#how am i supposed to be a full person without you;

[gender-fag]

.

[caligvlasaqvarivm]

wanna ask how you feel about the eridan bpd headcanon/theory(?? not sure what to call it!) you're so good at your character analysis and i'd love to see your outlook on it

Since I don't have a degree or any formal training in psychology, I feel deeply uncomfortable diagnosing characters. I've made an autism joke before but only because I'm on the spectrum. He's definitely traumatized and anxious, but I mean those as descriptors of his behavior rather than capital-D Diagnoses. I try to focus on those when I can - the cause and effect of cognition, self-image, and behavior - and those factors may very well match up with DSM criteria, but I try not to touch an actual diagnosis with a ten foot pole unless the author has explicitly stated that X character has Y condition.

[asvidema]

there's some things happening in the lab that i feel good about but at the same time i still need time to process them

[orcelito]

I'm tired of dreaming about my dad. I know it's part of processing, but I am just so tired.

[sketchs-trashcan]

i get what you're saying, but i cannot tell you how many times i've wanted to throw a brick at a pedestrian as both a driver *and* a fellow pedestrian

the customer is always right -> hmm. I'm not sure about that

the pedestrian is always right -> this we cannot possibly refute

[disneydreamlights]

Second unrebloggable text post about this shit but like...man, I hate AINI and I hate FE Fates and I don't particularly care for the Star Wars ST and don't get me started on any Paper Mario game post Super and I'm sure a lot of people know my opinions on these from following me or talking to me but like...not every post on my blog for the past month is about how much I hate AINI and how much I'm not looking forward to the new Date game because I know it'll be just as bad or whatever while coming up with ways to shit on AINI and the new game again. Like it's okay to not like things, really. Just don't bill yourself as a fan of it when at this point you can't stop talking about how much you hate it because it doesn't feel like you are.

[yuwritesstuff]

The moment Satoru found out his wife was pregnant, something shifted inside him — like an ancient spell breaking open in his chest, releasing light and warmth he hadn't known he'd been missing.

He’d stared at the little test in your shaking hands, blinking under the harsh bathroom light, and when you looked up at him — nervous, hopeful — he didn’t say a word at first. He just fell to his knees and pressed his forehead gently against your stomach, arms wrapping around your hips as if to say thank you to the tiny life just beginning there.

From then on, it was like the world had flipped upside down in the gentlest, most absurd way.

Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, was suddenly anxious about everything. He kept one hand behind your back every time you walked as if you'd tip over without it. He scowled at the stairs as if they’d personally offended him. He triple-checked the expiration date on everything you ate, even the fruits. Apples!

“Do you think our baby likes apples?” he’d asked one afternoon, watching you crunch into one while curled up on the couch.

“I think I like apples,” you laughed.

“Okay, but we’re a team now. You and the baby are a package deal. So I’m asking for both of you!”

You'd just rolled your eyes — but smiled the whole time.

He thought your cravings were adorable. Even the 2 AM “we need fried chicken right now” kind of cravings. There was no mountain he wouldn't climb for you — and in fact, he did climb one once to get a specific type of peach you said you wanted. He’d teleport to different prefectures if needed.

Your growing belly was his favorite thing in the world. He loved watching you rest your hand on it absentmindedly, like you were already cradling the baby. He’d trace soft patterns over your skin with his fingers, murmuring nonsense stories to the child who kicked like they already had opinions.

He was fascinated by everything. The sound of your baby's heartbeat on the monitor. The way you waddled and scolded him when he called it cute — but he did think it was cute. You were beautiful like the moon — soft, whole, glowing in a way that wasn’t meant to be touched but cherished from beside.

He kept a journal. Something he never told anyone.

It wasn’t elegant or poetic — it was full of rambling thoughts, doodles, little “today the baby kicked again” notes, and things he wanted to tell them when they were older. Sometimes he wrote about how scared he was. How the world was cruel. How much he wanted to protect them. How he was afraid he wouldn't be enough. But always, at the end of the entry, he’d write:

“But your mom is here. And that makes everything okay.”

Satoru was the kind of man who laughed too loud and talked too much, but around you lately, he’d gone soft and quiet in the evenings. He loved brushing your hair back behind your ear. Loved kissing your shoulder when you leaned into him. Loved pressing his cheek to your belly and just… being. No missions. No curses. No battles. Just you.

And despite all his fears — the world, the danger, the weight of who he was — he was happy. Genuinely, finally happy.

It hit him one night when you fell asleep on his chest, your hand loosely over his heart, your child nestled between you two.

He whispered into the silence, voice rough with awe, “I think… I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

And for once, Satoru Gojo didn't feel like the last one standing in a war-torn world. He felt like a man — loved, loving, waiting for a life to bloom.

[kateschi]

back in action

synopsis: being the wife of bakugou katsuki comes with multiple benefits, one of which is a front-row seat to his scrumptious back.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: i know at least 2/3 of you have seen that figurine

you swear there’s no better sight in this world than katsuki bakugou’s back.

not the view from your honeymoon suite in santorini, not the sparkling ocean from your vacation in okinawa—hell, not even the perfect strawberry shortcake you baked last weekend.

no, none of that compares to the sheer beauty that is your husband’s ridiculously broad, wonderfully sculpted, unfairly muscular back.

the way his muscles shift under his skin when he moves? art.

the ripple of strength as he stretches? divine.

the faint sheen of sweat glistening on his shoulders after an intense workout? a masterpiece.

and, as if the gods of attractiveness hadn’t blessed him enough, the scars that mark his skin only add to his allure.

each one tells a story of battles fought and won, of heroism that the world praises but he humbly shrugs off. to you, those scars aren’t just symbols of strength—they’re proof of his resilience, his dedication, his heart.

so, yes. you are absolutely obsessed with your husband’s back, and no, you don’t care how shameless that makes you.

“katsuki,” you call from the couch, chin propped up on your hands as you shamelessly watch him rummage through the fridge.

he’s in nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, the waistband hanging dangerously low on his hips, and his shirt? nowhere to be found.

a completely intentional choice on his part, because he knows exactly how weak you are for him like this. “did anyone ever tell you that you’ve got the best back in the entire universe?”

he pauses, a carton of orange juice in one hand and an eyebrow raised in your direction. “you tell me that every damn day.”

“well, I mean it every damn day.”

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother hiding the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re such a weirdo.”

“damn right,” you shoot back, grinning when he snorts. “come here. let me look at it properly.”

“what, my back?” his expression is one part exasperation, two parts amusement as he shuts the fridge and leans against the counter, arms crossed. “the hell do you need to ‘look’ at it for?”

“because it’s a work of art, obviously,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “and I haven’t had my daily dose of admiring you yet.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face like you’re the most exhausting person on the planet, but he still walks over to you without another word. you can tell he’s secretly enjoying this, though.

“alright, idiot. knock yourself out.” he turns around, presenting you with the full, glorious view of his back.

your eyes immediately light up. “oh my god, it’s perfect.”

“it’s a back,” he deadpans.

“no, no, no. it’s the back,” you insist, reaching out to lightly trace your fingers along the curve of his shoulder blades.

he tenses slightly under your touch—his body always reacts before his mind can catch up—but quickly relaxes as you continue your impromptu “admiration session.”

“you’ve got no idea how unfair this is,” you mumble, running your hands down the defined lines of his lats. “how am I supposed to focus on anything when you look like this?”

“you’re ridiculous.” he’s shaking his head, but you can hear the way his voice softens, the way the edges of his usual gruffness smooth out when he talks to you like this.

it’s a few days later, and you're lounging on the couch, flicking through your phone when you hear him coming from the hallway, the sound of his footsteps heavy and deliberate.

katuski’s been in the gym for a couple of hours, and you can already hear the deep exhale he lets out as he moves closer, his breath still heavy from the workout.

"guess who's back," you say, looking up just in time to see him walking into the living room, wearing only a towel around his waist, his body glistening with sweat from his workout.

he pauses for a moment when he sees your face—wide-eyed and full of admiration, already zeroing in on that perfect, chiseled back. his muscles tense as he moves, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

"really?" he says, voice dripping with disbelief. "you still on about this?"

“can’t help it,” you say, setting your phone aside and leaning back against the cushions, fully prepared to watch him, unashamed. "I’m just amazed that someone like you exists in the world."

katuski rolls his eyes, but there's a soft chuckle that escapes him, betraying his indifference. "yeah, well, quit starin'."

"I can’t help it," you reply, your voice a playful purr as you look him up and down. "I mean, who else looks this good after a workout?"

he tilts his head to the side, his signature scowl starting to form, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“quit actin’ like I’m some kinda showpiece, alright?” he grumbles, though you can hear the lighthearted edge to his voice.

you laugh, clearly enjoying yourself too much. "sorry, can’t help it.”

later that week, you and katuski are out on patrol, both suited up in your respective hero uniforms.

it's business as usual—rescuing civilians, stopping some petty criminals, and making sure the city is safe.

the sun’s setting, painting the skyline in beautiful oranges and purples, but you're still laser-focused on one thing: his back.

it's a total accident—really, it is—but when you're standing next to him after you’ve just subdued a villain, you can't help but sneak a glance at the broad expanse of his back.

you feel that familiar pull to reach out, to trace the powerful lines of his shoulder blades again.

“don’t even think about it,” he warns, his voice low and gruff as he catches the glint of mischief in your eyes.

you smile innocently, taking a step closer. "what? I was just going to—"

"not here. we’re in the damn public," katuski growls, his sharp gaze snapping to yours as his fingers tighten around his gauntlet. "you really think I’m gonna let you paw at me in front of everyone?"

you laugh, unbothered by his obvious annoyance. "I’m not pawing at you, I’m admiring you. there's a difference, katsuki."

his jaw tightens as he glares at you, his usual frown deepening. "that’s the same damn thing."

you can’t help but grin, even though he’s clearly not having it.

but, deep down, you know that katuski secretly loves it. sure, he’s tough and grumpy in front of the public, but you both know how soft he gets when you're alone, how he indulges you without hesitation.

so, you take one last daring step forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, letting your fingers brush along the fabric of his uniform.

he’s about to bark at you to stop, but you just flash him a quick, mischievous grin, and that’s all it takes for him to roll his eyes, muttering under his breath, "unbelievable."

and katsuki was right in his reprimand cause you were breaking the headlines the very next day.

for all the wrong reasons.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[little-jana]

"Flirt Lines Are Open"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: use of Y/N, Spencer being a flustered and blushing mess, flirting, teasing from the team

Wordcount: 800

Summary: You work behind the scenes at the BAU. Every time Spencer calls you for information, it turns into a full-blown flirt fest.

You barely looked up from your multiple monitors as your phone buzzed on your desk. Without checking the caller ID, you already knew who it was.

You grinned, adjusting your headset before answering in your most sultry voice, “BAU Information Hotline, you’ve reached your number-one fan. How may I assist you, Doctor Reid?”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of Spencer clearing his throat. “You, uh—you really need to stop answering like that.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning back in your chair. “If I don’t flirt with you over the phone, how else am I supposed to keep you entertained in the field? What do you need, handsome?”

Across the bullpen, Emily and JJ exchanged looks. Morgan, who was within earshot of Spencer’s end of the call, slowly turned his head with an expression of pure amusement.

Spencer sighed but didn’t hide the tiny smile in his voice. “I need you to cross-check a list of known aliases for our unsub against financial records from the last six months.”

