#I Demand To Be Taken Seriously.

[wokeuplaughing]

gotta talk to my boss about transphobic coworker again despite feeling like this any time I talk to her about important issues

[feroluce]

I love the fact that the Silvermane Guards are essentially just a very devoted "We Love Gepard Landau" fanclub, and I desperately need for all of them to get into ship wars about it behind their Captain's back. The soldiers are all split into several factions:

Some of them ship him with Sampo 🛡💣 (enemies to lovers/hateship enjoyers; this does not necessarily mean they like Sampo- in fact it's more like most of them want to sic their Captain on him skzjsmdm)

Some of them ship him with Bronya 👑🛡 (knight and princess trope enjoyers and also a sorta-kinda "that is our mom and dad" type of deal; this faction gets riled up and ridiculously hypes Gepard up to Bronya every time she comes down to the frontlines mskdkxmd)

Some of them ship him with the trailblazer 🛡💫 (the smallest and newest faction, but steadily gaining!)

Some of them ship him with Pela ❄🛡 (workplace romance enjoyers; Gepard once charged out into the Fragmentum alone to save Pela from an expedition gone horribly wrong, and when this faction saw Gepard carrying Pela back princess style they threw a whole party)

Some of them ship him with Dunn 🛡🗡 (also workplace romance; Dunn is very flattered by this because yeah wrong Landau, but wow, the troops really think he's good enough to woo the Captain, what an honor)

And some of them ship themselves with the Captain 🛡❤ (yumejoshi enjoyers; this faction throws a massive group effort every Valentine's Day and are also all very supportive of each other)

The final faction is an odd one, because they're defined not by who they ship their beloved Captain Gepard with, but rather by who they don't ship him with. Their name is generally shortened to the A.B.S. Group- Anybody BUT Sampo 🚫💣 DKSZJJSMSOZ

[illiteratealliterate]

Save a kiss for me tonight

Wait for me, no compromise

Promise you, it won't be long

Just save a little bit of your lovin', baby

[nevesmose]

Strategy boards occupied much of the hall’s space. These were thronged by Iron Warriors arguing how best to represent the hrud in their simulated battles. Their recent setbacks had exercised their minds as much as their anger, and ambitious warsmiths could see the glory to be won if they concocted a winning strategy. In truth, all warsmiths were ambitious, and they all had different ideas. In the first place, they could not agree how best to test their theories. Those that favoured the purity of wood block formations and outcomes decided by the casting of ten-sided dice argued bitterly with the proponents of cogitator-assisted hololith battle simulators.

Perturabo: The Hammer of Olympia by Guy Haley.

[desertduality]

Hello Raven Desertduality I’m currently sitting in my car waiting for my friend to get back. In the meantime I must ask: how you feeling?

I’m feeling alright <3 I’m on vacation and haven’t been online a lot, which is nice but I’m missing my freedom to watch a ton of wild life episodes, I’ve only seen Scar’s so far but I want to sit down and watch Grian’s in a minute :3

As far as the stuff going on with the hermitcraft community, I’m doing okay there, too. I don’t want to talk about it too much bc I don’t have anything new or important to say, but I think it’s being handled in the best way it can be; it’s one of the more dignified and professional responses I’ve seen. Things like this usually set off my anxiety but I’m actually pretty calm right now. That being said I am sending hugs and comfort to everyone who needs it <3

[greyeyedmonster-18]

So I know that obviously you are Dr Grey, but if you were to compare yourself to the other characters with your own personality traits, who would you be?

I feel you are a Yang or Arizona maybe... I am more of a season one George 😅

Hope you're doing well ❤️

Oh my gosh, sorry this has been SITTING here for a minute. I absolutely love this question. and i love absolutely any excuse to talk about greys anatomy.

but yes, i am in fact doctor grey, but Cristina Yang is absooooolutely more me. Theres a line that Burke says to her season 1 thats like “you dont ask alot of questions and youre hard to get to know” during the thanksgiving episode which hit SO HOME. as a person who doesnt “chat” alot (which can rub and does rub people the wrong way). I also think there is something…heartbreakingly poetic about cristina literally fixing hearts for a living and consistently choosing men who use her to fix them.

but—the reserved and blunt and ambitious and confident nature of Yang is definitely me (“im not beautiful im brilliant”) and her like…softness and kindness once she trusts you. however, i also deeeeeeply identify with season like 1-3 izzy stevens and navigating the world of medicine/healthcare erc as a “stereotypically attractive” person. I however would probably not fuck a ghost.

