#such a horrible person feel i have to make that clear to y'all

[blackhholes]

teen wolf meme: [2/7] villains -> gerard argent

And I'm the cold-hearted patriarch holding his family to its commitments. We all have our roles. Just don't expect me to play poisoned king to your Hamlet of a son.

[moonlesslights]

Two Idiots in Love

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Warnings: Sex, P in V, choking, breeding kink, innuendos, Miguel it's fucking hard to talk to.

A/N: Hope you enjoy this, I haven't sleep well for three days trying to get it done, but it's finally here. Love y'all xoxox

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Ok, but what about you becoming an Spider just about a year ago?

You are managing just fine.

Things got nasty for a while, that’s true. Your uncle died, your new responsibilities caught up on you, you almost die fighting some bad guys on your first months… And now you just try to eat three times a day (sometimes it doesn’t happen), pray to get more than six hours of sleep and do good in college.

But then, out of fucking nowhere, just when you were making peace with what your life was now and who you are, your identity, your place in this big ass world where you were completely alone to bear this double life… This giant prick with sullen face and cheeks the size of the moon comes into your life to tell you you’re not alone, everyone here has experienced the same or worse, stop being so dramatic.

So, in a second, your protagonist moment turns to you finding out there were thousands like you out there. And your whole life goes upside down.

Because now you don’t have to protect and look out only for your Earth, your city; but everyone else’s too. You have to travel to the most craziest worlds you could’ve ever imagine and fight horrible creatures you couldn’t even conceive its existence. And to make things even worst, Mr. Wide Hindquarters took an special hold of you to help him out with anything he would be ‘to busy’ to do. Like inform new recruits about their missions, filling out reports, doing research either respecting to what he occupied in the laboratory or to some universe yet to be explored… Whatever he needed, you would be called in to do it.

Some Spiders told you you were lucky, not many could work that close to Miguel, let alone being in charge of so many things without screwing something up and getting ‘their head ripped’. Even Lyla tells you that you’re something special, specially on the hard days, that’s why Miguel trusts you so much. After that you would just smile tiredly at her, whispering it was okay. Then Lyla would go face Miguel and demand him with a raised eyebrow to give you a break.

You manage for a few months, surrendering yourself to this strange routine. And your even more strange companion.

Every day you walk in to his space, every day he is already there. You turn a personal mission to arrive before he does. You never make it. The man apparently didn’t sleep and you aren’t waking the fuck up at 3:00am to prove a point or find out. So you let it be as another mystery to be solved.

“Good morning.” You wave your hand at him, making your presence known with that. Sometimes between a yawn, sometimes still cleaning the sleepiness off of your eyes.

“Good morning…” He always adds your last name to his greetings. It makes you feel like you are being scolded. Most of the time he is at the tables, working through the screens; if he’s not there, he’s at the lab, measuring substances with the help of crystal clear instruments.

Without looking at you, he points with his chin to the steaming coffee under the express machine. Through the weeks he has learned exactly how you like it. The first ones he made you were exactly like his: Awful. That couldn’t be drinkable. But you thought it was nice of him to always have hot coffee for you, so you didn’t say anything. But the faces you made at every sip were worth a thousand words.

Now, as you drink today’s, you cannot avoid thinking how cute that big stoic man must look every morning pouring the exact amount of sugar and cream you like into the cup. Moving the liquid with a tiny spoon until is all mixed.

He doesn’t talk much.

No more than orders and “Go home” followed by a “Good night”. You let him be for the first weeks. Not your business. But after the first month you knew you would go crazy if you continued this way of living.

You needed to talk to him. You needed to make things less awkward. He was your only human contact sometimes for entire days, and you cannot stand the fact of barely talking to him.

You don’t have idea how does the term “coworkers” serves on his Earth, but in yours, Human Relationships are encouraged to happen for the sake of teamwork.

With that very idea well tangled on your mind, one of those long days, you take a deep breath, imagine him naked (which isn’t difficult to be honest), stare deep into the space and say:

“Sohowhaveyoubeen?” Squeaking as fast as you can.

Miguel stops whatever the hell he is doing and turns his head to the right, side eyeing you with a raised eyebrow. You don’t even look at him, continuing to fill the document in front of you with the most unstable smile he could have seen in his entire life. Then, he turns around again, coming back to typing into one of the screens. You almost think he has completely ignored you until he answers in another fast and neutral line:

“I’m good.”

