#and i am struggling with it about as much as i always have

[demaparbat-hp]

Here I am, pushing the Jian Li (Akai Kotou! Zuko) = Jinshi (The Apothecary Diaries) agenda.

[foxtrology]

sweet sweet baby (since you've been gone)

harry castillo x reader

series

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader.

The last time he had gone up to a woman was at a wedding reception and it ended terribly for him.

Lucy was her name.

He had thought she was the one. All the time they had spent together, all the nights he held her, it was all for nothing. In the end he was the one left behind while she and that broke fucking waiter—oh how much he hated that broke waiter with a fucking passion—ran off into the sunset all happily.

John.

John was his name. Living in a rundown studio apartment with a struggling college student as a roommate. Yeah, what a fucking life she decided to choose.

He still follows her on Instagram.

An Instagram she begged for him to have. He valued his privacy. Being a successful CEO had its perks but it also had his downsides. Privacy was a major downside. He's lucky if a week has gone by without The New York Times calling his office.

Something he should've done a long time ago was delete Instagram and move on from Lucy, but of course he loves to make things more difficult for himself.

19lucy89 has posted a photo!

He should've at least turn off the notifications notifying him of her posting but he couldn't do it. He still wasn't over her. Scrolling on the social media app had him scoffing.

She had posted a photo of her and that broke waiter kissing.

"Whiskey neat."

Harry slips his phone back into his pocket, thanking the bartender. Sliding off the barstool, he glances at all the couples around him. He rolls his eyes.

Since when is everyone fucking dating? Everywhere he goes it's always a couple canoodling. It pisses him off.

Getting back to his table, Danny slaps Harry on his back as he sits down. He cringes as the hand hits his back. He's always had back problems but never acknowledged them.

Not until Lucy. She made him start seeing a chiropractor.

But since she's out of his life, he has been ignoring his pains and ignoring his chiropractor’s calls. She didn't care anymore so why should he.

"Dude Vanessa and everybody are going to an afterparty—"

"Is this not an afterparty?" Harry furrows his brows, interrupting his partygoer friend.

Danny shakes his head playfully, scoffing. "Any excuse to continue drinking, am I right?"

He really didn't want to spend another hour at a party. He's 54 for god's sake, he done.

He's old. He's an old man.

He gets cranky if he doesn't go to sleep at a certain time, he gets aggravated when he pushes paperwork aside leaving it to the last minute, he hated pleasing his friends who have been trying to get him out more ever since the whole Lucy thing happened.

He's leaving, he wants to go home.

"I think I'll be heading—" Then his phone vibrating in his coat pocket stops him.

Maybe Lucy texted him?

Fuck he's so delusional.

"Actually I'm gonna head out. I have a lot of paperwork." Harry stands up, pulling out his phone.

Danny furrows his brows at his friend.

"But you didn't even touch your drink?"

Harry tells him he has liquor at his place, he can finish his drink at home, not here. He doesn't bother to say any goodbyes to any of his friends. They won't remember it anyways.

He hurriedly swipes open his phone as the cold air hits his face.

19lucy89 has added onto their stories!

Clicking onto her profile made him sick.

He should have deleted Instagram.

He should have blocked her.

But he wasn't strong enough.

She posted a video.

Though it wasn't just any other video. The video showed John on his left knee holding up a ring.

He was fucking proposing.

It was like his whole world came tumbling down.

He had never felt this sick in his life.

Harry used to hate the way rich people would talk about money. They used to say money isn't everything, how it doesn't solve anything and it isn't happiness.

He begged to differ.

He didn't grow up with much. His mother struggled especially.

She was sick and wasn't financially stable for treatment so she died.

He used to think that if they had money she would still be here.

He never told anyone about it. Never spoke about the situation, he always tried to ignore it. Until Lucy came around.

She was the only person he confided in. He cried in her arms.

He didn't understand how she could just leave so easily. He remembers the night she told him, they were in the kitchen when she spoke the truth about how she was still in love with John.

She had said that he was the one that got away and that they needed each other.

She packed up her clothes and left his penthouse.

And that was it.

And now he’s standing outside The Met at 54 years old, pathetically hung up on a woman who left him for some broke waiter in a studio apartment that probably has one fucking bathroom.

A couple bumping into him made him come back to earth. He mutters an apology for blocking the entrance.

Another fucking couple.

He shoves his phone into his pocket with too much force, rolling his shoulders as he takes the steps two at a time, the cold air biting against his skin.

Only Vanessa Garnier would throw a goddamn dinner party at The Met.

He needs to go home.

Needs to drink.

Needs to pretend he didn’t just witness the woman he once loved agreeing to marry a broke fucking waiter.

Harry is already pissed off as he stomps down the Met steps. He’s just trying to leave this godforsaken party, get home, and drown himself in whiskey while pretending he doesn’t care about Lucy’s engagement.

Then—he sees her.

She’s sitting on the steps wrapped up in her own world, scrolling her phone.

She’s alone. Not giggling into her phone like the socialites inside, not throwing herself at men with trust funds bigger than their personalities.

Just…sitting.

And for some reason, it annoys him.

"You’re in my spot."

It wasn't his spot but he was annoyed.

Maybe he was annoyed of seeing people who aren't miserable like him.

She barely looks up.

Just a quick flick of her eyes from her phone to the man standing in front of her, assessing him in a single glance before exhaling softly through her nose—unimpressed and unbothered.

That should have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t.

Since he was already irritated, already on edge, already a step away from either throwing his phone into the street or smashing it against the nearest wall—he stood there, waiting for a reaction that didn’t come.

Nothing.

No wide eyes.

No forced politeness.

No recognition.

Just a woman sitting on the steps of The Met, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there.

His jaw ticked.

"Did you hear me?"

She sighed—actually sighed—as if he was the one disturbing her.

Well he kind of was.

Finally, she lifted her head, phone still in her hand, her gaze settling on him with all the enthusiasm of someone being asked to do a survey on the street.

"Yeah. I heard you."

His brow furrowed. He waited.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t shift.

Didn’t apologize.

Didn’t give him an inch of what he was used to—deference, nervous laughter, people scrambling to please him just because of who he was.

Instead, she blinked once slow and deliberate before tilting her head slightly to the side.

"Pretty sure the city owns these steps."

Harry clenched his teeth.

Of course.

Of course, he’d have to deal with this tonight.

This was not his night.

This was not his fucking night.

He didn’t even know why he was still standing there, why he hadn’t just turned and left. He should be in his car by now, should be halfway home with a drink already in his hand.

But for some reason he wasn’t.

For some reason he sat down instead.

A slow, deliberate movement. A shift of his coat as he lowered himself onto the step beside her, his knee brushing against the fabric of her own red coat as he exhaled sharply.

Her brow lifted slightly, her grip on her phone tightening for a moment as if she was considering whether to acknowledge his presence or simply ignore him altogether.

She settled on the latter.

Good.

Fine.

He didn’t want to talk anyway.

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring out at the street with the same burning resentment that had been sitting in his chest since he walked out of that party.

Another fucking couple passed by.

Laughing. Whispering. Holding hands like they were the only two people in the world.

His grip tightened around his knee. His mouth pressed into a firm thin line.

He should be at home.

He should be anywhere but here.

Instead, he was sitting on the cold steps of The Met beside a stranger who didn’t care that he was Harry fucking Castillo.

He scoffed.

The sound must have been louder than he intended, because this time—she looked at him.

Actually looked at him.

Not just a glance. Not just a flicker of vague recognition before returning to her phone.

No—she studied him, just for a second.

And then…the corner of her mouth twitched.

Not a smile. Not exactly. But close enough.

Close enough for something inside of him to tighten, for his stomach to knot in that irritating way he didn’t like.

She turned back to her phone.

"Rough night?"

He huffed out a sharp breath, shaking his head adjusting his tie even though it wasn’t loose.

"Something like that."

She hummed. Hummed. Like she wasn’t even surprised.

Like she already knew that about him.

Like she had already figured him out.

His teeth clenched.

She didn’t know him.

She didn’t know anything about him.

"What?" His voice was sharper than intended.

She barely reacted. Just tapped her thumb against her screen, scrolling absentmindedly before murmuring

"Nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was something.

It was definitely fucking something.

Harry exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settle deeper into his bones.

This night was never going to end, was it?

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

The sounds of the city hummed around them. Car horns. Distant conversations. The occasional roar of an engine as someone sped down Fifth Avenue.

And then—

"You gonna sit here all night?"

Harry turned his head slightly, catching the amused glint in her eyes as she finally looked at him again.

"Depends," he muttered. "You gonna move?"

She smirked. "Nope."

He exhaled.

Rolled his shoulders.

Ignored the way something unsettled was shifting in his chest.

"Guess I’m staying, then."

And for the first time in a long time—he didn’t mind.

That realization alone should have pissed him off. Should have made him get up, adjust his coat, and leave like he had originally planned.

But he stayed.

The cold air pressed against his skin, sneaking beneath his collar, curling around his fingers where they rested against his knee. The whiskey from earlier still burned slightly in the back of his throat, though it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, to settle the restless storm churning inside his chest.

The silence stretched.

Not an uncomfortable one, surprisingly. But an unfamiliar one.

People didn’t let silence sit with him. They filled it, rushed to fix it, scrambled to find something clever or charming or useful to say because people who sat next to him were always trying to get something from him.

The woman sitting next to him, scrolling through her phone like he wasn’t even there. Like he was just another insignificant part of the city.

That part should have pissed him off.

But it didn’t.

It intrigued him.

He tilted his head slightly, just enough to catch the faint reflection of her screen. Not because he cared what she was looking at—he didn’t—but because he needed a distraction. Any distraction.

A taxi app.

She was waiting for a ride.

She was leaving.

Good.

Great.

That meant he wouldn’t have to sit here much longer, wouldn’t have to keep pretending like this wasn’t some strange, unexplainable moment in his otherwise predictable night.

He could go home, pour himself a drink, scroll through Lucy’s Instagram like a fucking idiot, and pretend he wasn’t still furious.

But—

He didn’t want her to leave.

Not yet.

Not before he figured out why the hell he was still sitting here.

Not before he figured out why she wasn’t miserable like him.

His gaze flicked to her hands, the way she tapped at her screen absentmindedly like she wasn’t in a hurry, wasn’t anxious about the time, wasn’t dreading the ride home.

He wanted to ask where she was going.

He didn’t.

Instead, he spoke before he thought.

"Where do you live?"

She didn’t react at first.

Just kept scrolling.

Then without looking up.

"That’s a weird thing to ask a stranger."

Harry exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

"You’re waiting for a cab."

Finally, she turned to him, brow raised. "And?"

He rolled his shoulders, voice even. "I’ll take you home."

A beat of silence.

Then—

She laughed.

Not a giggle. Not a polite chuckle. A real, unfiltered laugh.

Like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.

Harry’s expression did not change.

"I wasn’t joking."

That just made her laugh harder.

She shook her head, lips twitching as she locked her phone and slid it into her pocket, finally—finally—giving him her full attention.

"You, a man who I met ten minutes ago, are offering to take me home."

Harry blinked, unfazed.

"Yes."

"In your car?"

"Yes."

She exhaled, shaking her head again.

"This is the part where I ask if you're a serial killer."

He smirked, dry and humorless. "Would a serial killer offer?"

"Maybe a dumb one."

He scoffed. "Do I look dumb to you?"

She considered him for a moment. Then—

"A little bit."

Harry almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, he sighed adjusting the sleeve of his coat as he stared out at the street again.

"Look, I don’t care where you live. I don’t care what you do. And I don’t care if you take the cab or not. But it’s late and I have a driver waiting." He paused. "Take the ride. Or don’t."

She studied him for a moment.

Not like the people at the party, not like the women who assessed him as a prize, a trophy, a walking investment.

No, she was studying him like she was still trying to figure out if he was serious.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why offer?"

Harry clenched his jaw.

Good question.

Why had he?

Because he was restless.

Because he didn’t want to be alone.

Because he wasn’t ready for the night to end.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead he said, "Because I can."

She hummed at that, something unreadable passing over her face.

Then to his absolute fucking surprise

She stood.

Pulled her coat tighter around herself.

Looked down at him with a grin.

"Lead the way, then."

The Maybach was parked at the curb, sleek and expensive and definitely out of place for a random stranger sitting on museum steps.

His driver, James barely batted an eye when Harry pulled open the door and gestured for her to get in first.

She hesitated.

Just for a moment.

And then—

She slid into the seat like she did this every day.

Harry followed, closing the door behind them.

James glanced at him through the rearview mirror, silent, waiting.

Harry exhaled, glancing at her.

"Where to?"

She gave him a look.

"Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman and ask for my name first?"

He huffed. "You never asked for mine."

"Because I don’t care."

His lips twitched. "Then why get in the car?"

She leaned back against the leather seat, legs crossed, gaze flicking out the window.

"Because I wanted to see if you'd actually do it."

Harry shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he gave James the silent cue to start driving.

This was insane.

He should have just gone home.

Should have just let her take the damn cab.

But now—he was in a car with a woman who didn’t care who he was, nor his money, didn’t even seem remotely fazed by the fact that she was sitting in a million dollar car with a man who could buy out half the city.

And for the first time all night...

Lucy’s engagement didn’t feel like the worst thing that had happened to him.

The car pulled away from the curb, merging smoothly into the flow of late night Manhattan traffic. The soft hum of the engine filled the space between them, a quiet luxury that most people would have fawned over.

But not her.

She wasn’t running her fingers over the leather seats, wasn’t sneaking glances at him, wasn’t pretending to be indifferent while stealing curious looks.

She just stared out the window, completely at ease.

Harry tilted his head slightly, studying her side profile.

"You still haven’t told me where you live."

She blinked, turning back to him, almost as if she’d forgotten he was even there.

"Oh. Right." She exhaled, stretching her arms slightly before dropping them into her lap. "I’ll just have your driver drop me off at the corner of—"

"Not James." His voice was firm, sharp in a way he didn’t expect.

She raised a brow.

"What?"

"Tell me."

A slow smirk curled at her lips, amusement flickering in her gaze.

"Are you always this controlling?"

"Are you always this difficult?"

Her smirk widened slightly, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned to the front of the car.

"Excuse me, take me to—"

"Don’t talk to my driver."

She whipped her head back to him, eyes narrowing. "Excuse me?"

"He’s not your driver."

She let out a small, sharp laugh, shaking her head.

"You’re serious?"

"Very."

She rolled her eyes, but there was something else there, something interested.

She sighed, crossing her arms, "Fine. Since you clearly need to be the one in control, Lower East Side."

He barely nodded before shifting his gaze back toward the front.

James, wordlessly, made a turn.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Harry leaned back against his seat, stretching out his legs, exhaling slowly as the tension from earlier in the night settled into something quieter.

The city moved past them in streaks of light, taxis cutting through traffic, pedestrians still wandering the streets like the night would never end.

She stayed turned toward the window, her fingers mindlessly tapping against her knee.

The silence should have been comfortable.

But it wasn’t.

Not for him.

Because he was still thinking.

Thinking about Lucy. Thinking about how stupid he felt for still checking her Instagram. Thinking about how much he hated the feeling of losing.

But also—thinking about her.

This woman.

This stranger who got into his car without a second thought, who didn’t care about his money, who didn’t care about him.

That part was what unsettled him the most.

Because he was used to being recognized. Used to being admired, envied, feared.

But she?

She was just here.

Like he was just another man.

Like he wasn’t anything at all.

And for some reason—he wasn’t sure he hated that.

She broke the silence first. "So, what’s your deal?"

Harry exhaled, rolling his head to the side slightly.

"My deal?"

"Yeah." She waved a hand vaguely. "You seem miserable."

"You say that like it’s an observation."

"It is."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "Maybe I just don’t like parties."

"Nope."

He arched a brow.

"No?"

"Not just parties. Life."

Harry’s jaw tightened. "Bold assumption."

"Accurate assumption."

His gaze flicked toward her, sharp, assessing.

She met it without hesitation.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then she shrugged.

"Look, I don’t know what rich guy problems you have but you were sitting on those steps like someone had either ruined your life or just rejected your marriage proposal."

Harry stilled.

His fingers twitched slightly against his knee, his pulse slow, heavy.

She didn’t know how close she was.

How dangerously fucking close.

She didn’t know about Lucy. About the proposal he never got to make. About much time he spent believing he was enough only to realize that he wasn’t.

She didn’t know anything.

But she still saw right through him.

And that?

That pissed him off.

"Maybe I just wanted some fresh air." His voice was clipped, sharp.

"Sure." She smirked, looking out the window again. "And maybe I’m a billionaire, too."

Harry inhaled, slow and deep, rolling his head back against the seat, eyes flickering up toward the roof of the car.

"You’re insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

For a moment, it was quiet again.

Then—

"Was it a girl?"

His brow furrowed.

"What?"

"The reason you were brooding." She tilted her head slightly. "Was it a girl?"

His fingers clenched.

She smirked.

"It was, wasn’t it?"

He clenched his jaw.

"Not everything is about a woman."

"I never said it was." She lifted a shoulder. "You just confirmed it, though."

Harry exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face.

This was insane.

She was insane.

Why was he even still talking to her?

Why hadn’t he just dropped her off and left?

"I don’t do small talk." His voice was firm.

"Good. Me neither."

Then—silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Not forced.

Just…there.

The car slowed as they reached her street.

She shifted slightly, sitting up, unfastening her seatbelt as James pulled over.

For a second, Harry felt something strange.

Something he didn’t want to name.

She reached for the door handle, but before she could push it open—

"Wait."

She paused.

Glanced back at him. Brows lifted, waiting.

Harry swallowed.

"Let me take you to dinner."

Silence.

Her head tilted, lips curving up at the corners. "Are you asking or telling?"

"Does it matter?"

She smirked.

"I guess not."

She pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold.

Harry watched her go, watched as she turned, hands stuffed into her pockets, eyes unreadable as she met his gaze one last time.

Then—

"If you find me again, maybe I’ll say yes."

And just like that—

She was gone.

Harry sat there for a long moment.

Watched the empty space where she had been.

Felt the quiet weight of something new settle over him.

And for the first time in years, he found himself hoping—

That he’d see her again.

And knowing, somehow—

That he would.

[kanguin]

Hey OP I came to the original post to see if you had any tags for further context, but found this instead. And while I know I'm just a stranger on the internet, I want to say I'm proud of you for realizing something was up, seeking answers, and above all looking out for your best interests.

I also wanted to say that I relate to this and have often done similar in the past, making jokes while I secretly seethed confusedly behind the mask. I don't have OCD, but am on the Autism Spectrum, and struggle with feeling irrationally angry about media and hobbies I don't understand or have any interest in. This is something I don't talk about much because I keep it close to my chest because I'm deeply ashamed of this irrational feeling that can even make me upset at my own friends internally when they're going on about something that irritates me like this. I used to make jokes and "playfully" tease my friends about things like this, because they did the same, or would "jokingly mock" sports to my brother who loves sports, but I always felt shitty about it for some reason. Eventually, I realized there was real, disproportionate vitriol behind my jokes that wasn't behind theirs, and I stopped, started trying to focus on being a better listener, and tried to move past these irrational thoughts for my friends' sakes. It'd be easier if I didn't have these irrational feelings, but I can't control how I feel, only how I act.

