Princess, let me carry that!” — Eijiro says, gently taking the box of your stuff. “Didn't think moving would be such a pain in the ass.” — The hero laughs, holding the box with one hand and leading Y/N by the other. “There's a step here. Careful.”

• And of course, like a true man — he carries you in his arms like a bride. He loves feeling the height difference between you. Even if you don't talk… like most girls do, you're still the most beautiful, kindest, and sweetest princess in his eyes.

• “Hey! Put me down, you idiot!” — The girl snaps, feeling the ground disappear beneath her feet. “Kirishima, I'm fucking serious!” — Blushing, she hides her face in her hands, grumbling and cursing him out.

• “You're so cute when you're embarrassed!” — Holding the heroine with one arm, he tries to pull her hands away from her face just so he can pinch her cheek.

• Gentleman rating: 10/10. Undisputed winner.

#kaminari denki x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnha #dr. snowy #snow snowball #snowball’s headcanon #soft #comfort #fluff #bakugou x fem!reader

Can you do the reaction of the boys from Weak Hero Class when they receive a message from the reader late at night saying "I love you"? (Anguish)

You don't have to do this if it makes you uncomfortable, but I'd love for you to!

Hi, dear! Thank you for such a sweet request! I'll do it! (I think I'll do two parts.)

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

I love you, you know that?

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

smau with: Yeon Si-Eun; Ahn Su-Ho; Go Hyun-Tak; Park Hu-Min; Seo Jun-Tae.

warnings: none just fluff

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

⋆ . ˚ ʏ ᴇ ᴏ ɴ s ɪ - ᴇ ᴜ ɴ ⋆ . ˚

⋆ . ˚ ᴀ ʜ ɴ s ᴜ - ʜ ᴏ ⋆ . ˚

⋆ . ˚ ɢ ᴏ ʜ ʏ ᴜ ɴ - ᴛ ᴀ ᴋ ( ɢ ᴏ ᴛ ᴀ ᴋ ) ⋆ . ˚

⋆ . ˚ ᴘ ᴀ ʀ ᴋ ʜ ᴜ - ᴍ ɪ ɴ ( ʙ ᴀ ᴋ ᴜ ) ⋆ . ˚

⋆ . ˚ s ᴇ ᴏ ᴊ ᴜ ɴ - ᴛ ᴀ ᴇ ⋆ . ˚

Dr. Vampire.

coupling: Vamp!Baek-Jin x Countless!Reader.

fandom: Weak Hero.

warnings: AU, Ivent, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Vampire, Blood, Trigger, Fem!Reader, Minifick, Mention of murders, Mention of deaths, Fading relationships, Loyalty issues, Moral issues, Falling in love, Philosophical problems, Social status issues, Psychological problems, Fear, Various races.

w: 3,3k

Transylvania was far from being the best place to live due to its poor sanitation and impoverished population. However, your husband insisted on staying in Brașov to discuss some inheritance-related matters. While he dealt with a stranger, you wandered off, standing by the road filled with carriages. With a sigh of despair, you realized that each day brought you closer to wasting away. Your husband wasn't a bad man, but routine had drained all interest in life for both of you. Home-work-home became your daily schedule over two years since you were married at sixteen to pay off your father's debts. Fortunately, Ji-Son treated you respectfully, never touching you without permission. He didn't treat you like an object; instead, he warmly accepted you into his life, helping you escape poverty.

Nearby, a black carriage stopped, its curtains completely obscuring any view inside. Curiosity piqued, you took several steps forward but halted as if something or someone didn’t want you approaching it. Pale fingers slightly parted the red satin fabric, revealing nothing more than a small gap where no face could be seen. In the dark interior, however, you noticed an eerie blood-red glow. Someone's crimson eyes watched you intently, either diseased or perhaps for another reason entirely. Shivering, you lifted your voluminous dress, stepped back, and hurried toward your husband without looking behind.

The day proved exhausting, leaving you mentally exhausted after enduring countless fake smiles and empty words. Entering the guest room, you sank onto a soft armchair near the fireplace, seeking warmth. Closing your eyes, you sighed deeply, leaning against the chair’s backrest. Sleep eluded you; strange thoughts dominated your mind, returning repeatedly to that mysterious carriage. Suddenly, cold hands touched yours gently, causing you to open your eyes abruptly.