You give him an acknowledging nod, smiling softly and returning to your duties.

You had never wished so much to be victim of a lost bullet. Like right now. Like right fucking now. Please.

For one more week you took another personal mission: making a question a day.

“How was your day?”, “Did you have breakfast?”, “How was yesterday’s mission?”… It would be a good day if you got more than a monosyllable for answer. It was embarrassing, really. And Lyla looking at you with a grimace made it ten times worst.

After that, you just came in the eighth day and remained silent, focused in finishing all your work as soon as possible rather than trying to make your prick boss to talk to you. You felt bad, actually. Maybe he just doesn't like to talk, maybe you were making him uncomfortable, maybe... Maybe he's just an arse. Yeah, that is probably the right...

"Hm? Uh, what... What is this?" You look up from your tablet, facing the broad of his back walking to the desk at the other side of the room. You raise an eyebrow at the small cardboard box in front of you, the one that Miguel just left there.

"Food." He says as answering the very question to the origin of the universe.

"For me?" You tilt your head and he looks at you like you were stupid. You frown. How were you supposed to know that, when he barely even looks at you?!

"I did too much." He explains. "... So I brought you some. You can throw it away if you don't want it."

You look down at the box again, watching it as the weirdest of things, and cannot help the little smile that creeps up to your lips. You knew Miguel didn't eat at the HQ cafeteria, since he owns an apartment close from here, so this was completely homemade. Hm, you never thought he was into cooking.

"Why can't I give it to someone else if I don't like it?" You respond with an easy smile, almost teasing him.

"Throw it." He sentences without even looking back at you.

You side eye Lyla at your left, who winks at you. This is a whole ass victory. And you and the little hologram girl knew internally Miguel did not like the day you decided to stop trying to talk to him.

"Thank you." You finally murmur. "I really appreciate it."

"It's just leftovers..."

You nod, pursing your lips and… Still smiling. Fuck it. It was obvious he was going to dismiss it with something like that.

None of you says anything else for the rest of the day, but you make the choice to keep trying on the small talk every day and Miguel, apparently, started to mess up the amount of ingredients for his meals and brings leftovers almost daily.

You continue with this new routine for another couple of weeks.

With the time passing, you gain more and more confidence to talk to the big guy. Most of the times he doesn’t engage in the conversation, it is just you saying your thoughts out loud and telling him everything about your life at college, 'till the point he has a personal beef with some of your classmates. I mean, he doesn’t say it but he surely grunts under his breath every time you mention their name.

Gwen did asked you at some point if he really listened to you or if he just... Left you. You wondered the same for exactly... two hours.

"... And I handed him my essay, right? And he looks at me and says: 'So are you going to tell me who is helping you with these or am I going to find out myself?' So I obviously told him nobody was helping me, I just like doing them. And he freaking threatened me saying that if he founds out he's going to fail me. Like... He doesn't even listens. Agh, he hates me..."

"Is the same one who got angry because you were late to his lecture about himself and his recently published book?" That was a week ago. And he remembered.

You nod, sighing. Miguel clicks his tongue, shaking his head with disapproval.

He might not be talkative (at least for now) but he listens to you. You have no doubt left about that. He may not say a single word while you drop a hundred for minute, but he would come the next day asking "How was the test?" or would know you have classes with that professor and add to his daily good night a soft "Good luck tomorrow." You even start catching him lifting the left corner of his lips when you drop a bad joke about all the things you need to get done by the end of the day or about something you heard on your way there.

You noticed it when certain Spider came in to a meeting, a Spider two days ago you and Miguel had gossiped about because you were told something by your friends on Wednesday, Miguel heard some more on Thursday and with a final comment you put the pieces together on Friday, looking at him with a wide proud open mouth as he shook his head with a soft chuckle. Talking to the Spider in question Miguel would turn to you with the most neutral and blank expression and you would still fight to hide your smile at the memory of everything you found out during the week. No one ever noticed and you liked it. Miguel liked it. It was like a private joke only the two of you could share.

"But what would happen?" This was the part Miguel didn't like. "Like, how would you know I would fuck up something?"

"You cannot give Noir a kaleidoscope." He sentences, giving you another raised eyebrow.

You were in the middle of the daily session of Instructive and Informative questions, according to Lyla and you. Miguel prefers to call them Destructive and Irritating.

