Hey hey could you possibly write about p1h being a muse for their SO? Like if she was an artist a lot of her paintings end up being them or if she's a writer she writes about them, just reader being inspired by them and it makes the boys fall in love even more if that makes any sense? Ily writing i know you'll do this well if you choose to do so❤️
pairing: P1Harmony x reader!
Warnings none hehehe
Disclaimer: not my pic!
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The only person i inspire is my Ex's Therapist (Shout out to you, Marc!)
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✹Keeho✹
You sat on the edge of the desk, legs tucked beneath you, the keyboard balanced comfortably across your lap. Your fingers wandered without urgency, pressing keys the way someone traced familiar streets just to enjoy the walk. The melody came out soft and playful, looping back on itself, slightly imperfect in a way that felt warm rather than wrong.
Keeho leaned against the doorway at first, arms crossed, listening. He hadn’t planned on stopping. He definitely hadn’t planned on staying. But something tugged at his attention, a small hook under the ribs. His head tilted. His brows knit together, not in confusion, but recognition.
He stepped closer, slow, like the sound might vanish if he startled it.
“…Hey,” he said finally, voice careful. “What are you playing?”
You chuckled, shoulders lifting as you finished the phrase. The last note lingered in the air like a secret. You turned around on the bench to face him, keyboard still humming faintly beneath your hands.
“Oh,” you said lightly. “That?”
Keeho nodded, eyes locked on you now. “Yeah. That.”
You smiled, the kind that already knew where this was going. “I heard you whistling it the other day. And humming. You do it when you think no one’s listening.”
His mouth opened, then closed. Color climbed up his neck like it had somewhere important to be. “I do not.”
“You do,” you said, laughing. “It stuck in my head, so I played around with it. And then it turned into… this.”
You turned back to the keyboard and played the melody again, fuller this time. His melody. The same little rise and fall, now dressed up with chords and rhythm, like you had given it a home.
Keeho stared. He brought a hand up to his face, rubbing his cheek, then his eyes. “Wait,” he said, flustered. “Are you saying you made a song… out of something I did?”
You looked over your shoulder at him. “Yeah.”
“For me?”
You nodded. “It’s about you too. Kinda hard not to be.”
His blush deepened, impossible to miss now. “You’re kidding,” he muttered, half laughing, half stunned. “You just casually turned me into a song?”
You shrugged. “You make good sounds.”
That did it.
He crossed the distance in three quick steps, hands settling on either side of you as he leaned down and kissed you. It was warm and a little breathless, like he still hadn’t caught up to the moment. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.
“Play it again,” he said softly. “Please.”
You turned back to the keys, heart light, fingers ready. As the melody filled the room once more, Keeho stayed close, smiling to himself, listening to the sound of being seen.
✹Theo✹
Theo sat on the edge of the couch with his guitar resting comfortably against his knee, fingers moving with quiet focus. He played without looking at you, eyes half-lidded, chasing a melody that seemed to breathe on its own. The room felt smaller when he played, like the sound folded the air inward and kept it close.
You watched him from a few steps away, hands tucked carefully behind your back. You tried not to smile too wide. You definitely failed.
He glanced up between chords and caught you staring. The music slowed, then stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, amused, head tilting slightly.
“Like what?” you asked innocently.
“Like you’re hiding something,” he said, eyes narrowing just a little.
You laughed and walked over, sitting down beside him on the couch. The guitar shifted as he adjusted, giving you space, curiosity written plainly on his face. You brought your hands forward and placed a small box in his lap, wrapped neatly, ribbon tied with care.
“For you,” you said.
Theo blinked. “What did I do?”
“You just exist,” you replied, grinning.
He hesitated for a second, then carefully untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside lay a guitar strap, folded gently. It took him a moment to really see it. Then his breath caught.
He lifted it slowly, like it might disappear if he moved too fast. The leather was soft, worn in just enough, and stitched across it were small, thoughtful details. Lines of lyrics he recognized instantly. Little drawings. Tiny sewn-in images of things he loved. A coffee cup. A star. A pair of headphones. Even the date of his first solo performance, stitched subtly near the end.
“Wow,” he breathed.
You watched his hands trace the seams, his thumb brushing over the stitches like he was memorizing them. His expression went quiet, stunned in a way that made your chest feel warm and tight all at once.
“You made this yourself?” he asked softly.
You nodded. “I did.”
“When?” he asked, still staring at it. “How did you even… when did you have time?”
You laughed. “Late nights. Early mornings. Whenever you weren’t around.” You leaned closer. “It was really hard not to show you. I almost ruined the surprise like five times.”
