#i know this might be reading a lot into it

[jimmysea]

TOP FORM THE SERIES (2025) - EP 11

[vividxpages]

you, forever.

pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

words: 2.6k

summary: Bucky thinks if he gives this whole congressman thing some more months, he’ll might be okay with this new kind of lifestyle. Everything for the mission, right? But he just can’t bring himself to accept the fact that he keeps missing out on the evenings with you.

a/n: I just love this man so damn much, the hyperfixation that started with watching my first ever Marvel movie (Civil War - I had no idea wtf was going on except for that this Bucky guy is super hot) is back in full force. Let me know what you think! ♡ and thank you for reading. ao3 version.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

On a Thursday night, Bucky spontaneously decided home was wherever your fluffy pink carpet slippers greeted him.

Just behind the doorstep they sat, perfectly chaotic and not where they belonged on the shoe rack right next to them, just as you liked it. He smiled down at the sight, careful not to trip over your bag on the floor as he closed the door behind himself and locked it for the night.

He had been up since six in the morning, attended seven meetings – felt useless in five of them – and ran on nothing but caffeine and pure stubbornness to get Val’s ass in the meantime. In the afternoon, he had not managed to get out of some talks and now it was dark outside and the day was close to being over.

Given his history, he had seen worse days.

Far worse.

But yet, the ache in his chest was close to being unbearable. 

He soundlessly kicked off his shoes, willing his shoulders to relax as he listened to the quietness of the apartment. Bucky longed for the one precious thing in his life he held onto after days like this one.

You.

He shuffled out of his jacket, too, abandoning it together with his leather bag and quietly made his way into the spacious kitchen. Evidence of your love for him waited just in sight on the counter and Bucky’s heart both clenched in pain and fluttered in adoration for you.

By the sink, he spotted a wine glass, the rim shiny and rosy from your lip gloss. Your empty plate stood in the sink, forgotten and doomed to be a task for another day. But right in front of him was the other half of dinner, meant for him and still waiting, a bowl full to the brim with a delicious greasy pasta and a red sticky note right next to it.

Eat up! :) I love you xx

The cherry on top was a glazed sugar cinnamon roll from the bakery you both loved so much.

Fuck, his heart was so fucking full of love for you, why did he still screw up like this? 

He had missed dinner. Bucky let out a sigh, exhausted and regretting yet another evening he had not been able to spend with you and impulsively grabbed the cinnamon roll, the sweetness exploding on his tongue. A picture of you flashed through his mind, sticking out your tongue at him when he had laughed about the sugar crumbs coating your nose. He would’ve loved to share this sweet treat with you, earlier and in the coziness of his and your home, together.

The frustration simmering just underneath his skin flared up and if it hadn’t been midnight and you probably weren’t in bed already, Bucky would’ve groaned.

When he had signed up for this, although his true reasons were slightly different from the official statement he gave to the press, he thought: normality – after so many years, he had finally reached it. (Sam had joked at some point that he needed a white picket fence now. Bucky had told him to fuck off.)

With a job like this, although he was still in kid’s shoes, he could be able to live an average life for a while. And a life with lots of time for the girl he loved.

Now, a few months later, he wasn’t so sure about it anymore.

He put down the cinnamon roll and decided to take a shower first before he’d heat up the pasta and finally crawl into bed to you. If he’d wake you now, he would not be able to forgive himself. Bucky’s thumb brushed over your handwriting once more before he slid into the dimly lit living room.

His heart, usually steeled when he went out of the door in the mornings, softened instantly at the sight presented to him.

You were curled up underneath a soft, knitted blanket, your chest rising and falling peacefully. You were still facing the hallway and Bucky couldn’t linger too long at the thought that you might’ve sat there and waited for hours for him to come home to you after your lonely dinner.

He first recognized one of his hoodies on you and your beautifully heated cheeks. Your naked legs were hidden beneath the comfy blanket, but he spotted your favorite pair of fuzzy socks on you and how you slept on his side of the couch, where the pillows smelled like him.

The TV was not running  - you were a books and boardgames kind of girl and over time had built an impressive collection Bucky oh so gladly sacrificed shelf space for. (Although today, no game box on the bookshelf was out of place. You didn’t own any games that could be played alone.)

For tonight, you had grabbed one of your books Bucky had gotten you on a bookshop date recently. Bucky had once glimpsed into it when you couldn’t stop squealing about it. It was filthy as fuck. He had been shocked that something with such a whimsical cover could be so dirty on the inside… But that author’s idea with the ties, the blindfold and the ice had been pretty fucking great.

Bucky stood very still, his eyes lovingly flickering over your calm features. Your rosy lips were slightly parted and a loose strand of hair had escaped and threatened to fall into your mouth. One of your hands was holding on to the collar of his sweater as if you had tried to fall asleep with his scent close to your senses.

There you were – his girl, his world, his everything.

He took a shuddering breath, snapping himself out of his brooding and silently stepping closer until he could bend down and carefully snake his arms around you. You let out a small sound in your sleep, not stirring unlike something else a little further down.

A protesting mrrrow! came from underneath the blanket and suddenly, a tiny white lightning shot out from the coziness and looked at him with outrage sparkling in her eyes.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth lifted.

At least Alpine was there for you… “Good girl.” He whispered to her and with it, the cat proudly snuggled up in his armchair and the girl in his arms sighed happily in her sleep.

God, he had missed you.

Somehow, although it was contradicting and should probably be mentioned to his therapist, this would be easier for him if you were furious with him. For missing dinner, for sometimes slipping only into bed late at night, for brooding over breakfast when his brain repeated a stupid thing he had said in front of cameras again and again and again.

But the thing was this. His girl was the gentlest person he knew. And never once had you been angry with him since he took up this job. Angry at stupid reporters? For sure. Angry at Valentina for being a lying cunt? (Your words, not his.) Definitely.

And even now, after another evening spent alone, your beautiful face was free from any frown. Bucky freed your legs from the blanket and effortlessly lifted you into his arms before he started to carry you towards your shared bedroom.

“Bucky?” You murmured sleepily just as he stepped over the threshold with you, his heart wanting to melt at your small voice thick with sleep.

“Shh, it’s just me, doll.” He replied quietly and pressed a light kiss to your temple. “Just got home. I’m putting you to bed, so you can be comfy, okay? Go back to sleep, it’s alright.”

You let out an unashamed yawn against his neck, the warm breath tickling his skin as your hand held on to the front of his shirt. Today at a short lunch, he had managed to spill sauce over it, but you didn’t seem to care much.

He reached the bed with you, holding you to his chest while he quickly drew back the covers with his other arm so he could gently place you down. He watched as your body melted into the bedding, the way you snuggled right into it similar to how Alpine looked when she cuddled with him. For the first time today, a real smile tugged at his lips.

“Did you eat?” You asked quietly, your cheek resting on his pillow as you rubbed your eyes.

His heart stung yet again. “I will, in a minute. Thank you for leaving me some. It looks amazing, I’m just going to change and-“

You let out a protesting whine when he tried to step back towards the attached bathroom, your hand quick to shoot out and grab his wrist. Bucky then saw something in your eyes you didn’t show often. Pleading.

“I’ll be right with you, I promise.” He said, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss every single knuckle of yours. Four silent promises. I’ll be better, I’ll be better, I’ll be… “I’ll keep the door open so you can see me, okay?”

That, you could tolerate.

Within the next few minutes, he somehow managed to slip into some new boxers and a sleep shirt while also eating your homemade pasta bowl, his clumsy multi-tasking all happening under your watchful eye. He smiled at you from time to time, his own exhaustion tugging at him and luring him into bed with you.

“It was delicious. You’re the best cook in the world, doll.” Bucky said and the bruising feeling in his heart intensified over how much he wished he would’ve been home earlier and able to say it over the dinner table to you. Maybe you would’ve slow-danced in the kitchen together after he’d done the dishes. Now, he’d never find out…

You beamed sleepily at his compliment, a satisfied smile on your face as you shifted and made space for him underneath the covers.

Something in him that always ran and never stopped came to a temporary halt as he found his place next to you. The sheets and your warmth were familiar to him as a quick grab to his gun holster, although altogether violently different.

You sighed happily as he put his arm around you and drew you to his chest, your body fitting perfectly against his side. He knew the hills and valleys of your body in and out, was a master at knowing what the smallest reaction from you meant and right now, everything about you was at ease. Finally.

Bucky silently kept track of your breath, noticing how it became more even as the time passed between you. He had tucked you in against him and your head rested on his chest, one warm hand splayed out on his stomach.

Mine, you seemed to say.

Yours, Bucky thought.

“I’m sorry for missing dinner.” He spoke regretfully into the dark space of the bedroom. You weren’t asleep yet, he could tell. He knew exactly how you breathed, how it hitched when you were thinking about something and how you sounded when he was kissing you, making love to you…and now, you were bedded on his chest, listening.

You moved, turning in his arms and needing the embrace to be closer. Rubbing your cheek against the soft fabric of his sleeping shirt, you murmured: “’s okay.”

“It’s not. You cooked.”

“I can cook again tomorrow.” It was between a statement and a question. Would he be here tomorrow?

“I would love that.” He whispered softly, his hand going in smooth and slow circles over your back. “But it’s not the point. I haven’t been a good boyfriend lately…”

You frowned at him. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though.”

“No.”

“Doll-“

“It’s not true.”

“You deserve better-“

“Bucky.” The sudden sternness in your voice shut him up and your hand came to rest on his nape, drawing him down so his eyes could lock with yours. “No. You’re here now and that’s all that matters to me. You’re not less just because we’re not spending all twenty-four hours of the day together, although that literally sounds like heaven to me, okay? What you’re doing is important and I would never hold it against you.”

“You’re the most important to me.” He argued without force, sounding sad even to his own ears.

Something in you seemed to melt and you shuffled up so you could hold his cheek and kiss his forehead, then his lips, light as a butterfly. He chased your taste, a unique mix of your lip mask and the sweet treat of earlier, but you weren’t done yet.

“And you’re the most important one to me.” You replied gently, your smile so blinding with love for him, he almost would’ve looked away if he wasn’t so dependent on it, your happiness. “I’m not angry with you. So you shouldn’t be angry with yourself either. And as long as you come home to me at the end of the day, I’m the happiest you could make me, okay? It’s you, forever, Bucky.”

“Fuck, I love you so much.” He croaked, his strong arms wrapping themselves around your middle again to draw you impossibly close. You hummed in agreement, smiling against his neck as he buried his face in yours, breathing in the scent of your lingering perfume and body lotion. Your legs naturally tangled together with his and above the blankets it might’ve looked like you were melting together with him.

“I love you.” You whispered, like it was a cherished secret. “We’re okay. We’re always going to be okay together, yeah?”

“Yeah…” What good had he ever done to deserve the angel laying in his arms? “Okay, doll. Okay.”

You relaxed again, throwing one leg over his side and clinging to him like a lifeline. Behind your back, an oversized round plushie that usually took that job when he had to be out for the evening lay abandoned, or Alpine, who he could always rely on.

But god, was he happy that he was the one who got to hold you tonight.

Bucky listened to the sound of you slowly drifting towards a well-deserved sleep again, his thumb drawing smooth little circles into your shoulder, fingers occasionally slipping into your hair or softly scratching your scalp the way you liked it. He watched the shadows your lashes drew onto your cheeks, counted your freckles and the rise and fall of your chest until his eyes drooped for the first time.

“I don’t know if this job is for me…” He mumbled underneath his breath, tired and talking more to himself than you.

The blanket you shared rustled one more time as you lifted your chin and gently kissed his tense jaw, making it unclench. Your eyes were still closed when you said: “Then we’ll figure it out together, Buck.”

He let out a deep breath, the last bit of tension leaving his body at your simple affirmation and finally settling in for sleep with you.

Tomorrow, he’d cancel the meeting first thing. And he’d make a good and long breakfast for you with all the things you enjoyed. Maybe he’d take you to the quiet little park you both loved so much, hidden behind some old townhouses in Brooklyn. He’d go to the bookshops with you and carry your bags and in the evening, he’d make love to you for hours until your hearts beat in sync just like now.

Bucky knew you didn’t need him to, but he was going to make up for the time you’d been without him.

Your breath evened out and your hand in his became blissfully limp, protected and without a worry in the world with him close by. He kissed your temple one more time before he allowed his own eyes to close.

Bucky wasn’t sure about a lot of things in his life, but he was sure about you in it.

And he knew, however this life would look for him in the future, you would always be by his side, unflinching and fearless.

The love of his life and his forever.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾

[adulthumanproblem]

Therapists on BetterHelp have already been caught using it, and the platform itself might implement their own AI, allegedly.

I watch mini documentaries on disasters. Do you know how many bridges and dams etc collapsed that were already made by people who knew their shit, but made one tiny miscalculation? One mall collapsed because there was a parking lot on top and they widened the walkways without calculating the extra weight

ChatGPT DOESN'T know ANYTHING. It spits out what it thinks you want to read. It's a text prediction program. When it starts purring out text, it doesn't know or plan where to go. It CAN'T plan. It famously CAN'T DO MATH

It can't do anything of real value, and certainly not something that absolutely needs a human brain

Things are going to get so bad

ur future nurse is using chapgpt to glide thru school u better take care of urself

[mintyys-blog]

Got any HCs of the Variants +Main Mark with a virgin reader (⌯˃̶᷄ ﹏ ˂̶᷄⌯)ﾟ♡ ♡

Love the new theme btw •̀.̫•́✧

HEADCANONS | variants with s/o is a virgin

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS:

MAIN MARK

Mark notices right away that you’re new to all of this. It’s in the way you hesitate when things get intimate—the soft, uncertain pauses when you try to express yourself, the shy glances that betray your inexperience. Instead of overwhelming you, he wraps you in a gentle patience.

He’d always say, “Take all the time you need, I’m not going anywhere.” He makes sure that every touch is comforting rather than intrusive, guiding you slowly and explaining what he’s doing, even when the topic is as personal as love or intimacy. Every time you ask, “Is this okay?” or murmur that you’re nervous, he reassures you with a warm smile and careful words, “You’re perfect just as you are, and I’ll always be here to protect you.”

In quiet moments after a long conversation about your past hurts—and how you’re scared of losing yourself in love again—he’d hold you close, patiently letting you open up. His actions speak louder than any grand declaration; he makes sure you always feel safe enough to grow, to learn, and ultimately, to trust him with all of you.

With Mark, being inexperienced isn’t a flaw—it’s something he cherishes, because it reminds him that love is about being gentle, supportive, and true.