(and george and izzy season one are friends) ♥️♥️♥️♥️

[innocet]

Having a strong aversion to being infantilized/borderline paranoid insecurity about my perceived immaturity while also being autistic and ace and cafab non-binary is. Well it’s a hell of a combo I’ll tell you what

[tiktaalic]

wow just found out that alexandra daddario is not in fact the same person as the actress who played yennefer in the witcher

i would know those tiktokian cerulean orbs anywhere .

[eterniityblooms]

thinking about posting an open starter, but i can't decide between kaboom or naasfilrah or maybe lokzii🤔

[lizard-ratt]

This idea got stuck in my head, not to be taken too seriously. If you find any typos, no you didn't <3

Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

--------------------------------------

Steve Harrington knew how to haggle. Raised by the most cutthroat business man in all of the state of Indiana, if not the United States as a whole, he knew the ins and outs of getting the best deal possible. He used this to his advantage a lot more than anyone knew.

The first time he brought out Steven Elias Harrington, son of Richard Jay Harrington was when he first got forced to sign NDAs to keep quiet about everything going on in Hawkins, Indiana. Despite only having shown up at the end, he still had a fat stack of papers to work through.

And he worked through the entire thing, taking his sweet precious time to read the entire thing, word for word. He signed nothing that day, letting the government employees watch as he took notes on every little detail, humming to himself, scoffing, and overall being as annoying about it as possible.

"These are terrible. Do better." He didn't say that exactly, but it was the general consensus as he gave them a verbal dressing down that would make his father proud (and his father was never proud). He made demands for money, for protections, for anything that he could think of. By the end, the government had agreed to provide him with a heaping helping of cash (enough to buy a house and help him live a comfortable life for the next twenty-or-so odd years), government provided medical insurance (complete coverage for the rest of his life), and a full ride scholarship for any college he wanted to go to.

Suffice to say he had rung that towel dry of anything he could ask of it. He knew that those government employees wished nothing but the worst for him, but he was satisfied with what he got, and he happily signed the fifth NDA they provided him with, flourishing his signature with relish.

Then, he became even more wrapped up in the whole thing when Dustin Henderson decided to raise a baby Demogorgon in his basement. A lot happened in those forty-eight hours, but the main one was that he got attached to the little shits, so he told them in no uncertain terms that they were not to sign anything before he looked the paperwork over.

They scoffed, rolled their eyes, but ultimately agreed. It was a very amusing few days, to say the least. The government agents (the same ones as last time) showed up with their giant stacks of paper, and came face to face with Steven Elias Harrington, and he could just see them die a little bit inside. He could practically hear what remained of their souls wither to dust.

And again, he forced them to sit as he read through every NDA, taking notes, scoffing, humming, and overall being a nuisance to them and their time. Then, he got the kids' attentions (as their eyes started to glaze over after minute thirty) and began his process.

The looks of pure awe, too, would be treasured for a very long time as he got their college tuitions paid for, government-provided medical insurance for the rest of their lives, and of course a big fat pile of cash ready for when they would turn seventeen years old. Each of them had enough money lined up for them that they wouldn't have to worry about anything until maybe their late fifties to early sixties if they were bad with their money.

And of course, he got himself another big pile of cash and access to the best lawyers in the United States if he would ever have need of it.

After that, he shouldn't have been surprised when everyone came to him for help post-Battle of Starcourt (dubbed by Dustin, of course). This time, he took two solid weeks pushing and pulling Uncle Sam in this direction and that to make sure everyone got what they needed. (Another fat stack of cash for everyone, legal protection for whatever they'd need it for, and a cover story that made everyone look the best that they possibly could. He also got college payment for Robin, since she wasn't there the first time, as well as the same medical insurance he got everyone else). Those government employees looked at Steve like he was the devil himself.

