#cried a lil

[timethehobo]

Vitamin Emmy for serotonin needs.

[cheezbawls]

Autumn - Zhao James (oneshot)

— james x reader // angst (and fluff if you squint)

synopsis. a year after she let him go, autumn returns like it always does – slow, golden, and unforgiving. Y/N thought time would make it easier. Graduation came and went. The pavements they once walked side by side are no longer hers to haunt. And yet, the memory of that last warm day– the laughter, the soft warnings about catching a cold, the way he looked at her like she was the safest place in the world – refuses to fade. But when their paths cross again, the question starts lingering in her head again, was it really the end?

word count. 4.5k

zies note. first ever angst kinda nervous... this is a pretty sudden drop but i was literally listening to autumn yesterday while it was raining and was doomscrolling through cortis pictures on pinterest cz im js #1 niki enjoyer like that and i was like "if cortis members were niki songs what would they be" and then it hit me JAMES IS SOOOOO AUTUMN. might make more fics of cortis as niki songs but we'll seeee // credits to gr33n33 on tumblr for the divider!

The refrigerator sounds louder than it should. The apartment is too quiet, the kind that presses against your ears until you have to turn on something, anything, just to feel less alone.

You don’t.

You sit on the edge of your bed instead, the sheets are still half-unmade from this morning. Your sweater hangs off one shoulder. There’s a mug on your desk with tea gone cold hours ago. You’ve been meaning to throw it out. Outside, the trees are thinning. Leaves gather along the sidewalk in small rust-colored drifts and every time the wind passes, they scrape against the pavement like paper.

You used to love autumn but now it feels like a torturing warning, one year. One year since he said, you’re not serious. Your phone lights up on the nightstand – not a message from him. It hasn’t been for weeks. But your heart still reacts first, stupid and hopeful, before logic catches up.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. There’s a faint crack in the paint above you, shaped like a crooked line splitting in two. You trace it with your eyes, That’s what it feels like. Like something that was whole and strong and invisible until one day it just – fractured.

You tell yourself you’re healing. You go to class, you answer your parents politely, you nod when they say, “You’ll thank us one day.” But what healing isn’t is taking out a jacket that’s always had its special spot in your closet – his jacket – and pulling it around you every time you slightly feel cold, and sleep in it when the weather drops as the season changes. You wonder if they know you cry in the shower so they won’t hear and on this particular autumn night, your chest feels tighter. How were you able to stay afloat? And when will you let go, exactly?

One Year Ago

The sun was out, bright and golden, but the wind cut sharp through your sweater the moment you stepped outside.

James noticed immediately, “Why are you only in a long sleeve and mini skirt in this weather?” you shrugged, “that’s fashion.”  “You didn’t bring a proper jacket,” he said, already shrugging off his own, “God, did you even layer.” You laughed, “I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Before you could protest again, he stepped behind you and draped it over your shoulders. It swallowed you – sleeves too long, warmth still lingering from his skin. You tried to look annoyed but obviously it didn’t work. “You’re going to catch a cold,” he muttered, tugging the zipper up halfway like he had any authority over you.

“And whose fault would that be?”

“Yours. Obviously.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy. He looked at you like that was his favorite thing in the world.

A small café sat on the corner –the kind with fogged-up windows and a bell that chimed too loudly when you pushed the door open. Warm air wrapped around you instantly, scented with cinnamon and coffee. “You’re getting something hot,” he decided, already knowing you’d still order an iced matcha latte despite the weather.

“You don’t control me.”

“You’re getting something hot,” he repeated, already stepping up to the counter. You watched him order for both of you like he’d done it a thousand times (he probably has)-- he knew exactly how much sugar you liked, what you’d order if not an iced matcha latte– t was second nature.

When he handed you the cup outside, your fingers brushed. The paper cup warmed your palms as steam curled into the air between you. He took a sip of his drink and immediately hissed. “Too hot.”