MOHAWK MARK

Mark clocks it instantly. You don’t have to say a word—he picks up on the nervous laughs, the flustered reactions when things get a little suggestive, the way your eyes dart away when he leans in too close.

At first, he finds it kind of amusing—teasing comes naturally to him. He’ll smirk and throw in a, “Damn, baby… you’re cute when you get all shy like that,” just to see the way you squirm. But he never pushes too far. He might be rough around the edges, but he’s not cruel.

Once he realizes that you’re a virgin, something shifts in him. He dials it back—not because he’s afraid of messing up, but because he doesn’t want to ruin it for you. He wants to be the one who shows you how good it can be, not just physically, but emotionally too.

He’s protective in a big way—like, “You don’t gotta know everything right now, I’ll teach you,” kind of way. He’d take pride in being your first, not in a possessive or boastful sense, but because it means you trusted him. And he doesn’t take that lightly.

You’d catch him watching you sometimes with this soft look that doesn’t match his usual cocky energy. Like he’s wondering how someone like you ended up with someone like him. And when things get serious, he’ll take his time, murmuring in your ear, “Just tell me what feels good, baby. I got you.” It’s still Mark, so the teasing never really stops—but it’s always wrapped in care.

SINISTER MARK

Mark doesn’t flinch when he realizes you’re a virgin. It doesn’t change the way he talks to you, touches you, or pulls you into his orbit. If anything, it just confirms something he already suspected.

He doesn’t soften. He doesn’t slow down. He’s not the type to ask how you feel—he’ll watch you squirm, flushed and nervous under his gaze, and smirk like it’s a game he’s already won.

“You’ve never done this before?” he’d say, voice dripping in amusement, brushing a finger along your jaw just to see you shiver. “That explains a lot.”

He doesn’t change, but that doesn’t mean he’s reckless. Mark is calculated. He wants to ruin you, but slowly—completely. He’ll overwhelm you on purpose, just to watch how you react. Not cruelly, not violently—just with an edge that makes it impossible to tell whether he’s seducing you or studying you like prey.

He’s not patient, but he’s attentive. He reads you like a book. Every sound, every twitch of hesitation—he uses it. Turns it into a reason to keep going.

And when you cling to him, desperate and unsure, he’ll lean in, lips brushing your ear with a smug whisper: “You’re mine now. And you’ll never want anyone else after this.”

It’s not about comforting you. It’s about owning the fact that he’ll be the one burned into your memory forever.

OMNI MARK

Mark can tell you’re a virgin from the way you hesitate under his gaze. The way your fingers fidget, the way you avoid eye contact when things start to get serious. And though he’s powerful, brutal, and often cold to the world—this is different.

He’s not soft, not exactly. But he does adjust.

At first, he’s quiet. His eyes narrow slightly, watching your every reaction like he’s trying to decode you. “You’ve never been with anyone?” he asks, voice low—not judgmental, but serious, heavy with implication.

When you nod, maybe embarrassed or uncertain, he doesn’t mock or tease. He processes it.

Because to Mark, that means one thing: you’re his first. And that’s something he won’t take lightly.

He becomes meticulous—almost reverent in the way he touches you. There’s intensity in every motion, like he’s claiming new territory, like he’s making sure no one else will ever be remembered. He teaches with purpose, with control, with the kind of unshakable dominance that says you’re safe because you’re with me.

“You don’t have to worry,” he’ll say, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you close like you’re the most delicate thing in the universe—his delicate thing. “I’ll take care of everything.” Mark isn’t tender, but he’s intentional. And in his own way, he makes sure that the first time isn’t just unforgettable—it’s unmistakably his.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark doesn’t blink when he realizes you’re a virgin. If anything, he expected it. On Viltrum, strength and purity are often intertwined—so the idea that you’re untouched? To him, it’s not strange. It’s almost… honorable.

He sees it as a standard. A natural expectation. You’re his mate—why wouldn’t you have waited for him?

When you tell him—or when he figures it out—he doesn’t react with surprise or teasing. He just hums, nods once, and says something like, “Good. Then no one else will have touched you but me.”

And it’s not possessive in the way humans understand. It’s Viltrumite logic. A biological and emotional claim. To him, your inexperience isn’t a weakness—it’s a sign that you belong to him fully. Mind, body, and future.

When it comes time to be intimate, he doesn’t rush. He’s intense, yes—always—but there’s something almost ceremonial about the way he treats you. He’s firm, instructive, and attentive to every sound you make. If you hesitate, he simply says: “ I’ll teach you. You have nothing to fear.”

He moves with precision, power, and restraint, watching your reactions with a sharp eye, adjusting his pace, his grip, the rhythm—because for all his dominance, he doesn’t want to break you. He wants to mold you.

And when it’s over, when you’re curled against him, flushed and dazed, he presses a kiss to your shoulder and murmurs something quiet—barely audible over his breath: “You were made for me.”

PRISONER MARK

Mark is definitely surprised when he finds out you’re a virgin. Not in a mocking way—but more like: “Wait… seriously?” Like he genuinely didn’t see it coming.

You’re bold. You flirt. You kiss like you mean it. So when things start heating up and you get a little hesitant—he notices. At first he thinks maybe you’re just nervous, but when you finally admit it, his brows shoot up and he stares at you in disbelief.

“No way… all this time? And you’re untouched?” He’s grinning now. So smug.

You expect him to tease you—and okay, he does a little. He leans in close, voice low and cocky: “Damn, I must be doing something right if I’m your first.”

But what you don’t expect is the way his teasing fades into something softer. Not gentle—he’s not soft in that way—but careful. He might be rough around the edges, but once he knows, he switches up. Slows down. Checks in without making it obvious. His touches still burn, but he’s more focused, almost… reverent.

And when you’re under him, wide-eyed and clinging to him, he kisses your cheek and mutters: “You trust me with this?”

You nod. You’re already halfway in love with him, even when he’s frustrating and intense. He doesn’t say it back. Not yet. But the way he holds you afterward—arm locked around your waist, lips against your shoulder—says enough.

[harmoonix]

🌕 The golden hour 🌕

Break me, taste me

Roll me up like the northern lights

Channeling Song to get you in the mood;

Moon, Venus or Jupiter in the 5th house can be super fertile, is like youre a baby machine. These placements can be good if you want to have a big family or your own football team, who knows.

Mars or Saturn in the 2nd house are very likely to spend a lot of of money on their hobbies.

Sun/Mercury/Moon in the 12th house can have visions in their dreams...gurl are you Alice from twilight???

Libra and Cancers crave a certain type of affection and if they don't get it these people can become nostalgic or depressed.

Pisces/Scorpio/Sagittarius Placements will give you mixed signals after trying to flirt the whole night with you...

Venus aspecting the south node...call me delusional but it always gave me widow vibes especially in harsh aspects..what happened to your lover?

Leo and Aries and even Sagittarius Placements love to have their main character moment, especially if risings/venus/sun is involved.

6th house venus can lowkey become the therapist of their own relationship, struggles with healing the other one.

10th house Mars can meet people jealous of their status/career/job/relationships, you hold a lot of power.

Mercury in the 11th house has a charming appearance this leading to a lot of people wantint to be your friends.

Mars in the 3rd house tends to read/talk too fast which often leads to being confused about what they're doing.

Juno Asteroid x Neptune aspects tend to believe they have a fated/meant relationship with their partners.

Juno Asteroid in fire signs might start dating/marrying while being quite young. Maybe even too young for some.

Juno Asteroid in the 6th or 10th houses can fall in love or have crushes over their co-workers.

Juno Asteroid in water degrees 4° 8° 12° 16° 20° 24° 28° often wants to have a very bonded relationship with their partners (make the bond).

Mars in Virgo or Virgo degrees (6° 18°) tends to be the savage and bossy type of person.

Saturn in the 4th house lowkey tends to have a problematic family life. Kylie Jenner has this placement herself

Capricorn Placements love to mind their business, not gossiping, not talking shit, they love shushing and doing their own thing.

Aquarius Placements are such a mix between being an introvert and extrovert and Libra placements might have this too.

11th house venus and the tension between having those friends to lovers kind of relationship is real and not a myth.

People with moon in Sagittarius/Moon in the 9th house might have a mixed family, different ethnicity/race from moms side more but with dad works too.

You know those people who jump from relationship to another relationship without taking a break or to even heal themselves? These people have a very damaged 7th hosue.

Saturn/Lilith or Chiron in the 9th house might have a fear of traveling like an accident or plane crash, etc.

Sun in earth signs if they're unhealed can become very selfish or critical, with themselves or others.

Lilith in the 1st house might not wanna marry or have that type of ceremony, just a simple relationship is enough.

Lilith in the 3rd house can become verbally aggresive if they have the chance.

Can you hold me down for one night, like I got three strikes?

☀️ Love the vibes of this, hope you like it as well! Take care of you guys! With love, harmoonix ☀️

[tacoguacamole]

ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 5

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark, Kook's a jerk and mean for the earlier chapters]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Chapter Word Count: 7k+]

[Note: This part has 4 settings. Again, several time jumps. You can read it per setting if it's too overwhelming. Kook character development? Push and pull between our leads is still there. Angst will always be there. Sorry, I live with the pain. Let me know what you think. Keep dropping your comments and theories. Thank you everyone for reading so far. For the support💜

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

The air between you settles like a held breath — the kind of quiet that doesn’t rush to be filled. Somewhere nearby, a bird rustles in the hedges, then flits away.

You nod toward the basket by your side, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “You planning on trading pastries for labor?”

Jeongguk takes a step closer, a small smile forming. “Thought it was a fair trade.”

Without asking, he crouches beside you, setting the paper bag gently on the table nearby. His jeans brush the hem of your skirt as he reaches into the basket, picking up the stray sprigs you hadn’t noticed. His movements are quiet, almost careful — like he’s not sure where he fits, but wants to try anyway.

You glance sideways, brow lifting. “The weekends are yours.”

He shrugs, fingers brushing dirt from a stem. “Didn’t feel like staying in.”

You don’t ask why. The reasons are too quiet to name. Instead, you reach for the rosemary. “Well. If you’re here, might as well put you to work.”

He chuckles softly, the sound gentle in the quiet garden. “Bossy.”

“Efficient.”

You move together — your hands leading, his following with that calm focus he’s always had, even if his fingers fumble sometimes. Not because he doesn’t know what he’s doing. But because he’s not always looking at the plants.

You feel it. The way his attention shifts. Pauses.

“Don’t mangle the sage,” you murmur, nudging his elbow. “She’s sensitive.”

“Sounds familiar.” He’s already looking at you, smile tugging at the edge of his mouth.

You look away quick, as if that was going to do anything with your abnormally beating heart.

A soft breeze passes, tugging at your shirt. Pulls a few strands of hair loose. You’re about to say something — maybe thank him, maybe point out a spot he missed — when your sight shifts slightly. Not dizzy. Not anything big. Just… a little off.

Jeongguk’s hand is at your arm instantly, firm but gentle. “You okay?”

You blink once, shake your head like you can brush it off. “Yeah. Just—stood up too fast.”

His eyes search yours. “You’re flushed.”

“It’s warm.”

“It’s not that warm.”

You force a small smile. “I’m fine, Gguk.”

He doesn’t believe it — not fully — but he lets it go, for now. His hand lingers at your elbow for a moment longer before he leans back slightly, giving you space.

“So,” you say, nudging the paper bag on the table. “These croffles any good?”

He breathes out, a quiet laugh hidden in the sigh. “For dessert? Absolutely.”

Inside, the change is soft — no hurry, no words needed. The garden fades away as the house wraps around you both again, like it’s trying to remember how things used to be.

The kitchen is filled with warm, golden light from the late afternoon. It slides over the counters, making the marble look soft and pale. You put the basket of herbs by the sink, your fingertips lightly touching the edge before you return to the doorway.

Jeongguk is already in motion — his sleeves rolled up, his shoulders loose. As if no time has passed. As if his hands still know the drawers, the rhythm, the quiet feel of your mother’s kitchen. The soft scrape of the cutting board, the tap of a pan on the stove, the faint sound of water running.

You lean against the frame, arms loose over your chest, just watching.

From the fridge, he pulls out eggs, leftover rice, a few vegetables. The herbs you just picked sit by the sink, waiting. It’s simple. But the way he moves — calm, confident, slow — makes your chest feel heavy.

Once, you would’ve sat on the counter beside him, bare feet swinging, teasing him between mouthfuls of half-cooked vegetables. You’d remember Christmas years ago here at your mother's house, sunlight pouring into the kitchen as you both laughed over spilled flour and tea. Then you would’ve poked at the pan, earned a warning glare before he pulled you close anyway.

Now, you stay back — not quite distant, just unsure.

Jeongguk glances at you over his shoulder, a strand of hair slipping across his forehead. “You’re quiet.”

You blink, caught. A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’m letting you concentrate.”

He huffs, low and amused. “Right. That’s new.”

You wander in, fingers brushing the back of a chair, and sink into your seat by the counter. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything — just keeps moving with quiet efficiency. A dash of soy sauce. The soft flick of his wrist. A sprinkle of herbs across the pan.

The rhythm calms something in the room — softens the tension and fills the stillness.

“So…” you start, lightly, “should I be worried you’re trying to impress me?”

His lips twitch, almost like a smile. “Would it work if I was?”

You smooth a wrinkle in the tablecloth, avoid his gaze. But the warmth’s already creeping into your face.

By the time the food is plated — warm rice, a golden omelet draped gently on top, herbs scattered like a finishing touch — something has shifted. Loosened.

Jeongguk slides a bowl in front of you. When your fingers brush, neither of you pulls away too quickly.

The first few bites are silent, filled only with the soft clink of chopsticks and the sound of the stove ticking as it cools. You glance up once — then again — catching him mid-look, or maybe just as he’s turning away.

“It’s good,” you murmur. “You haven’t forgotten.”

He leans back, eyes lingering on you. “Did you think I would?”

You twirl your chopsticks between your fingers, lost in thought. “People forget things when they stop doing them.” A small shrug. “When they stop being close.”

The fridge hums softly behind you. Somewhere in the distance, children’s laughter rings out, then fades.

Jeongguk’s voice is quieter when it comes. “I didn’t forget.”

There’s a softness and steadiness in his eyes. A spark of something familiar too – something you remember from before all the pain, the lies, before things changed. It’s something you’ve missed. Something you’d never say out loud anymore. The small tears of happiness you quickly brush away say it for you.

He notices. Doesn’t mention it.

And you don’t explain.