“Anything for you, genius,” you purred. “But if you wanted to hear my voice, you could’ve just said so.”

“(Y/N)…” Spencer warned, but you could hear the slight hitch in his breath.

Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked around the jet where several agents were now trying (and failing) to suppress their giggles.

“I mean, come on, Spence,” you continued. “You always call me first, even when I’m not the best person to ask. Is it because I have the best research skills, or because you just can’t resist the sound of my voice?”

“Both?” Spencer offered hesitantly.

You let out a dramatic sigh. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

Emily stifled a laugh by covering her mouth, while Hotch subtly shook his head as if resigning himself to the reality that this was just… how you and Spencer operated.

Morgan, however, was in full entertainment mode. “Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, before turning toward Spencer with a smirk.

Spencer had turned red, holding the phone slightly away from his ear as if that would somehow make the situation less embarrassing.

Morgan leaned forward. “Pretty Boy, I never—ever—wanna hear that again.” He paused, then smirked. “Actually…?”

Spencer groaned and pressed the phone closer to his ear again. “Ignore him.”

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” you replied, clearly having heard Morgan. “I only have ears for you.”

Spencer let out a soft, almost pained laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep calling.”

Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know if I should be impressed or horrified.”

“I’d go with impressed,” JJ added, barely containing her laughter.

Spencer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just—do you have the records?”

“Of course, Spence. I had them pulled up five minutes ago, but I was having too much fun hearing you squirm,” you admitted.

There was a chorus of “oohs” from the team as Spencer groaned again.

“You’re evil,” he mumbled.

“But you love it,” you teased.

Morgan leaned in once more, voice dripping with amusement. “Hey, (Y/N), when Pretty Boy gets back, you should tell him how much you love his brain.”

“I do love his brain,” you said easily. “And the rest of him isn’t bad either.”

Spencer, now completely red, abruptly ended the call.

The jet erupted into laughter.

---

When the team finally returned to Quantico, Spencer found you waiting at your desk, an innocent smile on your lips. “Hey, genius. Missed me?”

Spencer sighed, rubbing his face. “I have never been more humiliated.”

You grinned. “So, same time tomorrow?”

He huffed, but the small, fond smile on his lips gave him away.

Morgan walked past, clapping him on the shoulder. “Man, you’re so whipped.”

Spencer just shook his head. Maybe he was. But with you? He didn’t really mind.

[mxrcurysb1tch]

Astrology observations pt. VIII 🌚

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Here i am back from the dead hi!! As always, take what resonates and leave the rest! (Small Tw for mention of EDs )

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ I feel like I don’t do rising sign observations so much bc I don’t know anyone’s birth time (grrr) but I do know a few Virgo risings and they all have this extremely elegant put together vibe about them, seriously even their mess looks purposeful and neat. They also all look like models, they’re slender and usually on the taller side. Ie Bella Hadid.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Sagittarius Mars kind of scare me because these mfs can literally do anything without having to practice or train too hard. They could literally wake up tomorrow and run a marathon just for the hell of it just because they can without training. They have such an intense belief in their own physical capabilities that it all kind of works out for them. Depending on their other placements, they’re also usually good at a lot of different things and rarely doubt their capabilities.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Capricorn in the 6h (Leo rising) You guys have iron health. You literally never get sick. Likely to be healthy right into old age and have good genetics or just get better health with age which seems counterintuitive. You’re also likely to take your health very seriously. An example is my mum, she looks 10 years younger than her age because she has never drank or had any major health issues.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ Pisces Mars keep getting hurt by those closest to them and are just too forgiving. It makes my heart sad truly. They might always blame themselves for conflicts too. With love, you guys need to learn to stand up for yourselves and don’t let people treat you like sh!t.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ I’ve noticed that people with Taurus & Scorpio intercepted tend to have issues with food and eating. People with this configuration often forget to eat or just don’t get that much pleasure out of it. I’m not really sure the reason (I suppose Taurus has to do with sensual pleasures and Scorpio is sometimes about restriction?) but they just aren’t all that bothered with food and they’re usually quite underweight for this reason. I wouldn’t say it’s necessarily always a full blown ED but I definitely think it’s something to watch out for. I also imagine, as with all interceptions, it could go to the other extreme and they could binge eat especially if they have personal placements in Taurus that are intercepted.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ The 8th house (talking about it again sorry not sorry. it’s fascinating) is not just about money and death. It’s about anything you inherit from your family line, although it is usually a burden or comes at a heavy price. Think generational curses, ancient trauma that you carry with you that was not even yours in the first place. It could be money you inherit from your family but that will usually come at some kind of cost. For example, you could be from a very wealthy family and be left a lot but maybe they were never warm, loving or accepting of you. That’s the price you pay for the money you did not earn. The 8h is never about choice. You don’t get a say in the matter. The wounds were there before you were even conceived and you have no other option but to bear their burden. It seems unfair, but what it does give you is extraordinary power if you know how to work with it and invest. Investment is the key with this house, whether it be money or transmuting pain into something great.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ mercury opposite mercury in synastry is exhausting imo. Everyone says it’s square you should watch out for but nah. You guys just don’t understand each other, and it comes off as a really judgemental vibe. For instance, As a Leo Mercury every time I meet an Aquarius Mercury I feel super on edge because I feel judged for being “too dramatic”. At the same time, I am constantly questioning how they can be so cool, calm and collected at all times… it’s okay to freak out over minor issues from time to time, it’s fun!

[ilovejb]

hi! I absolutely loved ur hurt/comfort for lewis!! I was wondering if you could write a fluffy hurt/comfort about him and the reader meeting on the set of top gun maverick? I found it so cute!!

| Altitude |

Pairing : Lewis Pullman x Actress!Reader

Summary: While filming Top Gun: Maverick, the stress of your first big role threatens to pull you under—until Lewis Pullman quietly becomes your anchor.

Warnings: Fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, kissing

Authors note : I need Lewis so bad I physically ache

The sun had just started rising over the San Diego base, spilling soft orange light over the tarmac. Fighter jets stood quiet and still, engines silent for now, as the film crew scurried into place like a hive waking up.

You sat on a folding chair near base camp, still dressed in your green flight suit, fingers nervously twisting the zipper up and down.

You were supposed to shoot a reaction scene today—just a couple of close-up shots, nothing huge—but the pressure was already curling inside your chest like smoke.

A few weeks into filming Top Gun: Maverick, and you were already losing sleep.

Everyone else seemed so chill. So confident. You were the new one. The last-minute addition to round out the squadron, an actress with a couple indie films under her belt, now surrounded by established names and Navy advisors barking out commands like you were actually on deployment.

You couldn’t breathe.

“Hey.”

The voice came gently, like a soft knock on the door to your panic.

You looked up and blinked.

Lewis Pullman stood beside you, holding two coffee cups in one hand and a granola bar in the other. His hair was a mess of curls under a backward cap, and he looked like he hadn’t quite woken up yet.

“You okay?” he asked, offering one of the coffees.

You hesitated, then took it with a murmured “thanks.”

He sat beside you without waiting for an invitation, resting the granola bar on the arm of your chair.

“You looked like you might be spiraling,” he said, not unkindly. “I’m a bit of a spiraler myself.”

You let out a breath that was half a laugh. “That obvious?”

“Only to another anxious person.”

You stared out at the runway, sipping the coffee. Silence stretched between you—comfortable, not awkward.

“I keep thinking I’m gonna be the weak link,” you admitted, voice low. “Like they’ll realize I’m not actually cut out for this.”

Lewis leaned back in his chair, letting the morning breeze ruffle his jacket.

“Wanna hear something crazy?” he said.

You nodded.

“I almost threw up before my first scene,” he confessed. “Full body nausea. Like, was sure I’d mess up and disappoint everyone.”

Your brows lifted. “You? But you seem so—”

“Put together?” he offered with a crooked smile. “That’s the trick. I act like I am until I believe it.”

You blinked at him, then looked down at the cup in your hands. His words sank in slowly.

He didn’t ask you to smile or tell you to ‘shake it off.’ He just let the feeling exist in the open. Like it didn’t make you weak. Like it was allowed.

That morning, Lewis stayed beside you until you were called to set. And when the cameras rolled and the director called “Action,” you caught a glimpse of him just off-frame, watching you.

Steady. Quiet. Soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Filming dragged on for weeks after that morning.

Between long days on the tarmac and evening flight training, everyone was running on caffeine and exhaustion. But something had shifted quietly for you.

Because every time you felt overwhelmed, you’d find Lewis nearby—offering a protein bar, a joke, or a quiet moment where you could just be without the cameras, the pressure, the pretend bravery.

And somehow, you started doing the same for him.

You learned he hated big crowds, got overstimulated by noise, and sometimes disappeared on lunch breaks just to sit in his car with music playing low. You started bringing him iced tea instead of coffee because he liked how “unserious” it felt. You teased him, gently, and he teased you right back—but it was always kind. Always safe.

And now, it was near the end of shooting.

The hotel where the cast stayed was unusually quiet—most people had flown home for a long weekend, but you and Lewis had opted to stay. Whether that was coincidence or intentional, neither of you said.

You were watching an old movie on his laptop, curled up at the foot of his bed in your hoodie and sweats, sharing popcorn with Lewis, who was half-propped against the headboard, socks mismatched and hair damp from a shower.

You had barely touched your popcorn, too distracted by the warmth in your chest every time he laughed at the screen.

When the movie ended, neither of you moved.

The only light in the room came from the streetlamp outside, casting faint gold patterns through the blinds. The silence that settled wasn’t awkward. Just… heavy. Expectant.

Lewis shifted, pulling the blanket over both your legs.

“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.

You glanced at him. “Of course.”

“What happens when this ends? Like—this movie. This bubble. Do we just… go back to real life like nothing happened?”

Your chest tightened.

“Is that what you want?” you asked.

He shook his head, slowly. “No. Not even close.”

You sat up straighter, your legs brushing his under the blanket.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had something like this,” you whispered. “Not just the movie, but… you. Us.”

He looked at you like he’d been waiting his whole life for those words.

“You make me feel like I’m not broken,” he said. “Like I don’t have to keep pretending to be confident all the time. Like I can just… exist. And you won’t leave.”

Your breath caught.

You reached up, hesitantly, and brushed your fingers through the curls above his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut at your touch like it physically calmed him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmured.

He opened his eyes again, gaze burning now. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded.

And the second his lips met yours, the world went quiet.

It wasn’t rushed or needy. It was anchored. Like his hands had finally found the thing they were meant to hold. One slid behind your neck, the other gripping your thigh under the blanket as you leaned into him, mouths moving in slow, tender sync.

You felt his sigh as your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more—not in a lustful way, but like you were starving for connection.

His kiss deepened, lips parting as his tongue gently grazed yours, and you whimpered against him without meaning to. That sound made him pull you into his lap in one smooth movement, hands warm under your hoodie now, not groping—just touching, grounding you both.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, your foreheads stayed pressed together.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Lewis said first, voice raw and almost shy.

Your heart flipped.

“I know I’m in love with you,” you whispered.

He laughed softly, pulling you in again, this time to press kisses to your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder.

“God, I was so scared,” he murmured. “Scared I’d lose you the second we left set.”

“You won’t,” you promised. “Not ever.”

You spent the rest of the night in his arms, whispering about your fears, your hopes, your dreams for life after the movie—like building a future wasn’t terrifying anymore, now that it included each other.