“You told me to get something hot.”

“Not lava.”

You giggled and he stared at you again. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked.

“Like what?”

“Like I did something.”

“You did.”

Your heart skipped. “What?”

“You exist.”

You shoved him lightly. “EWW THAT WAS CHEESY. That was bad.” “It was good. You’re just mean.” he countered as the two of you started walking again, shoulders bumping. The pavement was scattered with leaves that crunched under your shoes. The world felt small in a comforting way – like it only extended as far as your joined shadows on the ground. At some point, your hands found each other without discussion. His fingers laced through yours easily, naturally.

You stopped at a quiet stretch of sidewalk where the trees arched overhead, golden light filtering through branches. He tugged you gently closer. “You’re cold,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“You’re shivering.”

“I’m dramatic.”

He smiled faintly and set his cup down on the low brick ledge beside you then he pulled you into him. Your cheek pressed against his chest as his arms wrapped fully around you this time, sealing in the heat from both the jacket and his body. You could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. “You smell like coffee,” you mumbled. “You smell like my detergent,” he replied.

“James was that supposed to be romantic”

“It is to me.” You tilted your head up, just slightly to see him but he was already looking down at you. Slowly, his hand slid from your back to cup your jaw, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek. The kiss that followed was just warm and lingering, slow like the two of you are just savoring the moment. Your lips moved softly together, tasting faintly of caramel. When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “You’re going to get sick,” he murmured again, voice lower now.

“You’re the one who gave me your jacket.”

“Exactly.”

Later, you ended up at the small park near the edge of town. The trees were halfway through changing – green bleeding into gold, gold into rust. Leaves littered the grass like scattered confetti after a celebration that no one remembered starting. You sat on the swings even though you were both too old for them. James pushed off gently with his heel, swaying back and forth. You matched his rhythm without thinking.

“Do you ever think about just leaving?” he asked suddenly. You tilted your head. “Leaving where?” “Anywhere.” He shrugged. “HK’s pretty small and boring, you know.” You watched a leaf tumble across the pavement. “Yeah,” you admitted softly. “I mean sometimes.. Unless I start thinking of bolo buns”

He smiled at that. “You’d be fine without bolo buns,” he said. You sarcastically scoffed but looked at him anyway– at the way his fingers curled loosely around the swing chains. At the small scar on his knuckle from when he’d tripped running to catch you in the rain weeks ago, at the way the fading light caught in his eyes. “Maybe after I graduate I don’t knooowww,” you said stubbornly.

He slowed his swing until his shoes dragged against the ground. Then he stood and stepped in front of you, hands wrapping around your waist to stop you gently. Your breath caught, just slightly. “What?” you asked, smiling. “Nothing,” he said. “Just… look at you.” You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

His thumbs traced absent circles against the material of his jacket on you. The wind picked up then, lifting strands of your hair across your face. He reached up automatically to tuck them behind your ear. The gesture was small and intimate in a way that didn’t need spectacle. “I like this,” he added quietly. “It’s just us.”

Just us.

You leaned your forehead against his chest. You could hear his steady and grounding heartbeat. For a moment, the world felt far away. You let yourself relax into him, “Us,” you repeated as he kisses your hair, slow and absentminded and safe. You smiled, eyes closed. If someone had passed by, they would’ve thought you were just two ordinary people in love.

You talked about nothing– about a show you wanted to watch, about how bad and messy his hair looked that morning, about whether cinnamon actually improves anything, about something stupid you obliviously did that led to some grandma shouting at you, he laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes.

At one point you kissed him again just because you could. It was easy. God, it was easy. And when the sun began to dip and the air grew colder, he walked you home like always. At the lobby of your apartment, he didn’t let go of your hand immediately. “Text me when you’re inside,” he said.

“You worry too much.”

“Obviously.”

You leaned forward and kissed him one last time. “See you tomorrow?” he asked. You nodded without hesitation. “Tomorrow.” You watched him walk outside and down the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, before glancing back once to make sure you were still there.