“Oh, forgive me, Countess…” said a young maid holding a blanket tightly. She carefully draped it over your body before tucking it securely under your chin. “Would you like water, my lady?” she asked politely, clasping her hands together. Nodding, you sent her to fetch water while pinching the bridge of your nose, trying to calm down. “Here, drink this,” she offered, handing you a glass of cool, clear liquid. Slowly pressing your lips to the chilly glass, you tilted it towards yourself, refreshing your body with the pleasant chill spreading through you.

“Where is Ji-Son?”

“In his study, countess,” replied the maid, biting her lip when noticing how your expression changed upon hearing this news. Your husband’s distance left an emptiness deep within your heart. Although initially drawn to him, you now felt abandoned. Wanting only love from your partner, Ji-Son couldn't reciprocate, hiding himself away in his office. To avoid hurting you further, he avoided interacting with you altogether. Work, income, and family heritage consumed his every thought.

“I see clearly enough, Mi-Mi. Thank you.” Rising from the chair, you handed her the empty glass and walked toward your bedroom. Ascending the stairs, you suddenly felt unwell: sharp pulses began throbbing throughout your head and body. Holding onto the railing, you struggled to reach your room, but your legs refused to cooperate, becoming weak and limp. Collapsing onto the floor, you fought hard to keep your eyes open.

“Countess!” cried out the maid who rushed upstairs from the kitchen. “Fetch the doctor immediately!”

Awakening in bed, groaning softly, you opened your heavy eyelids. Glancing around, you found nobody nearby except a large bag belonging to someone else and a bowl of water next to it. Attempting to stand up, you discovered that your legs still wouldn’t obey your commands. Stumbling toward the table, expecting to fall flat on the ground, you were caught mid-air by strong yet incredibly frigid arms embracing your waist. Turning your head, you encountered those same piercing red eyes staring back at you—the very gaze belonging to the stranger in the carriage earlier.

“Careful, countess; you're still recovering. Please lie down again,” advised the man as he helped guide you back to bed. Unblinking, you gazed at him, amazed by how swiftly he appeared despite there being no one else present moments ago. “Am I so frightening, countess? Why do you stare at me so intensely?” His voice carried authority mixed with professional detachment, indicating complete focus on work rather than idle conversation.

“Who are you, and what business brings you here?”

“I am a physician,” answered the man plainly while covering you with blankets. He approached his black medical bag and retrieved a syringe containing medication. Carefully tapping the glass container, he broke off its top with precision. Filling the needle with fluid, he looked straight ahead without breaking eye contact. Noticing your attention fixed on his pale, cracked hands resembling broken porcelain dolls, he paused briefly before turning back to you. “Don't worry; this won't kill you. And even if it did, I'd hardly act so obviously.”

Stepping closer, he placed the tip gently against your skin, inserting it slowly. Wincing slightly, you closed your eyes and wrinkled your nose adorably.

“You're quite grown-up, aren't you, afraid of such a tiny prick?” smirked the doctor, pushing the plunger gently to inject the medicine. Swiftly removing the needle, he pressed a cotton ball dipped in alcohol onto the puncture wound, ensuring sterility. Lightly caressing your wrist with tender fingers, feeling the steady pulse beneath your skin, he finally withdrew them.

“What should I call you...”

“Na Baek-Jin,” responded the young doctor dryly, gathering his belongings quickly. Leaving instructions about rest and medications, he headed toward the door just as the maid returned to escort him outside. Captivated solely by him, you followed their departure until they vanished beyond sight.

“This is the finest doctor in town, though he resides in Bran Castle inherited from his father,” explained the maid quietly while preparing your bed once more. Pausing momentarily, she glanced sideways at you before continuing. “There are rumors saying people living there aren’t human beings but bloodsuckers.” Shrugging dismissively, she turned off the lights before exiting the room. “But legends remain merely stories, right?”

“Right…” murmured you sleepily, drifting off into slumber. Initially bright dreams soon morphed into darker ones haunted by images of Na Baek-Jin's visage.

Morning arrived surprisingly refreshed and rejuvenated. Life seemed worth living again; new experiences awaited discovery. Smiling cheerfully, you descended downstairs to find servants busy cooking breakfast. Seeing you enter, they bowed reverentially, greeting you formally. Amused, you snatched a rolling pin from one woman and playfully joined in the preparation process. Everyone stared astonished: this was the first time they'd witnessed the countess behaving childishly happy. Quiet laughter escaped Mi-Mi's lips, guessing correctly why you acted thus.

Suddenly, Ji-Son entered the kitchen. His stern glare silenced everyone instantly, prompting them to resume working silently. Approaching the freshly baked cookies, he inspected them critically.