"You kinda are," Robin told him one day, after Steve recounted the specifics. "I mean, you are bleeding the government dry."

He gave her a grin. "Absolutely, I am."

Then, he and his merry band of misfits saved the world, stopping the Upside Down for good. The same government goons showed up, and instead of doing what they tried to do the previous time, they just came to Steve with all of the NDAs, and asked in the most sarcastically professional voice imaginable, "Are these up to your standers, Mr. Harrington?"

He gave his charming, King Steve smile and told them that he'd read it over. In the hospital room that held Max and Eddie, Steve pulled up a table and allowed everyone to watch as he flipped page after page, noting down the loophole phrases and weak protections, and every single trap meant to put them into a worse-off position and he threw it in the government's faces.

In return, he forced everything his heart could imagine out of them.

Another giant hunk of change for each of them.

Eddie Munson free of all charges, effective immediately

Government-provided medical insurance for Eddie Munson for the rest of his long, long life

A cover story so beautiful, so concrete that it got even the most closed minded to look at Steve's People and call them heroes.

A house for Eddie and his Uncle Wayne

"I hope I never see your face ever again," the man told Steve, forgoing all niceties at that point. "You're going to burn in hell."

"I'll save you both a seat," he told him with his sweetest, most charming smile.

The government agents left, and in their wake, Eddie Munson looked at him like he hung the sun, moon, and stars in the sky.

"Wow," was all the metalhead was able to get out for a while. "Just wow."

Robin glanced between Steve and Eddie, leaned into his side and quietly sang, "The lovers, the dreamers, and me."

Now on AO3

[thatonefatgumsimp]

don't mind me, just screeching over international packaging currently

[nevesmose]

Always you do things the most difficult way, and in the most painful manner. You cultivate a martyr’s complex, lurching from man to man, holding out your bleeding wrists so they might see how you hurt yourself. You brood in the shadows when all you want to do is scream, “Look at me!” You are too arrogant to win people over through effort. You expect people to notice you there in the half-darkness, and point and shout out, “There! There is the great Perturabo! See how he labours without complaint!” You came to this court as a precocious child. Your abilities were so prodigious that nobody stopped to look at what you were becoming.

Perturabo: The Hammer of Olympia by Guy Haley

[wwwyzzerdd420]

Fuckin wilds me out when folks ask for accomodations

Not cause I don't think those accommodations should be provided but like... Holy shit how do you DO THAT

[c0llisiion]

DAY 14 — MINCHAN

★ npr, f!reader, double penetration , threesome , softdom!chan, harddom!lmh, dumbification, anal, nicknames — lmk if i missed any!!; W/C: 919

Hello! This is part of my kinktober list! Day14 is officially out <3

This is strictly fiction. Any scenario or situation should not be taken seriously. Please refrain from reading if the topics make you uncomfortable.

[ visuals!! ]

“Just stay still, honey… daddy’s gonna make you feel so good…” Minho said softly as he pushed his fat cock into your tight asshole.

Your head was nuzzled into Chans neck, who was laid back against the headboard. His thick dick fit snug in your fucked-out pussy, your juices coating his length. You shudder as you feel Minhos cock inch further in you. Your breathing was ragged and heavy as you felt him push himself. Chans hand held the back of your thighs, drawing soothing circles on your flesh to relax your muscles.

“Fuck-“ Minho choked out as he was stretching out your hole, the globs of lube and your arousal helping just a bit. “Relax sweetie… you’re in safe hands… dont want Minho to feel uncomfortable, do we…?” Chan whispered in your ear, his voice soft and smooth, giving you the warmth of comfort.

You shook your head against his neck and muttered out a small ‘okay’ before relaxing yourself.

You hadn’t even realized you were tensed. Minhos cocked slipped in easily, making you shiver and arch your back against Chan's body.