Idk, this is long and rambly but I hope you haven't gotten too much grief over this post. It can be so frustrating to feel intense emotions over something you realize is harmless when you can get yourself to step back, and I just wanted to extend my sympatheties with a personal anecdote.

hey everypony ^_^ found out that this topic genuinely stresses me out and people telling me my perception of colours is wrong, even in a joking manner, is extremely distressing, and will cause me to have to try and prove myself which is stressful and takes up a lot of time and effort that could be spent having fun and playing. this is the post that made me look into an OCD diagnosis

I originally thought I made this post to be funny but um !!! turns out it was very real stress and frustration that I had to joke about because it feels lame to be this worked up over colours. feel free to reblog just. ? be civil ??? get normal about it ?? if you don't I am stomping you to death with my hooves.. thank you I love you have fun with your blorbos tell your friends you love them etc [:

[22ayla21]

Hi!! I read your scene where the amphoreus husbands took revenge on their wives which led the kids to be concerned, I loved it so much!!

Could you do a scene that takes place a while after the incident with the kids in the morning where they notice their wife actually struggling due to pain and takes care of her?

Thank you so much! I love your works, they keep me going <333

Daddy's Mistake

Children's reaction to "daddy's mistake"

The morning at home started out a little different than usual. Mom was limping more than yesterday, and dad, surprisingly, hadn't left her side all day, helping her even with the little things she could handle on her own.

- Mom, are you okay? - the eldest asked when he saw her carefully leaning on a chair before sitting down. She smiled as always, but the children noticed that this smile was... strange.

- Everything is fine, - she answered calmly. But the youngest sister frowned.

- But you weren't limping like that yesterday... - her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

- Are you sure?

Mom just nodded, and meanwhile dad, who usually didn't get involved in such conversations, immediately moved a pillow for her comfort and put a cup of tea in front of her.

It was... strange. Very strange.

- Dad, what did you do to make you so concerned about mom now? - the middle child asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Mydei froze for a moment.

- Me?..

- Well, yes, - the eldest now also joined in the investigation. - You must have done something, if you are now so attentive to mom!

- I... - he coughed into his fist, avoiding their tenacious glances. - I am just... showing concern.

But the children were not fools. They looked at mom. Then at dad. Then at mom again. And then the middle daughter turned out to be the bravest:

- Did you accidentally hit Mom?!

Mydei choked on air.

- WHAT?!

The youngest sister looked indignant.

- Dad, did you hurt mom?!

- Of course not! - he was indignant, but seeing how the children were boring into him with suspicion, he suddenly lost confidence. And mom just sat, silently sipping tea, and did not even try to save him.

- Then why is she limping?!

Mydei glanced quickly at his wife, but she only smiled reservedly, enjoying his torment. He swallowed.

- Just... an accident.

- Oh, dad... You try so hard, but you still ruined everything, huh? - the eldest sighed compassionately.

- Exactly, - Mom nodded with satisfaction, taking a sip of tea. And the children, completely confused, but certain of one thing - Dad was clearly guilty of something - continued their breakfast, casting suspicious glances at him.

The wife tried to keep her back straight and walk as if everything was fine, but the children, as always, were too observant. If in the morning her limp could still be hidden, then by midday even the most inattentive of them noticed that their mother was moving slower than usual.

- Mom, are you in pain? - the youngest son pulled her hand, looking up from below with concern. She smiled, stroking his head.

- No, I'm just a little tired.

But children were not so easily tricked. The daughters immediately looked at their father, who was behaving... strangely. He was watching his wife too carefully, offering her to sit down, bringing tea, even taking on her share of the work.

It was... suspicious.

- Dad, did you do something? - asked the eldest daughter, folding her arms across her chest. Anaxa froze for a second, but then returned his face to its usual imperturbable expression.

- Why do you think so?

- You're acting... too nice. Like you're making amends.

The middle daughter narrowed her eyes.

- Did you do something that hurt mom?

The wife almost choked on her tea. Anaxa looked away, clearly trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't raise any more questions.

- I just... maybe... overdid it a bit with the training.

- You made mom train? - the eldest was indignant.

- Well... you could say that.

The youngest son frowned and approached his mother, hugging her tightly around the waist.

- Dad, you should be more careful! Mom isn't as strong as you are.

The wife almost burst out laughing, but she held back, watching Anaxa struggle with her pride. He wanted to object, but he knew that making excuses now would only make the situation worse.

- I'll... take it into account.

- Okay, - the youngest son nodded, pleased that his words had been heard.

The daughters looked at their father suspiciously for a while, but, not having gotten a confession from him, decided to leave the matter. But the wife was clearly enjoying the whole situation. Especially when Anaxa, realizing his guilt, carefully helped her sit more comfortably and even brought a pillow.

- Well, well, now you've suddenly become so caring? - she whispered when the children turned away. Anaxa only chuckled, but a mixture of guilt and hidden threat was visible in his eyes.

- I'm correcting my mistake. But don't think that next time you'll be able to escape so easily.

She grinned.

- We'll see.

The children began to notice this in the morning.

At first, everything seemed normal: their mother woke them up as usual, ate breakfast with them, but when she got up to clear the dishes, her movements were slower than usual. She limped slightly, and a barely noticeable expression of discomfort flashed across her face.

- Mom, does something hurt? - one of the sons asked, frowning.

- No, no, everything is fine, - she answered quickly, but her gaze slid briefly towards their father. And that’s where it became interesting.

Phainon, who was sitting next to her, immediately perked up, distracted the children and barely noticeably moved a chair towards her so that she could sit down. Later, when they were walking through the house, the children noticed that he literally adjusted his steps to hers, as if he was ready to catch her at any moment.

- Mom, are you sure everything is okay? - the youngest repeated insistently.

- Of course, - she answered, smiling softly, but glanced sideways at Phainon again.

But father... he looked guilty. All day long he had been extraordinarily solicitous of mother: handing her a cup, offering her a seat, doing all the housework himself, and when the children noticed her limping again, he immediately picked her up and carried her into the other room, despite her indignant protests.

- Dad, did you do something? - the eldest son finally asked, narrowing his eyes. Phainon froze.

- Um... of course not, - he answered too quickly.

- Then why is mother limping, and why are you acting like a guilty puppy? - father cleared his throat, and his wife only chuckled, shaking her head.

- That’s... um... a long conversation.

The children looked at each other, still puzzled. They didn’t know what Father had done, but he had definitely done something. And since he's trying so hard to make amends, it means there was something serious.

Now they have a new riddle. And they'll definitely solve it.

[malikaihii]

tw: Comments on weight, negative comments from a parent, overall hurt/comfort, also i am not japanese so apologies if there’s any errors in terms used. Also apologies for spelling or grammar issues.

It was the first time Ushijima Wakatoshi would be meeting your parents. You’d been together for a few months now, and your parents wanted to meet the man in your life. Begrudgingly, you accepted their dinner invitation. Though, you made sure to warn the man that they (your mother) may be a bit much, and if at any point he was uncomfortable, you guys could leave. No questions asked.

Ushijima was prepared. He had always gotten along well with adults. He himself had always acted politely, quietly, and with the nature of someone much older than he actually was. So, despite your warnings. He was fully prepared. You yourself had told him they’d love him, so why wouldn’t he be prepared? He was completely ready for the events of the evening.

Or so he thought.

Because right now, you’re sitting together at the dinner table, and Ushijima swears he never could have been fully, or even slightly, prepared for what he’s witnessing.

“Oh my god! Are you already at your second plate? No need to eat so fast, we made plenty!” your mother laughs, the noise scratching Ushijima’s brain in all the worst ways, “You know, we made food so that your boyfriend could eat more. He actually has a reason to eat so much!”

Your mother had spent the entire evening critiquing your every move. He swears he hadn’t heard a single nice thing fall from her mouth.

“A man like him should be with someone more composed and calm! You don’t want to annoy him, dear.” Your mother states, after you had spoken a bit too long for her liking.

Though, Ushijima would never agree with her. He loved hearing you speak. He loved how energetic and excited you got. It balanced well with his quiet demeanor.

He’d noticed, almost instantly, how uncomfortable her comments had made you. Your face would fall; going from its happy smile into a deep frown. Each time she spoke he’d grab your hand and squeeze it tightly. Partially, to comfort you, the other part was to clam himself down.

As the dinner ended, he had stood up to help with the dishes and clean up. You had as well.

“Oh, dear! No need to worry about clean up! y/n can handle it, after all that’s what good partners should do!” She said, giggling yet again.

Ushijima praised himself on his ability to remain calm. He rarely let things bother him. Now, however, he was struggling to hold his irritation in.

How dare someone belittle you in such a way? He didn’t care that it was your mother, you’re his love. He wasn’t comfortable just sitting around letting someone talk over you. Letting her talk as though you were a burden.

He loves you. He loves the way you talk excitedly. He loves taking care of you. He doesn’t want you to ever feel that it’s you place, your “duty”, to pick up after his mess. Frankly, it was disrespectful. Did they think so little of him, that he’d treat his lover with such blatant disrespect?

“It’s quite alright, l/n-san.” He stated shortly, helping you clean up despite her comments.

After cleaning, you guys had all sat down to watch a movie. The movie showed a beautiful young main character. They had their life together, were well in shape, respectful, and respected.

“You know, y/n, you really should be more like them. They’ve got their life together and everything! You better hurry before your boyfriend here realizes what he’s missing out on.” Your mother states; this was the third time she’s mentioned Ushijima deserving “better”.

The man in mention, had quite frankly, had enough. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t sit here and listen to such belittling anymore, not towards you.

Still appearing as calm as ever, though you saw right through him, he rose from his seat.

“Thank you for having us, however, I’m afraid we’ll have to cut this meeting short. I have practice in the morning.”

He didn’t. That’s why you guys had chosen this night in the first place. It gave you more time. However, the finality in his tone led for no further arguments. And honestly, you were greatful. You just wanted to leave.

After saying quick and short thanks and goodbyes, he grabbed your hand and left the building.

Neither of you spoke on the way home, though with the grip in which he held on your hand, you didn’t need to. You knew he was frustrated.

When you arrived home, he immediately hugged you. He barely gave you time to even close the door.

“I’m so sorry.”

That was all he had said.

“You have no reason to be. I’m sorry that they were a bit rude, they really have no filter at times.”

He pulled back and just stared at you, still holding your shoulders.

“They’re stupid.”

Your eyes widened. It was rare for Ushijima to speak so rudely, especially in relation to an elder.

“I apologize if that’s rude to say, however, It’s true. They spent the whole evening critiquing you for being human. They dared to insinuate that you weren’t the best thing to ever happen to me. As well as to belittle my favorite things about you? To belittle you? Stupid.”

It was rare to see the man so worked up. He was usually so nonchalant. Honestly, it was flattering seeing him so worked up over you. So upset over the way your mother spoke to you. Your heart warmed as you just held him. Knowing that even when you couldn’t rely on your own mother to love you, you could always rely on him.

[justarkive]

TABLE 3 | JJK ch12

“For good service, and cute waitresses.”

pairing: pre!military jk x waitress/secret fuckbuddy!oc

Before Jungkook enlists in the military, his life takes an unexpected turn when he visits a local restaurant with friends and meets a waitress who doesn’t recognize him. Surprised by your lack of star-struck reaction, Jungkook finds himself drawn to your down-to-earth nature, especially his previous struggles with the pressure of constant drama on social media regarding his relationships. Little do you know, Jungkook is about to leave for the military, which inevitably bring’s complications to their connection… do they find a way to fix it?

warnings: SMUT, profanity, angst, humour, fluff, celebrity au, idol!jungkook , mentions of other kpop groups/idols, inner conflict, insecurity. Jungkook is such a TEASE. Mr lee is in this chapter LMFAO. (thats lowkey my second man)

smut warnings: they fuck in his dressing room pre concert LOL, wall fucking, nipple play, breast play, clit play, someone knocks on the door and he just keeps going, oral f and m receiving, missionary, strength kink, uhh idk yall but its nasty

wc: LONG

this fic is not meant to represent the real jungkook or any other characters mentioned!

taglist: @jenniebyrubies @dreamersparacosm @darklove2020 @rayyrayy10 @elinaki92 @alana4610 @aznstoner

a/n: i am so sorry for takiny so long to release this chapter, im actually super happy w this. dince im not the best at writing sexually explicit details, i decided to focus more on the emotional tone during the smut. what are ur guys predictions to what happens next?? as always tysm for reading ILY

masterlist , <prev | next>

The day of the concert is finally here.

Five days have passed in a blur—slow when you were staring at your phone, waiting for a reply, and too fast when you realized how little time you actually had to process everything. Jungkook had been busy, that much was clear. You hadn’t seen him once since that night at the field, busy with dance practices, stage rehearsals, but it wasn’t like he had disappeared. If anything, he’d made his presence known in the way he always did—through little things.

A message in the morning, simple but warm. “Good morning. Excited?”

A random voice note in the afternoon, his voice slightly breathless, a little out of focus, as if he was speaking between rehearsal breaks. “Almost tripped on a speaker just now. Imagine if I just fell flat on my face mid-performance.Would you still cheer for me?”

A call late at night, just as your eyes were starting to shut, his voice softer in the dark. “You’re coming, right? You better be. No refunds.”

He hadn’t said much about the concert itself, just that he’d handle everything. And he had—down to the hotel room he booked for you and Nari, which, in her words, was “some straight-up billionaire sugar daddy behavior.” You weren’t sure what to make of it. It was just Jungkook being Jungkook—thoughtful, a little extra, and completely unaware of how easy he made it for you to get used to this.

And maybe that was the dangerous part.

The hotel room is extravagant in a way that almost feels comical—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline, sleek marble countertops, and a chandelier so obnoxiously large that Nari had dramatically gasped upon entering, claiming she had ascended into her “rich bitch era” overnight.

“Y/N.” Nari’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and brimming with excitement as she turns to you, hands on her hips. “This man. Booked you. A fucking penthouse. A PENTHOUSE.”

You glance up from where you’re sitting on the plush bed, slipping on your sneakers. “Nari, he booked us a room.”

“For what? For vibes? It’s only a little closer to the venue than your place. He just wants to spoil you,” she declares, plopping onto the bed beside you. “Like, for real. I would kill for my man to treat me like this.”

“He’s not my man,” you mumble, fixing the hem of your simple yet stylish outfit. The two of you had agreed on something lowkey—nothing too flashy, just enough to blend in with the crowd.

“Yet.” Nari smirks.

You glare at her. “Shut up.”

She grins, but surprisingly, she doesn’t push further. Instead, she busies herself with checking her makeup in the massive vanity mirror, adding a final touch of highlighter. The hotel room smells faintly of expensive cologne—probably lingering from the last guest—and something floral from the scented candles Nari had insisted on lighting “for the aesthetic.”

Your phone buzzes beside you.

Jungkook [7:42 PM]: u on your way yet?

Jungkook [7:42 PM]: I mean, I know you are, but just pretend I don’t have security watching the hotel entrance.

You [7:43 PM]: ?? stalker behavior.

Jungkook [7:43 PM]: and.

Rolling your eyes, you grab your bag and nudge Nari. “Time to go.”

The Uber ride to the venue is mostly filled with Nari hyping herself up while you stare out the window, watching as the streets become more crowded the closer you get. The realization fully settles in when the car slows down near the venue—thousands of people are gathered outside, their excited energy buzzing in the air.

It’s overwhelming. The sheer amount of love people have for him.

They only know him from what they see on screens, from music videos and interviews, from performances and social media snippets. They don’t know the way his voice softens when he’s tired, or the way he pouts slightly when he concentrates, or the way he texts you at the most random hours with pictures of his dog.

Your phone buzzes again.

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: Is there some guy there with slicked-back hair, a suit on, looking kinda hot like me?

You [8:02 PM]: Shut up. Who?

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: Talk to him. Tell him your name.

Jungkook [8:02 PM]: He’ll take you backstage.

You [8:03 PM]: WHERE WHAT I DONT SEE ANYONE

Jungkook [8:03 PM]: Gotta go. Have fun finding him.

“…He’s such an idiot,” you mutter, staring at the texts in disbelief.

Nari leans over, reading them over your shoulder. “Girl. We have to go find this dude now? In this crowd?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

It takes longer than you’d like, but after some awkward glances and frantic searching, you finally spot what you think is him—a tall, intimidating-looking man standing near the barricades, scanning the crowd like he’s waiting for someone.

Nari nudges you forward. “Go.”

You clear your throat, stepping closer. “Um. Hi. Uh—are you here for—um, Jungkook told me to—um—”

The man simply nods. “Come with me.”

You exchange a quick look with Nari before following him, trying to keep a low profile. It seems to work—most people probably assume you’re just being led to the restroom or something. But the moment you step past security barriers, through a side entrance, and down a hallway leading to the backstage area, the reality of it all settles in.

The dressing rooms are bustling with movement—stylists darting back and forth, crew members making last-minute preparations. The air is thick with the scent of hairspray and cologne, the sounds of muffled voices and distant music vibrating through the walls.

Nari, completely unfazed, immediately starts taking selfies in front of the vanity lights. “This lighting is insane. Oh my God.”

You barely have time to take in your surroundings before—

“No pictures in here.”

The voice is unfamiliar, deep and authoritative, sending a jolt of panic through you. You and Nari freeze, phones halfway raised.

Then you turn around—

Jungkook.

Standing there. Shirtless. Bare face. Hair still slightly messy, damp from whatever pre-show routine he had just finished.

He grins. “Gotcha.”

“Oh my God,” you exhale, pressing a hand to your chest. “What the fuck—”

Nari looks equally as stunned, though for different reasons. “Jungkook, you cannot sneak up on people like that when you look like—like that.”

He chuckles, eyes crinkling. Then, without a second thought, he steps forward and pulls you into a hug.

You stiffen, momentarily surprised. But by now, it’s almost second nature—the way he holds you, warm and firm, the scent of his body wash lingering on his skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs, voice close to your ear.

You nod, swallowing. “Yeah. This is just… crazy.”

“I know. celebrity shit, right?” He pulls back slightly, smirking down at you.

You shove his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Meanwhile, Nari has fully recovered and is now scanning the room like a predator. “Jungkook. Are you alone?”

He blinks. “Uh… yeah?”

“Are any of the other members here?”

He gives her a blank look. “Nari. This is my solo tour.”

Nari sighs dramatically. “Damn. So no Kim Namjoon.”

Jungkook snorts, shaking his head. Then, as if remembering something, he suddenly points toward one of the stylists in the room—a tall, ridiculously attractive man adjusting a set of brushes on a table. “Hey, he’s single.”