“Good morning, sir,” greeted you sweetly, lowering yourself slightly in a polite gesture. “How are you today?”

“I don't see much cause for joy, [Y/N],” stated Ji-Son firmly, taking a cookie from the plate. “Too sugary; redo these.” His tone remained indifferent and distant, reflecting his current mindset focused solely on contracts and finances. For two years, he'd transformed into a selfish and gloomy individual absorbed entirely by paperwork.

“Apologies...” whispered you, retreating hastily from the room lest you encounter him again. Alone once more, boredom crept back into your soul. All books housed in the library had been read five times already. Despair engulfed you just as swiftly as happiness came flooding back. A faint knock echoed at the window. Intrigued, you drew aside the shutters, discovering a dove perched outside carrying a note tied to its leg. Excitedly unfolding the scroll, you read aloud: “Lady [Y/N], I invite you and your spouse to attend a high-society dinner party hosted at Bran Castle. Sincerely, your devoted physician—Na Beck-Jin.”

Joy erupted within you; finally, you'd have an opportunity to spend quality time with the talented doctor whose influence extended far beyond mere healing abilities.

It took considerable effort to persuade your husband to leave his study. No matter how stubbornly he resisted, you managed to convince him using clever reasoning: attending social gatherings would allow him to meet influential individuals beneficial for his future endeavors. Now, applying finishing touches to your makeup, you smile at your reflection before descending gracefully into the entrance hall. There, your anxious husband paces nervously back and forth. Upon seeing you, he pauses, scrutinizing your appearance critically before offering a brief nod of approval. Instead of assisting you personally, Ji-Son leaves the task to the coachman, who helps you climb aboard the carriage. Trying to hide your excitement from your husband, you sit back, enjoying the scenic journey through Transylvania’s forests en route to Bran Castle.

The coach stops at massive gates looming ominously overhead. Towering walls stretch skyward, instilling unease among visitors unfamiliar with their height. Bran Castle sprawls majestically across vast grounds, proclaiming wealth and grandeur. Exiting first, Ji-Son adjusts his posture proudly, emphasizing his importance. Assisting you, the coachman extends a roughened palm, guiding you safely downwards. Heavy doors creak open invitingly, leading you inside. An expansive courtyard greets you, featuring a central well rumored to connect underground chambers. Admiring rosebushes arranged symmetrically along pathways, you marvel at nature's beauty surrounding the castle. Awaiting guests stands none other than Baek-Jin himself, dressed impeccably in dark attire accompanied by a loyal servant holding an umbrella above his master's head. Both pairs of fiery red eyes observe newcomers closely.

“Welcome to my humble abode, esteemed guests,” announces Baek-Jin calmly, advancing toward you both.

“Not exactly welcoming hospitality, sir,” remarks your husband bitterly, displeased that servants confiscated his late father's lighter during security checks.

“My apologies for such drastic measures. Unfortunately, past incidents necessitate securing every attendee,” explains Baek-Jin courteously, extending a handshake which Ji-Son reluctantly accepts. Then, addressing you directly, he bows elegantly, placing his chapped lips delicately against your hand. “Good evening, Countess. I'm delighted you've recovered fully.” His usually intimidating gaze softens noticeably, conveying genuine concern.

Entering darkness temporarily surrounds you until lamps ignite simultaneously, illuminating opulence hidden within. Baek-Jin gestures toward grand marble staircases ascending upwards. Following suit, Ji-Son strides confidently ahead, leaving you trailing awkwardly behind. Embarrassed by his behavior, you lower your gaze deferentially. Understanding your discomfort, Baek-Jin offers reassurance by gallantly presenting his arm for support. Reaching the banquet hall, an enormous dining table awaits, surrounded by aristocrats eagerly awaiting the arrival of Bran Castle's owner. Seated opposite Baek-Jin, located centrally, you watch as Ji-Son engages in conversations with fellow gentlemen seated beside him.

After formal introductions conclude, Baek-Jin raises an empty crystal goblet clinking lightly against silverware.

“Good evening, dear guests!” His gaze lingers affectionately upon you. “I am honored that each of you has chosen to accept my invitation tonight.” Applause erupts enthusiastically among attendees. “Tonight promises memorable experiences worthy of remembrance. Once again, thank you.” After pausing briefly, he invites diners to begin feasting.