After today's mission you had taken a particular soft spot fo the black and white Spider, to the misfortune of your boss. So the whole session has been about the long shot of taking special gifts from your dimension to him.

"But why? Really, what's the worst that could happen if I just give him a tiny little kaleidoscope?"

"Ay, Dios, dame paciencia... You already gave him a rainbow slinky spring toy, why do you keep insisting on gifting him more stuff?"

He fix his gaze on you as you lower your eyes down to your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. "... He just looks happy when he sees color."

Miguel sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger.

"I know, but every one of us needs to respect the natural order of our Earth. He shouldn't keep taking things with him that shouldn't be there, do you understand?"

"But..."

"No more 'but's'. I want those reports done by the end of the day." Miguel returns his eyes back to the screen in front of him, dismissing you just with that action. "Get to work instead of keep losing our time with this."

He hates the way you comply to his orders. Hates the way you leave the space beside him empty to go working at the other side of the room, where he can only see your back. He hates when you refuse him to see your face.

The human part in him hates the questioning sessions because they always end up with your heart too big for your own good, crushed a little bit more. The human part in him is what brings him closer to you after a few minutes, talking you through some trivial topics until he can convince you it is all not as bad a it seems, until you smile again when you insist it's okay, that you just needed a minute, that you understand. And he might o might not tell you can give Noir that fucking kaleidoscope if you want it so much.

But some deep and primal part in him whispers into his veins to walk up to you, take you by your jaw, forcing you to look up at him and order you you better not refuse your face to him one more single time again. That if he wishes to see your eyes, the curve of your nose or your lips, you better fucking show them to him... Every day. Every. Time. He. Wants. To.

He gets frustrated when he catches himself in the middle of those thoughts, of the drives. He has been able to control it magnificently 'till now. But he fears the day he won't.

For another while you enjoyed the 'leftovers' brought to you too. But it also came to happen the one day, they stopped being leftovers:

You yawn as you make your way to the exit of the lab, making sure your alarm for tomorrow is correctly scheduled, you can not afford another harsh look from your professors one more time. The building has fallen silent already; most of its ordinary inhabitants have already retired to their rooms or to their home worlds.

Miguel walks up to you from behind, watching you standing at the door. Neither of them managed to see even a ray of sun today. He didn't care, he had something much better to watch all day… But he can't help but sigh at the thought of taking it from you.

"Italian or Mexican?" You turn to look at him, barely catching what he said. Both of your brows furrow and he glares at you while adjusting the neck of his jacket on. "For tomorrow's lunch. You want me to bring Italian or Mexican?"

"Oh, uhm..." You widen your eyes, surprised by the consideration. Pursing your lips and squinting, you think about it for a second, but the only possible answer comes immediately after: "Mexican."

"Hm." He nods, fixing his eyes to the front again.

Both start walking now towards the exit of the building. You know you can open your portal to go back home now, but you refuse to do so. Miguel knows there's an exit on the other side of the lab that leads him to a closer path to his apartment, but he refuses to take it. Because you always take this one.

"It's getting chilly." You whisper, watching the first snowflakes of the season falling on the other side of the big windows in the lobby. Miguel hums in response. "I like it, though. The first month working with you I had to carry a fan with me everywhere. I am so sorry for the cost of the electricity bill back then."

Miguel tugs at one corner of his lips, but only that. You tilt your head, glaring at him for a second before you take two fast steps to put yourself in front of him. The poor man has to stick his feet to the floor to avoid knocking over you.

He frowns, confused, and you look up at him with those same eyes filled with determination you put on when you look at the cookies he always -purposely- leaves on top of the highest cupboard in his office. He could only describe it as the face of a master plan, because you would always come back with ideas to get them down without asking him for help. And he loved to play guess with what you would do this time.

"Smile for me." You ask as you were some kind of cameraman, and if he was confused before he's into a new level now.

"What?"

"Y'know..." You bring both of your index fingers to the opposite sides of your face and part your own lips into a simple smile, like showing him what he was supposed to do.

"I know what smiling is." He frowns. "Why do you want me to do it?"

You shrug. "I just... I would be really happy to see it."

Miguel's expression remains unfazed, but he prays to every God out there you can't listen how hard his heart jumped inside his chest when your words reached him.