Nari turns. Takes one look. Then confidently strides over and plops herself down beside the stylist.

The guy stiffens. Looks at her. Looks at Jungkook. Looks back at her.

Jungkook leans closer to you, grinning. “That dude is so scared right now.”

You sigh, shaking your head fondly. “She’s a menace.”

“And you love her for it.”

You glance up at him—his hair still damp, his skin glowing under the vanity lights, his eyes soft as he looks at you.

You swallow. “Yeah. I do.”

Jungkook hums, gaze flickering over your face. “Good.”

“You’re actually here,” Jungkook says, a grin already tugging at his lips. His voice is warm, familiar, and just a little breathless—like he can’t believe it himself. He takes a step closer, tilting his head as he studies your face. “I missed you.”

Your heart stumbles over itself. It’s not even what he said, it’s how he said it—so casually, like it was just a fact. Like he didn’t just drop it in the middle of a crowded dressing room, with stylists and staff bustling around, adjusting outfits, checking schedules, calling out times. But all of it fades because Jungkook is looking at you like you’re the only person in the room.

You swallow. “I—” You’re aware of the way your face heats up, how your voice wavers when you finally say, “I missed you too.”

Jungkook grins, and there’s something dangerous about it—something mischievous and knowing, like he was waiting for you to say it. Before you can even think about what that means, his fingers curl around your wrist, and suddenly, you’re being tugged forward. “Come,”

“What—wait—” You stumble after him, glancing back at Nari, who is very much not paying attention, currently perched next to the stylist Jungkook had called single earlier, chatting him up with all the confidence in the world.

“She looks preoccupied,” Jungkook muses, not even slowing down.

You barely get the chance to react before you’re being pulled past the chaos of the main dressing area, down a quieter hallway, and into another room. This one is different. It’s calmer, quieter, the sounds of the outside world muffled behind thick walls. The air is cooler here, tinged with expensive cologne and faint traces of fabric softener.

Your eyes sweep over the room, taking in the space that clearly belongs to him. The lighting is softer, casting everything in a warm glow. A sleek vanity takes up most of the wall, lined with makeup and hair products, but what catches your attention is the small golden plaque sitting at the edge of the mirror. Jeon Jungkook. His name, perfectly engraved, like it belongs here. Because, of course, it does.

To the side, a rack of outfits stands perfectly arranged—different variations of black, shimmering details, all expensive and carefully selected. A pair of stage shoes sit neatly beneath them. The entire space is neat but lived-in, touched by him in ways only someone who knows him would recognize.

You exhale softly, still turning, still taking it all in. “This is… a lot.”

Jungkook watches you with an amused glint in his eyes, arms folding over his chest. “Starstruck?”

You shoot him a look. “By you? Never. This? Yes.”

He grins. “Liar.”

The moment is interrupted when a woman with a sleek black bob and an air of effortless efficiency strides into the room, already pulling on a pair of latex gloves. “Jungkook, you need to start getting ready,” she announces, barely sparing you a glance as she sets down her kit beside the vanity.

Jungkook nods and moves to sit in the chair, spinning once before settling. You linger by the doorway, suddenly feeling a little out of place. The stylist doesn’t say anything about you being here—doesn’t even look at you twice—which somehow makes you more self-conscious. You shift on your feet, unsure of what to do, until Jungkook pats the empty chair beside him.

“Come sit,” he says easily.

You hesitate, glancing at the stylist, silently asking for some kind of approval. She doesn’t even look up from where she’s sorting through foundation bottles, just waves a hand dismissively. “As long as you don’t mess up his face, I don’t care.”

That’s… reassuring?

Slowly, you move to sit, feeling oddly formal in the cushy chair beside him. Up close, you can see just how tired he looks—the faint shadows under his eyes, the way he leans back into the chair like he hasn’t had a moment to just breathe all day.

“Long day?” you ask.

Jungkook exhales a laugh through his nose, eyes closing briefly as the stylist tilts his head to start on his base makeup. “You have no idea.”

You smile, arms folding in your lap. “Yeah? Try working a diner shift where a group of middle-aged businessmen keeps asking your friend for her number and writing thirsty notes on napkins.”

Jungkook’s eyes snap open, eyebrows raising. “What?”

You nod solemnly. “I had to physically pry one from Nari’s hands because she was about to read it out loud in front of everyone.”

He laughs, head tilting as the stylist tuts and pushes it back into place. “I need to hear what they wrote.”

You make a face. “Something about her being sweeter than the whipped cream on their pancakes, and that wasn’t even the worst one.”

Jungkook snorts, covering his mouth. “That’s disgusting.”

“I know,” you say, equally appalled. “But she was thriving. Every single one of them left with a broken heart.”

“Of course she was,” he murmurs, amused.

The stylist hums, leaning in to blend the foundation across his jaw. Jungkook tries to keep still, but he keeps turning his head toward you whenever he talks, forcing her to keep nudging him back into position.

“Stay still,” she says, unimpressed.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Then, half a second later, “So how many guys are in love with her now?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “Too many to count. The diner is officially her kingdom.”

Jungkook grins, but it softens after a beat. “And you? No secret admirers?”

You scoff. “No weird napkin notes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He hums, watching you through the mirror, a little too intently, a little too curious—until the stylist tugs his face back again with an exasperated sigh.

“Jungkook, please.”

The time passes quicker than you expect. Between Jungkook getting prodded and pampered by the stylists, the easy conversation, and the occasional Jungkook, stay still, the whole process feels surprisingly… normal. Like you’ve done this a million times before. Like sitting beside Jungkook in his dressing room while someone does his makeup is just another part of your day.

And then, suddenly, he’s done.

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts as the stylist steps away, satisfied with her work. Jungkook stretches his neck, examining himself in the mirror with a lazy kind of approval. “Nice,” he mutters, rubbing a thumb against his jaw before he suddenly—without warning—reaches for the hem of his shirt you didn’t even realise he’d put on a few minutes ago.

You don’t even have time to process what’s happening before he’s pulling it off.

Your brain short-circuits. He’s shirtless. Again.

The mirror betrays you immediately. You don’t even mean to stare—you don’t—but Jungkook is right there, in clear view, and suddenly there’s a whole lot of bare skin and a whole lot of defined muscle and your brain just shuts down.

This isn’t new. This has happened before. A million times, (twice) even.

You swear you only stare for half a second. Maybe a full second. Maybe a little longer, but that’s hardly the point because when you finally snap out of it and tear your gaze away—heart thudding embarrassingly hard—your eyes flick up to the mirror again and—

Jungkook is looking right at you.

You freeze.

He grins.

“For the millionth time,” he drawls, voice rich with amusement. “See something you like?”

You nearly die on the spot.

“No—” you stammer, cheeks burning, eyes everywhere but him. “I—I was just—the mirror—it’s there—so obviously—”

He laughs, loud and delighted, as he throws on his next outfit: a sleeveless mesh vest hoodie that does nothing to help your situation. If anything, it somehow makes it worse. It clings to his torso, effortlessly stylish, the fabric shifting with every movement. He layers it with a slightly oversized jacket—just casual enough to be cool, just structured enough to make him look even better than he already does. He pairs it with loose-fitting jeans and his signature boots, the entire ensemble looking so effortlessly put together that it’s almost unfair.

You force yourself to look anywhere else, swallowing hard. “You could’ve warned me.���

“Warned you about what?” Jungkook teases, fastening a simple chain around his neck. “Me changing? Thought you were used to it by now.”

You glare, knowing full well that your flushed cheeks are ruining any attempt at feigned indifference. “I was looking at the mirror.”

“Mhm.” He smirks, tilting his head. “And what did the mirror show you?”

You nearly throw something at him.

The two of you settle into an easy quiet as the pre-show chaos hums in the background. There’s nothing left to do but wait. Jungkook stretches out on the couch, one arm slung over the backrest, looking completely at ease despite the impending concert. You, on the other hand, feel like you’re sitting on a time bomb—this entire situation is insane, and yet he’s acting like it’s just another day.

At some point, a staff member brings in food—just a few things Jungkook ordered earlier—and the two of you dig in. It’s nothing too heavy, just something to keep him going before he goes on stage, but the way he pushes a container toward you, all casual and wordless, makes your heart do a weird little thing.

“So,” you say after a few bites, just to fill the silence, “are you nervous?”

Jungkook, mid-chew, raises a brow. He swallows, then grins. “Nope.”

You squint at him. “Not at all?”

“Not at all,” he repeats easily, plucking a fry from the box between you. “It’s fun. The stage, the energy—it’s like…” He trails off for a moment, as if searching for the right word, then just shakes his head. “It’s the best feeling in the world.”

You hum, chewing thoughtfully. “I feel like I’d be terrified. Thousands of people watching your every move?” You shudder dramatically. “One wrong step and boom—memed forever.”

Jungkook barks out a laugh, amused. “That has happened, you know. But I don’t mind now. It’s part of it. Used to freak out about a little mistake but now? They come with it all, it’s inevitable.”

You watch as he picks up his phone, casually opening Twitter like he does this all the time. His expression shifts almost immediately—lips twitching into a fond smile, eyes soft with something warm.

“I always do this before a show,” he says, scrolling through his feed. “I love seeing how excited ARMY gets while they’re waiting.”

He angles the screen toward you, showing a sea of posts—fancams from outside the venue, people in matching outfits, handmade signs, inside jokes only his fans would understand. It’s a flood of love, of uncontainable anticipation, and Jungkook is soaking it all in like it’s his lifeblood.

“Look at the crowd already,” he murmurs, swiping to a video someone posted from the pit. The venue is packed—people chanting, singing, waving their lightsticks even though the show hasn’t started yet. “They’re amazing.”

You glance at him, taking in the way he watches the screen—completely adoring, like he still can’t believe all of this is real. Like it means something to him, deep in his bones.

And suddenly, you get it.

This isn’t just a job to him. This isn’t just a routine. It’s love.

“You’re such a sap,” you say, nudging his foot with yours.

Jungkook grins, eyes twinkling. “Maybe.”

Jungkook stretches, rolling his shoulders back before standing up, the shift in his energy almost instant. His relaxed posture straightens, muscles flexing as he starts moving through warm-up exercises, humming lightly under his breath. You watch as he tests his voice, adjusting his stance, subtly bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer before a fight.

Then, almost as quickly as he got up, a staff member peeks in and calls him out for something. Most of the stylists follow, leaving the room feeling noticeably emptier, the only company left being one last stylist who seems far more interested in her sandwich than small talk.

You sit there for a moment, picking at the food in front of you, aimlessly scrolling through your phone. The room feels heavier now—quieter, save for the faint sounds of activity outside. You wonder how long he’ll be gone.

Then, suddenly, the stylist speaks.

“How have you not got caught?” She laughs.

The words are casual, spoken between bites, but they hit like a slap. You blink, looking up, only to find her still chewing, barely sparing you a glance.

“All this shit,” she continues, taking another bite. “Is like… super risky.”

It’s not outright rude, but there’s something about the way she says it—offhanded, like she’s scolding you without really scolding you—that makes your stomach twist.

You part your lips, unsure of what to even say. Do you defend yourself? Do you tell her that this wasn’t your idea? That Jungkook was the one who invited you? That you never asked for any of this?

Even though you really, really don’t wanna stop.

But before you can even muster up a response, she dusts off her hands, bins the rest of her sandwich, and walks out. Just like that.

You exhale, long and slow, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

She’s not wrong.

It is risky.

Jungkook is Jungkook, an untouchable force with an entire world watching his every move. And you? You’re just… here. Sitting in his private dressing room, eating his food, waiting for him like you belong in this space when—realistically—you don’t.

You know how the internet works. How fast rumors can spread. How easily people can twist things. If someone saw you right now—if a picture leaked—what kind of headlines would come out of it? Because you’re sure it wont be another awkwardly blurry, badly angled photo like last time.

Would this get him in trouble? Would you?

The intrusive thoughts pile up too quickly, drowning you in doubt. By the time Jungkook returns, beaming with two drinks in hand, you’re barely holding it together.

“Look what I got,” he says, passing you one. He’s still a little breathless, his excitement crackling like electricity in the air. “My favorite—”

“Should I leave?”

It comes out of nowhere. The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them, your fingers curling tightly around the drink. Jungkook’s smile falters.

“What?”

“I—I should leave,” you repeat, swallowing hard. “What if we get caught? Is— me being here a problem?”

His expression shifts immediately, the warmth in his eyes dimming. His brows furrow, lips parting slightly like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Who said that?”

You hesitate, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said anything at all. “No one, I just—”

“Who.” His voice is sharper this time, more urgent, his entire demeanor changing as he takes a step closer.

You stumble over your words, not knowing how to explain. “It’s just—people talk, Jungkook, and—”

“So..” His jaw tightens. “You think I don’t want you here?” His voice is low, raw with frustration, disbelief, and maybe even a little hurt. It hits you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, it feels like the air between you both is thicker. The weight of it presses down on you, suffocating, almost.

You try to breathe, but it’s like your lungs are fighting against you. He takes a step closer. Your heart stutters.

“Hmm?” His hand comes up slowly, almost deliberately, and it rests on your chin. The grip is firm, but not harsh—secure, like he’s not letting you look away. And just like that, the space between you both feels electrified. The tension grows thick, undeniable.

Your voice falters, caught in your throat. “N-no, I just—”

“Just what?” His voice drips with mockery as he nudges your chin higher, his thumb tracing just under your jaw. “Because I can show you, if you want, how much I want you to be here.”

His words fall heavily between you, your breath catching in your throat. There’s a flash of something—desire, maybe fear—rushing through you. The proximity is almost too much, and yet, you can’t pull away.

You open your mouth to reply, but the words won’t come. The silence stretches, thick and heavy between you. He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything more. Without warning, he closes the distance, his lips crashing against yours.

He doesn’t break the kiss, but his hand shifts, sliding up to gently grip your chin. His fingers are firm, tilting your head back to meet him fully. His touch is deliberate, guiding you closer to him as if he’s in control of the pace, the way your lips part slightly to let him deepen the kiss.

He pulls away, and you can’t help the soft whine that escapes your lips at the loss of his kiss. A smirk curls on his lips as he stands, his gaze holding yours with that same mischievous glint. He locks the door with a quiet click, the sound somehow louder in the charged silence, before striding back to you, his steps confident, almost predatory.

Jungkook approaches you slowly. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitches, the weight of it all suddenly crashing down on you. You’re in Jeon Jungkook’s dressing room, and god knows how much time he has before his performance. “W-what? This is insane… someone could hear us…”

Jungkook stands in front of you, his voice low and teasing as his hands settle on your hips. “Can you feel how much I want you?”

You nervously flicker your eyes to his lips, your heart racing. “I… I don’t think this is a good—”

He cuts you off with a chuckle, cupping your face in his hands and gently lifting your chin to meet his gaze. “I want all of you…” His tone softens, but the grip on your waist tightens, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “But if you’re not comfortable doing this here, we don’t have to.”

Suddenly, the thrill of being caught washes over your doubts, and before you can second-guess yourself, you crash your lips back on his. You feel him smirk into the kiss, the heat between you two escalating.

You lose track of time, as if you’ve been kissing him forever—and honestly, you’re not complaining. Every kiss feels intense, your lips teasing his lip piercing, occasionally nibbling it.

You hear him grunt softly against your mouth, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slip down to your neck, his fingers gripping just tight enough to leave you breathless, urging you closer.

He pulls back just enough, his hand still on your neck, keeping you anchored to him.

“You’re so beautiful,” His eyes don’t leave yours, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse race. Like it always does. Slowly, he undoes his jeans, the sound of the zipper almost deafening in the charged silence between you.

He chuckles softly, struggling a bit to kick his jeans off. His lips are magnets, pulling you in despite the little space between you, and you can’t help but press yourself against the hand still wrapped around your neck. You lean in desperately, hungry for his kiss again.

“Patience, baby,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement, though his eyes are full of hunger. He kicks his jeans off, and before you can fully process, his lips are on yours again—quicker this time, more urgent. But just as you start to deepen the kiss, he pulls away, leaving you breathless.

Frustration bubbles up inside you, but it’s replaced by a new heat as his hands move down, frantically pawing at the straps of your dress. His fingers tremble, eager, desperate, as if he can’t get it off fast enough.

You help him, giggling, your hands trembling as you slide the dress off, letting it drop to the floor in a heap.

Your fingers move eagerly to his jacket, pulling at the fabric, “Off,” You urge him, while his lips are still on yours. The kiss is frantic now—more breathing than kissing, your breaths mingling between heated sighs.

“Please…” The word escapes you in a soft, desperate whimper, your chest rising and falling with each ragged breath as you tug at his jacket, unwilling to wait any longer.

Jungkook is now shirtless, and so are you, your nipples instantly harden to the cold air from the AC in the room, your bodies pressed together. It’s a bit awkward, in the sense that you’re on your heels, grinding ever so slightly on the bulge of his boxers, but you couldn’t care less.

His hands roam over your skin, hot and so needy, as he kisses his way down your neck. His lips are soft but deliberate, savoring the feel of you, every inch of your skin. You shiver under his touch, throwing your head back and curling your fingers into his scalp, heart racing, the sensation of him against you overwhelming.

He pauses at your collarbone, breathing against your skin, his voice low and husky, “Feel’ so fucking good.”

“F-fuck, please…” You gasp, breath hitching as Jungkook works his way down your body, his lips trailing slowly over your skin, teasing you with each touch. He chuckles softly against your bare skin, sending a shiver down your spine, before he takes his time, sucking gently on each of your nipples, pulling a quiet moan from your lips.

His hands roam, gripping your hips, pulling you closer to him as his mouth leaves a trail of heat across your skin. You feel his smile against you, a smugness in his teasing, but it only makes you crave him more.

Before you can even process it, Jungkook’s on his knees in front of you, his hands sliding down your body to peel off your panties. The sudden shift in position leaves you breathless, his movements deliberate and slow.

He noses at your slit, inhaling deeply, with a lewd, audible swoosh of air, his eyes dark with hunger. You can’t help the way your hips buck slightly at the sensation, the thrill of it all making your heart race.

“Mm, babe,” he groans, his voice rough and low, sending a shiver down your spine. “Smell so good…” His breath fans against you as he presses closer, his hands gripping your thighs as he teases you, making you ache for more.

Before you know it, your patience runs thin. Unable to wait any longer, you grab a handful of his hair, guiding his face where you need him most. The moment your fingers tangle in his locks, he doesn’t hesitate—he dives in, licking, sucking, and lapping eagerly at your core. His low chuckle vibrates against you, clearly amused by your desperation.

You can’t help but grind against his face, unfortunately messing up his makeup with your juices which just flow out onto his lips, chin and even his nose, driven by need. His touch is intoxicating, each movement of his tongue sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

“Jungkook—” you gasp, his name falling from your lips as you lose yourself in the sensation.