Chan chuckles and runs a finger down your spine. Your body shudders at the different sensations. “You okay? Feels good?” Minho asks you, wanting to make sure you’re okay before starting to move. You nod and encourage him.

Minho glances at Chan, giving the older man a signal to start moving.

You were all of a sudden sent to heaven as you felt them move in you. It was a struggle at first. Minho and Chan tried to find a steady rhythm before eventually fucking into you at the same pace. Your head was hung low against Chan's collarbone, and your eyes were blown wide, almost drooling as they fucked into your holes. The feeling of both of their cocks penetrating your walls was making you writhe and roll your eyes to the back of your head.

“Fuck yeah baby… you like that shit, don’t you?” Minhos voice was gruff and dark as his hips started stretching your asshole out.

You whimper when you feel chan match the younger one’s energy. “Does it feel good, pretty? Yeah? Channies not hurting you, right?” Chan’s voice was delicate and calm in contrast to Minhos.

You shook your head and whined against his neck. Your body felt like jelly, and your mind was starting to get clouded. Minho pulled your head back, grabbing your hair in a ponytail. “look at him while you’re speaking. Don’t you know manners?” He whispered roughly in your ears, his other hand grabbing your ass cheeks before giving a small slap.

You cried out at Minhos demand and looked at Chan with your tear-stained eyes. Your forehead sweaty, and your lips are parted.

Chans expression was soft. He had a thin layer of sweat forming on his face. He grabbed your jaw and pushed his fingers in. “You’re doing so well… look at you.. taking mine and minho’s cock together… like a big girl, yeah?” You moaned against his fingers and held onto his wrist.

Your asshole and pussy clenched around their lengths and leaking arousal . Their cocks drilling into you at the same rate.

Minho was relentlessly in his thrusts. He made sure every inch of him was in you. “Oh god… fuck yeah baby… you take dick so well…” he chuckled darkly. Chan laughed along with the younger. “Of course she does… shes a good girl, aint you pretty?” He asks, his wet fingers wrapping around your neck. You nod incoherently. Your body is in a totally different dimension.

“Speak up, darling.” Minho pulled your head back and slapped your face softly.

“Now now.. don’t be harsh with her minho… poor baby is clearly cock drunk…” chans voice was smooth, with a sinister hint behind his words.

Minho glanced at your face and noticed your expression. “See? She is completely out of it… too dumb to even think…” chan smirked and trailed his hand down your body to your clit, flicking the sensitive bud.

You groaned and leaned forward, their cocks still pounding in you. Minho reflected the older man’s smirk. “Is that so, princess? Too dumb to even comprehend anything? Uh-huh?”

You cried out when you felt them go faster. Your hands gripping onto Chan’s biceps for dear life. You turn your face around to look at Minho, who was a panting moaning mess.

“Min…minho…?” You called out to him.

“Yeah doll? What is it?” He looked at you, observing your dazed eyes and sweaty face.

“M-more… n..need more… c-chan…” you were so fucked out to the point you mistakenly called Minho, Chan. 

Minho smirked before looking at the other man who was continuously playing with your clit. “Hear that, Hyung? Our little princess wants more apparently… dont you, princess?” He spanks you.

You whine and nod. Chan pressed against your clit making you moan and cry out a bit too loud. “Is that so? Princess wants more, does she now, huh?” He pretends to think. “Do you think she deserves it, Minho?" Their cocks slow down, completely halting after a moment.

You panic. The loss of penetration was making you tear up. “Hmm… in my opinion, no.” You look at Minho, sad and panicky, who had on a shit-eating smirk. “What? You didn’t like that?” You shook your head, your lower lip trembling. “So desperate…” he kissed your cheek. “What do you say, Hyung?" She’s practically begging for it..” Chan eyed you before sighing and smiling. “Anything for our princess.”