He swallows. His eyes fix on you and he brings both of the corners of his mouth up, exposing bright teeth and two big fangs that brush on his lower lip in the most precious awkward smile you could have ever seen. His brows are drawn together and he looks like he's in pain, and you know that even if a fucking meteor crashed down in the city right now, you still wouldn't be able to look away.

You clear your throat and lament how his smile is gone as soon as it came. You brush your hand at the back at your neck, nervous, fucking ashamed of your imprudence. Miguel raises an eyebrow at your reaction.

"Thank you. That was nice of you." You smile, avoiding his eyes and solely focusing on the snow awaiting for you. "I'm sorry if it was unpleasant for you. I didn't mean..."

Your words get caught up in your throat when you suddenly feel the texture of fabric coming around your neck. You turn back to look at the front again only to find Miguel tugging his scarf on you, with his fingers making sure it hugged every part of your skin your sweater couldn't.

"Miguel, no. It's even colder here than on my Earth. You need this more than I do." You frown with a worried expression washing over your features.

"You'll come back tomorrow pretty early. And it's going to be cold." You could try and argue about you having your own scarfs to bring tomorrow with you, but his eyes tell you he is not asking.

"... Thank you."

Miguel laments the moment your turn around, laments the moment you don't look at him anymore. He is sure the smile from a minute ago hadn't been anywhere near one of his best, and yet your eyes shone with the light of all the moons he's seen in all of the Earths he has visited.

And as you do a little wave when you start walking away before entering your portal, Miguel waves back, slowly and with only two unsure swings of his wrist. It was enough to make you smile anyway. It was enough to keep him standing there even after you were long gone wondering what the hell he was doing.

When Miguel began to bring food made specially to share, you began to bring desserts from your Earth for him to try.

You both started having lunch together after you told him how tired you were of eating while standing. Don't get me wrong, when you first told him he 'offered' you to go eat at the cafeteria if you wanted it so much. But when he dismisses you for the second time the next day with a 15 minute break to go find somewhere to sit, you, instead, sit down reluctantly at the very center of his work space, just a few meters behind him.

Miguel has to do a fucking double take to make sure he is seeing right before turning around at you calmly crossing your legs on the floor and unboxing today's meal with abrupt and resigned movements.

"Could you be so kind as to explain to me what you are doing?" He tilts his head with amusement when you take the first bite of your food.

"Eating."

"Sitting on the floor?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Sitting on the floor." You nod.

"Care to explain why?" He crosses his arms, pursing his lips when you refuse to raise your eyes at him.

"... Because of you." You murmur, taking another unnecessarily aggressive bite.

"Elaborate, please."

You keep on looking down, chewing the morsel in your mouth. Miguel awaits for you with well known experienced patience. By now, he recognizes when you are mad at him or the world, he sees how you fight to keep calm inside of all of this mess, that's why he always tries to encourage you to talk out the things that bother you, because he's there, he can listen; because he likes the way you smile after you let it all out.

And maybe...

"I don't care about eat sitting comfortably at the cafeteria. I want to eat with you. So if you want to stay here be my fucking guest. I'm staying here too."

Because you were the only one who could throw a tantrum at Miguel O'Hara without flinching.

You have earned that right. You didn't know when, because you insist you don't throw tantrums at him; you're a college student, basically an adult, you don't do tantrums. And still...

"Fine, spoiled girl..." He sighs, walking to get his own little box from the table and then coming to close the space between the two with a few long steps. He sits down right beside you, imitating the way you're crossing your legs. "If you want to eat on the floor, we can eat on the floor."

"I'm not spoiled." You hiss, giving him a deadly side eye that puts on a soft, almost unnoticeable grin on his face. Lyla had made fun of him a few days ago about him spoiling you, but instead of getting on his nerves he took a liking for the nickname. And now you suffer the consequences of it all. "And we wouldn't be eating on the floor if you decided to go to the cafeteria for once."

"... I hate talking to people."

You sigh, nodding. That's exactly why you never push him to do anything of that sort.

"I know." You turn to look at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing how he keeps his head low while eating. "Hey" You call for his attention, smiling. He blinks up to you, tilting his head. "It's okay." Your shoulder drops to his arm. "I like being here. I'm not stuck with you, you're stuck with me."

That makes his eyes catch a little bit more of light.

"Thank you." He whispers.