He licks at your pulsing clit, alternating between gently dipping his tongue into your walls and sucking hard, each movement calculated to make you tremble. His pace doesn’t falter, and you can feel the vibrations of his moan against you, sending a rush of heat through your body. The sound, raw and desperate, only fuels the growing fire inside you.

You can barely focus on anything else, lost in the sensation of him, his persistence, and the way his body moves against yours, like he’s trying to memorize every part of you.

“Jungkook…” you whisper, the tension building.

He looks up at you, a knowing smile curling on his lips, before he softly brushes his hands against your skin, his hands gentle on your thighs “Let go,” he murmurs. “It’s just us here.”

You feel something prodding at your entrance, his tongue still not letting up- if anything, hes going much faster now. Licking and slurping like a damn starved man.

If theres anything you know about Jungkook, its that he does not hesitate to go all in when it comes to your pleasure. You’re convinced that he-

“Could eat this pussy for hours, babe” He mumbles into your slick, slushy core. It’s disgusting how much this man has you fucking drenching his pretty face.

And he just let’s it happen.

Like a real ass man.

Before you know it, his finger intrudes in. “Fuck!”

But it’s not just the movement of his finger that has you reeling. It’s the damn silver ring he’s still wearing on his middle finger. The cool metal presses against you with every thrust, the contrast between the chill of the ring and the heat of your body sending waves of sensation through you. Your hips move instinctively, pushing harder into his face, chasing the friction.

And Jungkook? He just fucking laughs into your pussy, like he knew he’d coax that reaction out of you.

He moves his finger slowly at first, deliberately tracing that spot he somehow found so easily. The sensation is almost too much, and your breath catches in your throat as he picks up the pace, each movement deliberate, making you tremble beneath him. Then, without warning, he adds another finger, stretching you further, and you can’t help the gasp that escapes your lips.

“Jungkook- Fuck!”

He doesn’t stop. His rhythm quickens, frantic tongue flicking at your clit and his hold tightening around your thighs.

At this point, you’re lost to it, unable to think, to breathe. The ache in your hips from frantically grinding is overpowered by the sheer pleasure of well- Jungkook. All that’s left is him, the way he moves, the way he makes you feel. It’s too much, and you can’t hold back anymore.

The wave crashes over you before you can even catch your breath. Your body trembles with the release, his name a breathless echo on your lips as your vision blurs. You’re grinding faster than ever now, and Jungkook knows not to change his pace, keeping it up until you have to physically pry him off of your pussy.

He rises back up to you, his hands finding your waist, pulling you closer. His eyes darken as he licks his lips, like he can’t bear the thought of not tasting you again. It’s a look that sends a rush of warmth through your chest, making your breath catch in your throat. You exhale softly, unable to hold back a small giggle at the way he’s looking at you.

He smirks, that playful glint never leaving his gaze. “That good?” he teases, because Jungkook would probably rather die than not tease you with his silly remarks, his voice low, but there’s a softness beneath the teasing, a hint of something more intimate.

“Always make me feel so good,” You say, a little breathless.

You nudge him playfully, but then you become acutely aware of the way he’s pressed against you, the hard bulge pressing into your lower stomach. It’s like the air between you thickens, the tension rising again, and you can’t help but feel your own pulse quicken. Jungkook’s movements shift, grinding into you without even realizing it, his body reacting to the closeness like it’s second nature.

He notices the way your breath catches, the way you become more aware of his movements. His lips curve into a knowing smile before he dips his head lower, his mouth brushing softly against your breasts.

“Forgot about these, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.

He kneads your breasts with a gentle but insistent pressure, his hands moving with purpose. His tongue flicks out, teasing each nub, and the sensation causes soft Ah’s escape your lips, the sound mixing with the growing rhythm of his body pressed against yours.

The grinding of his hips against yours becomes faster, more urgent, but it’s the way his touch feels—soft, yet driven—that leaves you breathless, wanting more.

Your patience begins to wear thin, and without thinking, you reach for his boxers, pulling them down slowly. His cock springs out, slapping against his abs with a soft thud. He grabs the base, spitting down on the tip that’s weeping with pre-cum, and begins to stroke it slowly.

Did it get… bigger?

You moan shamelessly.

Jungkook grins at you, the playful glint in his eyes never leaving. The way his body reacts to you, the anticipation, only heightens your own. You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the closeness and the intensity.

“Want it so bad,” you whisper, feeling your heart race.

His smile deepens, and without hesitation, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours as he takes a deep breath, the heat between you both growing with every movement. His fingers graze your skin tenderly as he takes a moment to look at you, his expression soft, but with a hunger that makes your stomach flutter.

“Yeah?” he asks, voice rough, yet gentle. There’s care in his eyes, a tenderness that grounds you despite everything. His strokes don’t let up, and the lewd squelch of it fills the room.

You meet his gaze, your breath shaky, but you nod, your hands trembling as you skim your hands over his chest, feeling him up, feeling the connection that seems to run so much deeper than the physical everytime you’re intertwined in this sense.

His hand moves to yours, guiding them to his cock a quiet confidence, and everything feels right—natural.

As your hands reach for his cock, Jungkook’s breath hitches. He leans in, his eyes locking with yours, watching you carefully as you start to move your hand gently under his, his expression a mix of admiration and need. The way your fingers wrap around him feels so intimate, and he can’t help but groan softly at how the size of his cock makes your hand look fucking miniscule.

“So good,” he murmurs, voice low, as if trying to ground himself in the moment. He watches you, seeing the way you take control, how the trust between you builds with every movement.

For a second, he stops you, his hand over yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, the simple gesture of reassurance. Then, with a quiet breath, he pulls back slightly, allowing you to take the reins. There’s a softness in his gaze, as if he’s telling you without words that he trusts you completely.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his tone laced with wonder and vulnerability, and you feel it—how much of him is laid bare in these moments. His cock is heavy in your hands, hard as a fucking rock. And you whimper while tightening your grip, wanting more of his moans.

He starts to fuck into your fist, his breath warm against your neck, each movement slow and deliberate. His lips find their way to your neck, a soft moan escaping him as he pulls you closer, grounding himself in the moment. You respond, your pace quickening, feeling the tension between you both build.

“Like that…,” he breathes, voice thick with desire, but there’s something more there—a vulnerability, a need for the closeness, for your connection. You can feel him, not just physically, but emotionally, and it makes everything feel even more intense.

His hands find their way to your body, his grip tightening as he holds you, like he wants to be closer than ever.

The desire between you both intensifies, and Jungkook’s thrusts into your hand become more urgent, his breath coming in soft gasps.

You can feel his tension, the way he’s holding back, desperately trying to stay present in the moment. His lips trail back down your neck, his moans muffled against your skin, and it only makes the connection between you stronger.

His pace quickens, fucking your fist faster than ever, the need for more growing, but then, suddenly, he pulls back, his eyes locking with yours. He fucks your hand frantically with his cock while staring at your face, as if that’s the only thing he needs to get him going. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, something raw and unspoken.

His cock twitches on your stomach when he moves away, practically begging for release. And you cock an eyebrow at him teasingly.

“Turn around,” he whispers, guiding you gently but urgently, his hands pressing against your waist as he pushes you against the wall.

He spreads your thighs slightly, bending down to tease your folds with his tip. Your breath hitches, a soft moan escaping your lips. You instinctively reach for him, pulling him closer, your hands finding refuge in the crook of his neck. He presses a soft kiss to your skin, but before you can fully settle into the moment, he pulls away, a look of frustration crossing his features.

“Shit… condom,” he mutters under his breath, as though the realization hits him too late.

He takes a moment to steady himself, his hand brushing over his chest, as if trying to ground himself in the situation. You turn around, searching the dressing room for what he needs, but before you can speak, he leans in, kissing you deeply, a fleeting connection before he steps away.

“Wait,” he says, his voice low and hurried. He moves toward the couch, pulling his wallet from his jacket. He rummages through it and then, with a quick motion, pulls out a condom, his focus entirely on you.

He hands you the condom, a sheepish smile on his lips, and for a brief moment, you’re caught off guard, unsure of what he wants. But then, it clicks. He wants you to put the condom on for him. The realization warms you, and you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head.

“You absolute baby,” you tease, your voice light with affection as you gently roll the condom onto his cock. His grin widens at the playful remark, his eyes locking onto yours with a mix of admiration and affection. He presses a soft kiss to your lips again, a fleeting moment that makes your heart race even faster.

He pauses for a moment, his hand brushing over his cock a few times before he gently turns you back around, his breath hitching in his chest.

“Ready?” he asks softly, his voice full of anticipation but tempered with care, wanting to make sure you’re on the same page.

You let out a soft whine, the feeling of anticipation building inside you. You push back against his cock, and he fucks his length between your ass cheeks for a few seconds, kneading the skin. You crave more of him, and the connection between you both feels almost too much to bear. He takes a slow breath, trying to steady himself, before gently guiding his cock in to you.

He enters you slowly, his movements tender but filled with the intensity of the moment. You wince slightly, the familiar stretch making your walls ache, but it quickly melts into a soft moan, the sensation overwhelming in the best way.

“Tight fuckin’ fit,” he murmurs softly, his voice rough with desire, as his forehead presses against yours when you tug his face towards the crook of your neck and look at him, your hand in his scalp. Eyes closed in a mix of pleasure and awe at the closeness between you both.

He quickens his pace slightly, and you breathe into his mouth, your desperation growing with each movement.

“Harder,” you whisper, barely able to contain the yearning in your voice. He listens, his movements becoming faster, deeper, and you feel every inch of his cock inside you, as if he’s anchoring you to the moment.

His touch moves lower, fingertips grazing your sensitive clit, sending shivers through you. The sensation intensifies, and your senses blur together—his warmth, his rhythm, your connection. Every part of you feels alive with him.

“Harder,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. Jungkook responds immediately, his movements becoming faster, more urgent. You can feel him everywhere, a deep connection forged in each motion, each breath.

Without warning, he pulls away gently, turning you around and guiding you to the floor. His hands are careful but firm, making sure you’re comfortable even as the intensity builds. He straddles you, not putting too much weight on your torso, and you find your head resting against the cool wall. The change in position has your breath hitching.

His body moves in front of you, and there’s a moment of humor when his wet cock taps your cheek by accident. You let out a small laugh, pretending to look scandalized, but the playful teasing fades as he focuses entirely on you.

Jungkook’s grip on his base is steady, his eyes locked with yours, silently asking for trust. He guides you with a hand nudging your heard forward towards his cock carefully, urging you to take control in this moment, but there’s no mistaking the power in his hands, the authority in his touch.

He waits for you to follow his lead.

You focus on ignoring the ache building within you, your mouth finding him as you draw him in. His breath hitches, and he groans, his hand resting gently in your hair. “Yeah, baby…” His voice trembles, and you can feel the rush of his desire.

You welcome him, moving with him, guiding him deeper, the taste of the condom isn’t particularly the best, but you’re too turned on to care, as your hand encourages him gently. You feel the heat building even further. Your movements quicken, a rush of desperation taking over you as he fills your mouth entirely with his cock.

But just as it feels like you’re lost in it all, he pulls back, his touch soft yet firm. He gazes down at you, and before you can fully process it, he’s stumbling backwards, a sudden coolness following as he spreads your folds out, before shoving his cock in so hard you cant help but to squeal, taking control in a way that leaves you breathless.

“Fucking shit—,” he groans, his hands moving to your body, gripping your waist tightly as he deepens his thrusts, the rhythm between you both frantic and desperate.

A gasp slips from your lips, your head spinning with the overwhelming sensation when suddenly, a knock at the door breaks through the chaos. Your heart stops. Jungkook freezes as well, both of you frozen in the moment.

“Jungkook?” The doorknob turns, the sound of someone approaching sending a wave of panic through you.

He looks at you with a smirk, but there’s a gleam in his eyes that holds a certain dominance. His hand gently presses against your mouth, silencing you. The intensity between you builds up more, and the knocks at the door spur him to fuck into you faster, the pressure mounting as he keeps moving, determined not to stop despite the interruption.

“Im fuck- Fuckin’ busy!” He shouts towards the door, enthralled by the ring of white your leaving around his dick. And you try so hard to muffle your moans, but at this point…

Whoever it is outside definitely knows.

Another knock at the door echoes, and your breath catches in your throat as his pace quickens, hitting that spot that makes everything else fade. The pressure builds, and with a quiet, teasing whisper, he leans down to your ear and murmurs, “Stay quiet, baby. Don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing, hm?”

You glare at him, frustrated and desperate, but your body betrays you as you shift your hips back against him, your breath shallow, a soft whine escaping your lips. You’re lost in the feeling, fighting to keep quiet, but it’s almost impossible.

Another knock at the door sounds, but it only seems to push Jungkook even further, his movements becoming even more urgent. He doesn’t reply this time. His hand moves from your mouth, trailing to your core, and you can feel the frantic energy in his breath as he urges you to stay quiet, but it’s becoming harder to hold back. You press your lips together, eyes squeezed shut, silently hoping whoever it is will leave quickly.

When the knocks finally stop, the room fills with the sound of his thighs smacking against yours at an alarming pace, and you can’t help but gasp at the way his tip just annihilates that spot.

You grip his broad back, grounding yourself as he lifts you, holding you up on his kneeling form by your ass cheeks, gently but firmly, guiding your body in time with his movements. The sensation builds rapidly when he starts lifting you up and down his length, and you throw your head back, one hand behind you on the wall, and you press your lips against his, matching his movements as best as you can, your hands gripping his hair, needing him closer.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, babe.” He moans softly into your ear, his voice shaky. “I’m close.”

You nod, your body shaking with anticipation. He quickens his pace, his breath against your skin making it harder to focus. The sound of his voice, the closeness between you both—everything swells within you, and in an instant, you feel yourself losing control, your body responding to the rhythm, desperately seeking more.

You give in, the intensity of the moment pushing you over the edge, and you let out a breathless moan, your body moving with his, seeking that final connection.

You press your teeth into his back, the soft bite grounding you as your frantic movements slow to gentle, steady motions. He groans deeply, and you feel him tense, the weight of the moment heavy as he fills the condom.

He pulls back just enough to kiss your face, his lips brushing softly over your skin, and it makes your heart pound in your chest. His voice is low, filled with emotion as he murmurs something about how perfect you are.

You hold him close, your fingers in his hair, your breath shaky as you pull him against you, feeling the warmth of his breath on your neck. Everything around you fades as you just let the closeness of the moment wash over you.

After what feels like an eternity of comfortable silence, the position becomes awkward. Jungkook’s body shifts as his softening length reminds you of the moment’s gravity, and you wince slightly. Sensing your discomfort, he gently pulls away, lifting you carefully and guiding you to the couch where his jacket is laid out. He doesn’t seem to mind at all that some of you have spilled onto it.

You start to speak, “Your jacket—”

He interrupts, his voice soft but full of concern. “Are you okay?” He leans down, brushing your hair back from your face, his touch tender, as if trying to make sure you’re okay.

You nod softly, watching him slide the condom off and dispose of it in the takeout bag from earlier, tossing it in the bin with a quiet finality. The intimacy of being naked together feels overwhelmingly heartwarming, almost frightening in its vulnerability. You try to push away the overwhelming thoughts, but one sudden realization hits you.

You look around, your heart skipping a beat. This is Jungkook’s damn dressing room. How much time do you really have before his concert?

Your voice catches in your throat, worry creeping into your expression. “Jungkook—how long—”

He walks over to you, a sense of calm settling over him. He throws his briefs back on and plops down next to you on the couch, his presence grounding. “Relax,” he says, his voice soothing. “We have a while.”

You sit in silence for a while, the weight of the moment settling between you. The lingering feeling of the aftermath slowly begins to take over, and you look around the room, your eyes landing on a pack of baby wipes. Hesitant, you take them in your hand, your cheeks flushing with a sense of shyness. Gently, you clean yourself, the act feeling oddly intimate in its own right, especially with him still beside you.

But Jungkook doesn’t make you feel self-conscious. He looks away, respecting your space, and for a moment, it feels as though the world outside of the two of you has faded away. You slip your panties back on, and despite the effort to clean up, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ll need a shower to truly feel refreshed. The wipes didn’t do much, but you’re too tired to care right now. The thought of the shower later is the only thing on your mind.

You plop back down next to him after slipping into your dress, giggling softly at the sight of him still in his damn briefs. “You’re acting like you have all the time in the world,” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Jungkook hesitates for a moment, and the smile on his face falters just slightly. For a split second, his eyes shift away from yours, and he runs a hand through his hair, his thoughts drifting somewhere far away. You don’t pry, but the tension in his gaze doesn’t go unnoticed.

Because he takes your words differently.

He doesn’t want to spoil the moment, doesn’t want to burden you with the weight of his departure when everything feels so fragile between them. So, he throws on his clothes quickly, forcing a smile back onto his face. As he presses a kiss to your head, his heart clenches, feeling the guilt of what he’s doing.

But for now, just for this moment, he’s going to hold onto you. He won’t let go of this. Not yet.

Jungkook chuckles, guiding you over to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you both is one of disarray—hair a mess, clothes slightly askew, faces flushed, and there’s an undeniable glow that only comes from being thoroughly worn out.

You both burst into laughter at the sight. His grin is wide, amused, and somehow softer than usual.

“Well,” he says, his voice teasing, “I’m definitely getting in trouble for this.” He looks at you, shaking his head. “Should’ve known I’d be a disaster right before a show.”

You laugh, turning your face towards him. “We both look like we just got hit by a bus, actually.”

Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, stepping closer. “But a cute bus, right?” His voice is playful, and you can’t help but roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your shoulder.

“I guess,” you mutter, still smiling, feeling all the tension melt away.

You both stare at your reflection for a moment, your exhaustion more endearing than anything else. He looks at you with a soft expression, that familiar warmth creeping back into his eyes.

“You okay?” he asks, quieter now, as if checking in after everything that happened.

You nod, smiling gently at him. “Yeah… I’m good.” And you mean it, because despite all the chaos, it feels like a moment just for the two of you.

A few minutes pass, and the two of you sit side by side on the couch, munching on a packet of crisps that’s been left on the table. They’re not great—dry and bland—but it’s enough to keep you both occupied. You pop one into your mouth, immediately cringing at the taste, and Jungkook bursts out laughing.

“These are terrible,” he says between bites, his voice muffled. “How did we even end up with these?”

You shrug, snickering. “I honestly have no idea. But we’re committed now. No turning back.”

You both giggle, the sound echoing through the dressing room. The playful mood lingers as you both try to finish off the last few crisps, trying to keep up the charade that you’re enjoying them, even though your faces say otherwise.

Finally, Jungkook tosses the bag onto the coffee table and leans back, stretching his arms above his head. “Alright, I can’t handle this anymore. Let’s go out.“

Before you can protest, he’s already pulling you toward the door, stumbling a little as he tries to maneuver around. You laugh at his uncoordinated steps, and with a teasing look, you playfully nudge him as you follow.

“Jungkook, you��re gonna trip,” you warn, your smile never fading.