He looked at you then, eyes bright, full of something tender and overwhelmed. “You paid attention to all of this,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
“I always do,” you replied.
Theo swallowed, then carefully attached the strap to his guitar. He stood, slipped it over his shoulder, and tested the weight like it belonged there. Because it did.
“Thank you,” he said quietly.
When he started playing again, the sound felt different. Fuller. Like the guitar knew it had been loved twice.
✹Jiung✹
You sat cross-legged on the floor, laptop case balanced on your thighs, tongue peeking out slightly as you focused. The marker in your hand moved in quick, confident strokes, filling the surface with small doodles. Little characters, exaggerated expressions, motion lines everywhere. You were so absorbed that you barely registered the soft footsteps behind you.
Jiung noticed immediately.
He slowed his steps, eyes already sparkling with curiosity, and leaned in carefully over your shoulder, careful not to bump you or cast a shadow too suddenly. He watched in silence for a few seconds, taking it in. Then he let out a quiet chuckle.
“Woah” he said softly. “These are really cute.”
You jumped, then laughed when you realized it was him. “You scared me,” you said, hand clutching your chest for half a second.
“Worth it,” he replied, grinning. He leaned closer, eyes scanning the drawings. “I didn’t know you could draw like this.”
You shrugged, still focused. “It helps me relax.”
He hummed thoughtfully, pointing at one of the doodles. “This one,” he said, then another. “And that one too.” His smile slowly shifted into something more focused. “They kind of remind me of my last performance.”
You finally looked up at him, eyes bright. “Yeah?”
He nodded, crouching beside you now. “The poses. The expressions. That move I did at the chorus,” he added, pointing again. “See? That’s basically me.”
You smiled, warmth spreading through you. “Well what a coincidence huh.”
“Wait,” he said carefully, “is that on purpose?”
You capped the marker and set it aside, then nodded. “Your performance inspired me. I couldn’t get it out of my head, so I started drawing.”
Jiung blinked. “Wait,” he said, incredulous. “You drew all of this because of me?”
You laughed. “Well, yeah.”
He stared at the case again, taking in the details with new eyes. The energy. The movement. The way every character seemed mid-action, like they were dancing off the surface. “I can’t believe this,” he said quietly. “This is… really amazing.”
You stood and leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before he could overthink it. “You’re my biggest inspiration,” you said playfully.
His face lit up instantly, smile wide and a little disbelieving. “Me?” he echoed, hand coming up to his chest. “I’m honored.”
You laughed, resting your forehead against his. “You should be.”
He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, still glancing at the doodles like they might move if he looked long enough. “I love that you turn things into art,” he said softly. “Especially when it’s about something I care about.”
You leaned into him, proud and content, while Jiung stayed there, grinning, quietly amazed that something he did onstage had followed him home and turned into something this personal.
✹Intak✹
Rain tapped softly against the windows, the kind that turned the world outside into a blur of gray and comfort. You sat curled up on the couch with your journal resting on your lap, scraps of paper and tiny supplies spread neatly across the coffee table. Your hands moved slowly, deliberately. You glued, pressed, wrote, then paused to look at the page like it might talk back.
The living room was quiet until you heard footsteps, light and sleepy.
Intak shuffled in, hair still a little messy from his nap, hoodie half-zipped. He blinked at the rain, then at you, and smiled. Without a word, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then another to your lips.
“Did you sleep well?” you asked, smiling up at him.
He nodded, voice low and warm. “Yeah. Way too well.” He dropped down beside you, stretching his arms, then let his gaze drift to your lap. “What are you working on?”
You didn’t answer right away. You kept your journal angled slightly away, pretending to focus on a detail near the spine.
Intak leaned closer anyway. He tilted his head, brows slowly drawing together as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. His frown lasted about two seconds before it broke into a laugh.
“Wait,” he said, pointing. “That’s me.”
You looked up, grin already there. “It is.”
He laughed again, louder this time. “That’s literally a page about me.”
You turned the journal toward him proudly. The page was layered and textured, full of care. Handwritten notes. Little doodles in the margins. Tucked neatly into the corner was a loose button, sewn in place. A strip of worn fabric ran along the edge.
Intak leaned in, eyes wide. “Is this… my bandana?”
You nodded. “The one you ripped during practice.”
“And that button,” he said, touching it carefully, “that came off my jacket.”
“Mm-hm.” You smiled. “And I might’ve sprayed a little of your cologne on the page.”
He inhaled softly, then froze. “You did.”