Instead, the conversation shifts — toward safer things, gentler ones. You tell him about the vendor in Paris who won’t answer emails, the two-shades-too-dark fabric that threw off an entire board. You mimic your assistant’s panicked voice notes, and Jeongguk chuckles, low and real, one that wrinkles his nose and makes his eyes squint.

The dishes are done, counters wiped clean. The clock ticks somewhere behind you, the kitchen dimming into quiet, late afternoon slowly dipping into evening. There’s no hurry to end it — not really.

It’s Jeongguk who glances first toward the living room, hands stuffed into his pockets like he’s not sure if he should ask but does anyway.

“Want to… put something on?”

You pause — not because you don’t want to, but because you do. And that terrifies you because you know it’s just a piece of paper making you see things, feel things from him. Or is it? You’re not sure anymore.

Still, you nod, brushing a damp curl from your cheek.

The couch sinks gently as you both settle in, the TV flickering on with its familiar glow. Jeongguk lets you choose — or maybe he already guessed — because when the Avengers theme plays, he lets out a quiet, surprised laugh.

“Seriously?” he groans, grinning as he sinks into the cushions. “Out of all the movies out there?”

“You love it,” you shoot back, pulling the blanket over your lap.

He huffs. “Do not. Only watching this under protest.”

“Uh-huh,” you say with a grin, snuggling down. “Tell that to your collectible shelf.”

Jeongguk doesn’t argue—just laughs quietly and nudges your knee. He disappears shortly, then comes back with a paper bag. “Almost forgot dessert,” he pulls out two warm, golden croffles dusted with sugar. Hands you one, pride barely hidden. “Got these all the way from across the city, you know.”

You take a bite, lips curving around a soft hum of approval. “Still warm.”

“Told you,” he mumbles through his own mouthful. “Best croffles ever.”

As the movie plays, the room feels softer. You both share quiet comments, half-whispers that barely rise above the sound. A few gentle jokes. A shared laugh when the Hulk breaks through a wall. And when Tony says his last lines, the weight in the room shifts.

Jeongguk fidgets. There’s a quiet sniff. Rubs his eyes like it’s nothing.

You look at him, a small smile on your lips.

“Don’t,” he warns, eyes on the screen. “It’s the… onions. From dinner.”

“Oh yeah?” you whisper. “The ones you chopped, like, three hours ago?”

He groans, dragging a throw pillow over his face. “Fine. It’s the weather. Very dry in here. Terrible humidity.”

“Right,” you grin. “And by ‘weather,’ you mean ‘Tony Stark.’”

His muffled voice replies, “He’s a hero, okay? You just don’t get it.”

But you do.

You remember the action figures lined up like trophies in your college dorm. The Iron Man pajamas he’d throw on when you dragged him out for late-night ramen breaks during finals week. The bright red and gold socks — his lucky charm — that he wore to his first big interview. The extra pair he got for you, still tucked in your drawer somewhere.

But of course, you don’t say any of that. Just smile at this version of him— softer around the edges, still a little boyish in the ways that matter.

The credits roll, silver light flickering over the room, the music fading into the soft quiet of evening. You stretch your toes under the blanket, feeling the stillness settle — warm, easy, familiar.

Jeongguk shifts beside you, his knee brushing yours as he leans forward to reach for the remote. Doesn’t press stop. Just lets the music play out, fingers tapping absently against the edge of the coffee table.

“You should…” You’re not sure what you meant to say. That he should head out? That you should call it a night? That things slip back to the list you’ve created?

You tug the blanket a little higher, as if it could help hide the thoughts burning in your head.

Jeongguk leans back, arm resting behind you, his thumb brushing lightly over the cushion near your shoulder — not quite touching, not quite distant.

“Long day,” he says softly.

You nod, eyes growing heavy, the warmth of the room tugging at your limbs. He doesn’t attempt to head out. You don’t remind him.

Time passes like that — slow, quiet, almost paused. Your head dips slightly toward the couch armrest. His fingers move softly closer to you, just barely touching your hair, as if he’s trying to remember how it feels.

You think you hear him breathe out — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh, something in between. Or maybe it’s just the house settling around you both.

Neither of you says goodnight. Neither of you say anything else.

And when your eyes finally close, and your head tips just a little closer toward his shoulder, Jeongguk shifts — only slightly — until the space between you is nothing at all.

Sleep still holds your limbs, your cheek warm where it rested on the couch cushion. A quiet stillness hangs in the room — soft light shining through thin curtains, the air filled with the smell of fresh coffee and something lightly sweet, like butter and sugar left on the plates.

You hear him somewhere in the kitchen, the soft creak of a cabinet opening, the clink of a spoon. From where you are, you can see the curve of his back as he leans over the counter, pouring coffee into two mugs.

Padding barefoot toward him, the chill of the floor becomes a quick wake-up call.

Jeongguk notices you before you say anything, his head turning slightly over his shoulder. “Morning.” He sets one of the mugs down for you. It’s the way you like it — just a splash of almond milk, no sugar.

“You cooked again?” The stove looks like it’s just gone out with the light heat fading into the kitchen.

Jeongguk rubs the back of his neck. For a second, you see that boy in the middle of your old apartment, waiting to confess to the love of his life. But then again, you’re too sleepy to know what you’re seeing.

“It’s just eggs. And toast. Nothing fancy.”

You take a bite anyway when he plates it for you, fork scraping gently against the ceramic. The eggs are fluffy, the toast a little too crisp, burnt on the edges, but warm and buttery all the same – just the way you liked it.

The thoughts in your mind grow harder to hold back.

Jeongguk staying the night wasn’t part of the deal. Neither was cooking meals. Neither was this breakfast. Nor choosing to spend the weekend with you when the list clearly says weekends are his—the one sliver of freedom you allowed him, a gesture meant to prove you weren’t trying to keep him. As much as that would’ve been the outcome your heart would gladly accept, you knew the weight of reality. And this… this wasn’t reality.

A small part of you likes it. Hell, you’ve missed this. Him. But it’s terrifying you that things are starting to feel almost easy again, like maybe you could forget everything that’s about to come.

“This isn’t what we agreed on, you know?”

Jeongguk pauses mid-sip of his coffee, lifting a brow like you’ve just accused him of a crime. “What’d I do now?”

You point at the plate in front of you. “This. Breakfast. You cooking for me. You cooking at all. It’s not on the list.”

He sets his mug down, eyes widening with mock offense. “Excuse you, the list literally says breakfast. It doesn’t say how breakfast should appear. Could’ve been cereal. Could’ve been toast shaped like a heart. There weren’t specifics.”

You narrow your eyes. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Jeongguk raises a brow, grins, crosses his arms over his chest. “Technically, this doesn’t break any rules.”

“No?”

“No.” He reasons out. “We’re having breakfast. Breakfast is on the paper. Nowhere does it say though how breakfast should be presented. Breakfast.”

“You’re so annoying,” you mutter, trying not to smile as you take another bite.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he says, pushing off the counter to rinse his mug. “Those eggs didn’t scramble themselves.”

“They were too fluffy.”

“Too fluffy?” He turns around, hand dramatically on his chest. “They’re exactly how you’ve had them since Uni.”

Letting it go with a sigh, you nod slowly, give him a soft warning. “Just…don’t make a habit of this.”

“Of cooking?” he teases, tilting his head. “Because I was thinking pancakes next.”

“Gguk.”

He holds up both hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. No habits. No rules broken. Just... eggs.”

Your gaze stays fixed on the plate. It’s just eggs. But you know it’s never just eggs. “You should probably get going. Monday’s not gonna wait.”

Jeongguk pulls off a small smile. “Right. See you later.” Grabs his keys from the counter, tossing them once in his hand like he’s stalling, then heads for the door without another word.

The studio hums like a beehive on the edge of collapse — steam hisses from a press table, fabric whispers beneath hurried fingers, heels tap over taped floors marking invisible runways. The sharp scent of dye and starch clings to the air like nerves. A model adjusts a loose strap in the mirror, her mouth tight, lashes unblinking. A stylist crouches beside a rack of silk gowns, threading a needle with shaking hands.

“Where’s the backup for Look Nine?” someone snaps behind a screen divider.

“We already rotated her out,” someone else replies. “Too pale under the LEDs.”

Mark paces near the mood board, phone pressed hard to his ear. His voice is low but clipped, half in English, half in French, Korean getting mixed up in between too – it makes you laugh for a second. Until one look at the board tells you everything — pinned shots of another line, swatches curled at the edges from overhandling, and a red marker line slashing across today’s schedule like an open wound.

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs like it hurts. His phone drops from his hand into his pocket, conversation ended. He turns toward the monitors just as you quietly take your place beside him.

“Still surviving, old man?”

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You texted me. Said the final look samples came back two inches short.”

Mark drags a hand through his hair. “That was an update, not a plea for help.”

“You sent three angry emojis.”

“Wasn’t supposed to take that as encouragement. I’m telling Yoongi.”

“Like that’s going to stop me.” You’re already taking off your coat, passing it over to your assistant. Another staff hands you a garment bag. Someone else gives you your tablet. There’s no time for hellos, barely enough space to breathe.

He’s already giving in. “You’re staying out of Look Twelve,” he mutters. “Too many pins at the hip.”

You flash a grin over your shoulder. “Noted, partner.”

The day doesn’t get better. As much as you’ve tried working through it, one crisis comes after the other. Someone’s panicking about Look Six — one of the models missed her last fitting and now the bodice won’t zip. There’s talk of skipping it entirely.

You grab a handful of safety pins off a tray, offering it to the nearest stylist without slowing. “Use the veil to hide the back seam.”

At some point, the espresso machine shorts out. Kills the power briefly in the west wing. Night is almost here, everyone’s tired and, coffee is essential to keep the team going. No one has time to fix it, so the assistants take turns running to a nearby café.

The shoot hasn’t even started yet. You stare at the draft board, then the open camera rig — one staff experimenting how to set up angles, another trying to color match without lighting presets. No real-time feedback. No edits. No visual anchors. It’s all guesses and rushed fixes.

“What the fuck are they doing?” You ask Mark who’s already frantically texting. Doesn’t need to look at what you meant. Knows you’re referring to the sorry excuse of a visual team. Unspoken things you’ve both developed working together for years.

“They’re trying to make it work.”

“That’s not their job.”

“It’s got to be. Creative and Visuals just bailed.”

You pull your hair back with one hand. “Unbelievable.”

“Something about their equipment being stuck in cargo. Won’t get here till 9:00 PM, if at all.” He exhales. “They called two hours ago. I didn’t want to say anything till I figured out options.”

You’re on the verge of tears after holding yourself together for most of the day. Exhaustion is taking over your body. The tteokbokki you ate hours ago is long gone, along with the visuals and creative team that’s gone too. Then you feel it — a slow warmth under your nose. You wipe it away without thinking, expecting sweat or your makeup melting from the heat. But it’s red. Wet.

Mark’s voice fades mid-sentence. “—you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You tilt your head back slightly, already reaching into your pocket for tissue. Nothing there.

“Here.” He’s already tearing one from a kit bag. You take it without looking at him. “We could hold off—”

“No. We can’t delay.” You press the tissue harder to your nose and move toward the monitor, resume work like always. “Let’s just shoot raw. We'll clean it in post.”

Mark watches you for long – his stare burning on the corner of your eye. “We don’t have the manpower. Can’t edit this by myself either.” Excuses you’re familiar with, drops in. You know he’s trying to stop the day.

You give him a look — sharp, tired, unwavering.

“Okay boss,” he mutters. “Figuring it out. I’ll try following up with them till then.”

The phone on the table vibrates against the wood. You grab it without looking. “What?”

A pause. Then, warm, low, “Oof, you don’t sound good.”

The chaos blurs, the noise softens, the pain in you eases. The corner of your mouth lifts before you can stop it. “Gguk.”

“Was wondering if we’re still on for dinner?” Jeongguk’s voice lilts with something close to a smile. “Or am I being stood up again?”

Your heart stumbles. Dinner. Right. “Damn it”

“Guess that’s a ‘no,’” he teases softly, his voice calm when yours isn’t. “Getting stood up twice. Karma, huh?”

“No! I—” Your eyes dart to Mark, who’s shoving his phone into his pocket, waving you over. His mouth forms the word ‘cancelled’.

Panic pricks at the back of your neck. “No, Mark, wait—Jeongguk, listen, I can’t—”

“Breathe, it’s okay.”

“The creative team vanished, the camera rig’s being handled by one of our staff who’s supposed to be working on shoes—photographers—they just—” Your fingers squeeze the phone, eyes locked on the cluster of stylists whispering urgently. “Gguk, I’m sorry, but I—Mark! No, not that rack! —I have to go.”

“Hey—”

You end the call, pressing the phone to the table, breath slipping out fast.

Mark approaches you with an "I have an idea," and the next moment you’re pulled back into motion, the room closing in again, the pulse of crisis thumping steady under your skin.

There’s a shift in the air you don’t have the time to dwell into. With the lights being tested even when it should’ve been done hours ago, gowns still being altered because some model got caught on one of the lighting cords, makeup brushes flying across the room, a model sneezing mid-lipstick, someone’s tugging on your arm, asking about earrings. Another assistant waves you over, frantic about the backdrop.

You’re one step closer to ripping your hair out.

Mark’s at your side again, too fast, too smooth. “We’re back on track,” he says, lips twitching like he’s trying not to grin. “Relax.”

You want to ask — how, who, what — but then you hear it.

“Watch the stand,” a voice calls out, deep, commanding. “It’s angled wrong — your entire left frame’s blown out.”

When you look up, Jeongguk is already there. His team already dispersing, taking their places like a familiar routine in your space.

You forget the clipboard in your hands, the half-formed instructions on your tongue. Jeongguk meets your eyes, gives you a small lift of his brows — nothing big, nothing showy. Just a quiet hey.

Mark gives you a look across the room — equal parts guilt and triumph.

Anger should’ve been the right feeling. But instead, peace drapes over you like a heavy, unexpected exhale.

You worked through the rest of the evening, staying away from Jeongguk as much as you could. Letting him focus. Distracting yourself with the sudden change in chaos. Outfits suddenly fitting right, pins no longer needed, a new set of makeup brushes appearing from the luggage — as if the universe had finally decided to give you a moment of calm.

Between tasks, you steal quick glances – when he bends beside the rig, gestures to one of the panels, adjusts the stand himself when no one else moves. He’s changed since this morning — black slacks, a navy shirt rolled at the sleeves, his guest pass clipped on the loop of his belt. Professional. Composed.

Your throat tightens. You don’t remember him looking this sure of himself since his old shoots — back when you were the one in front of the lens and he was still figuring out his light. Practicing, fidgeting with settings he was still learning. Back when you were all the subject he’s focused on.