“Never,” he smirks, but his voice is light, almost playful, as he struggles to keep his balance.

Jungkook steps out of the room first, running a hand through his completely wrecked hair, trying and failing to fix it. His jacket is off now, leaving him in just that mesh vest, his skin flushed, a light sheen of sweat glistening along his collarbones. You, on the other hand, are still giggling under your breath, barely holding it together as you trail after him, dazed and dizzy from whatever the hell just happened in there.

But the moment your feet hit the main room, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

“Stop fucking around. You have 15 minutes—get it together.”

You freeze.

Jungkook does too.

A manager—you’re not even sure which one, considering your brain short-circuits the second you hear them—stands a few feet away, arms crossed, gaze unamused. They don’t linger, though, turning on their heel just as fast as they appeared, leaving the words to hang thickly in the air.

The shift in Jungkook is instant.

His jaw tightens. His playful energy vanishes. His hand—wrapped so securely around yours just moments ago—lets go.

And that—that stupid little action—stings more than it should.

You know it’s nothing personal. You know it’s just him slipping into work mode, flipping the switch like he’s probably had to do a million times before. But the sudden absence of warmth against your palm makes your stomach drop anyway, leaves something unpleasant twisting in your chest.

Jungkook, for his part, doesn’t even glance your way. He exhales sharply, runs a hand down his face, and—

Drags you right back toward the main room.

You barely have time to process it, blinking up at him as he tugs you along like nothing happened.

“Damn, he was—“

Before you can even finish the sentence, his grip tightens, and you let yourself get pulled along, your heart still racing for entirely different reasons now.

“FIVE MINUTES!”

The call cuts through the room, and if things were chaotic before, now it’s mayhem.

Jungkook is in the middle of his last warmup, his voice clear even through the surrounding noise. His stylists are fussing over him one last time, his in-ears are checked again, and yet—despite all the urgency, despite the fact that a whole team is practically pushing him toward the door—he’s looking around the room.

For you.

The second he spots you, he doesn’t hesitate. He runs over, dodging people left and right, slipping past staff who are trying to usher him forward.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly, stopping right in front of you. “I’ll see you later, yeah? Ask someone to lead you to your part.”

Before you can even process his words—before you can nod or reply—he leans in.

And presses a quick peck to your cheek.

Your brain short-circuits.

Your breath catches, your entire body freezes, and your face burns—the warmth of his lips lingering on your skin long after he pulls away.

By the time you manage to stutter out a weak, “B-Bye,” he’s already stepping back, flashing you one last grin before he turns on his heel.

Just like that, he’s swept away by a frantic crowd—managers, stylists, camera crew—phones and cameras snapping photos of him as he disappears down the hall.

And the second he’s out of sight—

Nari squeals.

After what feels like an eternity of hesitation, you finally ask one of the assistants, unsure of who to turn to. They give you a polite smile and direct you toward a hallway.

You follow them, your heart still racing from that moment in the main room. What just happened? Did he—did he really kiss you? It feels surreal, like it’s a little too much to process all at once.

The assistant leads you down a winding corridor, the sound of the concert beginning to build in the background. You expect to be led to some VIP seating area or a cushioned chair at least—something fancy, considering Jungkook had promised you a special spot.

But when you walk through a door, you’re met with nothing like you expected.

The private room is a whole new level of luxury. It’s spacious and minimalist, with sleek furniture and subtle lighting. The real kicker, though, is the window that stretches from floor to ceiling, offering you a perfect view of the stage. You can hear the crowd’s energy building outside, the thrum of excitement growing louder.

It’s like your own personal VIP box, but a hundred times better.

You stand there for a moment, blinking at the view. The wide window gives you an uninterrupted look at the entire stage, and the energy of the crowd below seeps through the glass. For a moment, you just stand there, soaking in the awe of it all. This isn’t just VIP seating. This is something else entirely.

Jungkook… You think, already feeling a little overwhelmed.

You turn to the manager, who gives you a polite nod before slipping out of the room, leaving you and Nari in stunned silence.

Nari’s the first to speak, her eyes wide as she takes in the view. “Oh my god…” she breathes, her voice barely above a whisper. You don’t even need to say anything—your jaw is just hanging as you both stare at the sheer scale of the concert.

The crowd outside? Absolutely wild. The entire arena is packed with people, their energy almost tangible from where you stand. And then, the fan chants.

It starts slowly, then builds, echoing through the room and vibrating against the glass like it’s alive. The fans’ synchronized voices send shivers down your spine. You can hear their collective excitement, feel their connection to every word, every syllable they sing. It’s intense. Electric.

You and Nari exchange a glance, and you can both feel it—the overwhelming magnitude of what you’re witnessing. This isn’t just a concert. This is a movement.

“They’re insane,” Nari mutters, still staring in awe. “Like… how is this even real?”

You don’t have words to answer her, too caught up in the sea of fans, the flashing lights, and the vibrant energy that fills the room. This is what Jungkook is a part of. This is his world. And, somehow, you’re in it.

You both finally settle into your seats, taking in the view for a moment longer before Nari starts snapping pictures. She’s practically hyperactive, constantly repositioning herself and you, demanding different angles. “No, no, this one! From this side, trust me!” she insists, handing you her phone to take a shot of her looking ‘candidly’ out at the crowd. You roll your eyes but go along with it with a smile, snapping a few photos before Nari’s satisfied with her little session.

Meanwhile, you find yourself casually picking at the snacks on the buffet table Jungkook probably had arranged for you. Some chips, a few pieces of fruit, a tiny sandwich here and there. Nothing fancy, but it’s definitely keeping your stomach busy as you wait.

Nari, on the other hand, is more focused on her phone, scrolling through pictures and checking messages, but every now and then, her eyes flit toward the stage. It’s a strange mixture of calm and chaos—here you are, in a private room with an impeccable view of everything, yet your mind keeps racing back to Jungkook.

The buzz of the crowd grows louder as more fans flood in, and you know the show is about to start. Slowly, the lights in the arena begin to dim, casting the room into a soft twilight. You sit up a little straighter, suddenly feeling the anticipation in the air. The world feels still for just a moment, before the chaos outside swells again, and you realize—this is it.

The concert is finally about to begin.

[invisiblefoxfire]

Thank you, Joy. It's always astonishing to me how much effort you put into encouraging and comforting others even though you're struggling so much yourself. (Please do always take care of yourself first!) ❤️

The allergist I saw is the leading allergist in the country. He has quite a lot of experience with MCAS, was incredibly kind, and is actually one of the most well-rounded doctors I've ever seen. He knew about things like comorbidity with ADHD and has written lots of papers about the relationships between immune and GI systems and things like that. I had to fight to get an appointment with him, and it was a long wait, but it was worth it because he was the first one to take me seriously and not immediately accuse me of "just anxiety" because I came to the appointment already having done a lot of research and asking about a "rare" condition.

He ultimately told me that the combination of the test results and the fact that my symptoms have never been "emergency" severe makes him conclude that it's probably not MCAS. (Unless things suddenly get worse and I prove that it is by landing in the emergency room, something that terrifies me because I live alone, and if I can't call an ambulance, I might just die?)

He said we can check back in half a year or so and see how things are going, but he says his only goal for now is to manage the symptoms as well as possible, which since I can't tolerate other antihistamines means just keep taking the desloratadine, and I have permission to take it up to 4x per day if needed (but taking more than a single dose doesn't really make much of a difference anyway.) But that means there's nothing in my medical history declaring that I have a chronic illness that puts me at risk, and other doctors all consider me to be perfectly healthy and raise an eyebrow when I mention chronic illness.

Every other allergist I saw in this country said one normal tryptase test means you can't have any kind of mast cell issue, laughed at me, and suggested I try a psychologist. Which is always a helpful thing to tell a patient! 🙃

Living in a very small country means there just... aren't that many specialists. And there's a massive doctor shortage since the start of covid on top of everything else.

Last week, after nearly a week of waiting, I finally got results for all the EDS types that have genetic tests, plus a few other hypermobility-related tests. When I entered the room, the geneticist smiled and said "I have nothing but good news for you!" and I nearly started crying. She was confused that I would "want a horrible disease." I couldn't get through to her that I am not looking to have a disease, I'm looking for a name for the symptoms I already have.

Over the past year I've spent an inordinate amount of money to get into the best clinics and see the best specialists and skip a lot of the waiting lists (often 6-12 months to get in to see any kind of doctor at this point), and every single test has come back normal. I'm perfectly fine, they say. Nothing wrong with me, isn't that great?

A month or so ago a literal actual adult human doctor told me I should just try yoga. 🥹

Maybe I should start looking into how expensive it would be to see specialists in one of the larger neighboring countries... Time to brush up on my German and start saving money...?

And maybe I'll go back to that allergist again whenever I can get in, tell him my friend who has MCAS (and all the other stuff) has never had an irregular tryptase test, and that she encouraged me to ask for other types of test... Although I don't think I'll ever manage to get a formal diagnosis unless they get some kind of conclusive positive test or... I do wind up in the emergency room. Which I'd prefer not happen! 🫠

The scent post reminded me that I've got an allergy ask and as you're kind of an expert on that by misfortune, I thought I could ask you🙃

Is it possible to have "allergic" reactions that don't show up in allergy tests?

Like, I've been getting progressively worse reactions to pollen (itching face, eyes and throat, watering swollen red eyes, runny nose, scratchy tight throat, fatigue and migraine for the rest of the day even if I've only been outside for 20min, etc.) but the allergy panel (the basic skin scratch thingy) by my ENT didn't show any histamine reaction to any of the tested pollen / other common allergens. So, ENT just shrugged his shoulders and sent me off with no solution.

As I also get similar reactions (+ extra nausea, it's fun) to scents, so is this not an allergy, "just" unspecific reactions to anything in the air?

Oh yeah, that’s basically the entire deal with MCAS.

Those allergy tests, including the blood ones are only checking for IgE mediated allergic reactions, when in reality, allergic reactions can be triggered by a whole host of non-IgE mediators.

None of the things I have anaphylaxis to are IgE mediated. It’s the other parts of my mast cells breaking down and causing an inflammatory response which culminates in an allergic reaction. Some doctors will claim that it’s not a “true” allergic reaction unless you have a recordable IgE on paper, either from a scratch test or blood test, they claim the other reactions are “sensitivities.”

I always respond, “well those sensitivities require me to use a. Epi pen,” and they kind of grumble and put it down in my file as an allergy.

Even if you don’t need an epi pen, those are still inflammatory reactions mediated by your mast cell response. It’s an allergy, just not in any way they can currently test for.

[theambitiouswoman]

I got what I wanted and I’m still not happy — why?

You finally found someone that checks off your list, the dream apartment, the designer bags, the business success, or the lifestyle you worked so hard for. And yet… something still feels off. You thought happiness would come once you checked all the boxes, but instead, there’s this emptiness, a feeling that something is missing

So, why does this happen? Why do we chase what we think will make us happy, only to feel unfulfilled once we have it?

Most of us are wired to believe that happiness is a destination. “Once I have X, I’ll finally feel good.” But happiness isn’t in the getting—it’s in the growing, the process. When you’re striving for something, you have purpose, momentum & excitement. But once you have it, what’s next? If you don’t have something deeper driving you, fulfillment can fade quickly

Shift your focus from external achievements to internal growth. Instead of asking, “What do I want next?” ask, “Who do I want to become?”

Society, social media & marketing have programmed us to believe that happiness comes from relationships, luxury, or financial success. While these things can enhance your life, they aren’t the foundation of happiness. “Oh money would make me so happy!” Wrong, peace of mind that comes with paying bills or being able to treat yourself would make you happy

A relationship won’t heal deep insecurity

Luxury won’t fill emotional emptiness

Success won’t erase loneliness

We see influencers flaunting their seemingly perfect lives, but what we don’t see is their private struggles. If happiness truly came from material things or relationships, wealthy & successful people wouldn’t battle depression or anxiety—but many do

Redefine what happiness means for you, outside of what society has told you. What actually makes you feel alive? What moments make you feel at peace?

A lot of people think finding the right person will complete them. But no relationship can fill the void of self abandonment. If you don’t feel worthy, secure, or whole on your own, even the best relationship will eventually trigger your insecurities

Maybe you’ve finally landed the relationship you always wanted, but instead of feeling safe, you find yourself anxious, overanalyzing everything, or feeling disconnected. That’s because relationships reflect what’s already inside of you—not what we want them to fix

Focus on becoming someone you love being with. If you had everything stripped away—no relationship, no luxury, no validation—who would you be? Would you still feel at peace?

Happiness addiction is real. We get a dopamine rush from achieving something new, but once the high fades, we need another “hit.” This is why people who seem to have it all keep striving for more—bigger houses, more money, more success. But if you’re constantly chasing, you never arrive

Learn to sit with stillness. If you never had another major success, could you still be content? Happiness isn’t about how much you have, but how much you appreciate what you have

You can have all the material success & relationships in the world, but if you’re disconnected from your deeper self—your purpose, your passions, your values—you’ll always feel a little lost. Sometimes, we chase what we think we want, only to realize it wasn’t truly aligned with our soul

Start asking yourself these questions:

What truly excites me outside of achievement?

Am I living for myself or for external validation?

If I lost everything tomorrow, what would still matter to me?

Getting everything you want and still feeling unfulfilled isn’t a sign that something is wrong with you—it’s a sign that happiness was never about the things you thought it was. Actual fulfillment comes from within, from living a life aligned with your values, nurturing deep connections & finding joy in the present, not just in the next goal

The real question isn’t why you’re not happy—it’s what truly makes you feel alive? And that’s the journey worth taking 🤍

[aventurineswife]

don’t wanna be annoying buuuut can i request a sick fic with Aventurine taking care of Reader?

maybe Reader is kinda overemotional when they’re sick — they’re always feeling sad or irritated when they’re like this. they try their best to behave tho!!

(my dad may or may not have gotten sick. and just being around him may have gotten me sick too… 😭)

Calculated Kindness

Summary: When you fall ill, Aventurine takes it upon himself to care for you, blending his characteristic charm and subtle vulnerability. As you struggle with the emotional toll of being sick, he offers comfort in his own unique way, revealing glimpses of the man beneath his flamboyant facade.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sickfic, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Emotional Vulnerability, Subtle Angst, Protective Aventurine, Reader Feels Useless (me honestly), Tender Moments.

Warnings: Mild emotional distress (Reader struggles with feeling weak and overemotional while sick), Brief mention of dehydration (in a lighthearted context), General themes of vulnerability and comfort.

A/N: bestie, you're never annoying me 😭🙏. Also, rip I hope you get well by the time this fic comes out 😔🙏 (ngl I can relate lmaoo happened to me plenty of times)

The first thing you noticed upon waking was the ache, sharp and unrelenting, throbbing behind your eyes. The second thing was Aventurine’s voice, low and teasing, cutting through the fog of your illness like a finely sharpened blade.

"Ah, you're awake," he said, his tone laced with that familiar blend of charm and calculation. "And here I thought I’d have to call the medics—or, at the very least, write you a will."

You groaned, shifting beneath the blanket cocoon he'd apparently wrapped you in. The weight of his gaze made you simultaneously want to melt into the bed and throw something at him.

“I’m not dying,” you muttered hoarsely. “Just… sick.”

His lips curled into a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was seated at the edge of your bed, legs crossed, his overcoat draped casually over the back of the chair. His hat rested on the nightstand beside a tray of what looked like soup, tea, and a suspiciously well-folded napkin.

“Good,” he said lightly. “Because while I’m known for extravagant gambles, I draw the line at dragging corpses around.”

You tried to glare at him, but it came off more as a tired pout. "You could at least pretend to feel bad for me."

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and tilted his head with mock concern. “Darling, I am positively heartbroken. Can’t you see the sorrow etched into every perfect feature of my face?”

Despite yourself, a weak laugh bubbled up. "You're insufferable."

“And yet, you keep me around.” His grin softened into something warmer as he plucked the tea from the tray and handed it to you. “Here. Drink. Hydration is key, or so I’m told.”

You took the cup, cradling it in trembling hands. The warmth was soothing, though it didn’t do much to quell the swirl of emotions bubbling beneath the surface. Being sick always turned you into a mess—sad, irritable, and just a little bit pathetic.

He must have noticed your expression shift, because his voice dropped to something quieter, less performative. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just…” You trailed off, swallowing hard. The tea in your hands blurred as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “I hate feeling like this. Useless. Weak. I hate that you have to take care of me.”

His brow furrowed slightly, though the gesture was almost imperceptible. “Is that what this is about?”

You nodded, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. “I’m trying to be good, I promise. I’m just—”

“Stop.” His voice was gentle but firm, cutting through your spiraling thoughts. He reached out, placing a hand over yours. The warmth of his skin was a grounding contrast to the chaos in your chest. “You don’t have to ‘be good’ for me. And you’re certainly not weak.”

“You don’t understand,” you whispered. “You’re… you’re you. Always in control, always on top of everything. And I’m just…”

“Human?” he supplied, his tone laced with dry humor.

You scowled at him, though it lacked any real heat. “I mean it, Aventurine. You’re too good at this.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—an emotion you couldn’t quite place. For a moment, his usual mask of confidence and charm slipped, revealing a glimpse of the man underneath.

“I’m not as infallible as you think,” he said quietly. “I’ve just had a lifetime of practice pretending.”

You blinked at him, startled by the honesty in his words.

“But this?” He gestured vaguely to the tray of soup and tea, the carefully tucked blankets, the feather-light touch of his hand against yours. “Taking care of someone I care about? That’s not pretending.”

Your chest tightened, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. “Aventurine…”

“None of that now,” he said, his teasing tone returning as he gently brushed a stray tear from your cheek. “If you cry too much, you’ll dehydrate, and then I really will have to call the medics.”

You huffed out a weak laugh, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

“There’s the smile I’ve been waiting for,” he said, his grin widening. “Now, finish your tea like a good patient, and maybe I’ll let you win our next card game.”

You snorted, lifting the cup to your lips. “You never let anyone win.”

“True,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. “But I do make an excellent nurse, don’t you think?”

As much as you hated to admit it, he wasn’t wrong.

Now I need to see him in a nurse dress... 😔🙏

[dismalflo]

a nursemaid

Remus Lupin x reader who is feeling under the weather ✩ 947 words

cw: fluff, comfort, sick fic

an: this was very much written as a lil self indulgent fic

“Merlin!” You jerk awake, your heart racing as a figure looms at the end of the bed. The remnants of your nap blur around you as your eyes struggle to adjust, and the dull throb at the front of your head returns with full force.

But it’s not just any figure—it’s Remus, standing there with a furrowed brow, his forehead creased in concern. When you groan and squeeze your eyes shut again, his expression softens, worry evident in his gaze.

“Dovey…” he murmurs gently, sitting down beside you and placing a hand on your arm, rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

“Hi, Rem,” you whisper, your voice hoarse as you fight to open your eyes and meet his gaze.