As you reached your floor and into your apartment, you stood behind your door for a second longer than necessary. Your lips still felt warm from kissing him goodbye. You stepped inside the house with that softness still clinging to you – the smell of coffee on you, his jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, the ghost of his laughter echoing in your ears. The lights were on– all of them and that should’ve been the first sign. Your mother was sitting at the dining table, scrolling through her phone, waiting. Your father stood by the window, the curtains were slightly parted.

Your stomach dropped before anyone spoke.

“Take that off,” your mother said calmly, nodding at the jacket. You didn’t move. Your father let the curtain fall back into place. “We saw him,” he said. The words were quiet and controlled– it somehow feels worse because of it. Your fingers tightened slightly around the zipper of James’ jacket. “It was just–”

“Don’t lie.”

Your mother’s voice wasn’t raised because it didn’t need to be. “We told you to focus,” she continued. “We told you what this looks like. And yet he walks you home like he has a place here.” The warmth from earlier drained so fast it made you dizzy. “It’s not like that,” you said quickly, “he was just making sure I got home.”

“Exactly that.”

The silence that followed pressed heavy against your chest. Your father stepped forward, “That boy thinks this is serious,” he said. “And you are encouraging it.” You swallowed and the words slipped out before you could stop them, “It is serious.” 

Your mother’s expression changed instantly into something sharper. “And what exactly do you think happens when this ‘serious’ little relationship interferes with your future?” she asked. “Do you think he can protect you from consequences? Like if your reputation is damaged? Or if your focus shifts which it probably already has.” Your father’s voice lowered. “If you continue this, we will make sure he understands what happens when he oversteps.”

Your heart stuttered, “You’re being dramatic. What does that mean?”

“It means,” your mother said, folding her hands neatly on the table, “we will speak to his parents. We will make it clear that this needs to stop, and we will make it stop.” Ice flooded your veins. “No,” you said quickly. “Don’t do that.”

“Then handle it.”

“You two are young,” your father said. “You have an entire future in front of you, you will recover from this. But if you fall deeper, you’ll drag him down with you.”

You pictured him laughing in the café earlier, his hands wrapped around yours, the way he’d said, See you tomorrow. Your mother’s voice softened – falsely kind. “You know we don’t approve of him so if you care about him at all, you’ll end this before it becomes ugly.” The room felt smaller and you realized you were still wearing his jacket. It suddenly felt too heavy, too visible. You slipped it off slowly, folding it over your arm. “I’ll fix it,” you whispered.

Your father nodded once. “Good.”

Later that night, you sat on your bedroom floor with the jacket in your lap. Your phone buzzed.

Jammz <3: Just got back, you?

You typed back, I’m home thanks for today jaemie :)

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Of course. Did you warm up? Your vision blurred as you replied,  Yeah. You worry too much.

You pressed your lips together to stop them from trembling. He sent one more message.

Tomorrow? You stared at the word and your chest felt like it was being pried open from the inside, you sent a message back: Tomorrow.

The next day, you wake up feeling tired. The sunlight coming through your curtains feels too gentle for what you’re about to do. Dust floats lazily in the air, innocent and unaware. For a second, you let yourself pretend this is just another day as your phone lights up on your bedside table.

Jammz <3: Morning. I’m stealing you today.

You stare at the message, your throat tightens as you sent him a message, Only if you buy me my buns.  His reply comes instantly: Already planned. You’re predictable. You sit up slowly, pressing your palm against your chest like you can steady the ache before it starts. You tell yourself you’ll do it later, just not immediately.