Jeongguk’s halfway through reviewing a frame with his crew when his eyes track you from across the room, softening, mouth twitching like he wants to say something but won’t in front of everyone. He tips his head once, barely a nod.

You step toward him, heels quiet against the studio floor.

He looks up from the light meter, catches your gaze mid-calculation.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmur, just low enough for no one else to hear. “I’m not owing you anything.”

Jeongguk tilts his head, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Just so you know, I’m getting paid,” he says easily. “Think I’m doing this for free?”

Questions rush through your mind like a landslide, but only a simple, “What?” slips out.

He shrugs, adjusts reflector, keeps his eyes on you. “Seora pays well. I remember this CEO who once made me shoot a full pre-launch campaign in forty-eight hours with a half-dead printer and three cups of instant ramen. But when the rush ended, my team and I got a check—enough to stay jobless for six months.”

You blink. “That was years ago.”

“Yeah,” he says, a little quieter now, a little warmer. “Your first collection after you took over. Half the board didn’t believe in you, the investors were circling, and you had one shot to convince them Seora wasn’t going to sink.”

You don’t say anything. But you remember — the weight of it, the way the silence in those boardrooms used to press against your chest.

“I still have those shots,” he adds. “You didn’t sleep for three days. Made me retouch a belt loop for six hours.”

You huff, almost smiling. “You said the belt loop was crooked.”

“It was,” he says, mock-offended. “But six hours?”

“Buzz off.”

He places a light stand into place; tone breezy but eyes sharp. “Anyway, just because you’re my Mrs. Jeon doesn’t mean I don’t get my cut.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“What?” His voice lilts. “Mrs. Jeon? That’s still your legal name, no?”

You glare, still, a small smile breaks out. “Get back to work. Don’t waste my money.”

“Yes ma’am.” Someone calls his name — camera test’s ready. Jeongguk brushes past you with a light touch to your arm. Quick, grounding.

You don’t say anything when he steps away. Just watch the slow but certain way he pulls the chaos back into order — not loud, not commanding, just efficient. People listen when he speaks. They adjust when he gestures. And without meaning to, the tension in your shoulders begins to ease.

And then you find yourself stepping back. Not out of the room, but just far enough to watch. You hover near the monitors, arms crossed loosely, watching as Jeongguk moves through the chaos like he’s done years ago.

Near the backdrop, he crouches low, one hand gently tilting the model’s chin, thumb barely brushing her jaw as he adjusts her toward the light. She lets out a soft laugh — maybe at a quiet joke or just the moment itself — her lashes lowering before she meets his eyes again.

Jeongguk’s mouth curves into a quick, polite and easy smile, before he’s already shifting his focus back to the camera, adjusting the settings with steady hands.

Suddenly, the cuffs of your sleeves look more interesting. Why hadn’t you noticed the ugly button that didn’t compliment the color of the cuffs before? The shoot notes in your hand look like they need revisions again — though you’ve read through them twice and already think they’re perfect.

“Easy there, boss,” Mark sidles up beside you, a knowing hum under his breath. “You’re gonna set the poor girl on fire.”

“Was just watching,” you mutter, heat creeping up your neck.

Mark leans back on his heels, smirking. “Think I should pull her away before you cost us a model.”

“Perfect timing that you’re here,” you narrow your eyes, folding your arms. “Why’d you call him? You don’t exactly seem thrilled about having him near me.”

His grin fades. “Don’t have to like the guy. But when it comes to you, he’s the only one I’m sure would drop everything and show up.”

An argument gets caught in your throat. You want to remind Mark it’s not like that anymore. You know it hasn’t been for years. When it comes to Jeongguk’s planner, it’s like the pen ran out of ink just as your name was about to be written down. You shouldn’t even be on his list of things to do, but that’s the reality that’s been hanging over the last three years. It’s the reality you’ve made now.

Mark shrugs, looking at the busy set. “Sometimes, you have to put personal feelings aside and see that things have changed. You’re running out of options. He knows our work. Has done them before. Jeongguk’s the one guy I, sadly, know who won’t let you down.“

“You seem confident.” The words come out almost like a whisper.

“Takes one to know one.” He turns away before you can answer. You watch him disappear into the set, the weight of his words pressing down on you, making you question what you thought you knew.

Lights dim one by one when the night finally wraps up, casting long shadows across the scattered equipment. You stand near the table piled with untouched snacks, absently twirling the scrunchie on your wrist as you watch Mark wave goodnight, and leave with the last of the crew.

It’s just you now. Or so you think.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to hide by the snack table,” Jeongguk’s there, slinging his jacket over his shoulder, camera bag slung casually over the other. “Usually upfront putting on a whole mukbang show.”

You lean against the table, crossing your arms. “Didn’t feel like the snack choices for today.”

“How about carbonara from Benny’s?”

“They deliver this late?”

“They do if you know the owner,” he says, smug as he sets his bag down. “Should be here in ten.”

You try to hide the way that lands — like a knock you weren’t ready for. “Didn’t think you’d remember Benny’s.”

“Hard to forget when you cried that time they took the truffle fries off the menu.”

You sigh, sinking onto one of the stools. The set is quiet now, shadows stretching where there was once heat and motion. Everything softens around the edges.

“Didn’t eat dinner,” you murmur. “Could eat a whole buffet.”

“Figured,” Jeongguk takes the seat beside you. “Always forget when you’re in charge of too many things.”

The food arrives not long after — warm boxes, the faint scent of cream and parmesan and baked garlic butter curling into the air. You eat beside each other like no time has passed. No tension. No pretense. Just two people winding down after too long a day, like they used to — back when things were simpler, or maybe just when you didn’t know how complicated things would get.

The soft clink of glasses and quiet talks fill the dim hotel lounge. Plush armchairs and velvet sofas gather around small tables, warm amber light casting gentle shadows.

Jeongguk’s call had been brief, almost formal. ‘Prints are ready. Can I give them in person?’

No explanations. No questions. Just followed by another separate voicemail from him with the address of the hotel. You didn’t ask why he had prints made. Understood he’s always been old school, preferred things done the way he started – something tangible, something real, instead of digital things that could be forgotten or ignored.

You just couldn’t grasp why he had to pull you out of a random Wednesday afternoon when you were going to meet for dinner anyway. The time between mornings and evenings, you’ve clearly stated, should be meant for yourselves. 

Jeongguk stands as his client finishes speaking. Quick handshakes are exchanged before he settles back into the velvet armchair. A glass of neat whiskey waits on the table. Quietly making your way over, you take a seat across from him.

He offers a small, easy smile and slides the stack of prints across the table. “Thought you might want to see these.”

You pick up the top print, eyes scanning the sharp lines of the model’s posture — poised, confident, every angle meticulously captured. The lighting cuts clean shadows, highlighting the structure of the garment and the texture of the fabric. Another print shows a tight close-up of the intricate embroidery, every stitch crisp against the muted background. A few shots frame the collection as a whole, lined up beneath the glow of the studio lights — structured, clean, cohesive. It looks less like a trial and more like a beginning. Something ready. Something already on its way to Paris.

“Think Mark’s going to want to fly to Paris tomorrow once he sees these.” You say softly. “Thank you Gguk.”

Jeongguk leans back, a quiet satisfaction shining in his eyes. “He’ll want to — and probably sooner than that.”

“You didn’t have to rush it, though. We gave you a few more weeks to work on it. Everything was short notice.”

“Wasn’t doing much else, honestly.”

“The Calvin campaign?”

He shrugs, that familiar confidence settling around him. “Not on my Wednesday agenda.”

“But asking me to meet you this afternoon is?”

The soft click of polished heels breaks the ambient hush of the lounge. Your eyes flicker across the room as a familiar figure approaches — graceful, poised, carrying that quiet warmth that has always set her apart. Her gaze lands on Jeongguk first, fond and steady.

You both rise from your seats in surprise. You’re thankful he’s the first to speak. “Eomma? What are you doing here?”

She waves a hand, brushing off the formality, gestures for you both to sit again, already settling herself across from you with ease. “I stopped by your office to check in. Taehyung said you’d stepped out.” Her eyes shift to you, softening even further. “It’s nice to see you together again, sweetheart.”

Heat rises to your cheeks at the endearment. The way she says it — warm, familiar, unfiltered — stirs something old and tender in you. Still, you gather yourself quickly, wanting to clear things up before any assumptions settle in.

“We were just talking about work, Eomma-nim. That’s all.”

Her smile deepens, and the corners of her eyes crinkle. “That’s lovely to know. You two have always been inseparable — even when it was all about work. Your dynamic… it’s always been something special. I’m glad to see it back.”

You glance at Jeongguk, silently begging him to cut in, to say something that might redirect the course of the conversation. But he’s no help — only a smug little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Sit together, you two. Why are you across from her?” she says with a light scold, motioning for Jeongguk to move beside you. He follows far too easily, sliding into the seat next to yours with a faint grin still playing on his lips.

You take the opportunity to not-so-gently step on his shoe under the table.

He swallows a grunt, his jaw tightening as he barely holds in a sound, which earns a small snort from you. You hope she missed it.

“Ah, my beautiful children,” she says, clasping her hands together with a content sigh. “It’s been too long. Was it Chuseok when we last saw each other? A year ago?” Her gaze lingers on you, fond and a little wistful.

“Yes, Eomma-nim,” you reply, trying to keep your voice even.

“Where my little Ggukie wasn’t there.” Her eyes soften, not angry, but full of quiet sadness. “This is the perfect timing for you to attend another family celebration, together this time.”

Jeongguk straightens slightly, his brows drawing in. “What’s the occasion?”

She gives him a look — not quite scolding, not quite hurt, just enough disappointment to make him pause. “Jeon Jeongguk, you can’t possibly be that busy to forget your own mother’s birthday.”

He hesitates, fingers brushing the rim of his glass before he suddenly lifts it and knocks back the rest of the whiskey in one clean go — too quick to be casual. “Ah… no, I didn’t forget,” eyes flicker toward you after – the list you wrote lingers between a shared look.

“Thought you were celebrating next weekend?” he tries pointing out as if that was the plan all along. “I was going to drop by then.”

You appreciate his effort but Mrs. Jeon has always been hard to get by. It’s why you struggled with her the most when it came to coming up with excuses for your missing husband, her son, over the past few years. It used to come by easy until you’ve used up every reason in your book.

His mother raises a brow. “No, that’s when your brother’s in Jeju. I told you it’s tonight.”

Jeongguk nods slowly, his jaw tightening just a little. Silence threads between the three of you. You wait for him – no, you expect him – to come up with excuses like he’s always did. Before, he would’ve dodged this easily – out of town trips, client dinners, shoots he couldn’t move. But now, you don’t understand why he’s stumbling, why he’s acting like you have for all these years.

Guilt hits you. You never meant to put him in this spot. You don’t even know why he’s struggling with something that should’ve been easy.

“It won’t run late,” his mother cuts through the silence brightly. “Just a small party with some business partners and family. And your favorite cheesecake you two introduced me to – it’s my favorite now too. Made sure to get it from the same place you did.”

You want to tell Mrs. Jeon that it’s no longer her son’s favorite. She should know that. Your families aren’t being kept from the truth anymore. Her change in behavior digs a deeper grave for confusion.

With hands tied, you nod once, quiet and clear. Jeongguk answers shortly after, low and sure. “We’ll stop by, Eomma.”

Mrs. Jeon clasps her hands together, absolutely delighted. “Ah, that’s all I needed to hear. I’m going to set an extra seat for the two of you – together this time. No last-minute work emergencies, understood? Sweetheart, tell your mother to come as well if she’s not too busy still enjoying her retirement.”

The two of you nod in agreement. Your mother-in-law finally says her goodbye. The moment she’s finally disappeared out of the lounge, you both let out quiet breaths you didn’t know you were holding.

You don’t look at him when you speak. “What does your mother know?”

“She misses you.”

“Not what I asked, Gguk.”

He sighs. “Our parents know what they know. The rest of the family doesn’t. It’s better if you skip tonight. It’s on your list anyway.” The edge in his voice catches you off guard. You can’t pin point what exactly so you push further.  

“If that’s the case, why is Eomma acting like everything’s fine? What have you been telling her?”

“Nothing!” Jeongguk’s answer comes to quick, too loud. Earns a few stares from the tables nearby. “She probably thinks if she acts like it, say things out loud, it’ll become true.”

You finally look at him. Tried to search for answers in his eyes, answers you obviously couldn’t get from his mouth. But he avoids you – stares at the empty glass on the table instead. You desperately want to know what he means. Want to know if he’s still talking about his mother.

“Does she know it doesn’t work like that?”

Jeongguk doesn’t answer. Just drifts the conversation. “You don’t have to go. I’ll come up with an excuse. If Eomma gets mad, I’ll take the blow. About time I did.”

You don’t say anything. Just quietly gather the prints from the table, slipping them into your bag. Then a soft ‘bye’ leaves your lips before you walk out of the lounge—carrying more questions your mind can handle.

Jeongguk straightens his cuffs as he stands in front of the mirror, making sure he’s all set as if he hasn’t done that for the past two hours. A dark button-up, slacks pressed clean — simple, neat, just the way his mother likes. He breathes slowly and reaches for the gift on the table, a delicate ribbon tied around the box of hand cream sets she’d mentioned offhandedly weeks ago.

The watch on his wrist tells he’s stalled long enough.

He slips into his shoes and heads out.

The drive to his parents’ house in Hannam passes in a blur — streets familiar, traffic slow and predictable. It’s not like their family home in Busan, but it’s where memories have settled when his family first moved, where holidays are still celebrated, where his mother has redecorated the walls enough times to finally call it their home.

The sky’s turned a dusky gold, the city softening into evening. His parents’ house glow in welcome, lanterns already strung across the backyard, fairy lights peeking through the dining room curtains. He parks, steps out. The front door is already cracked open, the soft sound of music filtering through.

The house buzzes with soft chatter and laughter. A handful of guests are scattered through the living and dining areas — cousins catching up, a few family friends sharing drinks, and business partners politely exchanging small talk.

Jeongguk spots his brother near the bar, already enjoying a glass of whiskey.

“About time you showed up,” his brother calls out with a grin. “Eomma’s birthday party can officially start.”

Jeongguk offers a tired smile. “Sorry. Made it though.”

Their father joins them, hands him a drink, which he downs in one go, hoping to wash down the nerves he knows won’t leave him tonight. “If you plan on driving, go easy.”

“Unless you’re staying over?” his brother chimes in, raising a brow.

“No. Got work tomorrow,” Jeongguk answers simply, even though he’s taken a few days off. Doesn’t say it. Just knows he can’t stay at his parents’ house where too many memories and disappointments weigh on him the moment he’s stepped in.