Tags~ @cassies-cookies @minghaosimp @unlikelysublimekryptonite @mamnaimiefrankie @marcoswhore @theyadorevalerie @applejackthebest515 @un-knew @salemluvsmusic @ka0ila @atztrsr @kpopsmutty69 @jisunglyricist @targaryenluvs @yuminhyunn @chansramennn @anylady-fics @marihoneywk @mikaelless

If you want to be part of the taglist, do lmk!! ^^

[lightseoul]

cw. gn!reader, worker!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (25), pining (again, if you look extra closely), a lot of cussing (are we still surprised)

masterlist | part 1 (although ig this makes sense on its own), part 3 (i didn't plan this), part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

“What.”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement—a statement sputtered in the typically demanding way characteristic of the one and only Bakugou Katsuki.

The Bakugou Katsuki who happens to be your boss for a good (debatable) three and a half years now, who you also have to spend overtime with until who knows what time to discuss what’s become rocky employee relations in the Ground Riot agency.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion or irrational annoyance—both, really—before you quickly school your expression into a neutral one. You riffle through the documents rather absentmindedly, avoiding his gaze before shooting back with: “What do you mean what?”

“I meant,” he leans back on his office chair that you know he singlehandedly picked out for its superior ergonomic design because he’s meticulous like that, “what the fuck is wrong with your face.”

“Excuse me?”

Your retort is laced with more indignant anger than intended, but at this point in the night, you cannot for the life of you bring yourself to care about your tone. It’s been a long day, and you weren’t about to let your stupid boss make fun of your appearance, of all things.

Bakugou probably senses the significant change in your demeanor, because his eyes widen in surprise ever so slightly before he sits up and opens his mouth to explain himself.

“You’ve been looking like you accidentally drank spoiled milk for the past hour and the shit aftertaste isn’t going away.” He haughtily shakes his head, and it takes everything in you not to jump him and choke your boss.

To your disdain, however, he continues.

“It’s either you spit it out or I’m going to have to force you to tell me what’s wrong.”

You gape at him. Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn’t that.

As quickly as you can, however, you attempt to regain your bearings and at least try to seem nonchalant, clearing your throat as unbothered as possible to top it all off. “Well, working overtime to iron out office squabbles isn’t exactly my idea of a relaxing Friday night, thank you very much.”

He scoffs. “Bullshit.”

You almost get whiplash from how quickly you look at him. His brazen rudeness—which, right now, is worse than usual which is saying something, mind you—renders you incapable of saying anything aside from another winded: “Excuse me?”

He rolls his eyes. “Miss me with that bullshit, dumbass.”

You feel yourself heat up in irritation. “I thought I told you to stop calling me dumbass.”

“You’d rather I call you princess?”

At that, you break eye contact despite yourself, choosing to stare at his forehead instead. It’s still unnerving—looking at any part of his body, really—but it’s better than looking at him squarely and witnessing the smirk you know has taken over his unfairly handsome features.

Your voice is small, to your chagrin, when you reply. “That’s actually a lot worse.”

The man dares to bark out a laugh.

You continue to metaphorically choke him in your head.

“Okay then, dumbass,” he emphasizes the nickname and you are about 99% sure a pained expression is dancing across your face because Bakugou is observing you with even more amusement before his features settle into a look of seriousness.

“As I was saying before you missed the point entirely—I highly doubt you’re this bothered because of fucking overtime,” he eyes you cautiously before pressing on. “Something’s wrong.”

You don’t know if it’s the exhaustion of the week filled with workplace conflict, or the crushing news you received this morning in the mail, or the very fact that Bakugou, despite his roughness and the annoyingly persistent way he’s been poking at your mood like it’s an itchy scab, is looking at you with genuine concern—but you end up doing it.

You give in.

You feel the tears welling up in your eyes before you even get the chance to deny them permission to, and at the sight of them Bakugou sits up even straighter in alarm—and you don’t know what comes over you because you start laughing so hard, your hand shoots up to your stomach in an attempt to keep it from cramping.

“Oi.”

The expression on his face is so unbelievably baffled that you only end up cackling to yourself more.

It takes a few more minutes before the sillies are fully flushed out of your system and really, it only took you a glance at Bakugou to realize you probably looked demented just now.