You stare at him for a second more and he fights to put all of the mess inside his head, his feelings, into his tongue... But he can't. You continue eating, and he knows you would never hold a grudge on him for it, and he's so thankful for that, for you being able to understand the way his actions speak when his words can't. But he still aches at the thought of never being able to tell you everything he wants.

The next morning you walk in to find out a new cleared space beside the screens with an elegant glass table and two chairs. It surely looked expensive, like everything he does and has, but for you, it's just the little corner where you can leave that particular cake from your Earth he seems to like so much, and then go to the laboratory to see the cake you seemed to like so much.

After two more weeks enjoying the day-to-day in the usual things in your life, you and Miguel got to a mission which revealed as the true calmness before the storm.

The anomaly you had fought was stronger than expected, more aggressive, more letal. Everyone had run lucky at least two times to escape from its claws, but you can still remember their closeness, the screams, the sirens at the distance. It all almost ends up with another canonic event altered.

"There's always a first time." Jessica had told you when you finally finished off the anomaly. She was worried about you, and you can't blame her. You haven't even registered how bad you were trembling until it was all over.

"Is there going to be a last time?" You replied, looking up at her with big eyes. And Miguel, only a few meters behind you, still trying to give some last orders to every Spider there, felt his heart breaking at the very sound of your words.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the universe remained perfectly fine and just a couple of hours later everyone was back home safely again. Most returned immediately to their Home Earths, but you, Miguel, Jessica, Lyla and a couple more had ten thousand things to do in the HQ before calling it a day.

"I thought I told you to go home an hour ago." Miguel points, coming from behind you.

You turn your head to look up at him and you can't not smile at the sight. The feeling of safeness that floods you when you see his huge figure entering any room hasn't wavered for a single second. He's still that solid ground you can always rest on when the world is to heavy to carry alone.

"I'm serious. What are you doing here?" He continues, grunting in pain when he drops his weight beside you. You turn to him, furrowing your brows in worry again. He had seen that expression in you so often today... And he hates it so much. "I'm okay. Just little scratches here and there."

You withdrawn your feet from the edge of the building where you had them hanging for an hour now and crawl your way to him, sitting down on your knees to try to be eye height with him.

Your right hand wanders to his bruised neck, there where the anomaly had left his horrible mark of the violence it brought within. You follow with your index the way the clotted blood draws on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Does it hurt?" You ask.

"No." He responds in between goosebumps.

He loves the effect your touch has on him. He loves your little hands looking for him, tugging at his clothes to call for his attention, brushing against his when you pass him the tablet, documents, anything. He loves the busy days where he doesn't have time to eat, where he wouldn't eat if it wasn't for you sitting beside him as he works on the screens, you scrolling through your cellphone, taking little pieces of food with a spoon or a fork to bring them closer to his mouth so he could eat without even taking his eyes off the screen.

Ridiculous? Yeah. But he loved the intimacy within. The many forms your soft hands could soothe him.

But his? He hated them. He was scared of them. Their only use was to destruct, to tear flesh apart, not to...

"Show me." He asks, pointing with his chin at your left hand placed softly above your thigh.

"It's nothing."

"Let me see it." He insist and you carefully bring your arm up, placing your fingers against his when he holds out his hand for you. Your whole palm is bandaged, the work the doctor did on you was amazing, but he can still see dried blood on it.

He doesn't say anything when he finds your eyes on him, conflicted, hesitant. There is so much between both of you, so much unsaid, so much still to do. But he sees your doubt, he hates to be the cause of it. He stays still, but he wants to scream at you, to make your little head understand: "How can't you see?! Can't you see how much you mean to me?! You're the only thing in my mind when I'm fighting, because I know I have to win, I have to get out alive to see you again. Eres lo único por lo que mi corazón llama!... Can't you not hear it?"

Instead, the tips of his fingers brush on your skin, his eyes reflecting every single light of the city below.

"Come." It's only a whisper that leaves his mouth, and you need nothing more to jump into his embrace with a desperate sigh, immediately cuddling yourself up on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, looking for his warm.

Hold.

He loves to hold you.

His hands serve to hold you.

To hold you against him, to protect you from anyone who wants to rip you away from his arms. To keep you warm, to keep you safe, to let you know you're home.

"Aquí estoy." He whispers.

"I know." You reply.

You breath into his scent for a couple of minutes more, until the screams and the sirens fell low to the sound of Miguel's chest going up and down in a soothing swing, his breathing, turning into the only thing you could listen to.