“Jeongguk,” his mother’s already approaching him, with a radiant and calm smile. “I was starting to think you’d come up with another excuse.”

“Save the scolding for later, Eomma. It’s your birthday—don’t stress.”

“You're the one who gives me stress, Gguk-ah.” She tuts, lightly pinching his cheek before looking around. Her smile falters just a little. “She’s not with you?”

Jeongguk forces a smile, hoping it’s enough to pass. “She’s just running late. Caught up with work.”

She hums. Lets it go to greet a group of business partners, his father following close behind.

“She’s not coming, is she?” His brother pours him another drink, like he already knows the answer.

Is proven right when Jeongguk drowns the drink again, eyes lingering on the front door as if it was going to change anything.  

Soft classical music hums from the corner speaker, blending with the quiet clinking of wine glasses and the murmur of conversation. Warm overhead lights cast a glow over the carefully set table — a tasteful spread of small bites, flowers, wine bottles already halfway down.

Jeongguk moves through the crowd slowly, a drink in hand, nodding and smiling as he’s pulled into brief conversations.

A few chuckles. His cousin nudges him, raising a brow. ”You haven’t aged a day, Jeongguk-ah. What’s your secret?”

He shakes his head. “Work keeps me young.”

The dining area had started to fill — his aunts chatting while pouring makgeolli, his uncle already halfway into a debate with his brother about stocks. Plates passed from hand to hand, laughter rolled from room to room

But as Jeongguk nears his seat, his eyes land on the chair next to his, reserved for you. He hovers for a second. Debates whether to pull it out or ignore it altogether. Ends up not touching it.

Instead, he took his own seat, quietly smoothing down the napkin on his lap as the conversations carried on around him. Someone nudged a dish of banchan toward him.

His mother moved through the room with practiced ease, checking that everyone had enough to eat, calling across the table to nieces and nephews she hadn’t seen in months, refilling drinks for guests with a proud, glowing energy only birthdays could bring.

“She really went all out this year,” his brother said under his breath, leaning toward him. “Even got those fancy floating candles again.”

Jeongguk smiled faintly. “She deserves it.”

Someone raised a toast midway through the first round of soup. “To the most youthful and sharpest woman in the room!”

Glasses clinked. Cheers followed.

The evening moves along. Small conversations continue to float between bites of food. Jeongguk tries to stay present. Nods when needed. Answers when spoken to. But his focus keeps slipping. It’s not because of his fifth glass of whiskey. That’s never been a problem. His tolerance is strong.

He just feels drained. Like the night is stretching longer than it should.

Jeongguk knows tonight is about his mother. It’s her special day. He’s missed a few of her birthdays over the years. But he’ll make it up to her – like he always does. Some other time. Some other way.

But he just wants to go home. Sure, that place is quiet too – filled with worst nightmares lately that he has to face – but at least there, he doesn’t have to pretend. Doesn’t have to smile when he’s not sure how.

For now, he just needs to get through the evening without breaking.

Another toast had just ended when the doorbell chimed.

It barely cut through the noise at first — just a polite sound beneath the hum of conversation and clatter of cutlery. Jeongguk’s mother glanced toward the entryway, brows rising. "Ah, that must be another colleague," she’s already making her way toward the door with a practiced hostess smile.

He pays no attention. Just finishes his food. Reaches for his glass. Stops halfway when his mother returns with someone familiar beside her.

The hallway light spills behind you. Simple but elegant. A cream-toned dress that hit just below the knee, delicate at the shoulders, hugging your shape in a way that wasn’t loud—but enough to make the room fall quieter for a second. Hair loosely done, a soft gloss on your lips.

Jeongguk’s grip around his glass tightened before he realized.

His mother beamed, hand gently on your back as she ushered you in. “She made it,” she announced with far too much joy to mask.

Conversations resumed. A few new faces looked toward you with curious smiles, someone whispered your name. You offer a polite bow to the guests, some family members you’ve seen from previous gatherings, your eyes only briefly scanning the room before they stopped on him.

There was the smallest pause.

And then you walked toward a seat – the one beside him.

[evilkitten3]

yyyyeah i'm from the states and that's just not true.

it's true that the education people get varies wildly, but the idea that we simply don't have access to non-usamerican books and culture is nonsense, and the whole "put on a list and disappeared for engaging with foreign stuff" bit even more so.

"we aren't taught about anything outside the us" we are. a lot of it isn't true, but we're definitely taught at least a little bit (and have access to much more)

"we don't see foreign news" true, we usually read american newspapers and watch american tv channels and listen to american radio stations. however we have the internet, and english being possibly the biggest lingua franca in history means you can find almost anything with english subtitiles.

"we don't read foreign books" this one kinda fascinates me bc while it's true that the majority of books read in the states are from western countries, many of those authors weren't from here. they were, y'know, foreigners. shakespeare, dickens, christie, coelho (the alchemist was originally written in portuguese and i know for sure some of us read that one in high school), tolkien, carroll, nabokov, eco, etc- we have plenty of foreign books.

"rarely are we exposed to foreign culture" literally everyone and their grandmother knows about anime. there are 21 usamerican anime conventions in the rest of this month alone, and every single state has or has had at least one scheduled this year. america has a huge amount of immigrants, we see all kinds of cultures. there is not a single state in the country that has under 20,000 people born outside the usa.

as for "put on a list and disappeared". most enforced disappearances by the us government have happened to prisoners of war (the war on terror, namely), poor and black/brown people in chicago, and venezuelans as of earlier this year. i have not been able to find any evidence that born usamerican citizens - particularly white born usamerican citizens - have an extensive history of being "put on a list and disappeared" by the government.

i guarantee you that person's been exposed to plenty foreign things, tho i concede they might not have seen or heard said things with how far their head is lodged up their ass

"you don't get it, the usa is a fascist country full of government propaganda, and our rights as women and queer people are constantly attacked!! you have no idea what that's like!!" i'm hungarian 👍

[starsapphire]

i understand the tim hate for meta reasons but 90s tim is so enjoyable and fun and his chronic foot in mouth disease has so much potential for great comedy

is tim telling dick that the death of the flying graysons was one of his worst memories a good thing? no. is it deeply fucking funny? yes.

is tim saying "and robin! :D" after bruce says "don't you know you can't kill batman and nightwing?" a good thing? no. is his complete inability to read the room about this so fucking funny? yes.

bruce and dick both having an internal ping-pong match between "he's such a good kid" and "trying not to throw hands with a 13 year old" because he's so earnest and wants to do what he thinks is right but he is such a little shit and so tone deaf, it's a gorgeous train wreck

tim is SO funny especially in the late 80s–⁠early 90s comics and i think a lot of it is because writers really were having so much fun writing him being A Teenage Boy. and ofc that involves him being kind of shit at reading the room and thinking before he speaks. like yeah of course he's a little tactless, he's a 9th grader and he's new to all of this!!!! if he always said the most respectful, tactful line possible and was never annoying or accidentally rude then 1) he would not be an accurate teenage boy and 2) he would suck as a character. how boring!!!!!

of course his chronic foot in mouth syndrome often ends up being worse than the average teenage boy's might because. you know. he's robin, and also he's spending all his free time with two guys who are notably Tragic Orphans and who have (recently!) lost a young family member. and he really is just so well-meaning and devoted and he dedicates himself to knowing about people, and it all comes together to make him a massive accidental asshole. and they can't even be mad at him about it because he has those big wet earnest eyes. it's so fucking funny

all that said, i think people (not you just like. people in general) tend to miss or ignore that it's Very Much part of tim's long-term character development that we see him go from being just. utterly incapable of thinking before he speaks or pulling his foot out of his mouth in the early 90s to being very methodical in his words and actions and recognizing the power and weight of what he says, as we see by the end of new earth canon in the late 2000s–2011. so you get people being like "wow tim is an asshole who has no tact ever" instead of realizing that while he's tactless as a kid (as all kids are), he is well removed from that by the time he's 18. (but he doesn't take his foot out of his mouth entirely. and i never want him to)

[acrux-rising]

sick and tired (but never of you)

ʚ♡ɞ synopsis how the aot men take care of you when you're sick ʚ♡ɞ wc 663 ʚ♡ɞ feat. e. jaeger, l. ackerman a. arlert, j. kirstein, r. braun, p. galliard

ʚ♡ɞ eren jaeger エレン・イェーガー

tries so hard to take care of you, he really does. but one thing’s for sure - he can’t cook for shit and has absolutely no idea how to take care of another human being (since he rarely gets sick himself)

googles your symptoms, inadvertently stressing you out

“you coughed, like, three times in a row… i think you might have pneumonia”

makes sure you hydrate well, and is literally at your beck and call the whole time, tending to your every need to make sure you get well as soon as possible 

he hates seeing you in pain, after all

ʚ♡ɞ levi ackerman リヴァイ・アッカーマン

honestly? the best possible caretaker you could ask for

first thing he does is put on a mask and disinfect every surface you might have come into contact with. (if he owned a hazmat suit, he would wear it.)

makes you herbal teas or warm broth and gives you your meds regularly on the dot like a strict nurse

he’s not one to express his love for you verbally, but you’ll wake up to your favourite book on the nightstand, or your favourite meal on the dining table as you stumble out of your bedroom in a daze, still wrapped in your warm blanket

"better not complain about how you can't taste anything. would you rather have hypertension?"

ʚ♡ɞ jean kirstein ジャン・キルシュタイン

complains a lot in the beginning (“i told you it was going to be cold out, and you still insisted you didn’t need a jacket! when are you going to learn?”) of course he says this while tucking you in and tenderly brushing your hair out of your face

actually enjoys taking care of you and spoils you rotten - hot, comforting meals, massages, and your favourite movies that he normally refuses to watch, but he’ll make an exception this time

tries to be cool about it but his heart melts when you smile up at him and say thank you in that hoarse but still sweet voice of yours (what a big softie…)

"it's insane how pretty you look even when you're sick"

ʚ♡ɞ armin arlert アルミン・アルレルト

is an absolute administrative machine. he wakes up at the crack of dawn to switch off all your morning alarms, and calls in sick on your behalf.

when you wake up (around noon), he’s sitting by your bedside reading a book, whispering a gentle “good morning” to you

not the best at cooking, but he makes you soup and frankly, the love he put into it is more than enough to make you feel better instantly

takes your temperature when you’re asleep, making sure not to wake you

“right now, you need rest. don’t worry, love, i’ve got everything covered.”

ʚ♡ɞ reiner braun ライナー・ブラウン

this man runs hot all the time, so you know his cuddles are the absolute best. you wake up to a pair of strong arms around you, enveloping you in a comforting warmth

carries you everywhere without question (putting his muscles to good use)

moves all his work to your room, not letting you out of his sight for even a second - that’s how precious you are to him

gives death stares to the neighbours’ kids when they make too much noise playing in the yard

“you’ll get sick too if you stay here like this!”   “don’ care… jus’ wanna be here with you”

ʚ♡ɞ porco galliard ポルコ・ガリアード

panics when you cough too hard, though he tries to hide it. he sits at the foot of your bed scrolling on his phone while glancing at you every 30 seconds

grumbles about you getting germs on him but dutifully stays by your side the whole time anyway

calls pieck for some much-needed advice (like eren, he does not know how to take care of a whole other person)

if you say thank you or show appreciation in any way or form, he gets all flustered immediately 

“yeah, yeah, just don’t die or whatever.”

-> to aot masterlist -> to main masterlist

© acrux-rising

[dina-winchester]

Drunk Shenanigans ²

Read part one here

Pairing: Dean x you | Established relationship

Summary: Dean’s the one who gets hammered this time.. oops

Warning: cuteness overload, tiny bit of insecurity (cause we know how Dean gets sometimes), fluff, caretaker reader, no use of Y/N

A/N: I wish I could take care of him like this for real… sigh.. anyway, I really hope you like this one! Let me know what you think :)

Dean stumbles back into the motel room, boots scuffing loudly against the tile, keys rattling as he misses the hook on the wall three times before clattering to the floor. You barely manage to catch the door before it slams.

“Whoooa,” he laughs, grinning wide as he turns toward you, arms flopping open like he might sweep the whole room into a hug. “There she is. My girl. My—my…” He squints at you. “…My everything.”

You blink. “Dean, how much did you drink?”

He holds up four fingers. “Not that much.”

“Baby, that’s ten fingers.”

He stares at his hands like they betrayed him. “…Shit.”

You walk over, steadying him as he starts to lean—right into you, all six feet of warm, sleepy, drunken Winchester, your arms wrapping around him instinctively, steadying him. “You smell like a bar floor.”

Dean hums and nuzzles into your neck like a damn cat. “You smell like heaven. Like cinnamon and calm. Like I’d fall asleep inside you if I could.”

You snort softly, threading your fingers into his hair. “Jesus, honey.”

He grins against your skin. “Marry me.”

“Maybe when you stop smelling like cheap whiskey and regret.”

“’S fair,” he mumbles, words slurring now.

You laugh despite yourself, wrapping an arm around him as he sways. “C’mon, let’s get you outta those boots, baby.”

He resists weakly, arms winding tight around you like he thinks he’s strong right now. “Nooo, no, wait—wait—I didn’t tell you. You’re the best thing. The best ever. Like if—if God made pie outta sunshine and sass? That’s you.”

You snort. “Pie?”

“I said what I said.”

You gently guide him toward the bed, and he flops onto it dramatically, limbs sprawled everywhere like a starfish. You kneel and start unlacing his boots, fingers patient, tender.

“Hey,” he says as you try to unlace it. “Y’know you’re too good for me, right?”

You pause, hands still on his boot, and lift your eyes to meet his. He looks so open in that moment. Raw. Breakable.

“Like, you… you’re all smart, and soft, and real nice to look at, and I’m just this—this mess,” he goes on, gesturing vaguely. “Just broken parts in a leather jacket.”

Your heart clenches, sudden and sharp, at how easy it is for him to believe that and you shake your head immediately, voice firm but soft. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“No, it’s not,” you whisper, pulling off his boot and tossing it aside, then moving to the other. “You are loyal and brave and stubborn in all the right ways. You love harder than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re not broken, Dean. You’ve just… been through a lot. But that’s not the same thing.”

He stares at you and you swallow, heart tugging at the way his eyes suddenly look a little glassy.

You crawl up to sit next to him after removing his other boot and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently over the stubble along his jaw. “You are so much more than what you think.”

He reaches for you, fingers fumbling until he catches your hand and tugs you to lay down onto the bed beside him. “I don’t say it enough. I love you, like… love you. With all my stupid, stubborn, monster-huntin’ heart.”