And when the sun came up over the Pacific, painting the room in soft morning light, Lewis was still holding you.

And you were still smiling.

[jkwrites-m]

Daddy Kookie (3)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: childhood lovers to exes to lovers, parents au, smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 8k

Summary: After Jungkook dropped all contact, Y/N was left broken - and pregnant. Seven years later, fate brings them back together.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, angst, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, resentment, anger, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, co-parenting, long distance, growth, comfort, vulnerability, domestic, resistance, fighting/arguments, fear of reattachment, time skips, bad flirting explicit: praising, kissing, missionary, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, flirting

A\N: hiii bbys 🫶 i am (tentatively) 80% done writing for daddy kookie

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

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I didn’t expect the message when he landed.

Jungkook: Wheels down. First thing I saw was a vending machine that had banana milk and I thought of you. I know you hate it. But I smiled anyway.

I didn’t respond.

But I smiled, too.

He sent a picture of his hotel room next. A messy corner, a pair of AirPods, a hoodie on the floor. Nothing special. Except it was.

Because it meant he was thinking of me.

Of us.

That night, he FaceTimed just before Eun Ae’s bedtime.

Her face lit up when she saw him.

“MR. KOOKIE!!”

He grinned like she’d just handed him the stars. “There’s my girl.”

I watched from the kitchen, one hand wrapped around a mug, the other pressed against my ribs where my heart felt too big for my chest.

He read her a bedtime story- one she picked out herself. She held the book up to the camera so he could follow along.

He stumbled over the voices.

She corrected him, dramatically.

They laughed.

I felt like I was watching something sacred I wasn’t allowed to touch.

After the call ended, I found myself staring at the empty screen like it had more to say.

The next day, he texted both of us good morning.

Jungkook: Hope today’s full of soft things and fewer meetings.

Jungkook: for Eun Ae- Don’t forget your snack. Eat the grapes. Not just the crackers.

She giggled when she read it.

“I like him,” she said casually.

My throat tightened. “Yeah?”

“He’s funny. And he knows I don’t like raisins. That’s cool.”

I nodded, fighting the part of me that wanted to cry.

Because this? This felt like the part I never thought she’d get.

A dad.

A person.

Someone who stayed.

And I hated how easy it was to get used to it.

═══════

By the third day, he called at lunch just to see what she was eating. She showed him her juice pouch and half-eaten sandwich. He pretended to cry dramatically about the lack of crusts.

“You cut the best part off!” he whined.

“You’re a crust,” she said, unimpressed.

He laughed so hard, she laughed harder.

Later that night, after she was asleep, he called again.

Just for me.

He looked tired. Makeup-free. A hoodie pulled tight around his head.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

Neither of us said anything for a second.

Then he whispered, “You looked really beautiful the morning I left.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I know you didn’t say anything,” he added. “But… you let me stay.”

“I did.”

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do.”

I stared at him through the screen.

“You look tired.”

“I am.”

“Go to sleep.”

“Not yet.”

He didn’t ask for anything else.

Just watched me.

Just stayed.

And I let him.

For an hour.

Without speaking.

Just breathing.

Like maybe this wasn’t a screen between us.

Like maybe the world was a little bit smaller when he was on the other side.

═══════

Tour life was supposed to be a blur.

And it was.

Call times. Sound checks. Hair and makeup. Interviews I barely remembered giving. Airports I couldn’t name. Cities that blurred together through tinted windows and hotel glass.

But no matter where I was, what time zone, what country…

I called her.

I called them.

Every single day.

Sometimes twice.

Sometimes three times.

Didn’t matter if I’d just come off stage dripping in sweat with an hour of sleep. I’d FaceTime and wait for that little beep that meant she’d picked up. That meant Eun Ae would come into view with bed hair and peanut butter on her cheek and a smile big enough to make me forget how tired I was.

“MR. KOOOOOKIE!!”

She always screamed it.

Always made me laugh.

She told me what she ate, what she wore, who she sat next to in school. She told me what color her mood was and what new word she learned and that the moon was her favorite planet because it followed her home.

I wrote every word down.

Had a notebook I kept just for her.

Eun Ae: Day 5. “Do bees have moms?”

Eun Ae: Day 9. “I drew you in my picture. You have big ears but it’s okay.”

I’d stay on the call until her eyes drooped and she rolled into her stuffed tiger.

Sometimes Y/N would come on after.

Sometimes not.

I didn’t push.

But when she did… God.

Her voice in the dark was the only thing that made this feel real.

She’d tell me about her day. Her boss. Her stress. Her coffee order. Her favorite new nail polish.

And I’d listen like every word was a verse.

I didn’t flirt.

Not really.

I didn’t want to break this.

Didn’t want to scare her.

I just… showed up.

That’s all I knew how to do now.

And in the quiet moments, when the lights went down, the crowd noise faded, the crew packed up and the hotel room settled, I stared at my screen and whispered:

“Goodnight.”

Even if she’d already gone.

Even if it was just me.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, baby.”

And sometimes, I swear…

I could still hear them say it back.

═══════

I wasn’t expecting much from the panel.

Just another industry event. A half-full auditorium. Stale coffee. Small talk with men who thought “event coordinator” meant I arranged party balloons.

But I’d been invited to speak- one of five women in venue management across the region. I had notes, a blazer I hadn’t worn since college, and a pit in my stomach that only grew deeper the closer I got to the podium.

I hadn’t told Jungkook about it.

It wasn’t a secret.

I just… didn’t think he’d care.

He had a stadium full of screaming fans in Singapore last night.

My keynote about budgeting for backline crew wasn’t exactly Billboard material.

But the morning of the event, while I was brushing my teeth with a knot in my throat and lipstick half-smeared on my palm, my phone buzzed.

Unknown Number: There’s something for you in the lobby. Happy Panel Day.

I stared at the screen.

My stomach twisted.

I almost didn’t go.

But I did.

And when I got to the front desk of the building, there it was.

A vase full of wildflowers.

No roses.

No lilies.

Just crooked stems. Sun-warmed color. Survivors.

And a note, scribbled on plain hotel stationery.

“First time I saw you, you were holding a bouquet of these. You’d just moved and it was your first day. You said they reminded you that growing was hard- but still worth it. You’ve been growing ever since. I see you. I remember. - JK”

I didn’t cry.

Not right away.

I carried the flowers to the greenroom, set them next to the bottled water, and stared at them like they’d speak first.

They didn’t.

So I did.

I sent him a picture. Then a message.

Y/N: Thank you. You remembered.

He replied almost instantly.

Jungkook: I remember everything.

I should’ve closed my phone.

But I typed again.

Y/N: It’s nice. Being seen.

Three dots flashed on the screen. Then stopped. Then flashed again.

Finally:

Jungkook: I’ve never stopped seeing you.

I didn’t know what to say to that.

So I didn’t say anything.

Not until the panel ended and I stepped offstage to applause, blinking under the house lights.

I checked my phone again.

One new message.

A voice note.

I almost didn’t play it.

But I did.

His voice filled my ear.

Soft. Breathless. Like he was recording in the dark.

“You looked incredible today. I know I couldn’t be there. But I’m proud of you. I hope you felt it. Because you should. You should feel proud every day. You’re… everything I wish I’d been brave enough to love right the first time.”

I closed my eyes.

The tears came then.

Quiet and fast and real.

Because it wasn’t just the words.

It was the fact that this time, for once,  he was saying them when it mattered.

When I needed them.

Not too late.

Just… in time.

═══════

She was humming when I picked her up.

Big skip in her step. Hair falling out of her pigtails. Glitter marker smeared across both hands.

“Hi Mama!” she beamed, leaping forward like I’d been gone for a year and not just six hours.

“Hi baby,” I said, catching her as she wrapped her arms around my waist. “Did you have a good day?”

She pulled back, nodded furiously, then shoved a folded piece of paper into my hand.

“I drew our family.”

I blinked. “You did?”

“Uh-huh! It’s us. Me. You. Mr. Kookie. And Kookie Tiger.”

I unfolded the paper.

Crayons. All the colors. A stick figure with my hair. A smaller one with pigtails. A third with a lot of black swooped across his forehead and stars drawn around his head. The stuffed tiger was hovering next to him, smiling.

My chest squeezed.

“You even drew Mr. Kookie’s earrings,” I said.

“He has sparkly ears,” she explained. “And he’s tall. And he always says my name right even when the internet is bad.”

I knelt down.

“Baby… what did you say when the teacher asked who that was?”

She blinked at me.

“I said it’s my daddy.”

The air left my lungs.

“Oh.”

“She asked me if I had one. And I said yes. I have Mr. Kookie. He’s my daddy and he’s on the phone a lot, but he always says goodnight. Even if I forget to say it back.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I said nothing.

We walked to the car in silence.

That night, I sat on the couch and watched her fall asleep on the video call- phone propped up, stuffed tiger under her chin, cheeks pink and eyelids fluttering.

Jungkook whispered, “Goodnight, my little star,” before ending the call.

He didn’t even know I was still listening.

When the screen went black, I stayed in the hallway for a long time.

Just watching.

Listening to her breathe.

And thinking.

About the way her arms flew open when she saw his face.

About the way her smile bloomed when he laughed.

About how fast she’d drawn him into her world.

And how easy it would be to follow.

═══════

It came in the middle of the night.

No warning.

Just a notification.

Video Message: Jeon Jungkook

I was still awake.

Still replaying Eun Ae’s words.

Still watching the ceiling breathe.

I almost didn’t open it.

Thought maybe it was another bedtime moment. Another drawing. Another “Hey, I miss you.”

But it wasn’t.

It opened with static.

Then a soft flicker of lamplight.

His hotel room.

The camera was set up on a chair.

He was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows. No makeup. No filter. Just him.

He cleared his throat.

And then he said:

“This is something I wrote right after I left. When I couldn’t stop thinking about you, but didn’t have the guts to reach out. I never recorded it. Never sang it out loud. But I found the notebook last week. And it still sounds like you.”

He picked up a guitar.

His fingers shook a little.

Then he started to play.

It was rough.

Unfinished.

But it was us.

Every word.

Every verse.

Lyrics about sidewalks and wildflowers.

About long-distance silence.

About the girl he loved before he knew how to love.

I pressed the phone to my chest halfway through.

And I cried.

Hard. Quiet. Shaking.

Because he didn’t have to do this.

Didn’t have to open this wound. Didn’t have to let me see what he never showed anyone.

But he did.

Because he meant it.

Every second.

When the video ended, I sat in the dark for a long time.

Longer than I meant to.

Then I opened our thread and typed one message.

Y/N: I’m proud of you. We are.

The dots blinked on screen.

Then stopped.

Then blinked again.

Jungkook: I love you.

I didn’t reply.

But I whispered it into the room.

Not for him.

Not for anyone else.

Just for me.

Just once.

“I love you too.”

═══════

I’d been outside her door for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.

Not that I was counting.

Okay- I was.

I’d rehearsed this moment in every city. Every country. Every hotel bed where I lay awake listening to her voicemail on loop, wondering what it would feel like to knock again.

To be let back in.

I was sweating through my shirt. Holding a bag full of small gifts I picked out like a man on a mission- stickers for Eun Ae. Bracelets. A tiny globe. A t-shirt with a cartoon tiger on it. A notebook for Y/N. Local coffee she once told me she missed. Wildflower seeds. And a letter.