You laughed. “I wanted it to feel like you.”
He stared at the page for a long moment, fingers tracing the edges, careful not to smudge anything. His expression shifted into something quieter, more thoughtful. “This is amazing,” he said softly. “Like… actually unbelievable.”
You shrugged, warmth blooming in your chest. “I like collecting moments.”
“You didn’t just collect them,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You turned me into art.”
He looked at you then, eyes bright, impressed in that honest, boyish way he had. “I can’t believe you did this,” he added, smiling wide. “It’s so cool.”
The rain kept falling outside as Intak stayed close, still admiring the page, clearly proud to have a place in your world that looked like this.
✹Soul✹
You loved drawing when the world slowed down.
It usually happened when Soul was nearby but not paying attention. When he scrolled through his phone, thumb moving lazily. When the TV light flickered across his face, shadows settling perfectly along his cheekbones. You never asked him to pose. You never told him. You just opened your sketchbook quietly and let your pencil chase the lines you already knew by heart.
The curve of his nose.
The way his lashes rested when he blinked slowly.
That calm, unreadable expression that somehow felt gentle instead of distant.
You drew him over and over, each portrait slightly different. Some soft. Some sharp. Some caught mid-thought. It felt natural, like breathing.
That evening, the bathroom filled with steam as you showered, unaware of the small accident waiting outside. Soul moved through the living room, half-focused on the video playing on his phone, when his foot caught the edge of something leaning against the couch.
Your sketchbook hit the floor with a dull thud.
He paused, startled, then crouched to pick it up. “shit,” he murmured instinctively, even though you weren’t there. The cover had fallen open.
And then he saw it.
His breath stopped.
Page after page held his face. Not copied. Not exaggerated. Seen. Pencil strokes layered carefully, confidently. Some sketches were loose and quick, others detailed down to the faint shadow beneath his eyes. There were notes in the margins. Little arrows pointing out features. Hearts you probably hadn’t meant to leave so obvious.
Soul sank down onto the floor without realizing it, sketchbook resting in his hands like something fragile. He flipped another page. Then another. His expression stayed quiet, but his eyes softened, widened, filled with something like disbelief.
The bathroom door opened.
You stepped out, towel around your shoulders, hair damp. The moment you saw him sitting there with your sketchbook open, your stomach dropped.
“Hey,” you said immediately. “You weren’t supposed to look at that.”
He looked up, startled, then guilty for half a second. “I knocked it over,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to but then I saw—”
You crossed the room and took a breath, scolding lightly. “Privacy please."
Instead of arguing, he lifted the sketchbook slightly toward you. “These,” he said quietly, “are really amazing.”
You froze.
“They’re all me,” he added, almost incredulous. “You drew me like this?”
Your expression softened. You smiled, a little shy now. “Yeah. I just love your face.”
That earned the smallest smile from him.
He looked back down at the sketches, turning the pages again, slower this time. His thumb brushed the paper carefully, like he was afraid to smudge something important. “I can’t stop looking,” he admitted. “You captured things I didn’t know I showed.”
You sat beside him, warmth spreading in your chest. Soul stayed there for a long while, silent, stunned, surrounded by proof that you had been watching him with nothing but love.
✹Jongseob✹
The living room glowed blue and red from the TV as the movie played, the sound of web shooters and city noise filling the space. You sat curled up on the couch beside Jongseob, legs tucked under you, sharing a blanket that had slowly shifted more onto his side than yours.
Halfway through the movie, he leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the screen. “You know,” he said, thoughtful but amused, “I always wonder what kind of superhero I’d be.”
You turned your head to look at him. The timing was too perfect. A grin spread across your face before you could stop it.
“Oh don't worry,” you said. “I already know.”
He blinked and looked at you, surprised. “You do?”
You nodded confidently. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”
He laughed, short and disbelieving. “When?”
“Does it matter?” you replied, scooting closer and turning your body toward him. “You’d be the kind of hero who doesn’t fight just with strength. You’d use your brain first.”
His interest sharpened immediately. “Okay,” he said, smiling. “Go on.”
“You’d have the ability to manipulate sound and words,” you explained. “Like, your voice could turn into energy. You could bend soundwaves, control rhythm, disrupt villains just by speaking or rapping.” You gestured with your hands as you talked, clearly enjoying this. “You’d be super strategic. Always thinking three steps ahead.”
Jongseob laughed again, but this time softer, impressed. “That actually sounds kind of cool.”
“And your hero name,” you added, eyes bright, “would be something like ‘EchoMind...or more Captain Echo!’”