You smile softly, brushing his hair back from his face. “I know, baby. And I love you, with all of mine.”

He leans in, pressing a clumsy kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, missing your mouth entirely. “Good. Gotta remind you. Don’t let me forget, okay?”

You settle in beside him, pulling the blanket over both of you and curling your fingers through his.

“Never,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

He’s asleep within minutes—snoring, one arm slung protectively over your waist, mouth slightly open.

You stroke his hair once more, settling in close.

And you know in the morning, he’s gonna pretend none of this happened.

But you’ll remember. Every messy, lovable, hammered word.

And as you lie there, watching him breathe, you make a silent promise: You’ll always remind him who he is—until he believes it, too.

[ms-demeanor]

So you've said you use your personal computer for work stuff, I got a question. I'm approaching a similar situation and I know you're as paranoid as I am (probably more) about privacy and such. So how do you balance that need for privacy with a computer that handles work things? I'd like to use this device for some of my stuff too, but also I need it for work. How can I keep the two separate? How do you?

Literally by uninstalling the agent. If the agent isn't installed on my computer there's nothing they can see except anything that might happen to be visible when you share your screen.

Before Gary sold the business this was easier because I basically never shared my screen for anything, now I share my screen a lot and a combination of that, the fact that this is my personal computer, and that I have (checks notes) 24 windows with 400+ tabs, this has led to me scrambling to switch to a work appropriate tab when I accidentally clicked into the cryptpad document for Alien Space Sluts instead of into the shared word document about company culture.

What I've started doing is strictly policing tab groups, I've removed the "anarchist resources" folder from my bookmarks toolbar, and I make sure that I empty the search bar before I share my screen. If I'm feeling SUPER paranoid or I'm going to be in a meeting where it would be catastrophic to share the wrong tab I'll use a different browser (I've got 4 or 5 installed browsers because yeah sometimes it's a better idea to use Opera - which is like putting on a nice button down shirt and a pair of khakis - instead of Firefox - which is like wearing a crop top with a pentagram on it over cutoff shorts and fishnets in terms of my general formality and history of sharing ass pics in cutoff shorts and fishnets in each browser.

I did also change the placeholder title from "Alien Space Sluts" to "Alien Space Story" so that the acronym is still ASS but there's now no chance of a tab header reading SPACE SLUTS if I'm recording my screen.

I did also bury my porn folder deep in a collection of nested folders.

But almost all of what I do for work is browser-based, so I can get away with a lot of separation just by using the more Formal browsers for work and uninstalling the RMM agent when I'm not actively using it.

[autrytonic]

big strong cowboy arthur can't get enough of his little wife?

It's so overdone but I cannot stop reading and writing this trope over and over again.

Content below the cut (18+/MDNI)

The Exception

Arthur is a big man.

You’ve known it since the moment he first stood over you with those storm-colored eyes and that low, gravel-scraped voice.

But being his wife? That’s when you truly start to feel the weight of it.

The way his broad chest wraps around your back at night, how his hands span your waist like you’re something delicate and warm he don’t ever want to let go of.

Sometimes, while you’re just going about your day—folding shirts, sweeping the floor, tending to stew—and next thing you know, he’s sliding up behind you, palms already spread over your hips, voice thick with heat as he says, “Ain’t a damn thing in this world as pretty as the sight of you just bein’ mine.”

He’s addicted to how petite you are against him. The way your head fits right under his chin when he pulls you in close. How your thighs fall apart with the slightest nudge from his knee.

He teases you sometimes; pulls you up off the floor like you weigh nothing, tosses you over his shoulder just to hear you squeal, but there’s nothing mean in it. It’s reverent. You’re his, and Arthur don’t take that lightly.

When you sit in his lap, he wraps his arms around you like he’s shielding you from the whole goddamn world. He kisses your temple, your neck, your shoulder, even the tips of your fingers if he’s feeling tender. “Ain’t never get tired of this,” he mumbles into your skin. “You feel too good, darlin’. Too goddamn sweet.”

In the quiet hours, when it’s just you and him and the rustle of canvas around your tent, Arthur becomes a man of fewer words, but a hell of a lot more feeling.

He strips you soft and slow, calloused hands glidin’ over your curves like he’s afraid you might vanish if he’s too rough. Not that he always holds back. Not when he’s buried deep and groaning your name against your throat, saying how tight you are, how good you take him.

He’ll press your wrists into the mattress, kiss the corner of your mouth, then look you straight in the eye and murmur, “You were made for me, weren’t you, pretty thing?”

He’s not shy about how much he wants you, either. Sometimes he’ll come back from a job dirty and bruised, still pull you into his lap like you’re the only thing that’ll make the ache go away. You’ll straddle him, lips barely grazing, and he’ll say it with a growl, “Don’t care how tired I am. I need you. Just like this.”

And when you give in, when you start to grind, when you whisper his name and tug his shirt off over that broad back; he’ll lift you up and carry you to bed without so much as a breath between. Like having you is as natural as drawing breath.

Arthur don’t worship nothin’. Not money, not a god, not Dutch Van der Linde’s dream. But you? You, his sweet, fierce, little wife? You’re the exception.

[torasplanet]

❝𝙆𝙄𝙎𝙎 𝙇𝘼𝙉𝘿.ᐟ❞

NERD! A. ARLERT + PARTY GIRL! F. READER

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ; you and armin have always been close...a little too close some might say but a couple drinks and an edible at a concert makes you grow closer than before.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 ; smut, fluffy(maybe??) public makeout, public fingering, emo!eren because I haven't seen that before, goth!mikasa, college au, reader can also be perceived as scene, praise, and reader skin color not mentioned

marls notes 2 u(*´▽｀*) ; comeback era! i couldn't resist but write a little something after seeing this armin fanart!! creds to @musapylsa for her art!! wrote this in one night

“C’mon, wake up. I can’t do all your work, y’know?” Armin says in your ear as you raise your head to look up at him with a pout. Armin’s cheeks bloom slightly pink at the sight of your messy hair sprawled on your face with that pout.

Sitting up, you groan as you lean back in your chair. “I’m not sleeping. I’m just thinkin’...” You mutter not listening to a single word of this boring ass lecture. You’re too tired, too. All you’ve been thinking about is what to do tonight, it feels like forever since you’ve done something. I mean, yes, you have gone out a lot, but when do you not? You just want to do something with your friends because they’re not party people like you are, well, maybe Eren is, but still not the level you are.

You’ve been so busy thinking about something you all would enjoy. “About what? You never think.” Armin says with a smile as you playfully glare at him. You slowly begin to copy some of his notes as you sigh.

“I was thinking about what to do tonight.” You admit as you lean almost on the blonde’s shoulder to read his handwriting. Armin nearly bursts into flames at how close you are to him, he gets so flustered easily around you. He just can’t help it when you’re so beautiful. 

“Didn’t you go out last night? Would it kill you to stay inside for a day?” Armin asks. He doesn’t get how you can constantly go outside and go party, he’s not really a party person. It’s mainly because he doesn’t like being there when you’re talking to other people, he gets jealous, and then he gets upset because he doesn’t have the right to be jealous. Armin’s feelings for you have always been more than a friend’s feelings should be, and to be honest, you have as well.

Those blue eyes and blonde hair have captivated you since high school, and you’ve never made a move, but you can’t help but let your stare linger when he’s around. “Probably. I wanted to do something with you guys because you don’t like parties, and I was thinking about something we could do.” You said, shrugging your shoulders. You know that parties aren’t all college is about, but there has to be some balance between all of that work and the parties, because all of this work is definitely a hassle.

An idea then sparks in your mind. “Oh! We could go to a concert, there’s one happening late tonight!” You say it louder than a whisper. A concert is the perfect idea, all four of you guys have gone to countless concerts together over the years, and it’s been fantastic.

Armin blinks at you through his glasses. “How are you going to manage getting tickets this last minute?” He asks in disbelief. Over the years and all the people that he’s known over the years, you’re the craziest person he’s known; not in the terms of partying or drinking, but because you always have the craziest ideas that always somehow manage to work out.

I mean, what do you mean you’re going to find four tickets to a concert the same day? “I’ll find out somehow. What, you don’t trust me?” You say flirtatiously as you lean close to Armin’s face, watching with glee as his face brightens up with a blush. Armin avoids eye contact with you as he feels his pants getting tighter.

“No, no! I do…I just…I don’t know.” Armin stammers over his words as you just stare up into him, fluttering your eyelashes. You grin and laugh. Armin is such a cutie, you’ve always wanted to make a move on him, but…you’ve been too scared that maybe it would mess up the group. Not to sound cocky but you were sure that he wouldn’t reject you, the way he looks at you, the way he’d be so nervous whenever you were a bit close. You were sure you could have him, but it wasn’t worth losing your other friends over. You just wanted all of you to be friends and…you were waiting for this to pass.

I guess it was taking a bit too long to pass. “Then trust me. We’ll be there tonight.” You say with a grin as you place your hand on his thigh, not missing the hard-on in his jeans and definitely not missing how it gets harder with your fingers placed on the seam of his pant leg.

Armin doubted you, even though he knew that you would find some way to do it. Just when he thought you would never get the tickets for this 8:30 PM concert and it was turning 7:00, he and Eren get that call from you with Mikasa in the background screaming about how fucking lucky the four of you are and how they should get ready. He couldn’t believe his ears. 

“I think tonight, I’m definitely gonna make a move on Mikasa,” Eren says as he smudges his eyeliner in the mirror, as Armin pulls his green tee over the white long-sleeve. Armin almost breaks his neck with how fast he turns to Eren. It’s not like it’s that new of a topic, he’s heard Eren drunkenly talking about how fucking hot he thinks Mikasa is but he usually assumed it’s just guy talk. Lots of guys will call their female friends hot and never want to make a move, not because they can’t, but just because he doesn’t want to date her, but Eren has never talked about Mikasa like this before.

“What? You actually are gonna like…ask her out?” Armin says, trying to figure out the right words. He’s been talking the same in terms of this since middle school, if he had a quarter for every time someone would make fun of him for that, he wouldn’t be in student debt right now.

Eren turns his head as he pauses his smudges. “I mean, yeah. You think she’s not into me?” Eren says, turning back toward the mirror. Of course, Armin doesn’t think that everyone he’s ever met has been into Eren. He just thinks that maybe this will create a rift in the friend group, like maybe they’ll start dating and just start doing things on their own and never meet up with him or you ever again.

Armin hums nervously. “No…maybe she does, but like, don’t you think it’ll kind of ruin the group?” Armin asks. Not so much worried about them but about his feelings for you, he’s thought that maybe acting on his feelings would affect all of you guys’ friendship. If Eren doesn’t care and if Mikasa doesn’t care, then maybe that’s a green light.

Eren shrugs. “No, do you think so? I think it’ll just be us but like me and Mikasa are fucking like you and [Y/N].” He says with a teasing tone, which makes Armin blush. Eren had never stopped teasing Armin for his crush on you since he found out about it. Armin always denies it, but Eren does not believe him.

Eren has not believed him since the day he woke up to Armin moaning your name in his sleep. “We’re not! I don’t know why you keep saying that.” Armin says, embarrassed as he rolls his eyes. “And I don’t think it’d be weird…” He finishes as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

The brunette turns around and faces his childhood friend with a smug grin. “Great then…Maybe, I don’t know, maybe you can start tonight. Finally show her that new piercing. Because I’m sure, and Mikasa would be relieved once you two finally get together.” Eren says, gesturing to Armin’s mouth. Armin groans in annoyance. He hadn’t been intentionally hiding his new tongue piercing, you just hadn’t noticed for some reason. I mean, you definitely noticed how in the first few weeks of getting his piercing, he would speak in whispers and barely open his mouth, but after a few excuses, you stopped pushing it.

Armin did not even want the piercing. Eren had convinced him to get it because he was getting his eyebrow pierced and didn’t want to do it alone, claiming that the eyebrow piercing pain would be so harsh, and Armin should get a lighter piercing to help him with it. Armin fell for that bullshit just to have his tongue swollen and painful for weeks while Eren walked around pain free with a new piercing.

“You are so crude. We’re just really close friends, nothing about it.” Armin says, adjusting his glasses. Eren does not buy that excuse whatsoever, but he decides not to push it anymore because it will ultimately end in nothing.

Eren pushes his hair back into a man bun before shrugging. “Whatever, we should head over there, right?” He says, and Armin nods, watching as the man digs in his drawer and slips something in his pocket, but he doesn’t bother to say anything about it.

The two men walk over to the door and open it just to see the two girls in front of it with Mikasa’s hand raised as if she were getting ready to knock. “Oh hey, we were literally about to get you.” She says with a smile on her face, although Armin is having a hard time focusing on her words when he’s too busy staring at you. That skirt is so flowy, and that tank hugs you so nicely that he can’t help but stare at your chest. With how the two of you girls are dressed, he feels as though he’s underdressed with just his dark-washed jeans and his layered shirts. 

You notice his gaze on your body and grin, but you don’t say anything about it. “We got drinks. We can pregame on the train. let’s go.” You say, grinning at the boys, smiling a bit too hard at the blonde. You guys would be taking the train if it wasn’t for Eren crashing his fucking car when he was drunk-driving but instead, you’re on the train to a concert. 

It doesn’t take too long to get to the train station, and it doesn’t take long for the train to come either. “I know you’re not really a drinker, so you won’t need that much.” You say to Armin as you two sit in a two-seater on the train in front of Eren and Mikasa, who had sat in the same seat. Armin gulps as you open up the bottle before holding it out to him. From how eager you are to drink with him, it makes him think you had a pregame for the pregame. “Open up, baby boy.” You say, grabbing hold of his chin, which makes the blonde’s legs shake in excitement. His hands go to the bottom of his shirt in an effort to pull it down and cover his boner.

Armin opens his mouth as he lifts his head in the air before you begin to pour the alcohol into his mouth until half of it is gone. Your gaze lingers on his Adam's apple bobbing from his swallowing rather than the colored liquid that falls into his mouth. Armin finally swallows the last bit and lets his lips linger on the opening, seemingly drinking down whatever was dripping, and looks at you as his face contorts into one of displeasure as if he had eaten an entire lemon. “Gross. You couldn’t have found a better tasting one?” Armin mutters as he sticks his tongue out in disgust, and there’s a gleam in your eyes.

You look as if you had just seen an angel yourself. “When did you get that?” You ask, almost dazed as you point at the ball on the flat of his tongue.