He’s waiting at your usual spot, sunlight catching in his hair. When he sees you, he breaks into that soft grin that makes his whole face open up. “Hi,” he says. And the way he says it is so normal you almost crumble, “Hi.” you replied. He steps closer without hesitation, hands finding your waist like they always do. He leans down and kisses you gently – slow, warm, unguarded. You kiss him back like you’re trying to memorize him for the nth time. When he pulls away, he frowns slightly. “What?” “Nothing,” you say quickly. “You just look good today.” He laughs. “You’re suspiciously nice, I’d rather my girlfriend bully me.”

“Shut up.” You grab his hand first this time. He notices but he just squeezes your fingers in response. The café is obviously warmer than the air outside. The windows are fogged up from the cold, muting the world into something softer. You sit across from him this time instead of beside him because you want to see his face clearly. He talks about something small – a story from yesterday, a stupid joke his friend made, some plan for next week.

Next week. You nod and smile and respond in all the right places. But inside, something is splintering. “You’re staring at me,” he says, amused. “Am I not allowed?”

“You are. It’s just intense.”

“Maybe I’m appreciating you.”

He tilts his head. “For what?” You hold his gaze a second too long, “For everything.” His expression softens at that. “You’re being weird today,” he murmurs, reaching across the table to brush his thumb over your knuckles. The contact sends warmth up your arm and you lace your fingers with his, not letting go.

After the café, you walk aimlessly. There’s no real destination, just streets you’ve walked a bazillion times before. Leaves scatter across the pavement, crunching beneath your steps. The air is crisp but bright, the kind of autumn day that feels deceptively alive. At one point, you stop under a tree whose leaves are almost entirely gold. “Stand there,” you say suddenly.

“What?”

“Just stand there.”

He obeys, confused but smiling. You take a step back and just look at him – framed by sunlight and falling leaves, hands tucked into his jacket, eyes squinting slightly from the brightness. “What are you doing?” he laughs.

“Nothing.”

You step forward again and kiss him before he can ask more questions. This kiss is deeper, slower, your hands slide up to his collar, pulling him closer than necessary. His arms wrap around you instinctively, secure and steady. He hums softly against your mouth – content and comfortable. When you pull back, your breathing is uneven“Okay,” he says lightly, brushing his nose against yours. “Definitely suspicious.” You laughed at that, but it sounds thinner than you intended. “You love me, right?” you ask suddenly. He doesn’t hesitate, “Of course I do.” The certainty in his voice almost undoes you.

“How do you know?” you whisper. He smiles like the answer is obvious, “Because it’s you.” You blink quickly and look down so he won’t see but he does and tips your chin up gently. “Hey. What’s going on?” “Nothing, it’s just that time of the month,” you say again, trying to humor him except this time it feels like a lie that physically hurts.

 Later, you sit beside each other on a low brick wall near the park. His hand rests lazily over yours while he’s talking about winter. “We should go somewhere,” he says. “Somewhere quiet. Just us.” You nod automatically, “Yeah. That’d be nice.” He leans his head against yours, warm and solid, “I’m really happy,” he says quietly. Your heart cracks. “I know,” you swallowed. You didn’t mean to say that in an emotional way but he didn’t notice which relieved you, just squeezes your hand instead. “You and me,” he says. “We’re good.” You close your eyes. letting the words sink in like a bruise forming under skin. You gave it your all and he did too. That’s what makes it unbearable, “I need to walk alone, You know the um.. Cramps. Stay here?” You told him and he nodded, “Aight, if you need anything I’m just a call away.”

You walked further but still around the park numbly, with not a single thought lingering inside your head. You were too lost in the walk that you didn’t realize the sky started to darken. “There you are,” you heard James’s voice from behind you, relief flooding his voice. “You scared me, it’s getting dark.” You stepped a few feet away from him and didn’t move closer. He noticed and his brows drew together slightly, but he smiled anyway, trying to lighten whatever this was. “Why so serious? Did the world declare war officially now or something?” Usually you would’ve laughed. Usually you would’ve stepped into him, tucked your face into his chest, breathed in that familiar warmth. Instead, your hands were shaking. He stepped closer to you and this time you didn’t step back.