Feeling self-conscious all of a sudden, you quickly wipe away the tears in your eyes and muster enough courage to flash him a genuine smile.

To your delight, he flashes you one right back, albeit tentatively—one that is boyish and charming under the rather dim lights of his corner office.

Although he seemingly reboots to his default state because it’s immediately replaced by a frown and followed by: “You’re so weird, you know that?”

You snort and, before you can stop yourself: “Not as weird as my ex.”

At that, Bakugou’s entire countenance changes—he visibly stiffens in his seat and his eyebrows furrow in what you believe is confusion at the sudden mention of your past lover.

Bakugou says nothing, however, and so you take that as a sign to continue.

“Remember that meeting we had last March with Chef Asahi about our collaboration with his restaurant where I was late and you gave me shit for it? And when you asked I told you it was because I just got dumped over the phone?”

He gives you a curt nod, lips tight.

“Well,” you chuckle nervously, feeling embarrassed at your upcoming revelation, “I just found out that that ex is getting married in two months, and I’m invited.”

Neither of you says anything for the next—what feels like—hour.

Until Bakugou takes a sharp inhale, leans forward on his desk, and stares you down straight in the eyes: “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

He scowls at you like you’ve got a pea for a brain. “Don’t make me say it twice, dumbass.”

You frown at his hostility, your own bewilderment chipping away at your already thinning patience. “You’re not saying anything.”

Bakugou sighs, and he looks like what he is about to say next physically pains him.

“I’ll be your fucking date to the wedding.”

tagging. @kitthepurplepotato @chelbyisbord @lovra974 @katsukis1wife @brunnetteiwik

special shoutout to @he3v4n for reading the prequel to this and following thereafter--inadvertently making me check out past writing and get inspired to write this <3

[chenfleur]

melting again

pairing. yang jungwon x y/n ⇝ ft older brother!jake

genre. family by choice au, that one scene from ep 13, fluff, secret relationship

word count. 1.2k

author's note. this drama ended last week and now there is a gaping hole in my chest. i'm trying to get back into writing after a few months and i forgot how hard it is (headinhands) happy december! i hope this month is kind to everyone ♡

masterlist

You’re not exactly sure how long you’ve spent sitting in the fourth floor’s common area, shifting around to find a more comfortable dip in the armchair, uncrossing your legs when the bottom one falls asleep just to cross it over the other. The condensation of your iced coffee dripping down your wrist is a prickly sensation—it demands your attention that, up until now, had been completely focused on burning holes through Yang Jungwon and Jake Sim’s apartment door. 

When the rivulet ends as a small, wet blotch on the sleeve of your blouse, your patience snaps.

There’s a resounding slam of sole against tile as you march up to the door, fingers fumbling with the keypad. “Assholes,” you curse under your breath, impatiently punching in the code you already know by heart. “I reminded them twice yesterday that we’d be having breakfast at Dad’s…”

The door unlocks with a click and a little jingle. Hastily twisting the door handle, you exercise your self-given (and very justified, you’d argue) right to barge into their apartment as if it were your own. 

“Guys!” You slip off your shoes, kicking them to the side. “Where the hell are—”

The obnoxious wave of alcohol that hits your nose makes you stop in your tracks, extinguishing your fuse by forcing you to take in the state of their apartment.

See, your expectations for two twenty-something men living together weren’t high to begin with, but this seemed excessive. The place looks like the morning after a college party, but the fact that you know it was only the two of them last night is what makes it unreasonable.

Random clusters of soju bottles, crumpled beer cans, and half-torn chip bags are strewn all over the place—and there, in all their flushed-face glory, were Jungwon and Jake. Both severely passed out on opposite ends of the couch.

You roll your eyes so hard, they’re practically in the back of your head.

“Jake. Sim. Wake. Up,” you grit out, punctuating each word with a smack to his limp arm. “Seriously, wake up. Did you forget we’re eating with Dad today? Huh?”

Your older brother only groans in his sleep, moving away from your swatting hand and settling back against the couch. There’s a siren in your head urging you to punch him, but you silence it with an irritated sigh.