Armin sucks his tongue back into his mouth as he gulps. “A couple of weeks ago, I think a month. Eren convinced me.” He says with an awkward chuckle as he scratches the back of his neck, still coming back from the awful taste in his mouth. 

You think you’ll thank Eren for the rest of your life for this. You feel your panties sticking to your body just at the mere sight of that, and all the thoughts flood through your brain about what he could do with that. “It…it looks good.” You say with a ridiculous, silly smile on your face as you down the rest of the drink. Armin’s eyes linger on your lips wrapped around the opening, it’s almost like an indirect kiss, but it is not enough for him. He needs your lips on his, he needs your lips everywhere on his body.

“You guys want edibles?” Eren says, and Armin nods a bit too fast. Armin has always been more of a smoker rather than a drinker, and by smoker, he means eating edibles. It makes him feel better than drinking because he doesn’t think when he’s high; drinking makes him think so much that he can’t control what he’s saying. He needs to be both to balance it out. “There’s only two, so share,” Eren says, handing the boy a gummy.

Armin smiles before biting half of the gummy and offering it to you. You grin at the boy before leaning down and eating the other half, biting his fingers just a little bit with the most shit-eating smile on your face in the world. Armin is about to cum in his pants if you don’t stop what you’re doing. He knows you know what you’re doing. You know it too. You smile at him before leaning on his side and resting your head against his shoulder.

The blonde has always disliked how much of a tease you were. Grabbing his thigh, lying on him, holding him, you know the things that make him tick, and you know what makes his jeans get tighter, and you use it against him. It makes him so angry, but he can never stay angry with you. How could anyone? “You got those tongue piercings for the girls, huh? Want to learn new tricks to show off?” You say, peering up at Armin, who feels as though the alcohol is already hitting him. 

He scoffs, ignoring the heat on his face. “No…I just thought it’d be cool…” Armin says, shrugging his shoulders. Armin won’t lie, well, at least not in his head, he had thought about it a lot. He had thought about you a lot since this tongue piercing. He had thought about how bad he wanted to pry those legs apart and have his fit of blonde locks stuffed between them with his glasses in your hand as the other grabs at his hair as if he’s going to send you into a coma with how the ball of piercing rolls onto your clit.

Your moans would echo into his ears as he tried to stop himself from pouncing on you and ruining you. It’s been the center of his fantasy for a while, he’s dreamt about it while sneaking his hands in his pants, hoping Eren would be out for the rest of the night. Or when he’s in the bathroom with the shower running, trying to cover his whimpers. 

“Really? I’m surprised a little pervert like you hasn’t thought of anything like that, I definitely would.” You tease before looking away, but Armin does not miss how your hand lands on his thigh. He furrows his brows as he shuffles in his seat, already feeling the reality in front of him warping slightly. “Oh, we’re here.” You say as you remove your hand before standing from your seat as the train stops.

Armin says nothing as he stands as well and follows the three of you out of the train. You’ve always been touchy, but something about tonight makes him feel different than before. Maybe it’s his talk with Eren earlier and the fact that he knows that neither Eren nor Mikasa would care if anything happened between the two of you. Maybe he will do something tonight. I mean, he’s already seen Eren and Mikasa flirting not so subtly tonight. You don’t care. He doesn’t care. It won’t be that big of a deal.

By the time you four get to the concert, you’re about thirty minutes late and already drunk off your asses with all the bottles gone as well as high. “Oh my god! We got here just in time for the perfect song!” You screech as soon as you get done showing the security the tickets. Grabbing Mikasa’s hand, you drag her into the standing section, stumbling over your feet, listening to her laugh aloud. 

The two of you sing aloud with the lyrics, not caring if you can’t feel your throat in the morning or how sore your vocal cords will get. You smile at the black-haired girl as you run your fingers through her hair, which she has let down for once in a while. “You look so pretty tonight!” You scream at her as she smiles with her black lipstick stretching across her lips.

The girl stares at you with glee. “You look even better,” Mikasa says, and you giggle at her. “Can I tell you a secret?” She asks to get closer to whisper to you. The girl glances a few feet in front of you at the boys, particularly Eren, and you notice this and know the secret is about him, so you nod. “I think I wanna…take Eren to bed tonight? We’ve been flirting all night.” Mikasa says with a grin as she briefly licks her lips without her lipstick faltering, not a bit, you might have to ask her what brand that is after all of this happens.

“Really? I mean, I’m not hating but…you don’t think that’ll like fuck up all of our group? Y’know what happened after that whole Sasha and Niccolo thing.” You say. Ever since you’ve witnessed how Sasha, Connie, and Jean have been a tad bit distant since they started dating, you didn’t want that to happen to you four. It’s not like they stopped being friends, but they just weren’t the same as before. That was your biggest fear.

Mikasa shrugged. “I don’t think so. I think it’ll be the same, we won’t make out in front of you all. It’ll be us, but sometimes we’ll do our own thing like normally, y’know?” She says, and you nod before smiling and laughing. Maybe it really isn’t that big of a deal, then if you do something with Armin, now you feel all silly for thinking that all of that time. 

“Then yeah. You should, I can get him for you!” You say getting excited about Mikasa finally finding someone for her. For eras and phases of your lives, you’ve heard Mikasa talking about finding her true love, and maybe Eren might not be that person, but you’re still happy for her for finding someone anyway!

Mikasa gasps. “You don’t have to, we can have our time, and then I could do that.” She says, and you shake your head at her words. You don’t take it very personally if she wants to spend time with Eren tonight, because with this newly found information, you have a new mission on hand.

You give her a sly grin this time. “Don’t worry, Armin will entertain me while you deal with emo over there.” You say, and Mikasa returns your grin before leaning forward to gently peck your cheek as a thanks for your actions. It’s not so much a sacrifice, it’s almost like a blessing for Mikasa because you can’t remember the last time she’s gotten some dick.

Slipping away from the girl, you head over to the two boys who are chatting and tap on Eren’s shoulder. “Mika wants you over there.” You say with a smirk on your glossy lips. Eren’s eyes light up with joy, and he shares a look with his best friend before scooting away toward the gothic girl, as you stay where you are watching as he does so. Once they start talking, you shift your gaze over to the boy you’re left with. It seems he had already been staring at you, not sparing a glance for his friend.

“Hey.” You say loud enough he can hear as you gaze up at him through your lashes, blinking slowly. Armin stares at you as if he had never seen you a day in his life with those reddened scleras through the clear glass of his square glasses that hang low on his nose. 

'Cause the only thing you're takin' is your clothes off. Go 'head, girl, strip it down, close your mouth

“Hey.” He says more as a whisper, but you can still hear him. You smile as you hear your favorite song play; you hadn’t even realized it had been playing this entire time. It’s almost the perfect moment for it to settle in.

Oh yeah, don't hold back, let it out. (Nothing is going to change my love for you)

Armin looks so ethereal right now. The green lights from the stage flash behind him, and he stares at you whilst you walk just a bit closer to him. Your arms slink over his shoulders as you sway to the song, and his body slowly follows your own. His hands fall to your hips, holding them as if they belong there and for both of you. Armin swears that he can’t feel anything in this moment except you.

(Nothing is going to change my love for you). Oh girl, don't hold back, let it out. (Nothing is going to change my love for you) (Nothing is going to change my love for you)Don't hold back, let it out

He can’t see anything except your eyes staring at him. He can’t hear anything but your lips whispering the lyrics of the song. Fuck, he can’t even hear the song. You’re the only thing he notices right now. Armin would have it no other way. When your hands fall from his shoulders, his hands fall from your waist as he watches you screech your heart out to the song, knowing that it was your favorite. It was newbie knowledge that it was your favorite. Of course, he’s known this since high school.

(Nothing is going to change my love for you) (Nothing is going to change my love for you)

Oh yeah, don't hold back

Armin’s heart speeds up as he watches you, his breathing grows faster and harsher as his lips quirk up in the slightest smirk. Eventually, you notice his stare and lack of movement and stare back at him, expecting something to be wrong, but he says nothing. Armin smiles at you as he breathes heavily. The light flashes between his smiles, and almost as if it’s a movie, every time the light gets bright once more, he gets closer. Your heart speeds up as you stand frozen, watching him move.

I got a brand new place, I think I've seen it twice all year; I can't remember how it looks inside. So you can picture how my life's been

Armin doesn’t even register what he’s doing; he can barely register that he’s moving, and it’s not because of his lack of sobriety. It’s because of you. All he wants is you, and his body knows it much more than his mind does. “Can I kiss you?” He mutters once he’s face-to-face with you. He can feel your breath on his lips as he stares down at you through his glasses. His tongue pokes from his lips, and he runs it over his lips, making them soft and bouncy.

I went from staring at the same four walls for 21 years, to seein' the whole world in just 12 months. Been gone for so long, I might have just found God

For once, a man has made you anxious. Your hands are shaky along with your thighs, your panties are completely soaked as you stare at the glasses-clad man. Looking to your side, you see that Mikasa and Eren have already begun to make out. Without a thought in your mind, you turn back to Armin, who is patiently awaiting your answer, already knowing what it is. You grab hold of his fogged-up glasses and push them up into his bangs before smashing your lips into his own soft ones.

Well, probably not, if I keep my habits up

You press your lips against his before allowing his tongue to poke into your mouth. His hands grab at your hips harsher than the first time as he presses his body roughly against yours as if there’s a wall behind you that’d support the two of you. Your hands hold onto his jaw as you two make out passionately, moaning and groaning into the kiss. It feels like you’ve been waiting for ages for this, and you have. Armin has as well, and he kisses as such.

Probably not if I can't keep up with lovin'. And I can't stand talkin' to brand new girls

He’s hungry. Starving almost. His boner pokes you harshly as he tries to get relief by grinding into you. One of his hands falls to your skirt and slowly sneaks up it and between your thighs, which have gotten stuck together at this point. You separate your legs, giving him access to do what he pleases with you. The pads of his fingers slide over your underwear that aren't hiding anything, his finger practically drags along your slit which makes you shiver.

Only bitches down to fuck when you shower them with ones. Probably not if my n*ggas round them up

Armin runs his tongue over your lip, the ball of his tongue ring lingering on your bottom lip before he briefly detaches his lips from yours to look at you. “This all for me?” Armin mutters into your ear as his lips go to your neck. You whine with a nod as you feel his fingers sliding past the band of your panties and sliding them to the side as if they were nothing but a door holding him back from the gift of life. “How many nights you did this to yourself, thinkin’ about me?” Armin whispers to you as his thumb circles around your clit which makes you squirm almost closer your legs on him but a bite on your neck makes you stop.

Probably not if we take 'em to my spot

“Every.” You mutter as his fingers slip into your hole immediately poking at the sweetest spot in your body as he continues to toy with your clit. This sweet spot is what Armin has wanted to poke at his entire life of knowing you. “Every…night.” You moan as he bites and sucks onto your neck rolling his tongue ring over the base of your neck. You feel your release coming closer and closer, and squeeze your legs tight.

Probably not if I tweak all day just to sleep at night. Goddamn, I'm high

“C’mon, be good. Let me make you feel good.” Armin mutters flirtatiously to you as his fingers move faster inside of you, chasing that release almost as if it’s his own. He wants it to be his own but from how hard his dick is inside of his boxers, he’s sure he can get it just from watching your face twist and having your thighs trap his hands.

My doctor told me to stop. And he gave me somethin' to pop

You mutter apologies as you grip onto his shoulders, rocking your hips into his hand desperately as if it’s your first orgasm ever. “Armin, I’m cumming. Oh god, I love you so much. Please, ugh!”

You moan louder than you anticipated, but you’re sure no one can hear you, and even if they can, they don’t care. “Uhn! ‘Min!” You mewl into him as you come undone all onto his hand, filthying his fingers and the insides of your thighs. 

And I mix it up with some Adderall. And I wait to get to the top

“That’s it. So good for me. My pretty girl.” Armin says as he slowly pulls his hands from you, as you whine, wanting another one. You want more and more until you can’t take it anymore. Armin groans as he shows you your slick all over his fingers as it shines in the flashing lights. He ticks that pierced tongue of his out, and you drowsily gaze at the piercing and how his fingers slide onto his tongue, and your slick paints his pink tongue along with the silver ball. He sucks on his fingers moaning at your taste.

And I mix it up with some alcohol, and I pour it up in a shot. I don't care about you, why you worried 'bout me?

The sweetest taste he’d ever had. He can’t tell if it actually tastes that amazing or if it’s fascination for you taking over his entire body, even if his taste buds. “Tastes so nice.” He says, looking at you with those half-lidded eyes. You stare at him and tiredly shove his glasses back onto his face, missing the nerdy look of the man. He leans forward and kisses you once more with the same passionate feeling but less roughness. Less neediness because he has you.

All I want is that smoke, give me all of that smoke. Last week was my rough week

Armin has never been one to get what he wants in this world, and he certainly did not think he would be able to score a girl he’s had a crush on since sophomore year, but here he is. He can say he’s won at life officially. Jean, Eren, and Connie’s sex stories have nothing on this, he doesn’t care what they have to say. Armin’s lips leave yours, and you whine at the missing feeling, making him grin. “Want to be my girlfriend?” He asks, putting his hand on your waist.

I'm still drippin' down from my nose. And I don't know how to drive, I make my driver get high

You roll your eyes at him. “I just told you I loved you when you were fingering me, is that even a question?” You say as you huff out a breath, still coming down from your orgasm that Armin had just provided for you.

But if he goes under that 110, believe my driver will get fired. And I don't got any friends, I got XO in my bloodwork

Armin laughs and hugs you with no words coming from him. “I’m glad I wasn’t just a hit and miss.” He mutters, and you smile. Armin could never be a hit and miss for you, you knew that the day you had Armin you wouldn’t desire to have anyone else and for a guy who looks and talks as though he has never felt a woman’s touch or anyone’s touch for that matter, he knows how to work his fingers pretty fucking well. Maybe all those wet dreams he had and all that porn did something right.

And I'm posted up down in Florida. Ft. Lauderdale to that MIA

He eventually detaches his form from you and just lets one arm wrap around your waist as he focuses on the concert for once this night, even though he still cannot believe what he has achieved tonight. Looking over, he sees Eren, who briefly looks over at him, and they share a look. Eren bites his lip and looks over at you with raised eyebrows, and Armin grins at him, not noticing how you and Mikasa share the same look.

Cold drinks with Grand Marnier. To the break of dawn, Kahlua milk

Mikasa gives you a thumbs-up, which switches to a thumbs-down, asking how it went, but you’re so exhausted that you cannot even lift your arm. You give your friend a sleepy smile as you lean further into Armin and watch the dots connect in her mind until she grins at you. Still, you don’t think she’ll understand what has just happened, let alone the feeling of it all, not only pleasure-wise but mentally. Maybe she’ll just have to hear about it on a rant tomorrow because you’re definitely not letting Armin leave your side until he’s under the blankets with you.