As servers deliver meals, Baek-Jin selects a rare steak dripping slightly with blood. Watching mesmerized, you observe drops staining his lips momentarily before disappearing beneath elegant napkins. Reduced visibility compels you to lean closer, admiring how smoothly he handles utensils. Occasionally, his gaze flickers toward you seductively, intensifying embarrassment flushing cheeks pinker than usual. Engrossed in observing others’ interactions, Ji-Son remains oblivious to flirtations directed openly at you.

Following dessert, music begins playing softly. Several couples emerge onto dance floors swaying rhythmically. Courteously asking permission from your husband, Baek-Jin leads you gracefully into waltzing motions. Despite initial hesitation, you relax gradually, relishing his firm grip contrasting sharply against delicate movements. Lost in wonderment, you forget self-consciousness entirely.

“How do you enjoy this evening?” asks Baek-Jin unexpectedly, startling you slightly.

“Oh, it's delightful, Doctor!”

“Please address me informally henceforth,” whispers Baek-Jin close to your ear, executing flawless spins effortlessly. “Formality belongs elsewhere.”

Nodding eagerly, you cherish these stolen moments spent dancing together. Nobody else compares favorably regarding tenderness nor confidence displayed during intimate embraces. Blushing profusely, you stumble accidentally, only saved by swift reflexes preventing collision with neighboring dancers.

“Forgive my boldness, Countess,” apologizes Baek-Jin sincerely, halting as music fades gradually. “Thank you kindly for sharing this lovely dance. Perhaps we might repeat it someday?”

He kisses your hand ceremoniously then departs discreetly. Flustered by recent events, you retreat outdoors seeking fresh air. Wandering aimlessly through corridors branching off unpredictably, confusion sets in rapidly. Deciding impulsively, you proceed forwards blindly hoping eventually finding exit points marking freedom.

“If lost, go straight,” mutter you distractedly lifting skirts higher allowing greater mobility. Passing portraits painted centuries prior appear randomly lining walls seemingly older than recorded history itself.

“What beautiful artistry,” comments a shadowy figure emerging mysteriously alongside you. Squinting suspiciously, you struggle identifying who speaks. “He captured her essence perfectly,” says Baek-Jin, stopping beside you admiringly. Despite retaining unreadable facial expressions, fleeting glimmers of humanity flash briefly across glowing scarlet irises.

“Mister, may I ask a question?” hesitates you cautiously backing away defensively.

“Certainly, anything at all,” assures Baek-Jin nonchalantly maintaining visual fixation upon portraiture subject matter.

“Who appears depicted here?” trembles your timorous inquiry, prompting immediate scrutiny.

Frowning pensively, Baek-Jin delays answering deliberately.

“Lord...”

“My wife and myself,” reveals Baek-Jin bluntly shocking you profoundly.

It is the year 1730, and it's impossible for a person to live a hundred years without changing one bit. You slowly back away from him, lift your dress, and run, trying to find an exit. The walls seem to close in, making you gasp for air. Your head spins, causing you to bump into decorative objects and drop them.

Baek-Jin sighs heavily and, looking at the love of his life, follows you. His steps are silent and swift. The man knows this castle like the back of his hand. It's no trouble for him to find you by the stairs.

“You're acting like a child.”

“But I'm human!” you scream, trying to slip past him, but he appears everywhere you try to retreat.

Baek-Jin's face contorts with a sadness that isn't overtly visible, but it's clear from his gaze.

“Do you consider me inhuman?” his voice rings out, a little too loud.

You stopped running and looked at him. In a way, he was right, for there are people who behave terribly towards each other.

“I confess, my race... is somewhat different, but you have no reason to fear me, Countess.” His cold palm touches your cheek, stroking it. “I beg you, do not look at me with such eyes, full of fear.”

His lips were inches away from yours. Honesty dictates admitting that on the day when a messenger delivered a letter requesting an examination of the countess, he initially declined citing extensive workload. But upon hearing your name, Baek-Jin hesitated and ultimately agreed—a decision proving pivotal in his lengthy existence. Standing motionless upon entering your chamber, witnessing your sleeping form, his heart skipped a beat. You reminded him poignantly of his deceased love. Clutching your warm hand within his own freezing grasp evoked identical emotions experienced during the tragic loss of his sole true love. In a cozy wooden cabin nestled within dense woods, Baek-Jin and his young bride revelled under golden sunlight streaming through foliage. Unexpectedly, a courier arrived bearing urgent correspondence summoning royal aid: King lay gravely ill for days. Sadly acknowledging inevitable duty, he leaned down, planting a gentle kiss upon her forehead before departing. At court, confronting an unprecedented illness, Baek-Jin lingered longer than anticipated. Five agonizing days passed void of communication from home. Tormented by anxiety gnawing relentlessly, he completed preparations administering potions prepared specifically for monarchial consumption. Were circumstances different, he’d never risk experimental treatments. Yet success granted him swift passage homeward bound. Returning to village streets echoing silence, inhabitants scattered avoiding direct confrontation. News spread worldwide celebrating triumphant deeds performed by obscure rural medicinal practitioner saving sovereign leader.