I hadn’t given it to her yet.

Didn’t know if I would.

I raised my hand.

Dropped it.

Raised it again.

Then knocked. Soft, twice, like muscle memory.

The door opened before I could breathe.

And there she was.

Hair pulled back. No makeup. A sweatshirt I’d left years ago wrapped around her waist like she forgot it wasn’t hers. Bare feet. A guarded expression that just slightly melted when her eyes landed on mine.

I opened my mouth.

Nothing came out.

She raised one eyebrow.

“Took you long enough.”

I huffed a breath. Half-laugh. Half-collapse.

“You counted the seconds too?”

She didn’t answer.

But she stepped aside.

And I walked in.

Her apartment hadn’t changed.

Same chipped tiles. Same coat hooks. Same coffee smell.

Except now it had toy dinosaurs on the counter and a child’s jacket hanging beside her own. And a pair of little shoes by the door.

She caught me staring.

“She’s at school.”

I nodded. “I brought her something.”

She gestured toward the table. “You can put it there.”

I set the bag down gently like it might explode.

She moved to the kitchen.

I followed her with my eyes, not my feet.

She poured coffee.

Sipped it once.

Then leaned against the counter and said, “You look tired.”

“I am.”

“You look good too.”

I blinked.

“So do you,” I said, too fast.

Her lips twitched.

Not quite a smile.

But not not a smile either.

Silence settled between us like something sacred.

Then I took a step closer.

“I missed you.”

She didn’t flinch.

“Good.”

That made me pause.

“Because I missed you too,” she said.

Something cracked in my chest.

She took another sip. Set the mug down. Then walked past me, slow and steady, until she reached the table.

She picked up the bag.

“You got her another tiger shirt?”

“She calls me Mr. Kookie. I figured it was time to commit.”

She laughed. Soft. Real.

I could’ve cried.

But I didn’t.

I just watched her.

Watched her fingers run over the handles of the bag.

Watched her shoulders drop by a fraction.

Watched the smallest piece of her let go of something she’d been gripping for too long.

“You’re staying for a while?” she asked.

I nodded. “If you’ll let me.”

She turned.

Met my eyes.

And whispered:

“I think we both know I already have.”

═══════

It was weird how fast it became normal.

Him being here.

The sound of the front door unlocking at 3 p.m. right after Eun Ae got dropped off from school.

The way she sprinted down the hallway yelling “MR. KOOKIE!” like she hadn’t seen him the day before.

The way his jacket hung next to mine now.

I told myself not to overthink it.

He wasn’t staying over. That was the rule.

He left at night. Always.

No lingering. No wandering into my room. No lines crossed.

But every morning, he brought coffee.

Every night, he made dinner.

He loaded the dishwasher like he’d done it a thousand times. Played background music from his phone while he stirred pasta. Let Eun Ae sit on the counter even though she wasn’t supposed to.

He laughed when she dropped carrots on the floor.

Groaned dramatically when she told him she liked Yoongi’s part better than his in a song.

He helped her with homework, even when the math confused him.

He held her hand crossing the street.

He braided her hair one morning - terribly - and she wore it proudly all day.

And at night, when she fell asleep on the couch, he’d carry her to bed with the same careful touch he used when we were kids sneaking out at midnight.

I pretended I didn’t see it.

Pretended I didn’t melt when I caught him humming the song he wrote for me under his breath.

Pretended it didn’t feel right- him here.

Like he’d never really left.

Like this was the version of us we were always supposed to be.

But I still didn’t let him stay.

He’d gather his things by the door, hoodie over one shoulder, keys in hand.

“Thanks for dinner,” I’d say.

He’d nod. “Thanks for letting me cook.”

And every time I watched him walk down the hall, I’d wonder why I didn’t ask him to stay.

One night, I found him asleep on the couch.

Eun Ae had already gone to bed.

I came out to grab my laptop and there he was, curled up with a storybook half-open on his chest. His mouth slightly parted. Eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

He looked younger.

Softer.

Like someone who still had pieces to offer.

I pulled a blanket from the armchair and covered him gently.

He didn’t stir.

I stood there a moment too long.

Then whispered, “You’re doing better.”

And walked away before I said more.

═══════

She held my hand the whole time.

We walked out of her school building and she didn’t even hesitate- just latched on like it was something she’d always done.

Her backpack bounced. Her little braid was crooked. And she talked so fast I barely caught half of it.

“Okay so today we got cupcakes and they were chocolate but the frosting was vanilla and I don’t like vanilla but I ate it anyway ’cause Mr. Peters said no wasting. oh! and I told Maddie I was gonna go to the zoo with you and she said that’s cool and I said duh because you’re cool and she said cool people wear leather jackets and I said you have a lip earring so you win.”

I blinked. “You said what?”

She giggled. “Never mind.”

We stopped at the park first. She made me push her on the swing for twenty full minutes. Then the slide. Then the monkey bars, which she insisted she was a champion at, only to fall dramatically into the sand.

I caught her. She laughed harder.

We ate sandwiches under a tree. She stole my chips.

Later, we went to the library.

She picked three books. I picked one. She said mine was boring and I said hers were brilliant and she looked at me like I’d just given her a trophy.

Then came the bakery.

She marched to the counter, slammed two crumpled dollars on the glass, and said, “One tiger cookie and one smiley face for my daddy.”

I froze.

The cashier smiled.

My heart did something I don’t know the name for.

When we sat down, I asked her- quietly, gently- “Do you know who I am?”

She took a big bite of her cookie and nodded.

“You’re Mr. Kookie. But you’re also my dad.”

I couldn’t speak.

“I think you are,” she said, licking frosting off her fingers. “You look like me. You smile like me. You laugh like me, y’know?”

I blinked fast.

“Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Just… happy.”

She grinned.

Then reached over, tiny fingers sticky with sugar, and grabbed my hand again.

That was it.

No fanfare.

No tears.

Just a six-year-old who already knew love when she felt it.

═══════

When we got back to the apartment, she tugged me to the living room, pulled out a coloring book, and curled up beside me like she belonged there.

And she did.

Y/N stood in the hallway, watching us for a long time.

She didn’t say anything.

But when I met her eyes, I knew.

Something had shifted.

Not just in me.

Not just in our daughter.

But in her, too.

═══════

It was getting too easy.

Too natural.

Too good.

He knew how I took my coffee now. With oat milk. One sugar. No questions.

He made it before I got out of bed, without staying the night. He’d come by early, just to start the day with us. Pretended it was for Eun Ae. We both knew better.

He made space without asking.

Claimed a drawer.

Bought the kind of cereal she liked and refilled it when it ran low.

Cleaned without being told.

Listened when I vented. Laughed when I snapped. Stayed when I went quiet.

It was good.

And that’s what scared me most.

Because I remembered what good felt like before it broke me.

Tonight, the apartment was quiet. Eun Ae was asleep. The dishes were done. The lights were low. It was just the two of us on the couch, a movie playing, barely watched.

He sat close.

Not too close.

But enough that I could feel his warmth seeping through the space between us.

I was curled in the corner, legs tucked under me. He had his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers inches from my shoulder.

Neither of us said anything for a long time.

Until I did.

“What do you want?”

He turned.

“Right now?”

I nodded.

He didn’t hesitate.

“You. Still you.”

My breath hitched.

It wasn’t said with expectation. Or desperation. It was just the truth.

Like it had been sitting in his chest for years, waiting to be named.

I looked at him.

Really looked at him.

The curve of his jaw. The dip beneath his eye. The scar on his lip that only showed when he was tired. The way he always looked like he was about to ask permission, even when he wasn’t saying anything.

And I wanted to kiss him.

God, I wanted to kiss him.

But I was still afraid.

Afraid that if I let myself want it - really want it - I wouldn’t survive losing it again.

I shifted.

Closed the space between us.

Let my hand drift to his.

He looked down.

Met my eyes.

And leaned in.

Just enough.

Just close enough that his breath hit my cheek.

I held mine.

Then I pulled away.

Stood up.

And whispered, “Goodnight.”

I didn’t look back.

Didn’t see the way his shoulders dropped.

Didn’t hear the breath he let out when the door to my room clicked shut.

But I felt it.

All of it.

Pressed tight against my ribs.

Too full to carry.

Too heavy to ignore.

Too late to stop.

═══════

He was gone before I woke up.

No text. No call. No mug on the table with a bad pun on the side.

Just quiet.

And a note.

Folded once.

Tucked beneath my coffee cup like he’d hoped I’d find it before I noticed he wasn’t here.

I stared at it for a long time.

Didn’t touch it.

Didn’t want to.

Because I already knew.

It wasn’t an apology.

Wasn’t a plea.

It was him- leaving something behind.

Eventually, I picked it up.

His handwriting was messy. Familiar. Like he’d written it fast, before he could change his mind.

Y/N,

I’m not writing this to ask for anything.Not forgiveness. Not answers. Not even hope. I just needed to say a few things. Without waiting for the right time. Without hoping you’ll say anything back.

You’ve always been better than me. Stronger. Smarter. Braver. You kept going even when I disappeared. You kept your heart beating while mine hid behind silence. You didn’t need me. But I need you to know. I always needed you. I just didn’t know how to say it.

I still don’t, sometimes. But I see you now.

Not just the girl I loved. But the woman you are.

The one who raised our daughter alone. The one who learned how to laugh without me. The one who still makes my chest hurt when she smiles.

I’m not here to fix the past. I’m just here now. And I’ll keep being here. Even if it’s just as someone who brings coffee and folds laundry wrong and says the wrong thing at the wrong time.

I’m here because I love you.

Not the memory. Not the version of you I broke.

You.

Right now.

If that’s all I ever get to say- fine. But I meant it. And I’ll mean it every time you wake up and I’m not at the door.

Always,

JK

I read it three times.

Then a fourth.

Then I folded it back the way he’d left it. Carefully, like it might tear.

I didn’t cry.

Not this time.

I just placed the letter inside my notebook. Poured my coffee. Sat at the table with my feet tucked under me.

And breathed.

Because for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for someone to come back.

He already had.

═══════

She asked me when we were brushing our teeth.

One of those moments where your guard is down, where the day is done and the world is quiet, and suddenly your six-year-old asks a question that guts you.

“Why wasn’t Daddy Kookie here when I was a baby?”

I froze.

The toothbrush in my hand stopped mid-circle.

She stared at me in the mirror, foam on her chin, eyes wide and waiting.

Not angry.

Not sad.

Just… waiting.

I rinsed my mouth. Toweled her clean. Sat us both on the edge of the tub like we were about to plot something secret.

And then I said the words I’d been avoiding for six years.

“He didn’t know how to stay.”

She blinked.

“But why?”

I breathed deep.

“Because we were young. Because we were scared. Because sometimes people don’t know how to do the right thing, even when they love you.”

She frowned.

“He left because he was scared?”

“Yes.”

“Did he stop loving us?”

“No,” I said immediately. “No, baby. He didn’t stop. He just… forgot how to show it. For a long time.”

Her little mouth twisted, processing.

Then she asked, “Are you still mad?”

That one took longer to answer.

“Yes,” I admitted softly. “Sometimes.”

“But you still let him come over.”

“I do.”

“Because you love him?”

I looked down.

At her small feet swinging under the tub’s edge. At her tiny fingers curled in her lap.

“I don’t know,” I said.

And that was the truest thing I could say to her.

She nodded, like that made sense.