By the time you got your head out of his neck, he was already waiting for you with a soft smile, smile that puts your attention on the deep cut on his lower lip.

"What happened?" You ask, carefully pulling from his flesh to see the whole extension of the wound.

He sighs, closing his eyes with embarrassment. "I bit myself during the fight."

You smile, shaking your head. Your fingernail taps against the right fang in question, testing the edge by gently pressing the tip into your fingertip.

"I hate them." Miguel breaths out. His eyes are now so dim that you struggle to say where are they looking at in the middle of the night darkness.

"Why?" You whisper, taking your finger back at his lip.

"Because I fear of them. I fear they'll hurt you like they hurt me."

You purse your lips and then take his hand placed on your hip, looking back at him with raised eyebrows.

"Is the same with these?"

He nods.

"They are made to kill. I have done so many horrible things with, caused so much damage and pain, I..."

"Did you know I'm scared of heights?" His trail of words stop at your interruption. You smile, looking down from the edge, turning away form him just a little. "Ironic, for a Spider. But I still fight with it every single day. I always get so sticky when I'm on top of a building for too long it's embarrassing but..." You raise your hand in front of him, waving your fingers with a playful smile. "I'm not sticky now. And that it's because you're holding me." You cup his face. "Those things you're afraid of, are part of the person I love. And I wouldn't change a single thing."

"Mi cielo..."

"I knew what I was getting into when I decided to love you, Miguel, so don't get all soft now. I'm not going anywhere..." You whisper. "Make me bleed."

He would be lying if he said he haven't thought about it, that he haven't succumbed to his most animalistic urges when alone in the privacy of his room, pretending it was you around his cock and not his fist. He wanted to bite, he wanted to fill you. And he wanted to tear apart with his bare talons anyone and anything that got in his way.

A part of him might be scared to hurt you, yes.

But a bigger part of him was actually scared of what he would do to keep you safe. Of what he's capable of... to keep you his.

He feels sorry for you when you cuddle against his chest in your sleep as he stands up and starts walking back inside the building, covering you with his jacket to protect from the cold wind of the city for when he swings back to his apartment with you in his arms.

He feels sorry for the innocence in your love.

Like a beast, that's what he was. A beast who loved the softness in your touch, the kind in your words. But cannot return the same love. The beast is possessive, jealous of the very air that caresses your hair. And it may act vulnerable only to you, letting you get as close to slaughter him, but knowing you'll place a kiss instead. The beast would hold you as his own treasure, a creature that must not be hurt, not even for his own hands. He would cut them off before.

He would cut them off from anyone before they touch you. For no one should ever touch what he decided, that very morning you asked how he had been, would belong to him.

AND EVERYTHING WOULD HAVE CONTINUED ON GOING SO SMOOTHLY... BUT THE DAAAAAAAAMN FINALS, ah, made their entrance.

You barely have time to sleep, to eat, to fucking breathe. Your levels of anxiety are higher than the HQ damn building and your brain is so overworked you cannot do more than what you're asked to in autopilot. You know that you're only going to be like this for approximately another two weeks, but your poor lover has suffered the last four days thinking you're sick, or sad, or worse... Mad at him. No, not in that order.

"Arañita..." He calls for you. Your hand moving over your notebook at one hundred km per hour concerns him.

"The reports are done. Peter from -5266 and Hugh from -1993 are out right now. They should be getting back at any minute. Anomaly #125 was sent to its original universe this morning." You push the tablet to him with your free hand without even looking up or slowing down your writing.

"Thank you, but..." He tilts his head, furrowing his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yes. I just need to get this done before four. By the way, can I leave early today? I need to study for tomorrow's test."

"Again? Didn't you have one yesterday?"

"Yes. We're on finals, Miguel. We tend to have a lot of them these days. That's why I'm losing my mind over here."

"Just for some tests?" You have to stop yourself to remind you it's not his fault to be smart. It's not his fault being more intelligent than almost every person you knew. It's not his fault he doesn't know what is to struggle on school. It's not his fault, It's not his fault, It's not his fault... "You haven't even touched your food." He says, looking at the little box he got you with the meal now cold.

"I... I know. I'm sorry, Mig." You sigh, looking up at him for the first time in the day. "I'm just really stressed out right now. But I promise I'll take it back home later, okay?"