Then, your eyes fall onto Jungwon. They soften.

Setting your things down, you round the coffee table, kneeling down next to the couch. Your brain is determined to stay annoyed with him for not being ready to leave, but your hand is gentler than you’d hoped for as you shake his shoulder. 

“Jungwon,” you murmur. “Come on, just wake up.”

Not a part of him moves, not even in acknowledgement. A deep sigh leaves your lips as you slowly push yourself up by your knees, about to turn away—but fingers wrap around your wrist, latching on. 

A surprised yelp escapes you as Jungwon tugs you down onto the couch. You fall into place, into the spaces where his body hadn’t already taken up. A sputtered protest is about to leave your lips, one about him being awake the whole time and ignoring you, but it dies on its way out when you feel his arms wrap around your waist. 

Frozen, you blink. It amuses him, based on the way the corners of his lips quirk up ever so slightly. The tip of his nose is cold when it brushes against yours.

“You look pretty,” he mumbles sleepily.

Ten years apart wasn’t enough time for your eyes to learn to handle the sight of Yang Jungwon. They were still so overwhelmed by him—darting everywhere, trying to process his eyes, nose, lips. Trying to process the parts of him that had changed, like his cheeks that are less round than they were when he left for Seoul.

And maybe the fact that the only version of him you remember and truly know is the one from high school—that you had watched him grow up, but not in a way that your insecurity told you actually mattered—is what causes you to fixate on certain things.

Like how his less round cheeks still carry that lingering, rosy tint that you remember. That you try to hold onto.

You strain yourself to harden your gaze. It fails miserably.

“Jungwon, what are you doing?” you whisper urgently. “Jake is right there—”

“He’s asleep,” Jungwon murmurs in response. “Out cold.”

Gaze flitting over to the coffee table, he regards you with a raised brow. “Iced coffee? In winter?”

You glare at him. “What does the temperature of my drinks have to do with the season?”

One of his hands leaves your waist to gently flick your nose, returning to its original post when you open your mouth in protest. “Stupid girl. No wonder you get sick so easily.”

Scoffing, you grumble, “You should go back to Seoul. Piece of shit.” 

You know it’s an empty threat. A miserably thin veil, trying to keep him from looking too closely at the fragment of your heart that physically shakes with fear at the thought of losing him again. Of unknowingly handing him over to a city that doesn’t welcome him. To people who hurt him.

So after the words leave your lips, you curl a little tighter into him. Trying to get his warmth to swallow you and rejuvenate the parts of you that have been aching dully since the day he’d left.

Jungwon watches you through half-lidded eyes the entire time that you’re silent. He carefully takes in the way your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt.

His first instinct is to pry, but he decides that you probably don’t want his first instinct.

“Kiss,” he murmurs instead.

The request catches you off guard, snapping you out of your bleak thoughts. “No,” you purse your lips, trying to push down the small smile that threatens to surface. “No. You’re drunk and you smell.”

“I kiss you when you’re stinky and you won’t do the same?”

“What are you even talking about? I’m never stinky, unlike you right now.”

Jungwon only chuckles, and in the blink of an eye, his lips are on yours in a fleeting kiss. When he pulls away, he’s looking at you again, a pretty smile on his lips at how caught off guard you look.

“You— you can’t just do that—” 

“Says who?” He tilts his head at you with a soft click of his tongue. “Apparently I have a girlfriend who doesn’t know the concept of free will.”

Girlfriend. The idea still makes your head spin. 

You glance over your shoulder to check that Jake is still dead to the world before coming back to Jungwon. “Come on,” you whisper, hand coming up to rest on his hair, twirling a small piece between your fingers. “We’re gonna be late. My dad will get worried and start blowing up my phone again.”

Nodding against the pillow, Jungwon’s cat-like eyes flutter closed again. “Okay.” 

A pause. “Love you.”

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

“Mm,” a coherent part of you manages to hum back. Your lips press a quick, soft kiss to the corner of his eye, not before taking one more precautionary glance at Jake. 

“Love you, Won.”