Then leaned into my side and rested her head on my shoulder.

We sat there for a while.

No more questions.

No more stories.

Just silence.

And the quiet strength of a little girl who somehow already knew that love didn’t have to be perfect to be real.

═══════

She confirmed it.

I don’t know how I knew.

Y/N didn’t say it.

Eun Ae didn’t say it.

But something in the air shifted- subtle, sharp. Like the sound of a glass cracking under pressure before it actually breaks.

Eun Ae looked at me different the next morning. Not bad. Not cold.

Just… clearer.

Like she’d connected something in her head. Like the puzzle finally made sense.

We were sitting at the table. She was eating cereal.

And she said, “I think Daddy Kookie just didn’t know what to do when I was a baby.”

I blinked.

She took another bite.

Then said, “But it’s okay now. ’Cause you’re here. And I like when you make the dinosaur eggs.”

I smiled, because what else could I do?

But inside, I was splitting open.

Y/N passed by behind her, brushing her hand gently across Eun Ae’s hair.

Our eyes met.

She didn’t look away.

And I knew.

She told her.

I didn’t sleep that night.

Didn’t go to the hotel either.

I just walked.

I ended up at the river, hoodie pulled up, air sharp in my lungs.

I sat on a bench and opened my phone.

Scrolled through our message thread.

Watched a couple of the videos Eun Ae had sent - her singing off-key, showing off her school shoes, giggling uncontrollably while calling me “Banana Kookie.”

Then I opened my Notes app and stared at a blank screen.

I wanted to say something.

To her.

To Y/N.

To anyone.

But what could I say?

That I’d earned it?

That I understood?

I didn’t.

I just felt sick.

Guilty.

Heavy.

Like I’d been borrowing time I didn’t deserve.

The sun came up and I was still there.

Still writing nothing.

Still waiting for a peace I wasn’t sure would ever come.

By the time I made it back to their apartment, my chest was tight with apology.

I didn’t even knock.

I texted.

Jungkook: Can I come up?

A pause.

Then:

Y/N ❤️: She’s waiting for you.

I swallowed hard.

Stepped into the elevator.

When the door opened, Eun Ae was already running down the hall.

She launched herself into my arms like she’d never questioned me. Like she didn’t care about mistakes or time or what I should’ve said six years ago.

“Daddy Kookie!”

Two words.

So loud I couldn’t miss them.

And they hit harder than anything I’d ever heard.

I closed my eyes.

Held her tight.

And whispered back:

“Hi, baby.”

═══════

It started with something small.

They always do.

He offered to pick up Eun Ae from her sleepover and take her to the museum Sunday morning. Just the two of them. Said she’d been begging to go and she’d love the new dinosaur exhibit.

He said it casually. Smiling. Warm. Hopeful.

And I froze.

“Just you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, still smiling. “I figured you’d want a break.”

A break.

Like that’s what I’d been doing this whole time- waiting to clock out.

I set down the dish I was washing a little harder than necessary.

“I don’t need a break.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, confused. “I just thought-”

“You thought you could just pick up like nothing fucking happened?” I snapped.

The words came sharp. Loud.

He blinked.

“No,” he said carefully. “I thought I could help. You’ve been doing everything for years-”

“Because you weren’t here!” I cut him off.

Silence.

Then he stepped back, hands raised slightly, voice lower now.

“I know I wasn’t.”

“Do you?” I said, breathing hard. “Do you really understand what that did to me?”

His face shifted, not anger, just ache.

“Y/N…”

“You left,” I said, voice cracking. “You didn’t just leave me. You blocked me. You fucking vanished. You didn’t wonder if I was okay. You didn’t care. I was pregnant and alone, and every day I woke up and hoped maybe you’d remember-”

“I did remember,” he said sharply.

“Not enough.”

He swallowed.

“Not soon enough,” he admitted. “But I never forgot.”

I crossed my arms, cold all over now.

“I still don’t know how to forgive you,” I whispered.

He looked at me like I’d pulled something out of him he wasn’t ready to name.

“I don’t know how to forgive me either,” he said.

And that-

That stopped me.

Because there was no defense in his voice.

No plea.

Just… shame.

Heavy. Real.

He looked away. Then back.

“I think about it all the time,” he said. “What I missed. What I ruined. What she could’ve had if I’d just been better. You… you could’ve had a different life. And I ruined that too.”

“You didn’t ruin me,” I said softly. “But you broke something. And I’m still finding the pieces.”

He nodded. Slow. Like that hurt more than yelling ever could.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” he said. “I’m just asking you to let me stay while you figure out if you ever can.”

I looked at him.

And for once, didn’t know what to say.

So I didn’t.

I just walked to the bedroom door.

Opened it.

And whispered, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

His eyes widened.

“I won’t leave.”

“I mean- ” I hesitated. “Stay. But don’t go to the couch.”

═══════

I followed her.

Not because I expected anything.

Not because I thought this would fix it.

I followed her because I’d follow her anywhere.

She didn’t look at me when she closed the door to her bedroom. Just stepped to the window, tugged the curtain slightly, checked the streetlight like she needed the outside world to stay still for one night.

Then she turned.

Met my eyes.

And in that moment, I knew.

This wasn’t forgiveness.

This wasn’t closure.

This was her choice.

Right now.

Not because she owed me anything. Not because I deserved her.

But because she wanted me.

Still.

She crossed the room slow, her bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. The air between us crackled with the weight of unspoken words, of years apart, of mistakes and regrets. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart pounding in my chest like a drumbeat calling her name.

She lifted the hem of her sweatshirt over her head, tossing it aside without a second glance. 

No fanfare. No tease. 

Just skin. 

Real. Warm. Familiar in ways that made my breath stutter. 

I stepped forward, my hands shaking more than I wanted them to. 

She didn’t stop me. 

Didn’t rush. 

Just let me reach for her. 

My fingertips brushed her waist, my palm cupping her cheek. Our eyes locked, and in that silence, I saw everything- the pain I’d caused, the love she still carried, the question of whether we could ever truly come back from what I’d done.

Then-

She leaned in.

And kissed me.

Soft.

Certain.

Like the space between us had finally run out of time.

I kissed her back, pouring every ounce of regret, every whisper of longing, into that touch. Let her press me into the edge of the bed, her hands sliding beneath my shirt, her nails scraping my skin in a way that felt both punishing and forgiving.

I whispered her name against her jaw, my lips brushing the delicate skin there. She moaned quietly, her hips tilting into mine, a silent plea for more. 

I wanted to give her everything- to make up for every missed call, every unspoken apology, every night I’d spent wishing I could take it all back.

With a gentle push, I flipped her onto the bed, her hair spilling across the pillow like a halo. She looked up at me, her eyes dark with desire, but also something else. A vulnerability that made my chest ache. I kissed her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her, the feel of her lips against mine.

I kissed my way down her body, tracing the lines of her collarbones, the curve of her breasts, the dip of her stomach. Her skin was soft under my lips, her breath hitching as I sucked gently on her nipples, teasing them until they pebbled against my tongue. 

She arched into me, her hands tangling in my hair, her moans filling the room like music.

I kissed her hips, her thighs, my fingers brushing the edges of her panties. She was already wet, her scent intoxicating, a reminder of how perfectly she fit me, how perfectly I fit her. 

I hooked my fingers into the lace and slid them down her legs, tossing them aside without breaking eye contact.

“Jungkook,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

I didn’t answer. 

I couldn’t. 

Not yet.

Instead, I settled between her thighs, my hands resting on her hips as I kissed her inner thighs, my breath ghosting over her core. She squirmed, her legs falling open wider, inviting me in. I teased her, my tongue tracing lazy patterns along her folds, my lips brushing her clit before pulling away.

“Please,” she begged, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

I smiled against her skin, then finally gave her what she needed. My tongue plunged deep, lapping at her eagerly, savoring her taste, her sounds, the way her body trembled under my touch. 

I fucked her with my mouth, relentless and worshipful, my fingers joining in, sliding inside her as I sucked her clit into my mouth.

Her orgasm hit her like a wave, her body arching off the bed, her cries echoing through the room. I held her there, drinking her in, my tongue never stopping, even as her body shook with release.

When she finally stilled, I kissed my way back up her body, my lips brushing hers softly. 

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with emotion.

She looked at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears, telling me to keep going without saying a word.

I didn’t need to be told twice.

I kissed her deeply, our tongues tangling as I positioned myself between her legs. She was still trembling, her body open and willing, her trust in me a gift I didn’t deserve. 

I pressed the head of my cock against her entrance, teasing her, my lips never leaving hers.

“Jungkook,” she murmured, her hands gripping my shoulders.

I thrust into her slowly, savoring the way she enveloped me, the way her walls clenched around me like a promise. She gasped, her head falling back, her chest heaving as I filled her completely.

I held her there, my forehead resting against hers, our breaths mingling. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She wrapped her legs around my waist, pulling me closer, her lips brushing mine. “Show me,” she whispered.

I began to move, slow at first, each thrust deliberate, each withdrawal agonizingly slow. I kissed her, touched her, praised her, my hands roaming her body as I fucked her with a desperation born of years of longing.

Her nails dug into my back, her moans growing louder, her body meeting mine with equal fervor. I sped up, my hips snapping against hers, my cock pounding into her relentlessly. She was tight, so tight, her walls milking me, her clit rubbing against mine with every thrust.

“Kook,” she cried, her body tensing as she neared the edge again. “I’m-”

“Cum for me,” I growled, my voice rough with need. “Cum on my cock, baby. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing around me, her cries filling the room. I followed, my own release crashing over me like a wave, my cock pulsing deep inside her as I whispered, 

“I love you,” against her neck.

We lay there, tangled together, our hearts pounding in unison, our breaths slowly syncing. I kissed her shoulder, her cheek, her lips, unable to stop touching her, unable to stop apologizing.

She curled into me, cheek pressed to my chest.

I wrapped my arms around her and held her like I never had the chance to before.

And when she whispered, “Don’t leave,” into my skin-

“I’ll never leave you again,” I promised, my voice thick with emotion.

I kissed her forehead and said:

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

═══════

The sun woke me before he did.

It stretched through the blinds like a whisper, soft and gold, warming the blanket tangled around my legs.

His arm was still draped across my waist.

His nose was tucked behind my ear.

And the rhythm of his breath was the calmest thing I’d felt in years.

I stayed still for a long time.

Not because I was afraid to move.

But because I didn’t want to.

Didn’t want to break the spell.

Didn’t want to face the real world when this one- this quiet bedroom, this borrowed peace- felt like something I could actually believe in.

Eventually, his fingers flexed against my hip.

A slow inhale. A stretch. A groggy hum.

Then-

“Morning,” he whispered.

“Mm.”

“That’s all I get?”

I smiled against his skin. “You’re lucky I’m giving you that.”

He chuckled.

The sound vibrated through me. Calming. Familiar. Right.

I rolled over to face him. His hair was a mess. His smile wasn’t.

“You hungry?” I asked.

He nodded. “For food, yeah. Also for you.”

I snorted and smacked his chest. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m honest.”

In the kitchen, I pulled out pancake mix. He tried to steal it. I smacked his hand with a spatula.

“You’re not allowed to mess these up,” I warned.

He raised his hands in surrender. “I only flip when I’m told.”

“You’re lucky I’m letting you eat.”

“I already ate,” he said with a wink.

I threw a towel at him.

We laughed.