He repeated it under his breath. “Captain Echo,” he said, then shook his head, grinning. “You really put thought into this.”
“Of course I did,” you said casually. “Your suit would be sleek. Dark colors. Minimal. No cape, because it would get in the way.”
He leaned back against the couch, still smiling, eyes drifting back to the paused movie for a moment. “I can’t believe you’ve imagined all of this.”
You giggled, a little proud now. “That’s not even the best part.”
He looked back at you. “What do you mean?”
“I might’ve drawn you as a superhero once,” you said lightly. “Like… a full design.”
He stared at you, then burst out laughing. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You’re lying,” he said, pointing at you. “There’s no way.”
You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Zero faith.”
“There is absolutely no way you just casually drew me as a superhero and never mentioned it,” he insisted.
You shot up from the couch, blanket slipping off your shoulders. “Stay right there,” you said excitedly. “I’m getting it.”
He watched you hurry down the hallway, still laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable,” he called after you.
And as you searched for the drawing, Jongseob sat there smiling to himself, already wondering what he would look like through your eyes.
The city outside was still half-asleep when the smell of coffee began to drift through the apartment.
You blinked awake to the faint sound of a spoon clinking against a mug, followed by the low hum of someone trying to remember the rest of a tune.
It was always strange hearing him hum. On the field, The Mangler’s voice came out like steel on stone, sharp commands, guttural German phrases that made even forwards hesitate. But here, barefoot in gray sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt that looked two sizes too small on his frame, he was all warmth and clumsy rhythm.
You padded into the kitchen wearing one of his shirts, hair still a mess.
He noticed immediately, and smiled, small but genuine, as though the sight of you was the first good thing he’d seen in days.
“Guten Morgen, Liebling,” he murmured, his accent curling softly around the words. “You slept long.”
“I was warm,” you mumbled, leaning against the counter, “and someone left no room for me to move.”
He turned, mock-offended. “I take only my half of the bed.”
You raised a brow at the memory of him sprawling diagonally across the mattress like a felled tree. He caught the look and chuckled—an actual, rumbling laugh that filled the kitchen and made the mugs tremble on the shelf.
He poured your coffee first, the way he always did, two sugars, no milk, and handed it over carefully, like he was passing you something fragile. His hands could block a ball traveling a hundred kilometers an hour, yet he held your cup as if it might shatter under his touch.
You took a sip and leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his chest through thin cotton.
“What’s the plan for today?” you asked.
He thought for a moment, gaze drifting to the window where early sunlight painted the floor in gold. “Nothing,” he said finally. “Von Push-up said rest day. So…”
He looked down at you, eyes crinkling. “We rest.”
And that was exactly what you did.
He read for a while, some historical novel, glasses sliding down his nose, while you folded laundry beside him on the couch. The TV played quietly in the background; at some point, his arm found its way around you, heavy but reassuring, and before long, both of you had dozed off again, a heap of warmth and peace.
Later, when rain began to patter softly against the balcony, he stirred. “Pizza?” he suggested sleepily.
You smiled against his shoulder. “Only if you promise not to fall asleep before it arrives.”
He grinned, lazy and content. “No promises.”
For a man who had spent most of his life behind walls—stadiums, strategy, precision, these Sundays were sacred. Here, no drills, no shouting, no pressure. Just quiet laughter, the smell of coffee and rain, and you, fitting perfectly against the chest of the Iron Tank’s most unguarded secret.
Here are some everyday tips that I’m trying to incorporate into my life to help me stay on track with my health, not to just care for my body but also my mind
♥ Spice up your food - use herbs & seasoning
♥ Be aware of how different things change your emotions - it’s important to figure out what triggers you and what lifts you up
♥ Eat veggies with at least 2 of your daily meals
♥ GET A SLEEP ROUTINE - If you have to, give yourself a bedtime!!
♥ Practice gratitude - try to be as thankful as possible for the small things in life
♥ Pack ‘healthy’ snacks always, especially if you’re out for long periods of time
♥ Take oral hygiene serious - brush your teeth twice a day& regularly replace your toothbrush, floss after meals, gargle some mouthwash
♥ Get yourself a glass of water first thing after waking up
♥ Try to eat mindfully, are you actually hungry or just bored?
♥ Coffee drinker? Try swapping at least one cup a day for decaff or even a herbal tea
♥ Move about! Exercise is good for both body & mind, even just a walk can work wonders
♥ Have a baking session! Try creating healthy alternatives to your favourites or create something you already love to treat yourself