“James.” He hums, taking your hand and brushing his thumb lazily over your knuckles. “Yeah?” Your chest feels tight enough to bruise. “I’ve been thinking,” you say carefully. “Dangerous,” he jokes lightly. You almost smile. You look at him now and it feels like standing on the edge of something.  “Hey,” he says softly. “Talk to me.”

Your throat tightens. “We can’t do this anymore.” The words fall flat. Too clean and rehearsed. For half a second, he just stares at you. Then he laughs, “Wait, say that again?”

“We can’t,” you repeat, and your voice cracks. He shakes his head, smiling like you’ve told a bad joke. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.” He swings your hands, “Haha, okay, funny. Happy April Fool’s to you too, Y/N, you’re months late– what? Did your friends say they’ll treat you to a month of crispy chicken fillet this time?” You swallowed, “I’m serious.”

He grins. “So am I. You’re not allowed to break up with me on a Thursday. That’s bad timing.” You stare at him because he’s still smiling, still relaxed, and still thinking this is probably  just you spiraling over something small. “I mean it,” you whisper. He laughs – quiet, disbelieving. “No, you don’t.” Your heart stutters, “Yes,” you breathe. He shakes his head like you’ve just said something absurd. “You were just kissing me a few hours ago.”

“I know.”

“You asked if I loved you.”

“I know.”

“And now you’re–” he gestures vaguely between you, amused confusion still written all over him. “What are you doing? Testing me?” Your vision starts to blur. You didn’t think this part would be the hardest– the part where he doesn’t believe you. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say, and your voice cracks on the last word. He pauses but only slightly, “Okay,” he says gently, as if humoring you. “You’re overwhelmed. Is it your parents? We’ll talk about whatever it is and fix it.”

“There’s nothing to fix.”

“Exactly,” he replies. “So why are you acting like–”

“James, please.” Your tears spill over before you can stop them, sudden, helpless tears sliding down your cheeks. He stops smiling completely. “Hey,” he says immediately, stepping closer. “Hey, what–” You shake your head, covering your mouth like you’re trying to physically hold the words inside. “I don’t want to,” you choke out.

His hands find your arms instinctively. “Don’t want to what?” You choked, “I don’t want to break up with you.” The sentence shatters between you. He freezes, the humor drains from his face like someone flipped a switch. “You don’t… want to?” he repeats slowly. You’re crying harder now, shoulders shaking. “I don’t. I really don’t. But I have to.” “Have to?” His grip tightens. “Who’s making you?” You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if you’re standing here crying.”

“They’ll go to your parents,” you blurt out. “They’ll make it ugly. They’ll drag you into it and I can’t let that happen.” “They said they’d make it hard for you. For your family. They said they’d step in if I didn’t.” Your voice trembles. “I don’t want you portrayed as a bad, troublesome person and framed through some humiliation ritual.”

His jaw tightens. “So?” A small sob escapes your chest, sharp and involuntary. “I don’t want loving me to feel like something you have to endure,” you say. “I don’t want you waking up one day and realizing I cost you too much.” He steps closer again, almost desperate now. “You don’t get to decide what’s out of your control for me.”

“I’m deciding it because I love you.” He exhales shakily, disbelief flickering across his face. “You love me,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

“Then don’t do this.”

You look up at him and that’s when he sees the devastation yet no doubt nor indifference. His hands slide from your arms to your face, thumbs brushing at your tears automatically. “You’re serious,” he says, voice barely audible now. You nod. “I don’t want to lose you,” you whisper. “But I can’t watch them try to tear you apart either.”

His forehead rests against yours, the world feels suspended. “You’re choosing this,” he murmurs. “I’m choosing you,” you reply. “Just not the way you want.” His breathing turns uneven. For a second, it looks like he might argue again. Instead, he just holds you tighter. Like if he memorizes the shape of you now, it’ll hurt less later. “You were never a burden, you know that, right?,” he says quietly. 