Really laughed.

The kind that felt like it came from a version of us that still believed in soft mornings and shared sunlight.

He burned the first pancake.

I made fun of him.

He blamed the pan.

I called him a liar.

He kissed my cheek when I wasn’t looking.

And for a second…

For one suspended moment in the middle of a too-quiet apartment with pancakes on the stove and sunlight through the blinds-

I forgot we’d ever been anything but this.

I didn’t say “I love you.”

He didn’t ask.

But when he reached across the table and took my hand…

When his thumb brushed over my knuckles like he could still feel me from the inside out…

I knew he already knew.

And I knew that someday…

I’d say it again.

And I’d mean it.

═══════

Eun Ae came home from her sleepover mid-morning, bouncing through the door like she hadn’t slept at all and telling stories at a mile a minute.

“Daddy Kookie!” she shouted when she saw him, dropping her backpack to barrel into his legs. “You missed everything! They had a movie and pizza and a game and I won and I told them you’re my dad and they said you’re famous and I said ‘Duh’- ”

He picked her up and spun her once.

“Whoa, slow down! You’re gonna run out of breath.”

“I already did!”

I laughed from the kitchen.

═══════

We spent the afternoon at the park.

Eun Ae insisted on sitting between us on the swings. Then made us race. Then sat on Jungkook’s shoulders for the entire walk back.

He carried her like it was nothing.

She fell asleep on the couch before dinner even started.

We let her stay there.

Jungkook helped me plate the food, just something simple. Rice. Fried eggs. Kimchi from the corner store.

We sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, legs crossed, sharing chopsticks.

“I’ve missed this,” he said.

I glanced at him.

“This?”

“This… life. This ease.”

I didn’t answer right away.

But I reached out.

Took his hand across the table.

He didn’t flinch.

He just laced our fingers together like it was natural.

Like we hadn’t fought. Like we hadn’t broken.

Like maybe - somehow - we had always been coming back to this.

═══════

I almost didn’t say it.

Almost kept pretending we had forever- that my time off didn’t have an end, that the clock wasn’t winding down on this borrowed miracle of a life.

We’d had a good day.

A perfect day.

And I didn’t want to ruin it.

But when I saw her brushing her teeth beside me- head tilted, foam at the corner of her mouth, one of my old shirts hanging off her shoulder, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Y/N,” I said quietly, setting my toothbrush down.

She looked at me in the mirror.

Not startled.

Just waiting.

I stepped into the hallway as Eun Ae’s door clicked shut behind us. She was already asleep, full from dinner, exhausted from laughter. Safe.

“Can we talk?” I asked.

She nodded, drying her hands.

We sat on the edge of her bed. Not touching. Not tense. Just… not easy.

I cleared my throat.

“My break ends in a week.”

She didn’t look at me.

“I know.”

“I have to go back to Seoul.”

A pause.

Still no eye contact.

“I know that too.”

I swallowed hard.

“I’ve been thinking…” I hesitated. “I wanted to ask if you’d ever consider moving there. You and Eun Ae.”

That did it.

Her head turned sharply.

“What?”

“I mean- not right now,” I said quickly. “Not even soon. Just… if it’s something you could ever see. For her. For you.”

She stared at me.

Like I’d just kicked the legs out from under a table we’d been building together.

“Jungkook…”

“I’m not asking you to decide anything,” I said, softer now. “I just- I want to be a father. Fully. I want to come home to her. To you. I’m not asking for marriage or moving in. I just want to know if - someday - you’d think about it.”

She stood up.

I froze.

She walked to the window.

Opened it.

Let the night air in.

Then whispered, “You waited until everything felt good to say this.”

I didn’t respond.

“Do you know what it feels like to hear that the second I trust you again, you want to take me away from everything I rebuilt?”

“I’m not trying to take you,” I said quietly. “I’m trying to give us somewhere to grow.”

Her shoulders tensed.

And just like that, the perfect day was gone.

═══════

I didn’t sleep.

Not even for a second.

I stared at the ceiling while he breathed beside me- slow, steady, unaware that my mind was tearing itself apart in real time.

Seoul.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.

But I was.

I thought we were safe here. In this apartment. On this couch. In this version of life where things were small and quiet and real.

But maybe that was naive.

Because Seoul meant everything we weren’t.

Cameras.

Schedules.

Airports.

Secrets.

Distance.

It meant the version of him that ghosted me. The version of him that chose ambition over love and couldn’t even say goodbye.

I watched him sleep for an hour before I finally moved. 

Slipped out of bed. I walked barefoot to the living room and curled up on the couch with a blanket and a hundred racing thoughts.

═══════

By the time the sun rose, my chest ached.

When he padded in wearing a hoodie half-zipped, hair wild- I was still curled there, staring at nothing.

He sat on the floor beside me, quiet.

Then:

“I’m sorry.”

I turned slowly.

“For what?”

“For saying it last night. For how I said it. For not asking if you were ready.”

I nodded once.

Then said the thing I’d been avoiding for hours.

“What happens when the spotlight comes back on?”

He blinked.

“What?”

“What happens when the fans scream louder than me? When you’re booked for twenty hours a day and Eun Ae forgets what your voice sounds like? What happens when I ask for more and it’s inconvenient?”

His face fell.

“I’m not that person anymore.”

“But you were,” I whispered. “You were, and I forgave you for me. But now I have to protect her. And I don’t know if I can trust you not to break her heart the same way you broke mine.”

He looked down.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t fight.

Just… let it hit.

“You want me to move across the world for you,” I said, voice shaking. “And I’m still trying to figure out how to stay in the same room as you without crying.”

That one landed.

Hard.

He looked up.

“I don’t want you to move for me. I want you to move because it might give us a chance to build something together. For her. For us. But I’m not asking you to pack a bag.”

I closed my eyes.

“I’m asking you,” he continued softly, “to think about it.”

I stood.

Backed away.

Then said- because it was the only thing I could say:

“I need space.”

He nodded.

“I’ll pick her up from school,” he said gently. “You rest.”

And then he left.

No door slam.

No fight.

Just quiet.

Too quiet.

═══════

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MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST

♡ requests are welcome ♡ taglist ♡

These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

═══════

Posted: 06/29/2025

Taglist: @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @elithenium @asyr97 @heyinwluv85s @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe @granataepfelchen @kelsyx33 @tatamicc @blubird592 @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @mfsitscho @traumaanatomy @mellyyyyyyx @yu-justme @bangtaniess @mygukkiebaby @xmiaacxio @emmie2308 @magicalnachocreator @suker4angst @dragonflygurl4 @taetaecatboy @somehowukook @iiamnotsure @lavender2ari @busanbby-jjk @prilnextdoor23 @ecomidnight @annpeachy-blog @cuntessaiii @jungshaking @nbjch05 @baechugff @jakiki94 @songbyeonkim @gigi4evr @jjk970901 @bangtanily @vtaehybts @smoljimjim @welcometomyworld13 @aaliy89 @marihoneywk @fiddlebiddls @battlingmyowndemons @superstarfishsandwich @rinkud @withluvjm @Strxqrd1 @singingjk @nia197 @ficluvr613 @roseidol @jungkookswifeeeeeee @uli_o7 @looneybleus @ermno97 @carobrekker @bunnyjk97 @mochisabs @rainandmatcha @katie-tibo @cheolwoo

[imtaashu]

𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚒 𝙸𝚜 𝙵𝚘𝚛.🗣️📱

✮ Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader ✮ Summary: You teach Bucky how to use Siri. He immediately abuses it—for reasons both ridiculous and heart-melting. ✮ Genre: soft clingy Bucky, domestic fluff, modern!Bucky chaos, helpless romantic, tech dummy boyfriend, emotional support Siri, established relationship ✮ Word Count: ~1.3k ✮ Author Notes✍️ : He doesn’t trust AI… until it tells him how to make you smile 🥺 ✦ welcome to my bucky brain rot. masterlist lives here ✦

“Hey Siri, how many kisses should I give my girl every day?”

You blink. “Bucky.”

He ignores you.

Your phone dutifully replies “That’s up to you, but affection is always appreciated!”

He beams. “See? Even she agrees.”

“Bucky, that’s not what Siri is for.”

“It is now.”

✦✦✦

It started innocently.

You were helping him learn basic voice commands—just fun little things, like setting reminders or playing music hands-free.

You expected maybe a few questions. Instead?

You unleashed a monster.

A lovesick, over-attached, 106-year-old super soldier who now treated your phone’s AI assistant like his best friend.

“Hey Siri, remind me to kiss Y/N every hour.”

“Okay. I’ve set an hourly reminder.”

Your head dropped to the table with a groan.

He grinned proudly, flopping down next to you on the couch “I’m just making sure I don’t forget,” he said innocently, already pulling you into his lap. “Time management, doll.”

You sighed. “It’s literally been seven minutes since your last reminder.”

He kissed your cheek. “Better early than late”

✦✦✦

It only got worse Or better. Depending on how dangerously cute you were willing to let things get.

You were brushing your teeth one night when you heard him from the bedroom “Hey Siri, is Y/N in love with me?”

You nearly choked on your toothpaste.

Siri replied, as Siri does “I can’t answer that. Maybe you should ask them yourself.”

You peeked out of the bathroom, foamy grin on your face. “She’s got a point.”

Bucky was sprawled on the bed, your phone in hand, looking like he’d just been personally betrayed.

“She’s supposed to be on my side.”

“She’s an AI, Bucky.”

He scowled. “She needs loyalty.”

You snorted. “Well, I am in love with you. In case you needed a real answer.”

That shut him up. And turned him into a blushing, smiling mess.

He mumbled something about needing to update Siri’s software to include heart facts.

✦✦✦

But the final straw?

Was when you found a reminder on your phone titled:

“Propose Without Crying Like A Loser.”

Your heart stopped. And then melted.

You didn’t say anything—just turned around to find Bucky standing awkwardly in the doorway with a sheepish smile and red-tipped ears.

“I was just… researching,” he said quickly. “Not, like, now. Or maybe now, I don’t know—”

You walked over and threw your arms around his neck before he could spiral any further “You better cry,” you whispered, nuzzling into his chest. “Or I’m saying no.”

He laughed, burying his face in your hair, holding you like he’d never let go.

“Hey Siri,” he murmured, lips pressed to your temple.

“What’s the best way to keep someone forever?”

You looked up at him, eyes full of quiet awe.

And he didn’t need an answer from a phone this time.

He had you.

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

🏷️ tagging - @nerdreader @starstruckfirecat @okaytrashpanda 🎀🩷

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

wanna be tagged in all the clingy!bucky chaos and emotional destruction? tell me and i got you ⛓️‍💥♥️

[laceyhearts]

✶ THE HOODIE ; LUKE HUGHES !

➪ summary: she'd always thought she wasn't pretty enough for luke, but that all changes with an invitation to the hughes' lake house and luke's hoodie

➪ pairing: luke hughes x fem!mid-size/plus-size!reader

➪ warnings: reader is insecure, uhhh i think that's it? not proofread (what's changed)

➪ word count: 3.6k

➪ emma's notes: the first fic back 😛 PSA: this is not to shame any of my mid-size or plus-size readers, especially because i am one, this is personally just my experience with how i’ve gone through my journey with insecurities and whatnot. be proud of your body, but it’s okay if it gets a little hard at times 🫶🏻 this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written so of course it was the first one i rewrote. speaking of that, i rewrote this fic HEAVILY so if it seems like a totally different fic, it basically is! thank you guys for understanding the blog switch, and i hope to see you all in the future <3

© laceyhearts ; do not copy, repost, translate, or put my work through ai generators. do not copy or remake my themes, graphics, or layouts.