Remus’s hand remains on your arm, warm and comforting, as he watches you closely, his eyes filled with an unspoken concern. “What's the matter?” His voice is low, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether he should ask or not.

You force your eyes open again, blinking against the haze that clings to your thoughts. The room sways slightly, and you pause for a moment, letting the dizziness pass. The ache in your head is sharp, persistent, but it’s not just your head. You feel the weight of fatigue settling in every part of your body, a dull ache in your muscles that makes every movement feel like an effort.

“Not feeling great… head hurts,” you mutter, trying to sound lighthearted, but the words come out soft, strained.

Remus's eyes flicker with concern, his hand still rubbing soothing circles on your arm, though there's a subtle tightness to his grip now, as if he’s trying to anchor both of you in this moment. “I can tell,” he replies softly, his voice thick with worry. 

“Is it just your head?” He looks at you with an expression that makes it clear your pain is his too.

You meet his gaze, and the weight of his concern settles in. “Mhm, think so,” you whisper, barely audible.

He hesitates for a moment, his brow furrowing as he thinks. “How about a bath? Some fresh clothes?”

A small, relieved sound escapes your throat at the thought. "Yes, please."

Remus leans in, pressing the softest kiss to your cheek, his touch lingering just a second longer before he rises to head into the ensuite. The sound of running water fills the room, and you push yourself to your feet, following him.

It’s always been like this between you two—taking turns to care for each other. The quiet exchange of softness and attention. At first, it took some getting used to, the intensity of having all his focus on you when you were at your lowest. But now? There’s nothing you’d change about it.

When you reach the bathroom, you pause in the doorway, your eyes wide and pleading. “Can I have a hug?” you ask, the sad, doe-like expression on your face enough to melt Remus's heart.

Remus stops in his tracks, his hand hovering over the taps. He turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression softens so much it’s almost comical. You know that look—the one he gets when he's about to coddle you.

With a heavy sigh, he drops the towel in his hand and opens his arms wide. “Of course, Sweetheart.”

You stumble into his embrace, your body aching with exhaustion as you sink into the warmth of his arms. The moment feels like a balm, and you rest your head against his chest, letting the steady beat of his heart calm you. 

“How do you always know exactly what to do?” you murmur, your eyes fluttering closed as you inhale the scent of him.

Remus chuckles softly, his arms pulling you closer. “I’ve had plenty of practice,” he teases, his voice warm with affection. “You’re pretty predictable when you're feeling off.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Oh, am I now? I should work on that.”

Remus raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Not if it means I get to keep playing nursemaid.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes. The lightness of it all, is enough to ease the throb in your head just a little. “Nursemaid? You’re the very handsome doctor, don’t sell yourself short.”

Remus’s smile deepens at your teasing, and for a moment, the playful exchange lifts some of the heaviness from the room. He leans down, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear as his voice takes on a mock-serious tone.

“Well, in that case,” he says, his eyes twinkling with amusement, “I’m prescribing that you get in that bath, dove.”

You can’t help but grin, the warmth of his words making the ache in your chest subside. "I think I can handle that prescription."

With a soft laugh, Remus gives you a gentle push toward the tub, his eyes filled with affection. “Good. And once you’re done, I’ll have a cup of tea waiting for you.”

You nod, the exhaustion slowly lifting as you move toward the bath. The water, now running warm and inviting, promises to wash away more than just the aches in your body.

Remus watches you for a moment before adding, his voice low and tender, “Take your time, Dovey. I’ll be right here.”

As you settle into the bath, the warmth enveloping you, you let out a long, contented sigh. For the first time today, the weight on your shoulders feels lighter. Remus is here—steady, calm, and always ready for you.

And that thought, simple as it is, brings a smile to your lips.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

let me know what you think of this! <3

[thesiltverses]

From an aspiring writer: are you doing this full time? Is it enough to pay bills? How are you making ends meet? Do you have side jobs or did you start out with them?

I rly wanna do creative work professionally but I just looked up stats for how much authors get paid and it is SO dismal, like I’d make more money part-timing at a coffee store levels of dismal, like unemployment benefits pay more levels of dismal. Ugh.

Also I love you! And Faulkner! Probably more Faulkner! Thank you for giving your cast life!

I'm lucky enough to temporarily and mostly be doing this full time. With multiple caveats - taking on freelance projects on the side, having a partner who still works a real job, being older now and joint homeowners after a couple of decades working real jobs - but that's only been the case for the past year or so, it's not what you'd call a stable income, and we're ready to change back at any point when we have to. And that's still relatively speaking an immensely privileged position for any creative writer and especially for anyone who works in audiodrama.

With regards to "I'd make more money doing X or Y" - well, yeah. You can do both, of course, and for the vast majority of writers in any medium that's the practical reality to make ends meet, and there shouldn't be any stigma involved in that. Bukowski worked in the post office until he was almost 50 and he'd been getting published for half his life before that. Plenty of great writers have been on benefits, plenty of great writers have done quasi-creative work commercially in advertising or copywriting or editing to keep themselves afloat financially while utilising their skills.

Do what you have to do, and remember that there's no expiry date on a creative output - you're not an actor trying to get a starring role in Hollywood before your first wrinkle dooms you to obscurity. You're writing about life, and you're probably going to get better at writing about life as you go on living.

When I was younger I think I imagined there was a hard dividing line between being A Real Professional Artist (it's impossibly hard but it'll all pay off once I'm noticed! It'll prove my worth as a human being and make all of the struggle worthwhile!) and a regular person with a regular job that eats away all my time and energy (sellout, giving up on my dreams, never going to write again) and ultimately that's a narcissist's fantasy built on insecurity. Your goal is to make the time and space to write, but when you can't make the time, that doesn't mean you've failed. You can always come back to it.

TLDR: I am writing full-time right now, sort of. It probably won't last. It's OK if it doesn't last, and it's OK not to be making a full-time living out of writing, temporarily or permanently. Don't let it stop you. The kid from Whiplash probably burnt out six months after that last drum solo.

[bunji-enthusiast]

sʟᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋᴛᴏᴘ

Summary || Change was always a weird process, and currently, that is what happened. Shit gets rough, sure. But atleast you have each other, right?

WC: 4k

A/N: snatched this absolute domestic fluff from this post. Also was starting to get way too long, so this is part 1. The idea will come to a head in a later part. Timeline is set during season 2 obviously. (Whaaat am I doing)

Part 1 (here) | Part 2

Surprised was not nearly enough of a word to describe the way you felt about Rex, it was, in every sense of the word —

Relieving?

Yeah, that. You weren’t sure what it was to have caused such a change, whatever it was that stirred. But if it was such a close brush with death that made him perceive things differently, then you rather wouldn’t try to understand that part, scary. Your own dance with death was terrifying enough, and you've been in these situations before! Yet the only difference that pertained to the truth was the fact you felt such an utter gut swirling incessantly in the pits of your stomach. Like it was telling you with everything it could muster to stay alive, stay out of the fight.

Don’t. Move.

You remembered the whole damn thing ever since you’ve gotten hospitalized.

Moreover, you were also a hero, and heroes unfortunately defend and fight. Which Rex managed to do a lot more of than you were able to, much to your self-chagrin.

Though it was more of adrenaline and a very pissed off Rex Splode that drove him to finally finish the fight with the Lizard League, which made you laugh. Because you couldn’t even manage to contribute much as you had been taken out of commission halfway through the fight, while later when you had awoken in your own room, the homely smell of sterilization and the wayward energies of death permeating the atmosphere made you come to a swift realization of what had happened.

[“Fuckin’ asshole..” You muttered, clutching the side of your abdomen. Suddenly in the midst of your own struggle, you got blasted sideways, slamming your body against another wall. You let out a pained groan, your eyes immediately settling on seeing the bodies of the multiple copies of Dupli-Kate laying astray, innards out for bacteria to invade.

You could hear both Rex and Rae shouting in disbelief, Rae more vocal as to Rex more evenly. Though you swore you could hear the hurt in their tones, which was exactly fair.

You swore with everything in you to not throw up, the smell was far too familiar. Yet coming from a fellow guardian, it just made you sick to your stomach. A problem you really didn’t need right now. None of the Lizard League members were currently paying attention to you, fortunately enough.

That sudden inability of gratitude made you uncomfortable, so you stood up, despite every muscle and bone in your body screaming at you to stay down. You moved, and you attacked the female member of the league; she struck back in retaliation, tearing her attention away from Rex. He gasped in pain as he held his side, stepping back twice, eyes weary with worry and precipitation.

Despite the worry — Rex figured you could handle her on your own, you always had a way with these things, so he turned his gaze to Rae to see how she was doing. Seeing that she had already killed the man dressed in black and scaled orange spots, he had a slight brief moment of relief. Then turned to the largest man in the room.

You on the other hand weren’t paying attention to the main part of the fight, keeping your focus on killing the woman in front of you. Your vision thrummed with blood, adrenaline coursing in your veins as you narrowly avoided her attacks, you didn’t prove to be lucky with every single dodge however. Wincing, you clamped down on your jaw, trying to despell the evidential reality of your condition.

“Just stay down already,” The lizard woman sneers, her confidence palpable as you two wrestle for control, arms interlocked in a vice grip. “And your death will be a quick one.”

You didn’t respond, you wanted to. But didn’t, you truly couldn’t muster the energy necessary. She also really was starting to make your blood boil. You shook your head, surging forward with energy, thrusting a punch to her face. Watching the way her expression shifted as she fell backwards within her surprise. “Looks like I'm not the only one.” You snorted with a half-smirk, heaving a heavy breath as you continued forward. Granted, you could’ve used your ability, but you needed a certain level of concentration for it to work.

And your concentration was beginning to falter in the midst of it all, that you were really hating on right now. You did not need your body giving out on you right now.

You staggered as you threw another punch, then another, not letting the woman have time to react to your attacks. She threw up right as you threw a gut-punch, good process you noticed. Anything for you at this point went, and anything would be good right now. “You bitch!--” The lizard woman gasped as she grabbed the neck fabric of your costume, yanking you back, trying to garner distance. But you struggled, straining against the force as you bashed any part of her body possible. Anything to turn her into mush, make her stop moving.

Your body began slowing down, your vision catching dots of blood spattering everywhere. For good organization red was a stylish color, but in the transparent eye of a human, not so much. The alive and the dead, it didn’t bode too well.

God everything hurts.

Then your vision swam in black dotted spots, feeling the way your awareness slipped away from you. Fatally unconscious.]

You winced as you grabbed the side of your head, the memories of it all rushing back to you as you regained your awareness. “Shit…” You hissed out.

The room was small to say the least, but not suffocating fortunately.

You tore your gaze away from your bed, shifting around as you looked for somebody. You were worried about the states of your teammates, though, now you had thought of it. It was likely that they were hospitalized as well.

Though you weren’t sure if you could say the same about Kate, her fate was spelled out loud and clear to all three of you back in that situation.

Suddenly someone came into the room, a nurse, maybe. She called out, alerting other staff to your now very awake status. Now apparently, from what you’ve heard coming from the few staff attending to you, checking your vital signs and health, is that you had been in this case — relatively well off compared to the others. Abdominal tearing to your muscle, multiple trauma fractures to your skeleton. You couldn’t retain all of it, but the explanation made enough sense. Soon enough, the clamor of the small group died down, seeing as that your vitals were satisfactory levels. Able to be monitored once in every little while without predominant worry.

Then, in the depths of your self-suffocating silence, a familiar voice of a very insufferable (but annoyingly reliable) old man cuts into your hearing.

It’s Cecil Stedman, the Director of the Global Defense Agency — the man who’s seen and done more than most could imagine. His grizzled, yet composed presence is unmistakable, a sharp contrast to the machine-like efficiency of the GDA’s medical team working behind him. His white hair, long and wispy, catches the dim light as he steps forward, his usual air of authority tempered with something else... maybe even a hint of concern.

"You're awake," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle, though with that characteristic coldness that’s always present in his tone. "I thought we might need to call in the whole damn hospital for you, but it seems you’ve got more fight left in you than I thought."

Was it really that bad?

You feel the sharp sting of movement as you try to adjust yourself, gritting your teeth at the pain coursing through your body. A sigh escapes you, a strange mix of frustration and relief. You’re alive. But at what cost? You glance over at Cecil, whose eyes, though steely, are focused on you with a keen awareness.

"Where… where are the others?" You rasp out, your throat dry.

Cecil offers a half-smile — an expression that somehow carries both reassurance and a sense of grim determination. "Rex Splode and Rae are both in stable condition. They were near death, but they’ll make it. A bit of a mess, but that’s nothing we can’t handle. As for the others..." His face darkens briefly, the air growing heavier. "One of us didn’t make it. Not sure what happened to her yet, but it doesn’t look good."

You nod solemnly. A lump forms in your throat as the weight of the situation settles in. Another fallen comrade. Another loss in a long string of them, you knew, hoped otherwise – but no. You clench your fists under the blanket, angry at the helplessness of it all.

Cecil watches you for a moment, his posture relaxed but ever observant. "I know you’re pissed off," he mutters, "And you have every right to be. But you did your part. You and the others did your best, and that’s all anyone could ask for."

You lock eyes with him, the words hanging in the air. Cecil always had a way of saying things that didn’t necessarily comfort, but at least they didn’t sugarcoat reality. "Thanks for the update," you reply, though your voice betrays the exhaustion that weighs on you.

There’s a moment of silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just the kind of quiet that only seems to exist between people who’ve seen too much — and have lived through it all anyway.

"You always seem to pull through," Cecil finally speaks, his tone almost reflective. "You’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for."

A small, self-deprecating laugh escapes you. "If it wasn’t for this damn hospital, I wouldn’t be here." You glance around, your eyes trailing over the sterile white walls again. "Why here though? The Pentagon?"

Cecil looks at you with a wry smirk, as though this is a question he’s been asked a thousand times before. "Where else would you want to wake up after almost dying? Besides, we’ve got the best medical team this side of the planet. It’s not just about the injuries. It’s about making sure you’re fit enough to get back out there when duty calls."

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle in. "You’re part of something bigger now. Whether you want to be or not."

The truth in those words hits hard, and you feel that familiar twinge of uncertainty that always accompanies Cecil's philosophy.

"We can be the good guys, or the guys that save the world. We can’t be both," you repeat, almost by reflex, as if it’s something you’ve heard a thousand times before.

Cecil’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a quiet acknowledgment in his gaze. "Exactly," he says softly. "It’s a harsh truth, but it’s the truth. We do what we have to do for the greater good, even if it means making sacrifices."

You want to say something — argue, maybe. But the words don’t come. Instead, you let out a breath, staring at the ceiling. "I didn’t ask for this… any of it," you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

Cecil’s response is calm, as it always is when it matters most. "None of us did. But it’s our responsibility now." He pauses again, his eyes narrowing with a subtle intensity. "You can rest now. We’ve got things covered. But when you’re back on your feet, I’m sure there’ll be more to do. There always is."

You nod, your thoughts clouding as you try to process the gravity of what he’s saying. There’s no rest for the weary in this line of work. Still, you have to admit that part of you feels a bit of relief that at least the people around you — your team — are going to make it through this. Even if it means facing the next battle head-on.

the days will stretch on, and you know you’ll get back in the fight. Because that’s what heroes do. They keep going, even when the world seems to be falling apart.

During the duration of your recovery, you were able to move around without the worry of pain stopping you. Initially you had been unable to, your legs limp as noodles. You had a quiet laugh about that part, but you hated not having the freedom of movement, however, you had to take it easy and listen to the staff. A familiar routine to be sure, but this was a much more devastating case.

God, you could actually remember right before the fight ensued, what Rex had said about pizza. You wondered, if the situation had gone different, that you all would’ve been sitting back at HQ — munching on that damn pizza, along with whatever else had been ordered.

Though today, before visiting Rex; you decided to visit your other friend.

Rachel.

You can’t imagine whatever the ordeal for her in that fight was, no doubt terrifying. Knowing her obvious ability to shrink in size, you could only imagine the details when you strode up to the window, clutching your stomach. There was a viewing window, easy enough for people to peer through if they wanted too, check up on their loved ones. One for every room obviously.

She was lying in a hospitable coffin, soundly asleep. The damn thing may as well have been one, considering her very prudent state. Earning your scars, willingly or unwillingly; was one aspect that any hero could be excitable for. But through the wisdom of the pain, it makes you very wise otherwise. Leaving you with some festering pit of depression, but unfortunately, it's something nobody is prepared for regardless.

You sighed, trudging forward despite your soreness, making your rounds – greeting some familiar staff here and there on the way to Rex’s room.

The room was quieter than it had been for days. Even the hum of the building’s usual bustle seemed to have taken a break, leaving only the sound of footsteps as you made your way to Rex’s room. He was supposed to be recovering, but you weren’t entirely convinced. After all, Rex was stubborn, and if anyone could push their limits just to prove they were fine, it was him. You knocked gently, not wanting to surprise him too much, but you knew that wouldn't stop him from blowing up in some sarcastic, Rex Splode fashion.

The door creaked open, revealing the sight of him sprawled out on his bed. His usual sharp demeanor was nowhere to be found—just exhaustion, but still, a faint, familiar smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth when he saw you.

"Great, here to tell me how much of an idiot I am for almost getting myself killed?" Rex said, his voice hoarse but laced with humor, his usual sarcasm evident even through the tiredness.

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him for a moment before shaking your head. "I was more concerned about you, actually. You seemed like you were barely hanging in there after the fight." You shot back, noting the one of the few other times you’ve managed to visit him.

Rex waved a hand dismissively, propping himself up on his elbow. "I'm fine. You know me, never been better." He flashed a cocky grin, but you caught the way his eyes flickered to the bandages wrapped around his torso. Though the bandages were barely present despite the hospital dress, you could see it. A slight shift in the air told you that he was just trying to hide it behind bravado.

"You nearly died, Rex," you said softly, stepping further into the room, moving towards his bed. The tension between you both was always there, thick and suffocating, but lately... things felt different. You weren’t sure what it was, but something had shifted between you two after everything with the Lizard League. Maybe it was the close calls, the way you both kept ending up on the same team even after all the chaos. Maybe it was how, despite all of his flaws, Rex had found a way to matter in your life, in ways that were harder to ignore with each passing day.

Rex shrugged, not meeting your gaze, and rubbed a hand through his hair (whatever was there despite the headdress), his eyes glancing anywhere but at you. "Guess I’m not invincible. Wouldn’t be the first time I messed up."

The memory hit you like a sudden wave, and you couldn’t help but lean back against the wall as it flooded your thoughts. The mission—the mission. It felt like ages ago, but it still burned with a clarity that felt so vivid you almost imagined you could still feel the heat of it, the adrenaline, the uncertainty.

Not that he had entirely messed up though, this was something different. What it reminded you of.