You let out a broken sound that isn’t quite a laugh and isn’t quite a sob. He pulls back slightly, searching your face one last time. “If I kiss you,” he says softly, “are you going to take it back?” You shake your head, tears still falling. “No.”

He nods once then kisses you slow, intentional, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into the space between you. Your hands clutch at his jacket. His grip at your waist tightens like he’s anchoring himself. When he pulls away, his forehead stays pressed to yours. “I don’t agree with this,” he whispers. That almost undoes you again. He brushes his thumb under your eye, wiping away another tear. “Don’t let them convince you this wasn’t real,” he says. “It was,” you breathe, “It still is.”

You close your eyes. He steps back first this time. Slowly, like he’s giving you the space you asked for, even though neither of you wants it. And for the first time since you’ve known him he doesn’t reach for your hand again.

Present Day

You stop outside a small cha chaan teng near the corner. The glass display case is fogged slightly from the heat inside. Behind it, rows of golden bolo buns sit under the lights, their crackled tops glistening with sugar. You used to drag him here. “Just one,” you’d say but he’d always buy three– two for you because you couldn’t stop eating them and one for him. The bell above the door chimes as you push it open. You stop outside a small cha chaan teng near the corner. Inside smells like butter and sweet crust and condensed milk. The warmth hits your cheeks. You order automatically. “One bolo bun. No butter.” You used to get it with butter and he’d tease you about how dramatic you were when it melted down your fingers. You pay, step back outside, and the cool air brushes against the heat still clinging to your skin when you nearly collide. A familiar height, familiar broad shoulders, and the faintest trace of a scent of peach you once knew without trying. Your heart reacts before your mind catches up. James.

He looks older – mature, not in a way that shocks you. His hair is shorter, his posture straighter. There’s something quieter about him – like the year carved away the impulsive edges. His eyes meet yours and for a second, it feels like that warm day before everything ended. A tram rattles past, someone laughs across the street, neon lights flicker overhead as something in your chest shifts.

“Hey,” he says softly. You realize you’re still holding the warm paper bag between your hands. “Hi.” the word barely leaves you. His eyes flick down to the bag. “Still obsessed?” he asks, a hint of something familiar tugging at his mouth. Your throat tightens, “Some things don’t change.” The silence that follows isn’t sharp like it used to be.

He shifts slightly closer– not touching, just enough that you’re aware of him the way you once were without trying.There are a thousand things hanging unsaid:

Did you hate me?

Did you understand?

Did you ever forgive me?

Did you stop loving me?

The sugar crust flakes slightly as your fingers tighten around the bag, he notices. Of course he does. “You’ll let it get cold,” he says quietly. The words hit you harder than they should. Because once, he used to say that about you. You swallow, “It’s fine.”

He exhales softly, “Are you– ” At the same time, you say, “Do you–” You both stop. A small, startled laugh escapes you. It sounds unfamiliar at first, then painfully familiar. Like something sliding back into place. The wind lifts again, scattering leaves around your ankles.

Autumn. Same season, different versions of you. He looks at you – not with the reckless certainty of before, not with disbelief like that night you shattered both of you. “Do you have minute?” he asks.

[moonriddles]

Hi everyone don't worry about Rung he's okay after the jar incident

We went to watch Superman together!

[starhvney]

TAKE YOUR TIME

LOVE YOU LOTS AND YOULL DO GREAT SWEETIE

-🔮

THANK YOU 🔮 ANON I NEEDED THIS SEVERELY

[fuckyeahxiumin]

이유(You) - 시우민 XIUMIN XIUWEET TIME ✻ 나의 따스한 봄 // do not edit. do not re-upload.

[galchenyum]

#boylestrong

[butchizuku]

missing aot again

[cicada-soup]

happy date of birth to me and the greatest birthday twin on planet earth:

✨ punch the monkey ✨

we r gonna eat this year up king 👑