It didn’t matter how many times she walked into a room, how many times she twirled her hair as a distraction, how many times she broke the ice; everyone’s eyes defaulted to the obvious - her stomach, her cheeks, her thighs, her hips. 

It felt like once you looked a certain way, a way that made you conventionally not attractive to the male gaze due to your size, it was the only thing people noticed about you. It didn’t matter if you could make people laugh with the simplest of jokes, didn’t matter if you could copy a landscape perfectly with a set of paint and a canvas, didn’t matter if you could look at a problem and solve it within 10 seconds, it was the fact that you were “curvy”, “on the heavier side”, “full-figured” - or whatever way society wanted to skirt around saying overweight to make it seem like they didn’t want to offend you. 

And maybe it started in high school when she sat down, and the chair creaked, causing everyone to snicker softly. Maybe it started in middle school when she couldn’t run the mile in the “desirable” amount of time. Maybe it started in elementary school when other parents would ask her parents in a worried tone about her physique. 

Or maybe it started in her head.

She couldn’t tell you when the insecurities started, somewhere between losing her child-like innocence that allowed her just to be and health class when they talked about which foods you should be eating and how you should stay within a certain weight limit.

But she could tell you when they lessened, when she stopped obsessing over them the moment she woke up until the moment she went to bed, when she threw on an outfit and went out with her friends without so much as a second thought. 

The whispers of high school hallways when she accidentally brushed up against someone, the whispers in stores when she’d pick out a small bag of cookies because she’d been eating like she was supposed to that week, were left behind once she left for college. 

It was a new start, new people, new experiences that would allow her to feel comfortable in her own body, get away from the negativity that was her hometown, filled with people straight from a teen romance movie. 

It happened fast, meeting Luke, in a way that she could tell you every little detail of the moment. The color of his shirt (dark blue, yellow Michigan written across it), the shoes he was wearing (black gym shoes), how his fingers twitched when his hand brushed hers as he picked up her book from the concrete beneath their feet. 

Unbeknownst to her, he could tell her every detail too, the exact day it happened (September 3, 2021, 6 days before his birthday and 27 days before hers), the pattern on her socks (white with black polka dots because they were the only ones she could find that morning), the book she was reading (Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix), how she tucked her hair behind her ear.

And ever since then, they’ve been best friends, attached at the hip. She went to his games, he went to bother her during her shift at the dining hall. She went to his place to watch their show, he went to hers to get her help with homework. She made him soup when he was sick, he bought her soup when she was sick. She stayed up late to call him after an away game, he woke up early to send her a “good morning” text before she woke up. 

For a moment, she didn’t think about how she looked, didn’t notice the way people looked at them with a curiosity-filled gaze, didn’t hear the laughs behind her back when she walked by. It was like being with Luke helped her block out all the noise, like she could be herself around him. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

She hadn’t expected him to ask her to the lake house, not in the slightest. Her decision was hesitant; she wasn’t sure if she could spend a week or two with Luke, his brothers, and his friends in shorts and tank tops, things that made her uncomfortable even in her own room. Yet, if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she could take the wrath of Luke’s constant text messages that would leave her to give in anyway.

So there she stood, in the airport, waiting for any sign of Luke as her thoughts raced. It’d been a while since she’d last seen the boy, almost 6 months since she hugged him goodbye at the Newark airport and left for Michigan for the start of a new semester.

Her leggings hugged her tightly, pressing against her stomach just enough to leave indents of the seams. Her sweater hung loosely on her, a size or two too big to cover the width of her hips, creating the beads of sweat that dripped down her back. 

It didn’t take long for her to find him, towering over almost everyone else surrounding him. He spotted her, too, his lips subconsciously turning upwards into the grin that could make her melt more than the summer sun could. 

Luke’s eyes did a once-over, scanning her from head to toe, eyebrow raising, “Aren’t you hot?”

She hesitated for a second before shaking her head, “No. I run cold.”

“Right… and that’s why I used to have to turn the fan on every time you stayed at mine because you complained you were too hot.”

“Shut up, I was nervous I’d get cold on the plane.”

“Mhm, sure, y/n/n. Sure.”

He grabbed her bag, slinging it over his shoulder and reaching for her hand as if they’d done this multiple times before, like it was natural.

The walk to the car wasn’t long, but with the sun beating down on her, it felt like every step she took lasted 5 minutes. And without even asking, Luke turned the AC on full blast, knowing damn well that if she lasted another minute without cold air on her, she’d pass out.

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

They pulled up to the house not long after, Luke grabbing her bag from the backseat before opening her door, leading her up the steps, and into the lake house, shutting the front door with his foot. He didn’t even blink an eye as he shot his hand out, easily catching the football that was being hurled at the two of them. 

Y/n stood, slightly awestruck and shocked, blinking slowly as she turned to face the culprit who threw the ball, only to find a sheepish-looking boy, no more than 3 years older than her, with slightly shaggy brown hair and a resemblance to her best friend. 

“Heads up?”

“She’s here for two seconds and you’re already trying to kill her.” Quinn walked in only a few steps behind, smacking him upside the head, “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Quinn, that’s Jack.”

“Yeah, I uh- kind of got that. I mean- Luke always says you’re the calm one, so I just assumed- Yeah, I’m not much of a talker…” She trailed off, cheeks heating up from embarrassment instead of the heat for once.

The three boys just smiled at her, trying not to fluster her more than she already was. 

“Trevor and Cole are around here somewhere, but don’t pay too much attention to them, I try not to. I’ll take you to your room and then… I actually don’t know what we’re doing tonight.”

“Boat,” Jack replied simply, grabbing a water from the fridge, all but chugging it, and leaving the half-empty bottle on the counter. 

“That settles it, then.”

Luke led her to her room, placing her bags on top of her bed, “Here you are, m’lady. You can nap, shower, get settled, whatever you want. I’ll come get you when we’re about to go.”

Y/n nodded, slight panic flashing in her eyes as she turned to start unpacking, hoping he didn’t notice her change in demeanor. 

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

It was two hours before she saw anyone again, and in those two hours, all she had done was lay out her outfit choices and try them on over and over again until she determined she didn’t bring any good outfits with her on this trip. 

Finally, a few minutes before she knew Luke would knock on the door, she settled on a pair of light-washed jean shorts that were long enough to pass as “classy” but short enough to draw people’s gaze to her thighs, and her oversized dark blue UMich hockey shirt Luke had gotten for her a while back, the lettering fading due to the number of times she’d put it through the wash.

She’d just begun braiding the right side of her hair, her left already done in a simple 3-strand braid and a few pieces pulled out to frame her face as always, when she heard the knock, Luke opening it after he heard no protest. 

“Hey, you ready to-” He froze, eyes trailing over her frame, unsure where to look.

Y/n flushed, her hands itching to drop the hair they held and wrap her arms around her waist to avoid his gaze. She focused her attention on the task at hand, trying not to glance up at him through the mirror, trying not to envision the disgust written across his face.

“What?”

Her voice snapped him out of his trance, eyes finally finding hers, a small smile spreading across his lips, “You look…”

Her mind instantly spiraled, maybe I shouldn’t have come, maybe I should change into leggings, maybe I should-

“Pretty.”

Huh? She blinked a few times. “What?”

“I said you looked pretty.”

“Oh.” She didn’t say much else, securing her braid with a small hair tie as she reached to grab her bag, no doubt filled with her favorite book and her Kindle, just in case she ended up locking herself in her room the next two weeks.

“You're seriously bringing your Kindle? Aren’t you gonna go in the water?”

She followed him out of her room, closing the door behind her after slipping her gym shoes on. “I hate the water.”

“You hate the water?”

“I- yeah, it’s fine. I’ll just read, you guys can swim, cannonball, whatever you guys do.”

“Y/n/n, we can do something else if you don’t want to go out on the boat. We don’t have to do what they do.” His voice softened, stopping in the hallway, a few feet shy of where everyone was waiting in the living room. 

She couldn’t help but feel butterflies erupt in her stomach; the thought of him changing his plans just because she was uncomfortable with the thought of being around water - even if it was for a different reason than what she said - was enough to have her swooning. It was something small, something that many people wouldn’t bat an eye too, but to her? It meant more than she could explain. 

Her fingers laced with his, gaining courage to brush her lips against his cheek, “I appreciate it, Lukey, but I swear it’s fine. I just don’t want to go in.”

A faint blush covered his face at her action, but he played it off and nodded, “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

⎯⎯⎯ ౨ৎ ⎯⎯⎯

Time flew by on the boat, y/n reading her book, eyes occasionally looking up to see one of the boys jump into the lake, or to see them splashing around in the water like immature middle school boys, or just in time to see Luke walk by before plopping down next to her, his arm finding its way to rest behind her.

As the fun increased, the temperature decreased, and the breeze left goosebumps on her arms. She didn’t notice it at first, or tried not to let it show, nose buried in the pages, too interested in the same plot she’d read thousands of times before.

But after a while, a few rays of sunlight were all that was left of the day that passed, the cold finally settling around them, y/n shivering more than she was mere minutes ago. She closed her book, unable to continue to make out the black ink across the pages, opting for her Kindle instead. 

That was all it took for Luke to realize how cold she felt, her hand brushing against the skin of his arm where his sleeves were rolled up, her hand somehow even colder than the wind blowing through the air. He pulled his sweatshirt off with ease, handing it to her without another thought, “Here.”

She looked between his face and the fabric in his hand, weariness settling in her mind as she shook her head, “I’m okay.”

His eyebrows knitted together, head nodding to her arms, “You have goosebumps, I think that qualifies as being ‘not okay’.”

“I like the breeze, it’s nice.”

“Y/n/n, please.”

She relented, setting her Kindle beside her, taking the hoodie into her hands as she looked at its size inconspicuously. She never thought about fitting into other people’s clothes as an option, she knew she wouldn’t, they knew she wouldn’t, so why would she ever think that she would need to? 

Luke was taller than her, as he would like to say “by a mile”, something she was acutely aware of since the moment she met him. Something that she never really thought would be her saving grace until now. Because hopefully, the several inches he had on her was enough to counteract her own body.

She slipped it on, arm after arm, pulling it over her head, baseball cap being pulled into the hood. He watched as she fixed it, tugging on the front of it to create more space between the fabric and her skin. He frowned slightly. “Is it uncomfortable?”

Y/n shook her head, because it wasn’t uncomfortable, she was. It was baggier than she thought it would be, not as much as she would’ve liked it to be, but just enough to become one of her favorite hoodies she’s ever worn, and no, that was not because it was Luke’s.

“You sure? I can always ask Quinn or Jack for theirs-”

“Luke, it’s perfect.”

He just nodded, slightly skeptical at the look on her face and the way she kept tugging lightly on the hoodie like it was suffocating her. She avoided his gaze, trying to memorize the lines on the boat floor through the last bits of light on the horizon. 

“Y/n/n, can you please just tell me what’s wrong? If it’s not the hoodie, then-”

“Fine, it’s the hoodie!” She raised her voice just slightly to get her point across, but not enough to attract the attention of the others.

“Is it the fabric? Is it itchy? Is it-”

“It’s the size, Luke!”