[The two of you had been briefed about the mission at the Guardians' headquarters. A villain by the name of Kael the Tyrant had been wreaking havoc in the city, but it was more than just typical bad guy stuff. He had an entire crew of hired muscle—bounty hunters, mercenaries, the usual scum—and Kael had a plan that involved unleashing an ancient device that could cripple the city in ways no one could fully anticipate.

It was supposed to be a standard mission, you’d thought. You and Rex—just the two of you, no big team, no backup. They didn’t pair you up often, not for missions this high-stakes. But this time, the Guardians thought it was best if you and Rex could handle it yourselves. A test, they’d said.

At least, that’s how it felt when Rex shrugged, a cocky grin on his face. “Guess we’re gonna have to do this the old-fashioned way. Don’t get too used to it.” He flashed you that mischievous glint in his eyes, like this was just another run-of-the-mill mission, like the stakes weren’t as high as they actually were.

You hadn’t thought much of it then, but looking back, you realized how wrong you’d been

It started out as typical, with you both taking down the smaller henchmen in the streets. The crowd was thick, Kael’s mercenaries everywhere—civilians scattered, too terrified to help themselves. Rex’s usual boisterous banter kept things light, though he definitely looked like he was in his element, picking off bad guys left and right with those explosive blasts of his. You were doing what you always did—darting in and out of spaces they couldn’t track you, making sure no one got the drop on either of you.

But as always with these missions, things escalated.

Kael wasn’t just hiding behind his hired goons. He had something bigger planned, a huge contraption built into the side of a building—a machine capable of releasing toxic gas into the air, capable of scrambling the city’s tech for hours. When the mercs realized you were onto them, they launched a full-out counterattack—something brutal, and definitely not part of the original plan.

That’s when everything took a turn.

You were behind a stack of crates, your heart racing, trying to catch your breath. You had a few cuts—nothing serious. Rex wasn’t in much better shape, though his typical cocky smirk had disappeared, replaced with a fire that could’ve lit the entire city.

Then, without warning, one of the mercenaries caught you—his fist slamming into your ribs before you had time to dodge.

The pain was sharp, immediate, and for a split second, you thought you might not recover from it in time. The villain’s grip tightened on you, and everything around you blurred, except for the rush of panic building in your chest.

That was when Rex exploded into the scene, literally.

“Get your filthy hands off her!” His voice was a low growl as he tore through the mercenary like a hurricane. With a snap of his fingers, Rex launched one of his explosive bursts, sending the villain flying backward. You could see the fury in his eyes, that rage and protectiveness you rarely saw.

You’d never seen Rex quite like that before.

But just as quickly, another mercenary, this one larger and more armored than the rest, charged at him from behind, knocking Rex to the ground with a heavy hit. The force of the strike caused a crack in the pavement beneath him. You gasped, trying to make your way to him, but the pain in your side from the mercenary’s earlier blow had slowed you down.

And then it happened.

A massive explosion.

You felt it before you saw it—a blast so forceful, it knocked you off your feet. The impact rattled your bones, and the world spun. You barely had time to recover before Rex was back on his feet, his body tense with anger as he shouted at you, “Stay down! I’m not losing you!”

But it was too late. That explosion—one from Kael’s hired gun, one that had hit too close to you—had shredded the side of your armor. You could feel blood welling under your clothes as you staggered to your feet, barely able to hold yourself up.

Rex turned then, his eyes locked on you, full of concern—and it was there, in that fleeting moment, that something between you snapped. You didn’t have time to analyze it, though. The villain had already turned, heading straight for the machine.

“Rex—go!” you managed to gasp out, pain lancing through your side. “We’ve got to stop him! The machine!”

But Rex wasn’t listening. Not now. Not when you were hurt. Not when he was pissed.

“No,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “I’m not leaving you.”

You couldn’t stop him, though, and at that point, neither could you really move to stop him. Rex charged forward with reckless abandon, the fury in his gaze blinding as he launched everything he had into the mercenary. It was explosive—not just in power, but in the sheer frustration that made every hit feel like it was landing for all the wrong reasons. Rex wasn’t just fighting to stop the guy. He was fighting to make them pay for what they’d done to you.

He didn’t stop until the mercenary was out of commission, and even then, Rex only paused long enough to check on you—his hand on your shoulder, his breath shallow from exhaustion, eyes filled with a protective fire you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re not dying on my watch,” he muttered, voice rough.

It wasn’t just the injury. It was the way he looked at you, like something inside him had cracked wide open, something neither of you had dared to acknowledge before.

“I’m fine,” you tried to assure him, but even you could hear the lie in your voice.

Rex wasn’t fooled. “No, you’re not. And I’m going to make sure it stays that way.”

He helped you up, half-carrying you to the machine after dispatching the rest of Kael’s men. The battle wasn’t over yet, but it was clear that something between the two of you had shifted. That recklessness, that protective instinct… It was like a door had opened.

And you couldn’t say you hadn’t felt it too.

The mission ended in victory—Kael’s device was shut down, the city was safe, but the cost had been more than just the injuries. It had been the moment you realized Rex cared more than he let on. Maybe even more than he was ready to admit.]

You blinked, the memory fading back into the quiet of the present, but it stayed with you—a constant reminder of how things had shifted, the beginning of everything. Rex, the way he had cared then, was still the same Rex that stood beside you now, even if he had trouble saying it aloud.

You could still feel the weight of it—the lingering tension between you, the unspoken words hanging in the air between your words, and just how much you were starting to care.

You sat on the edge of his bed, the space between you a quiet reminder of the unspoken things. There was always something there, lingering in the back of your mind. He had this ability to make you feel like you were too much and not enough at the same time, but right now, you weren’t going to let that stop you.

"Everybody fucks up, Rex," you said, leaning closer. "But you're allowed to care about your life. You don’t have to be so reckless all the time. You’ve got people who care about you."

A slow breath left his lips, the sharp edge of his usual attitude softened by exhaustion. "Yeah, well, you’re one of them, huh?" His voice was quieter now, less teasing and more... real. For a split second, you could have sworn you saw the barest trace of something more in his gaze—something uncertain, but earnest.

Your heart skipped a beat. You fought the urge to push it away, to say something witty and deflect. Instead, you simply nodded, your voice barely a whisper. "Yeah. I care about you, Rex."

There was a long pause, and for a moment, the room was still. The usual sarcastic comebacks, the way Rex would usually brush off anything sincere, wasn’t there. He didn’t try to mask the vulnerability that was creeping into the space between you.

"You know, I’m not great with... this stuff," he muttered, his voice almost vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. "The caring, the emotions, the... whatever this is." He looked at you, his gaze intense and searching, like he was waiting for you to confirm something, anything.

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his, a simple touch that carried more weight than either of you could probably express in words.

"I get it," you said, your thumb brushing over his knuckles. "I’m not exactly good with this stuff either."

Rex's lips quirked into that familiar grin, though it felt more tired than usual. "Yeah, well, maybe that’s why we're both a mess."

You smiled softly, feeling the warmth of his hand against yours. "Maybe," you agreed.

There was no grand confession, no dramatic moment, just the quiet understanding that hung between you both. But somehow, that felt like enough.

Rex stared at you for a moment longer before his grin returned, though this time it was laced with something deeper. "So, you planning on sticking around and making sure I don’t blow myself up again?"

Your smile softened as you leaned back, looking up at him. "Yeah, I think I’ll stay for a while."

The space between you two wasn’t quite so distant anymore, and as you sat there with him, the tension felt... different. More real. You weren’t sure where things would go, but right now, this—just this moment—felt like the beginning of something neither of you had been brave enough to face before.

[stagefoureddiediaz]

do you have any thoughts on buck’s costuming from the stills and bts that dropped today for 8x11? specifically the brown plaid and the black + tan from the scene in maddie’s kitchen where aisha is directing him?

Hey Nonnie

I have so so many thoughts that I am struggling to form coherent sentences - but I’ll give it a go!

So we have the brown plaid - with the break up green tee. The orangey brown plaid (because it isn’t actually straight brown, it’s orange and brown in a twill weave that makes it look more brown!) with t e green orange purple and white plaid lines, obviously fits in with check theory and that meaning things are not gonna go all that well for Buck - that he’s going to get himself into a less than fun situation! It also plays into the orange and brown theming we’ve seen as an overall colour theme for the season. I wrote about the meanings of the two colours in my previous metas, and this season we have seen Buck in far more brown and orange than ever before - and the browns are nearly always orange toned. Orange can be an uplifting colour - positive, creative and enthusiastic and can suggest transformation. But it can also be superficial, impatient and insincere. Brown is a colour that is stable and reliable, representing the idea of being grounded. But it can also be seen as dull and boring, predictable and conservative, as well as being considered a symbol of loneliness, isolation and sadness.

All of these are things that apply to Buck and are things I think we’ll see at play in this scene - his loneliness over Eddie being gone - feeling isolated - especially because he’s now surrounded by couples with families and has not really got any other friends - hence the going out to find new ones as we were told in the synopsis - which plays into the idea of optimism. I do suspect that this scene will have implications and undertones of Bucks heart not really being in it and his efforts therefore being insincere and superficial, but I also think that it is about setting him up for growth - for transformation and for him becoming grounded - how exactly we get there I don’t know, but I think the tequila shots on the table are an indication of Buck getting drunk - doing something stupid that will lead to him having to actually address a few things!

The lighting is a bit interesting, so I can’t be sure if it is the same tee or if its a lighter one - that is more sagey/mossy green - I need to see more of it than we get in this still to be sure. Either way, its a green tee that is very similar to the green tee he was wearing when Tommy broke up with him, so I am fully expecting it to be playing into that in some way - especially because we’ve seen the colour green being used on Buck to really play into that theme of abandonment that so heavily runs throughout his story and one that is being heavily explored this season especially. From the brown hand towards the bottom of the picture I am also assuming Ravi is there with him - I’ve written before about Ravi being a physical manifestation/ representation of Bucks abandonment issues so this scene is likely to heavily play on this theme and really start exploring it - I’m expecting this scene to feature Buck talking to Ravi about feeling lost and alone - feeling lonely and I’m not going to lie - I’m hoping were going to start to see his feelings realisation spiral really kick into gear!

Oliver has spoken about Buck being ‘forced to face himself in a way he didn’t expect to’ and ‘to really have to look within and see what his truths really are’ and I think this outfit is a key part of setting him on that path so I very much am expecting it to be a key scene.

He’s also not wearing a watch in this still, so the concept of time and not having any is in play (I will get my watches and Buddie meta written very soon I promise!) I’m looking forward to seeing how much watch wearing outside of work we get over the next few episodes - but this scene at least is following up the goodbye in the rain scene and not having him wearing one!

There is also another plaid shirt we saw him in in a bts picture - its one of Olivers black and white ones, so it’s very hard to make a full judgement on it - as we don’t have colours to go off - it could be a black or grey shirt, or it could be blues or greens - its impossible to tell - I also have no idea where he’s wearing it - but it does appear to have a white tee underneath it (although again it could be pale pink or yellow or something so I’m not committing to it being white), so we have a second outing for check theory and buck in white shirts theory is also potentially in play. Its making me think the brown plaid from the still and this other plaid shirt from the other bts below will be interconnected in some way - that the scenes they are worn in will be part of a bigger plot point for Buck - my personal theory is that they are both about is abandonment spiral and that its about showing him really going through it and struggling with things - having him in more and more check patterning until he reaches a point where he actually has no choice but to deal with all these emotions that have been stirred up to the surface by Eddie’s departure, Maddie being kidnapped and even by Tommy dumping him etc.

Finally we have this black tee beige pants combo with white trainers and no watch at Madney’s house. Not going to lie - I’m kind of the most obsessed with this if it is a full costume choice and not Oliver half in Buck half himself - which is possible! If it is a full costume then that tee is so good and clever and add in in the context of it being worn in Madney’s house and its making me a bit giddy!

For starters - no watch -again!!! It might be an episode where we don’t see him in a watch outside of work (again there could be one on the other wrist we cant see but that’s the wrong wrist so I very much doubt it!)- and that is all kinds of telling because it will be directly connected into Eddies leaving. There is also the white trainers - white trainers on Buck means its a scene about his personal journey and not about other peoples - when he wears black shoes (or as of the last episode - grey ones!) so this will likely be a Buck centric scene rather than a Maddie or Chim one.

The black tee itself is simple and has a white logo on front and back. There are a lot of meanings to black - sophistication, mystery, power, mourning, strength, authority, depression, fear, intimidation, and my personal favourite - the hiding of vulnerabilities. It’s that last one that I think we’ll see at play in this scene - I am making the assumption it will be a scene between siblings and not between Buck and Chim (partly because the pink markers are for Jen) and whenever we get a Buck at Maddies house scene, they are generally about him and an emotional spiral of some kind tht he’s in. So I am expecting more of the same here - that it is going to be Buck trying to make sense of things he’s got going on, whilst also trying to hide his vulnerabilities from Maddie.

Then there is the logo - which is two dice - the implication is gambling - which aside from the connection to the poker game back in season 6, is also about the idea of rolling the dice and bringing fate, chance and fortune into play, that your fate or fortune can be changed on the roll of the dice. There is the symbolic meaning of dice representing a means of control - or at least the illusion of it or a pair of dice can also mean that a risk will pay off if met with bravery and optimism. With all this in mind, it seems a fair assumption that whatever it is Buck and Maddie are talking about, it will centre around Buck needing to take a risk becasue it will pay off if he can be brave, and that fate is intervening in his life and he needs to follow its lead!

All in all I am excited to see how these scenes play out - the costumes and colours used are all hinting at Buck’s spiral really kicking into gear and I think we’ll be getting to see Buck having to really look inwards and face himself and the reality of things in his life - that he’s going to have to go more than surface deep and that will and set his path for 8x12 onwards!

Hope this is informative Nonnie and that you’re as excited as I am for this episode! 💜💜💜

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Seowan as a dad?

Seo-Wan as an Appa

Summary: Kim Seo-wan as a dad!

Warnings: none

The birth of Hyun-Wo was a turning point in Kim Seo-Wan’s life. As much as he’d loved the idea of being a father, nothing could have fully prepared him for the reality of it.

The first time he held his son in his arms, Seo-Won’s heart had burst with a mixture of joy, fear, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. The hospital room had been quiet, except for Hyun-Wo's soft whimpers and the sound of Seo-Wan’s shaky breaths.

His hands were trembling slightly as he cradled the tiny bundle, his son so small and fragile. “I’m… I’m going to protect you,” he murmured softly, blinking back tears. It felt surreal, but at the same time, so incredibly right.

---

The first few months were a blur of sleepless nights, bottles of formula, and endless diaper changes. Seo-Wan had always been someone who could get lost in his thoughts, but now, his focus was entirely on Hyun-Wo.

Every cry or whimper sent him rushing to his son’s side. He was cautious, always questioning if he was doing the right thing. He’d research how to care for a newborn at 3 AM, his phone’s glow the only light in the otherwise dark room.

“You’re okay, little one,” he whispered more than once as he held his son close, rocking him gently when the world seemed too loud and overwhelming for both of them.

There were times when Seo-Wan felt the weight of his mental health bearing down on him. The anxiety that had been a constant part of his life felt even more magnified when it came to his son. What if he wasn’t enough? What if his past struggles affected how he parented? He often turned to his partner, their shared moments of reassurance grounding him when his worries threatened to consume him.

But through it all, there was Hyun-Wo’s tiny hand curling around his finger, his soft giggles when Seo-Wan would sing him lullabies, and the moments when, just for a brief instant, everything felt like it was exactly as it should be.

---

As Hyun-Wo grew, so did Seo-Wan. The little milestones were enough to fill his heart with pride—Hyun-Wo’s first smile, his first word, the first time he tried to crawl across the floor. Seo-Wan found himself laughing at the small, silly things—like how his son would try to eat his socks or reach for anything within his tiny hands' grasp. They were simple moments, but to Seo-Wan, they were everything. His love for his son was boundless, and he didn’t know how he ever lived without him.

“Don’t grow up too fast,” he would tell Hyun-Wo, his voice soft and tender. “I want to keep you little forever.”

But it was clear that time wouldn’t stop. Hyun-Wo grew more curious every day, trying to explore the world around him with wide eyes and outstretched hands. Seo-Wan would be right there with him, always watching, always ready to catch him if he stumbled.

As the months passed, Seo-Wan found that parenthood brought out a new sense of strength in him. It wasn’t always easy, and there were tough days when his own battles felt overwhelming, but there was something about Hyun-Wo’s innocent joy that made everything worth it.

His son’s first steps were monumental. Seo-Won had been on the couch, his gaze following his son as he shakily took those first, wobbly steps toward him.

“You’re doing it!” Seo-Wan exclaimed, his heart bursting with pride as Hyun-Wo stumbled and then stood up again, determined. Hyun-Wo’s bright eyes locked onto his father’s. “Ap…pa!” he said, the words slow but deliberate. Seo-Wan’s chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes.

“I love you, Hyun-Wo,” he whispered hoarsely. “I love you so much.”

---

As the years passed, Seo-Wan became the father he’d always hoped he would be. The little boy who once relied on him for everything was now growing into someone with his own interests, questions, and curiosity about the world.

But Seo-Won would always be there to guide him, to be his protector and safe place, just as he had promised that day in the hospital.

Being a father had made him feel whole, a part of something much bigger than himself. And every day, as he watched his son grow, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the little moments of happiness they shared together. From the quiet mornings spent reading together to the loud, chaotic evenings full of laughter, Seo-Won cherished every second.

Through his son, Seo-Won had discovered a love so pure and unconditional that it healed him in ways he didn’t even realize needed healing.

No matter what the future held, he knew he would always do his best to be the father Hyun-Wo deserved.

And as his son grew older, Seo-Won realized he was growing, too. With every laugh, every tear, and every new experience, they were both learning, together.

[thecircularsystem]

I wrote up a post last night as I've been thinking a lot about recovery, the DID community, and as always, syscourse (ugh).

I think that people... overestimate how much DID really matters in my life, while simultaneously underestimating it, and I think that folks do that to recovered systems (or systems in recovery) a lot.

My parts, amnesia, and dissociation all impact my life greatly. Hello, reason I have a diagnosis in the first place? But the issue is, I don't really think about it 24/7. Sure, my blog talks a lot about these things, but in my daily life? It's just... life. I go to work, I do my job, I come home, I write, I eat, I go to bed eventually. Usually put some grading and some gaming in there. People tend to overestimate how much DID is impacting my daily life because it really doesn't. And I get people telling me how I'm an inspiration for being "openly a DID system" and how they can look up to me -- and I get it, I really do, I feel the same way about a lot of recovered systems. But I worry about this... pedestal that recovery gets put on. I worry about how much people attribute my life's work... to "A DID system's work" rather than "Circ's work."

I might be somewhat publicly multiple -- and yes, I plan to increase my visibility in that regard, cause it is important to me... but I'm reminded of a piece of art by Anna Daliza, titled "Artist Bio."