©torasplanet .ᐟ reblogs and likes are very appreciated! pls do not repost!!

[joyswonderland1108]

"I" Never Said That - A Quick Jikook + Korean Breakdown

Okay, so I've seen a lot of people quoting JK saying "I Listened to the song" during Jin's live and obviously the jobless haters had a thing to say about Jimin's comment that followed up.

Let me clear this up for anyone confused, especially if you don't speak Korean or if Weverse translations have you rolling your eyes.

JK: “곡 들었는데” Read: "Gok Deurothneunde" Translation: “Listened to the song, but/and…”

Was "I" mentionned in Korean?

Because here's the thing, JK never said "I". There was no "I" “나” in that sentence. Subjects (like “I”) are often dropped if they’re understood from context. Man just said "Listened to the song" in the most vague neutral, classic Korean way that lets the context do the work. Could've been "I", could've been "We", could've been "a mysterious third party in the corner". We don't know. But it wasn't explicitly "I".

What does -는데 (-neunde) add? It’s a sentence connector, like: “I listened to the song, and…” “I listened to the song, but…” Or even: “I listened to the song, you know?”

Friendly reminder that Korean is not just English in Hangul. A lot gets lost in translation — tone, nuance, context, cultural layers — and if you don’t know at least the basics of how Korean works, you’re probably misunderstanding 90% of what’s being said. But go off, I guess.

Enter Jimin, casually dropping: "같이 들었음" Read: Gachi deureosseum. Translation: “Listened together.” Aka: "Hey! Just so we're clear on the lore here, it was a duo moment"

Not in a dramatic "Notice us" way, just casually setting the record straight like: "Let's not forget i was right there too. You're not gonna soft-launch me out of this narrative or take solo credit for it.

Again, no explicit subject is mentioned: No “we” (우리는 / 우리가) Just the word 같이 = “together,” and the casual/abbreviated verb 들었음, which is a very informal way to say “listened.”

Bonus? JK follows with "석포타임?" Read: Seokpo ta-im? Translation: “Seokpo time?”

Which, considering this was Jin's live, is probably code for "Time to enjoy Seokjin's music?" or "Jin hour has begun?"

Because :

석 (Seok) likely comes from Seokjin

포 (po) might come from a nickname, shortened form of something, or could be an inside joke. (Unless i'm missing something or my memory is playing tricks on me)

"Seokpo Time?" is probably JK invoking a familiar phrase or tradition linked to Jin — especially since they were listening to his song.

In conclusion :

No, JK didn't claim solo credit.

No, Jimin wasn't being dramatic.

Yes, they listened to Don't Say You Love Me together.

And yes, Jin is somewhere sipping tea, knowing full well they're all tuned into his drop.

[skycowboys]

hi larn ! i've been scrolling and scrolling through your page, i'm so obsessed with your work. any fun facts or trivia about scrubs or peg that you can share? they're such a goofy duo. playing around with making an oc for this world and i want to give scrubs all the cool cameos in my oc's lore that he deserves

thanks :) --atlas

Hi there! Glad you made it to my blog :)

Ahhhh Scrubs, our favorite bandit. You know what, let's do a little lore-drop! Grab some coffee, and get ready to read lol

Born as "Hennison Foyer", he had no true home growing up, instead spending early life with a seedy traveling merchant caravan. There were more snake-oil salesmen in the caravan than actual goods merchants. He learned quickly that strong-arming others rewarded him with more resources, and there were hardly any ethics enforced to stop him. He left the caravan to drift in his early teens, and relied on petty crime for just about everything.

The years that followed were a consistent climbing of the ladder of infamy. Scrubs made a name for himself for being particularly ruthless and for having the guts to pull off dangerous or high-risk heists. From hitting banks to stealing a flashy pegasus, then having the gall to actually fly her and be recognized from a long ways off, most pilots and law enforcement have a mix of respect and disdain for him. He's opportunistic, skilled, and fearless - acting on impulse rather than premeditating against victims. While Scrubs has been plaguing mainly the Talon Lands for a solid 15 years now, he has been spotted in every region over the years.

Said flashy pegasus is Peg. The meanest mare on the planet. She's temperamental, loves to bite, and takes no prisoners. But Peg is also smart. Despite their adversarial "relationship", she's the only pegasus that will tolerate his intense flying, and he's the only pilot that will tolerate her attitude.

Scrubs is now in his upper 30s or so and mainly haunts the Talon Lands, making a "living" via preying on solo pilots and stealing their money/supplies. He also scavenges the remains of ill-fated prospector groups and explorers. The Talon Lands are famous for its legends of gold easily mined from exposed veins amongst the many thin chasms. And while there definitely is gold there, the landscape is a hostile wasteland - hot, windy, and rife with bandits, so actually finding, mining, and escaping with any gold at all is nearly impossible. Scrubs is undeniably top-dog among the riffraff, and they scatter like crows before a vulture when he finds something to scavenge or a victim to steal from.

His sightings recently have been centered in the north of his territory, near a little homestead that's used as a rest-stop by traveling merchants and prospectors. It's situated on beautiful, clear water creek, which has created an oasis for whoever might be hardy enough to live that close to bandit country.

It's run by a woman named Bonnie along with her two adopted kids, and has turned the rundown homestead into a tidy little business. Many assume that Scrubs is using the homestead to case new victims instead of hunting them down out in the wastelands, but rumors whisper that Bonnie has some sort of dirt on him because he, nor any other bandit, have ever robbed her. Or perhaps they have a deal worked out, but he's only been directly witnessed on the homestead property once or twice by traveling tenants so there's a lot of speculation. Bonnie changes the subject when asked about it.

-

So yeah, there's a little rundown on Scrubs. He'll show up in Greenhorn Trail (which I'll be officially announcing soon!!), and I may or may not have another comic outlined that features him specifically lol. But I need to finish Molly's comic first!

~ Larn

--

Sky Cowboys Discord Community | Patreon | Art Prints

[heartsforjh]

𝕗𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕒𝕪

pairings: jack hughes x fem!reader

warnings: pretty much just pure fluff and the fact that it’s my writing 🥀 not proof read! i wrote this so late last night, and i’m incredibly sick rn so it might not be the best. i just wanted to put smth out there!

word count: 1.4k

summary: reader has an idea to make jack’s birthday a little more interesting.

a/n: i think y’all knew this was coming. this is a post for jack’s birthday! i’m aware it’s may 16th rn, but who am i if not posting things late?

“Gosh. I’m so old now,” your boyfriend groans, rubbing the side of his face.

He’s just woken up on his twenty-fourth birthday! He’s not even out of bed yet before complaining about the new age he’s been saddled with. 

You giggle, reaching down from where you’re sitting up in the bed, and grabbing his hand off of his face. “Right?!” 

“Hey! What? You’re not supposed to agree,” he frowns, gently caressing the back of your hand with his thumb. 

You press a soft kiss to his knuckles. “Well, I am… unc.” 

“Alright. See, that’s what we’re definitely not gonna do,” he chuckles, pulling you back down to lay on him. 

You quickly pick your head back up. “It’s okay to be old, honey. Embrace it.” 

“Oh, you’re so funny, aren’t you?” he lteases. 

You smile, proud of your quips. “I like to think so. Besides, I’ve got an idea to cheer my old man up while he’s coming to terms with this horrible realization.” 

“Yeah? What’s your idea, baby?” he asks, yawning as he finishes his sentence. 

You yawn immediately after, shooting him a glare. He just laughs and you decide to move on peacefully this time. You’re actually quite excited for this idea you’ve thought up. 

“You know how restaurants offer free items for birthdays?” you start, making sure he’s paying attention. When he nods, confirming that he’s not too tired to follow along, you continue. “You could try to just… survive off of that for the day.” 

“That sounds fun. That’s a lot of fast food though, no?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you. 

You knew he’d say something about that. “Well… sure, babe, but it’s summer time! Plus, it’s just for one day! I think you’ll live!” 

“You’re right. Let’s do it,” he says, sitting up. 

Your face lights up, and you swiftly get off of the bed. “Yes! Thank you! I can’t wait!” 

“IHOP, baby. This stuff is so good. You can get free birthday pancakes,” you tell Jack, holding your phone with the directions pulled up. “Okay, make a left and then you should see it.” 

Jack smiles at your excitement, and soon you’re pulling into the restaurant. The two of you enter, hand in hand, and the waitress sits you in a booth. 

“What are you gonna get, baby? You won’t be able to get free pancakes,” Jack looks at you curiously. 

You smile at him being so considerate, but you’ve been planning this out for a while. “Don’t worry about me. I know exactly what I want.” 

When the waitress comes back, you place your orders of drinks and food. The majority of the wait for it to come out is you just rambling while Jack is tiredly listening. 

The food comes out in a decent amount of time. Jack’s eyes widen, seeing the large pancake stack being set in front of him. 

“Wow, babe! Look at this! It’s huge!” he laughs, cutting into it. 

You eat your own meal while watching him excitedly tear into his pancakes. You don’t think you’ve seen him this pumped in a while. Who knew a fun, free breakfast would do this for the birthday boy? 

You and Jack have since gone home with full bellies. You took an incredible nap together, and are now just chilling in bed, watching a movie. Your head is laid on his chest as he gently rubs his hand up and down your arm. 

“So, babe… what’s for lunch?” Jack breaks the silence. 

You smile, glancing up at him. “You’re hungry again?” 

“Hey. Don’t judge. I’ve got a big appetite,” he pouts. 

“I’m not judging!” you sit up, looking down at him. “How hungry are you?” 

He thinks for a moment. “Kind of just want a snack, but I don’t think there’s a way to just get something little, is there?” 

“No, we can! We could go to the Auntie Anne’s that's in the mall and get a pretzel. They offer that on birthdays,” you suggest. 

Jack’s eyes light up. “Oh! Yeah! Pretzels are my favorite. Let’s go do that.” 

You and Jack arrive at the mall, entering hand in hand. You get to the food court, and you guys order. 

Once your food comes out, you suggest another idea to Jack. “Do you want to shop around?” 

“Good idea. Let’s go see if they have hockey cards,” he says, already having taken several bites from his pretzel. 

While the mall did have hockey cards, Jack was not satisfied with the ones he got. He’s pretty much been sulking the entire time since you got home over his three Quinn Hughes pulls.

“I’m sorry you got no cards of yourself, honey, but maybe dinner will cheer you up,” you offer, trying to lighten the mood after a good chunk of time has passed. 

He looks over at you from where he’s standing at the kitchen island, messing with all of the gifts he just opened from you. “Yeah, maybe. Where are we gonna go?” 

“Red Robin gives birthday people a free burger!” you smile. 

Jack looks up, and immediately smiles when he sees yours. “Okay. I’m down. Let’s do it.” 

The two of you arrive at the restaurant and find a booth, sliding in across from each other. The day is starting to end so you really want to make sure Jack has had a good one. 

Again, you place your orders and wait. “So, J… have you had fun?” 

“What? Like today?” he asks, but doesn’t give you the chance to answer before he’s moving on. “Yeah, of course. It’s been great. I got to hang with my pretty girl, and eat all kinds of different food. Every guy’s dream, yaknow?” 

“I actually didn’t know, but that is good to hear. I’m glad,” you laugh. 

Jack chuckles with you. “Thank you so much for this day, babe. You made it special. I guess it’s not so bad getting this old.” 

You playfully roll your eyes at his dramatics. “Mind you, you just turned twenty-four.” 

“Ouch. Why would you rub it in?” he says, feigning hurt. He’s even got his hand on his chest, clutching his pearls. This guy. 

Although corny, you can’t help but laugh at his stupid jokes. 

“You’re fine,” you shake your head. “No grey hairs yet!” 

He does that cheeky little smirk to himself, and you just know he’s got something to say. “Key word—yet. It won’t be like that for long if I keep you around.” 

“Oh! If you keep me around?!” you point out, eyes wide. 

“No, no. Not what I meant!” he panics a little, but when he notices your silent giggling at his expression, he relaxes. “You’re so mean to me.” 

“I’m mean, but you’re the one implying that I’m not even a permanent part of your life,” you counter, raising your eyebrows at him. 

He frowns. “Okay, okay. Let’s stop. I don’t like these jokes. I love you. You’re stuck with me forever. I promise, I am not letting you go anywhere.” 

“I’m not gonna lie, that sounds a little crazy. I love you too, though!” you say, patting his hand. 

Your gesture makes Jack laugh… again. “I’m glad you're willing to look past the crazy, cause I meant it. You’ve got no choice but to stick around.” 

You shoot your boyfriend a look, completely amused at his word choice. Soon, the food arrives at your table and the both of you dig in. 

When you’re all done eating, you opt to drive on the way back home. After a lot of disagreement, Jack does eventually comply. However, he’s clearly been moping since the very second he reluctantly handed you the keys. He claims it’s his “job” to drive you everywhere. Nevertheless, he’s got to deal with it. You have one last place to stop. 

“Why are we here?” Jack asks, looking out the car window at the big Baskin Robbins sign. 

You look at him with a small smile. “Free ice cream.” 

“Oh, no way! They do that?!” he asks, his face telling you that he’s thrilled. 

You just nod, shutting off the car. “Mhm.” 

“Ah… this is so unhealthy, though, isn’t it? Pancakes, pretzels, burgers, and now ice cream,” he goes down the list of foods you’ve treated yourselves to today. 

You lean back in your seat, watching as you can see the gears turning in his mind, trying to think this through. “Kind of, but you probably need to bulk up anyways. It won’t hurt nothing.” 

“I’m just saying, I’ve got a diet to maintain here,” he quips. 

You look at him, dumbfounded at his sass, and ability to argue about anything. “It’s the offseason! Do you want cool birthday dessert or not?!” 

“Good point,” he grins, unbuckling his seatbelt.

tags: @beenucks @nic0-hischier @puckmedude @joesnumerouno @alex-wotton @puckfics @editzcp @r0wdymaize86 @macklin-celebrini-71 @quillycrow @rainyvalentines @alwaysclassyeagle @ruinix @greensnakegobblep @whitegirlsworld @dancerbailey3 @cheesecakeinahole @hwalllllllelujah @alexxavicry @minhaimaginacao @chaoticallymessy13 @puckinghockeygirl @camillyb @sweetophillia @kell9rs @jooniezstarz @bunbunbl0gs @macka @voidvannie

join the taglist here! :)