He frowned, still confused, “It looks fine.”

“That’s-” She sighed, playing with the frayed edges on her shorts, “That’s not the point, Luke.”

“Then what is the point, because I’m struggling to see it.”

“I’ve never been the skinniest girl out there, Lu.”

And that got him to pause, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to gather his thoughts, unable to form any coherent ones, because to him? She’s always been the prettiest girl he’s seen. Always been the one who his mind defaulted to when his brothers asked if any girls caught his eye. Always been the one he described when someone asked him who his type was.

“Y/n…”

“It’s okay, Luke. I’m not trying to hide from it or anything.”

“I know you’re not, but you didn’t let me finish.” He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his lap as if it were a common day occurrence. 

Her eyes widened, her body stiffening as her legs straddled his, trying to shift her weight off of him. But Luke, being Luke, his hands tightened around her hips, anchoring her in place and giving her a smug look, daring to challenge him.

“Let me go.”

“No.” His voice was stern as he spoke. 

“Please, Lu.” 

“I’m not letting you go until you see yourself how I see you. I am not letting you go until those negative thoughts are expelled from that beautiful head of yours.

“Listen, y/n/n. I know it’s hard, believe me, I’ve dealt with my fair share of insecurities myself, and I know it can’t be exactly what you’re going through, but… my point is the same. You are the most gorgeous person I have ever met, and I love every single part of you there is to love, okay? I cannot tell you a moment that I have thought you were ugly.”

Her mind barely registered the “I love” portion of his speech, already trying to find a moment to prove him wrong, “What about that time when-”

“Nope, doesn’t exist.”

“Oh! How about when you showed up, announced-”

“No.”

“That time-”

“No.”

“Fine, what about-”

“You can keep trying to grasp at straws there, pretty girl, and my answer is still going to be the same.”

She flushed at the nickname, finally relaxing into his hold, but her thoughts were still stuck on a negative loop, “Why?”

“Why, what, beautiful?”

“Me. Why me?”

“You wanna know my favorite memory of you?” 

She nodded hesitantly, eyes finding his.

He removed one of his arms from her waist, wrapping his fingers around the back of her neck and rubbing his thumb against her cheek before continuing, “Freshman year. First game you ever went to. I had just bought you your first-ever Michigan hockey shirt and used a Sharpie to write my name and my number on the back. It wasn’t the prettiest thing in the world, couldn’t hold a candle to you, but it made sure everyone knew you were there for me.

“You wore it with jeans the same color as these,” he tugged on the belt loop of her shorts with his free hand before flicking the brim of her hat. “This hat, your hair in two pig-tails, and you wore the same beat-up black Converse that you’re wearing right now. 

“And every time I looked up at you, you looked a little tired, probably because you had pulled an all-nighter beforehand, but you stood for the whole game with this little pompom thing in your hand, cheering every time we got a goal and booing every time OSU got one.

“After the game, I met you outside where you proceeded to tackle me in your infamous bear hugs, all because I got a lousy hit on some player. Then, we went out for ice cream, and you got vanilla with sprinkles. We sat on a bench, and I kept eyeing your bowl until you finally gave in and let me try some.

“We went back to your dorm once we were done, and you stole my beanie, which you didn’t give back for another two weeks.”

Her eyes watered at how detailed his memory was, hanging onto his every word like she was a little girl listening to her mom read her the most magical bedtime story about a princess and a prince. 

“You can’t cry on me yet, I haven’t finished.” He wiped a stray tear from her cheek, smiling as she let out a choked laugh filled with emotion.

“You made me watch The Little Mermaid because you like singing 'Part of Your World’ and then you fell asleep for the first time in my arms and I don’t think I’ve ever looked back.”

Her breath hitched because she remembered that, remembered how Luke grinned at her whenever a song came on and she started singing it, whenever she’d quote a line or make a random, out of pocket comment because Ariel said something that made her think of something else, whenever she would explain to him how stupid or thoughtful an action was. She remembered everything about that day, just as well as he did. 

“That wasn’t the first moment I thought you were gorgeous, not even the second or the third or the fourth, but- it’s my favorite one because you looked happy, you looked like you couldn’t care what anyone else thought, and that is infinitely more beautiful than anything else.”

“Luke…”

“Yeah?” He played with the end of one of her braids, twirling the hair around his fingers.

“You really think that?”

“There’s nothing that I think that is truer than that, pretty girl.”

Their eyes met again, and he couldn’t help but lean in, his lips pressing against hers softly. 

The kiss didn’t last long, y/n barely getting a chance to kiss back before splashes of water hit her, both of them jumping in sync to see the three 22-year-olds staring at them with innocent expressions. 

“Whoops.”

“Leave it to them to ruin the moment,” Luke grumbled, leaning his forehead against her shoulder, causing her to laugh and tangle her fingers in his curls.

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[ssentimentals]

prompt: this is reader’s first relationship & she’s just a little unsure of herself & how to be in a relationship?

seungcheol + inexperienced!reader

it's not a big deal. thats what you've been trying to tell yourself since seungcheol became your boyfriend. your very first boyfriend in your very first relationship. it's great, amazing and it's not.a.big.deal. if only your mind was so easy to trick.

'baby?' seungcheol calls over and you turn so quickly, you give yourself a whiplash. he raises one eyebrow at you, frozen with a big bowl full of popcorn in his hands. 'is everything okay?'

you gulp. you're doing a horrible job of not showing your insecurities if seungcheol can tell that something is wrong by standing five feet away. 'everything is fine,' you lie and it sounds so fake that you can't stop yourself from grimacing.

that, of course, only worries seungcheol even more. your boyfriend comes over, carefully placing full bowl on the floor before climbing on the sofa next to you. he doesn't get anywhere in your personal space and instead reaches out to take your hands in his. 'what's wrong?' he asks in such an earnest tone that you feel bad.

you almost want to tell the truth. your mouth almost opens, your tongue almost curves and forms the words that haunt your mind. almost. you draw back, swallowing hard. how can you tell the truth to someone like seungcheol? someone so confident and sure in himself, someone for who this relationship is not anything new; how can he understand you? you know that you're overthinking it. so many people told you that it's not a big deal and you agree, but what can you do if your mind always comes up with hundred and one ways to make you unsure in this whole thing? seungcheol's thumbs caress your skin gently and he waits so patiently for your answer that it makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. it also serves a good reminder - this is seungcheol. same seungcheol who held your bag and chaperoned you to every single class. same seungcheol who memorized your food allergies and favorite snacks, always checking labels of everything for any allergens and surprising you with sweets whenever you're least expected them. same seungcheol who took his time to know you, kept respectable distance till you got comfortable, waited for you to develop feelings for him as well. same seungcheol who looked the happiest when you agreed to be his girlfriend. it's the same seungcheol and you breathe out, willing your whole body to release the tension you've been holding.

'it might be a bit stupid, you warn, biting your lower lip.

seungcheol shakes his head. 'it's not, it won't be. share with me, baby. i can help, i promise. and if not then it at least will feel good to get this thing out of your chest.'

you smile. somehow he always knows what to say to make you at ease. 'i'm just worried, i guess.' you let out slowly, being careful with words. seungcheol nods, urging you to continue. 'like- ugh.'

it's unexpectedly hard. how do you tell him that being in relationship for the first time makes you nervous? that even during simple movie night you feel unsure on how to act? that your mind is clouded with 'what should i do' and 'am i suppose to do this' more often than you'd like to admit it? in the end, what ends up coming out of your mouth is: 'you're my first boyfriend and i'm just worried about... this.'

seungcheol waits for a little but when it becomes clear that you're not going to elaborate, he carefully asks: 'i'm not making you uncomfortable, am i?'

you shake your head, gripping his hands. 'no-no, cheollie. you don't.'

'alright,' seungcheol sighs in relief. 'but if i do - please tell me, okay? this is new for me too, i need to know if my actions somehow upset you. it's not going to work without a good communication.'

you blink. this is new for me too leaves you breathless. god. of course it's new for seungcheol too - he never dated you. you are a new person and it's new for him too, he doesn't know everything about you. he is also in this for the first time with you and this realisation makes you want to laugh. 'i had the most ridicilous thoughts,' you confess, chuckling a little. 'like- like how i can be good girlfriend.'

seungcheol looks so confused and baffled that this time you laugh for real, letting your head fall forward on his shoulder. 'are you serious? babe, look at me. c'mon, show me your pretty face.' he makes you look up, cradling your face in his hands. 'are you serious?' when you nod shyly, he groans. 'oh my god. what on earth- baby. i am with you. i am dating you. we are together. i am so happy, why are you even thinking about this?'

you blush under his stare. 'cause you know that this is very new for me, i don't want to fuck up or something like that.'

'just be yourself.' seungcheol says it with so much conviction that you don't doubt his sincerity. 'just be you, i fell for you, i don't need anything else. we will move on your pace, don't worry about it. you can do whatever you want to do, act however you like - just be you.'

it takes a gigantic effort from you to not cry. you hug him tight and seungcheol hugs you even tighter right back, plastering himself all over you and leaving tiny kisses on your shoulder and head. his words fill you with so much warmth and relief, you sag in his arms. 'thank you,' you mumble.

'you don't have to thank me,' seungcheol whispers. 'just be you and you'll be the best girlfriend on this planet.'

it's cheesy and it makes you giggle and feel all of the butterflies in your stomach. you kiss his cheeks, sighing happily. 'okay.'

seungcheol smiles, caressing your back lovingly. he lets you two enjoy this moment, only pulling back when you move. 'now let's go back to our movie night, yeah?'

you nod. 'cuddle?' you ask shyly.

seungcheol's answering grin is blinding. 'of course, princess.'

a/n: is it very obvious that seungcheol is in my top3 of the members to write for? :') hope you enjoyed this one! - nini

my other seventeen works are HERE

[paigegonerogue]

God, I’m already in love with the way they’ve written Ellie in season 2.

I’m so glad they didn’t equate being nineteen to “is a full grown adult who acts like a 30-year-old”. I’m so glad they let her be messy and chaotic and goofy and still a fucking teenager. A more mature teenager, but still a teenager. And the way they’re dealing with the firefly stuff is just perfect.

She’s bitter about the hospital and the fireflies. She’s pissed, and that scene with Tommy was just such a perfect way to get in her headspace surrounding that. I’m immune. I’m fucking immune, so why can’t you just let me be important? Why can’t you let me do what I’m supposed to?

She was so traumatized, but she convinced herself herself that the cure would make it “worth it”, that because of it she mattered, and we see how because that belief never came to fruition it’s started to leak out into her life. She’s being reckless and putting herself in danger, she’s hurting herself, she’s putting herself in danger because she feels like, without the cure, she isn’t “worth it”.

And her relationship with Joel is so tragic, it’s tearing me apart, but it’s just executed so perfectly. She doesn’t hate him. She can’t hate him, because he’s her safety. She’ll ice him out and move to the front yard, but she still cares for him so much she can’t truly leave. Not when he’s her person.

And Bella Ramsey is just pitch perfect. Seriously already such a phenomenal performance.

They’re just doing Ellie so fucking well, I am already in awe of it. It’s the same thing they did with season 1, where they 1: let her act her age, 2: put more focus on her headspace, trauma, and internal life, and 3: forge more interesting relationships to flesh out internal and external conflicts. Ellie’s already so real and fully formed and I just cannot get enough.