How many people think of "Circ" as a circle on a screen? How many think of "Circ" as a system in recovery? How many think of "Circ" as a syscourser, and that's it? I know that the original artistic intention was surrounding the culture of prioritizing identity politics and tokenized diversity in popular culture/media, but.. I'm feeling it. How much of my work is valued, not because of the words they say, but because of the person who is saying them being on this beautiful pedestal of "Recovery"?

I think people look at that word and guess that it's like... Some sort of ideal in some ways. They inherently place emphasis on the DID by placing emphasis on the recovery.

But that right there is where the underestimation also comes in. Because I talk a lot about where I'm at in recovery, and how I find joy in my DID, and how DID isn't really impacting my life negatively anymore... and people seem to take that as not impacting me... at all anymore.

DID is part of my identity. It is part of who I am. I am not just me; I am 15 people in a trench-coat trying to sneak into a movie theater. And as I sneak in successfully, I laugh with my partner about the huge deal I got on tickets, because now it's so cheap for 15 people! I tell my friends jokes about the people in my head. I discuss things with other parts and hear them fucking around in my brain. I crack jokes at work that slip under the radar because they don't know, and I find joy in that.

I also equally struggle. I lose time, I have panic attacks, I argue with myself and my own cognitive dissonance. I can't sleep, can barely eat, can barely take care of myself many, many days. I still have hardship due to my disorder -- it disorders my life, after all. And it feels like mentioning this is somehow taboo in some way, now.

It is a vital, huge part of my life, even while not being on this ever-present pedestal. I cannot ignore it; it will never go away. And I don't... really want it to. I love having DID, I won't lie. I love myself, and I love who I am. But it's loving my life just as much as I love the disorder I have; it's loving who I am just as much as the disorder. My recovery is not on a pedestal; I am, for the work I have put in, and since my DID is part of me, it's here too.

People seem to look at recovery as if it's a cure. As if the DID is somehow no longer bothering me at all, just because I've slapped a label of "in recovery" on myself. And worst still, there's like a silent (or not so silent) judgement from parts of the community if I begin struggling visibly, or even just loudly having my disorder. Like having this disorder inherently means I can't recover.

I mean, for fucks sakes: the amount of times I see others mentioning that final fusion can "fail," for instance, and "you can still split again" when discussing how DID is a lifelong disorder...

How could one look at someone's recovery and say they failed?

And in that case, it's considered a failure... to struggle. To experience a coping mechanism that is built in due to the disorder. To... experience fucking DID.

Almost like still having DID impact you is, somehow, a failure. A bad thing. Something that needs "fixed."

Speaking up about any impact it has on me seems to go against the ideas of recovery the community has, because they look at recovery in such a way that they underestimate the impact DID has on me.

My therapist and I recently discussed my role in my system now, since I used to be around solely to... hate everything, but mostly myself. I was a depression holder, and labeled myself as such or similar. But in recent years, my role has completely changed. My title is currently "Pride Alter," though I don't have that shown off because I'm a bit shy about it I won't lie. Like. That seems like a huge badge of honor, but a lot of... scrutiny comes with it.

I'm almost ashamed that I love my disorder. That I love who I am -- not despite what's happened, but because I love myself, disorder and all. I've accepted my disorder as part of me. And it feels like I'm surrounded by others who... hate me for that. Not directly, not to my face, but... needless to say, the concept of loving yourselves is foreign in a lot of the community. And I was right there with you, very much so not long ago... But now I feel like I'm intruding, somehow, because I'm breaking the expectations.

I'm either allowed to be blatantly and overtly a person who happens to have DID loudly, and people overestimate how much it impacts my life due to that...

Or I'm allowed to struggle, even a little bit, and people underestimate how much it impacts my life...

And in both of those cases, I feel like the community ignores those like me who are in recovery. Who are working hard to improve their own lives. People that I look up to for the work they've put in also seem to share these sentiments, from what I've seen (though please feel free to correct me if I'm wrong!), so like.

What's up with that, I guess?

[winchesterwild78]

Daddy’s Girl pt 12

Master List

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (wife), Dean and Reader’s daughter, other characters from Supernatural

Warnings: Slight Angst, Fluff

A/N: Another collab story with @cheekygirl2309. 

This chapter will feature a time jump. 

This is a work of fiction and does not follow the Supernatural storyline. I do not own the rights to the characters used.

This chapter contains so major changes coming. 😁

All work is my own and @cheekygirl2309, don’t take it or use it as your own. Reblogs and likes are appreciated. 

Minors DNI 18+

*Time Jump 2 years*

Dean and I were sitting watching TV when his phone went off. He looked at it and sighed. I saw him texting then he put his phone down and ran his fingers through his hair. 

The same way he does when he’s upset or frustrated. “Are you okay?

I asked, touching his leg. 

“That was Lucas. He asked me to meet him for coffee. He said he wanted to talk to me.” He looked at me with a knowing look in his eyes. 

I smiled and touched his arm, “Dean, just don’t torture the boy too much.”

Dean smirked, “Oh don’t worry, I’m going to make him squirm a little.” I smiled and shook my head, “Of course you are. When are you two meeting?” 

“He asked to meet in about half an hour.” He sighed.

I could see he was already struggling. I kissed his lips softly and pulled him close, “It’s going to be okay. She’s an adult now, almost 21. We knew this day was coming. Just take a deep breath and hear him out. I promise it’s going to be okay.”

He nodded and held me tight. I felt him take a shaky breath in and out. Dean stood and grabbed his keys. I followed him into the garage and he climbed in baby. He looked at me through the window and winked. I smiled softly, he backed out and left. 

Dean drove to the coffee shop Lucas asked him to meet him at. Dean climbed out of the car and walked towards the door. He stopped as his hand grabbed the doorknob and took a deep breath. 

Dean opened the door and saw Lucas sitting at a table already. Lucas looked up, stood and walked over to Dean. 

He extended his hand to shake Dean’s, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Mr. Winchester. I appreciate the opportunity to speak to you.” 

“You’re welcome, and please, call me Dean. I’m gonna grab a coffee and I’ll be right over.” Lucas shook his head and went to sit down. 

Dean ordered his coffee, grabbed it and walked to the table. He noticed how nervous Lucas was. His leg slightly bounced under the table and he fidgeted with the sugar packet in front of him. 

Dean sat down across from Lucas and looked at him. He recognized the same look in his eyes. The one he had before he asked me to marry him. 

“So, Lucas, what did you want to talk to me about?” Lucas took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

“Well, Mr Winchester, err I mean Dean, sir.” Dean chuckled.

“You know I’ve been dating Delilah for a little over three years now. She’s incredible. You and Mrs. Winchester have done an amazing job with her. She’s kind, loving, smart, and so beautiful. I’m deeply in love with her. I’ve known from the moment I met her she was special and would be the woman I married. I know you two have an amazing and close relationship. I’d never want to take that away from you two, nor would I try. I simply want to be the second man in her life that loves her unconditionally and the way she deserves. You will always be the first man in Delilah’s life. I will do everything in my power to keep your little girl safe and protected. I am here today asking for your permission to marry Delilah.” 

Dean took in a slow, deep breath. “Seems like you’ve made up your mind, you really want to marry my little girl, don’t you?” Lucas nodded, “Yes I do, with your permission and blessing. I know that’s something important to her and you, so it was important to me to speak to you.”

Dean nodded, sipped his coffee, “So if I said no would you still ask her?” Lucas looked shocked, his jaw slightly opened and he swallowed, “Um, well I would hope you wouldn’t, but if you said no then I’d respect it. I would figure out how to prove myself worthy enough to get your blessing.” 

Dean nodded, thinking to himself, Damn this kid is good. I know he’d treat her right. I just don’t know how to let my little girl go. 

“Well, Lucas, I really appreciate your openness. I remember having a similar conversation with Mrs. Winchester’s father. I remember being terrified to talk to him, but I did and made him a similar promise to love and protect his daughter. Be the man and provider she deserves. I’ll be honest with you, I’ve screwed up a few times, but we’ve worked through it. If you and Delilah do get married, how would you handle conflict with her?”

Lucas looked at Dean, a little unsure of what to say, “Well, I would never put my hands on her. I learned from my parents that no one has the right to put their hands on anyones, especially your spouse. I can promise you I’ll never raise my hand at her, and I will do my best to work things out with her. I’m not perfect, but all I can do is promise I will try. I know we have you two and my parents to help guide us too.” 

Dean nodded, “You two would definitely have us if you needed advice.”

Dean and Lucas continued talking for almost another hour. By the end of the conversation Dean knew Delilah would be in good hands, but that brought more ache to his heart. Not because he wanted her to be unhappy, but because he knew he would be replaced. She had found a man that would protect her heart and love her the way she deserved.

“Lucas, I really think I need to talk to Y/N about your question. I think she should be part of this too. Why don’t you come over for dinner this evening and we’ll let you know.” 

Lucas took in a shaky breath, “Yeah, I can do that. Thank you, Dean.” Dean and Lucas stood, shook hands and left the coffee shop. 

Dean drove home in silence. His typical car concert, blasting his music and playing the steering wheel drums, ceased for the drive. His mind racing with the decision and the weight of the conversation. 

I was sitting at the kitchen table when Dean came home. His shoulders tense and I could see the weight on them. 

I stood and walked over to him, wrapping him in my arms. As soon as my arms were around him, he cried. I felt the pain and sadness in every sob. 

After he calmed down we sat at the table. I grabbed him some water so we could talk. 

I placed my hands on his and offered him a reassuring look. “Dean, take your time. I’m here baby.”

He nodded, “I was right. He asked to marry her. He reminds me so much of me, when I fell in love with you.” 

“Dean, he really does love her. We’ve raised her well and she knows her worth, she knows how she should be treated. I know he’s going to take care of her. What’s really going on?”

Dean sighed and silent tears fell, “He said I wouldn’t be replaced, but I know that’s not true. He’s already taken more of her time, and I can’t fault him or her for that. I just don’t know how to say goodbye to my little girl, my  little pumpkin pie.” 

I squeezed his hand, “Dean, look at me. That girl has loved you since the moment she was born. You’ve always and will always be the first man in her life. Her heart is big enough to still hold you and him there too. She will always be your little girl, but now she’s a young woman who has found a man worthy of her heart. Do you really want to deny her the chance of a love like we have?”

Dean’s green eyes flicked to mine, “No, I don't. She deserves what we have. She deserves to be loved and have an incredible life.”

I cupped his face, “So are we going to give him our blessing?” “Yes, I think we are.”

I smiled and kissed his lips softly, “You’re amazing, you know that?” He nodded, “Yeah, I guess so. He’s coming to dinner, so I’ll pull him to the side and let him know.” 

A few hours later we were all sitting around the table eating and talking. Dean had already taken Lucas to the side to let him know. They hugged, Dean had a few tears slip out, and Lucas hugged me, telling me how he planned to care for my little girl.

Charlie and Delilah were playfully bantering back and forth while the rest of us sat and laughed. 

They were telling stories about their childhood, little things like why she’s called “pumpkin pie”, how Bubbles got her name, and how Delilah was excited about Charlie until he actually got there. 

Charlie laughed and said, “Well at least we’ve both snuck out and got caught. See, I did learn something from you, Sis.” We laughed, but then I noticed Delilah freeze in place.

I looked at Dean and he looked at her. Charlie saw her face fill with panic and started apologizing. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it.” His voice cracked with emotion. 

I looked at him and told him it was alright. Delilah started breathing heavily and started having a panic attack.

Before Dean or I could do anything, Lucas was right there.

He moved her chair out from the table, got down to her level and cupped her face. “Come on baby, look at me. Take a deep breath. In through your nose and let it out slowly. Come on baby, put your hands on my chest. Match my breathing.”

Dean and I stood watching in amazement. Dean’s eyes filled with tears as he watched another man help his baby come down from a panic attack.

“You’re doing great, Delilah. Come on baby, breathe.” 

Her eyes flicked up and she looked at Lucas, then her head turned to Dean. Her voice came out small and weary, “Daddy”. 

Dean was by her side and Lucas stepped back. Dean grabbed Delilah and held her tight, helping her breathe through the panic. He was facing Lucas and I. He looked at Lucas and mouthed “thank you”, and Lucas nodded.

Lucas understood that he’d be able to help her too, but sometimes she needed Dean.

By the time Dean had Delilah calm, Charlie was in his room. I walked to his room and knocked. “Charlie, can I come in?” His voice was soft, “Yeah.”

I pushed open the door and found Charlie on his bed with his shoulders slumped and his head down. His hands in his lap and he was fidgeting. “Mom, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to upset her. I was only joking and didn’t think it through.” 

I went to his side and put my arms around him, “Hey, it’s okay. We know you didn’t mean to upset her. She’s okay. Dad and Lucas are with her. I wanted to come check on you.” He looked at me with a surprised look, “Why?” 

“Why, what? Why would I come and check on you?” He nodded at my question. I sighed, “Because you’re my baby too, and I saw how upset you were. So it’s my job to make sure you’re okay too. You come out when you’re ready, but just know that nobody is mad at you.” 

I gave him a final hug and walked towards the door. “Hey mom?” I turned, “Yes?” “Thank you.” I smiled and walked outside.

I walked back into the kitchen and saw Delilah standing with Dean and Lucas. She hugged both of them and smiled slightly. “Thank you both for helping me. I’m one lucky girl to have two great guys in my life that I can depend on to help me through my panic attacks. She kissed Dean’s cheek and then Lucas’ lips. 

I smiled at Dean. Delilah looked at me, “Mom, is Charlie okay?” “Yeah, he’s okay. He’s upset he upset you.” “I’ll go talk to him. I know he didn’t mean to upset me.” 

We nodded and before she left she hugged Dean and Lucas one last time. Dean looked at Lucas and put a hand on his shoulder, “Thank you for jumping in and helping calm her down. I really appreciate it. I can see how much you really love her.” 

“She’s had them with me before, and she’s taught me how to help her. I’ve also done some research on how to help her. I meant what I said when I told you I’d do whatever I can to keep her safe and protected.” Dean nodded.

“So I have something for both of you. A little thank you for considering what I asked you two and for always being so supportive of my relationship with Delilah.”  

“Lucas, you didn’t have to get us anything.” I said as he handed me a bag.

I opened it and gasped, “Oh honey, this is beautiful. Thank you.” Lucas had a throw blanket made with different pictures from the kids’ growing up, and in the middle of the blanket was a picture of Dean and I.

Dean smiled and thanked Lucas too. Then Lucas handed Dean a bag too. “I know you and Delilah have a beautiful relationship, and you always will. I promise you I will never stand in the way of that.” Dean took the bag and opened it, his eyes filled with tears. There was a picture frame that said “I’ll Love You Forever. I’ll Like You For Always. As Long As I’m Living, My Daddy You’ll Be” inside the frame was Dean’s favorite picture of him and Delilah. 

He pulled Lucas in for a hug. “Thank you so much. How did you know this was my favorite picture?” Lucas smiled and said, “Delilah.” 

We thanked him and Dean excused himself. Lucas looked at me and I just smiled. 

Dean walked to our bedroom and sat on the bed holding the picture. Memories of that day played in his mind like an old silent movie. 

He remembered clearly your laugh and giggles as he spun Delilah around and dropped her on the bed. Her squeals filled the room with his laughter. 

I took the picture as he twisted and dropped her before picking her up again. 

Tears streaked his face as he looked at the picture and remembered that day. The realization his little girl was grown and was about to be someone’s fiancé hit him hard. 

A soft sob left his lips. Delilah passes by the room and stops walking. She rushed to Dean’s side, “Daddy, are you okay?! What’s wrong?” 

Dean looked up at her and nodded, “Yeah, I’m okay. Just thinking about how fast you grew up. You’ve grown into such an amazing young woman. I’m so proud of you, baby.” 

She hugged Dean, “I love you, daddy and I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” Dean stood and hugged her back. “I love you too, baby girl. Now let’s get you out there to your boyfriend.” She smiled and nodded. 

Delilah came back into the room with Charlie and Dean. They were smiling and laughing. 

She looked at Lucas and smiled, “Are you about ready to go?” 

He looked at Dean and I and nodded. “Yeah. I’m ready.” 

I smiled softly at him, “So where are you two off to?” 

Delilah smirked, “We are going to the lake. I wanted to watch the meteor shower tonight, so Lucas offered to take me.” 

Charlie’s eyes widened, “Ooh can I go?” 

I noticed Lucas’ face and before anyone could say anything I jumped in, “Not tonight. The meteor shower isn’t until late and you have school tomorrow.” 

He nodded, his shoulders slumped a little. 

I saw a silent “thank you” in Lucas’ eyes. 

I hugged them both and whispered, “Good Luck” to Lucas. He nodded and smiled. 

Dean let out a shaky breath when he hugged Delilah, “Be careful, sweetheart.” She smiled, hugged his neck and said, “I will, daddy.” 

Dean and I knew Lucas was going to propose tonight. 

Lucas and Delilah arrived at the lake. Lucas pulled out a blanket and laid it on the ground. 

Delilah smiled and sat down. Lucas sat behind her and positioned himself with her between his legs, her back to his chest. 

As the sky grew darker and the stars dotted the night sky, Lucas was starting to get nervous. The meteor shower started, but it wasn’t peak. Lucas wanted to wait until peak time to propose. He rehearsed what he wanted to say over and over again. 

The ring was placed carefully in a box, in his pocket. 

Delilah’s head leaned back and she looked up at him and smiled. His heart beat wildly in his chest. 

She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m so lucky she’s mine. I can’t wait to marry her. Lucas smiled at the thought. 

Delilah’s eyes sparkled under the moonlight as the meteor showers began to get heavier. Lights streaked across the sky slowly, then more and more. Lucas watched with so much love in his heart. 

As the meteor shower started to peak, Lucas stood up, under the guise of needing to stretch. He reached in his pocket to feel the small velvet box tucked carefully inside. 

His heart pounded in his ears. He watched as Delilah laughed and smiled at the heavenly phenomenon on full display, completely oblivious to what was to come. 

She turned with her back to him and he took the opportunity to drop to one knee and pull out the box. He carefully opened the box and waited for her to turn back around. 

He swallowed his anxiety and watched. Before too long Delilah turned and when she saw him she gasped.

Her hands covering her mouth as she turned to face him completely. She stepped closer to him. Lucas took her hand in his and looked up at her tear filled eyes. 

“Delilah Rose, I’ve loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. You’re smart, beautiful, kind, and so brave. You’re an amazing daughter, sister, friend and girlfriend. Anyone lucky enough to be in your life is truly blessed beyond measure. I love you, Delilah and I would love nothing more than for you to agree to be my wife. Will you marry me?”

Tears fell down her face, her hands trembling, a slight smile tugging her lips, “Yes! I’ll marry you. Oh my goodness, Lucas!”

Lucas slipped the diamond on her finger and she gasped, “It’s so beautiful.” Lucas kissed her lips, “Not nearly as beautiful as you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, he lifted her up and spun her around.

They kissed again and he whispered, “I love you so much. I can’t wait to spend forever with you.” 

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