Baek-Jin walks along a familiar path towards his home, not looking where he's going, his toes catching on tree roots. With an irritated sigh, he glances around to make sure no one is following him. Cracking his neck, the man crouches slightly, then his eyes flare a bright red, and he appears beside his house with inhuman speed. The man stops at the entrance, only now, under the moonlight, noticing the soot ingrained in the walls of the burnt-down house. With trembling legs, he enters, desperately shouting the same name. Entering the guest room, his body collapses from exhaustion. His mouth opens and closes in a silent scream. Baek-Jin cannot utter a single word. He crawls towards someone's charred body. Noticing pieces of familiar fabric, the physician cries out. Tears stream down his face as Baek-Jin tightly clutches the beloved body to himself. The pain of loss consumes him from within, burning his organs. The smell of decay does not repel the man. He cannot believe, does not want to comprehend, that the one who warmed his long-unbeating heart is dead. Examining the room, the man notices an inscription drawn in blood: “The impure must leave, and those who support them – die!” The people Baek-Jin had repeatedly saved had killed his wife and the child they had so joyfully awaited. He was ready to seek revenge for the loss of his family, until he noticed on his beloved's hand the bracelet he had given her on their wedding day. She would not have wanted this.

The shovel flies to the side. Wiping the sweat from his brow, the man steps back, swallowing the lump in his throat. The grave stands alone beside the house, adorned with the small wildflowers his wife loved so dearly. Picking up his travel bag, Baek-Jin places it in the cart and takes his seat as the driver. Turning, he reads the inscription on the tombstone: “Those I loved vanished because of those I saved.” With a heavy sigh, he tugged the reins, causing the horse to move forward. His swollen, tear-irritated eyes were fixed ahead. The man could no longer bear to look back at the solitary grave.

Memories crashed down on Baek-Jin, causing him to lose himself, gripping your wrist tightly. Apologizing, he released your hand and stepped back. This memory doesn't let him live in peace; it circles in his head every time, making his body tremble with pain. Massaging his temples, the man leaned his hands on the hard surface of the railing. You stood, hesitating: to stay or to run while there was still a chance? Taking a deep breath in and out, you still approached him, slowly, cautiously. Standing beside him, you looked out the large window, which offered a view of the starry sky.

“The sky is sprinkled with even more stars today than yesterday,” you said quietly, casting quick glances at the castle lord's handsome profile. He turned to you, his dark suit mirroring the movements of the man's strong body. Leaning on one hand, clenched into a fist and placed against his cheek, Baek-Jin stopped moving, even breathing, trying to preserve your image in his memory. “Look! A shooting star! We have to make a wish!” You pointed a finger at a tiny speck descending from the sky. “Or is it a bird?...” you whispered, eliciting a genuine, quiet laugh from your companion.

“Whether it was a star or a bird, it doesn't matter. The most important thing is that I can wish upon it anytime.” He pushes away from the railing, stepping closer to you. “Stay with me, I promise I won't screw up and I'll protect you.” A thought flashes through his mind: “This time for sure,” like your healer swearing an oath to God. You look at him in shock, unsure how to respond. Baek-Jin seemed perfect, while your husband was unrefined. “I promise I'll take care of you. Much better than your man, who doesn't even lift a finger to protect his wife.”

Remaining loyal to Ji-Son, so as not to betray your principles, or being with someone who has ignited your interest in life? The choice is yours.

a/n: part 2? Thank you very much for reading. Works like this are difficult for me, as I am not a native English speaker. I hope you enjoyed it. Please excuse any mistakes I may have made; I will strive to avoid them in the future. I welcome constructive criticism and appreciate detailed feedback on my shortcomings. Therefore, please feel free to point out any errors and share your honest opinion.

@2025 The dividers don't belong to me, but the banner is mine. Please do not copy, claim, or translate my work without permission. @snow-snowball requests are open!

#snow snowball #weak hero x reader #weak hero x you #na baekjin #baekjin x reader #au #halloween #vampire #vampire au #weak hero au #weak hero baekjin #baekjin au

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Ms. Snowy