This was also the fourth day you didn't stay at his place. My man doesn't want to be a burden, but he has attachment issues, ok?, and after the week you spent sleeping in his arms, it may or may not be that Miguel has been having trouble falling asleep without the weight of your body on his chest.

After watching you leave that day, Miguel found himself staying till unreasonable hours of the early morning working in the lab. There was no point on going back to his cold apartment anyway... And he had a lot of things to get done. He didn't have time to...

"Oh, it's you." Miguel jumps in his place at the sudden voice calling from behind. "I thought that poor girl had stayed here, with all the things she seems to be doing these days."

The man shakes his head, ignoring Jessica closing the distance behind him, leaning against the door frame. Miguel can almost make out the little smile on her lips without turning around, and that only infuriates him even more.

"And why do you look like a caged lion?" She mocks. "Trouble in paradise?"

Miguel's first instinct is snap back at her and ask her to leave him alone. He knows she would comply, what he doesn't know is how benefic that would be for his current situation.

"I don't know what's going out with her." He admits, letting his head fall in irritation. "She says she's having some tests right now, but she's just to... Stressed? I don't know. She's so smart I cannot conceive how bad this is affecting her." The laugh that emanates from Jessica's throat makes his ears go red. "What?"

"Oh, babe, when was the last time you went to college?" Jessica puts both of her hands on her waist, pursing the lips to avoid smiling again.

"Why is that important?"

"When, Miguel?" She demands.

"Ugh... I don't know. Like four-five years ago."

"When was the last time you failed a class?"

"Never." He immediately responds.

"When was the last time grades were important on your Earth?"

Miguel frowns. "I don't remember. The path for learning had changed long before I was born. I don't even think I ever had something like a grade. We were judged individually for our skills and our intelligence type. Not memorization."

"Exactly." She claps, pointing at him with a all-knowing finger. "Thanks to that you got the chance to develop your true abilities as a student, but our girl from 2023 it is not beneficiary of this privilege. She doesn't get the chance to strengthen in what she is good, she must memorize and memorize and memorize over and over again. Because the tests on her Earth aren't done with the purpose of just checking how is her knowledge progressing, they are done to see if she's worthy of continuing forward in her very career."

Miguel remains silent for a minute, swallowing all the new information by pieces. For someone so smart, Jessica has never see him seem so lost. The nuts in his brain begin to turn and turn until his eyes seem to light up with the clarity of the light of the new world.

"Hm." He nods. "Thank you."

The woman knows he doesn't need anything more when he turns around, typing into one of the screens something that escapes from her eyes.

During the rest of the two weeks of finals, Miguel tried to do his best to support you.

He even read all of the information about your education system, striving to understand everything in just a couple of nights.

He's a man on a mission: letting you know he's there, that you're strong and smart, and you can do it.

While you study in the lab, he leaves you be. He gets you coffee, or tea, or anything you prefer. He might even hiss at people entering his space (your space) making too much noise, pointing at you with his chin and threatening eyes.

"Hey, girl..." Peter B. comes in one morning, moving nervously under the scrutinizing gaze of your lover. "Don't be so harsh on yourself..." He gives you some awkward pats on the back, smiling. "You're doing great."

That was all it took.

"No, I'm not!" You weep, letting your head fall on the desk, shaking between sobs.

"Great. Ya la hiciste llorar." Miguel pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Here, give it to her." He calls for Peter's attention, handing him an specific chocolate.

Peter takes it with confused eyes, offering it to you, reaching out his arm as if he were to touch you, you'll explode.

"Here." He says. "Look what I got."

You raise your eyes, meeting the little packing. Then, when you look at him, Peter almost thinks he just made all worst.

"Oh, Peter... Thank you!" You take the chocolate, pulling from him to a big hug. "I love these so much, thank you! You're so kind!"

Peter lets you be, looking back at Miguel who just nods at him to let him know this wasn't his first rodeo. He pats your back, soothing you with some more nervous words until you're ready to let him go.

If you're really struggling, Miguel won't think twice to help you. He's smart, it takes him nothing more than a look to his old notes or a quick search on the internet (specially if you're studying something science related or an engineering, if you're on law or arts, oh boy, you're gonna make this man suffer) to know exactly what you need and make sure you're taking that fucking project tomorrow.

Some other days, he just catches you sleeping with your hands crossed above the table and your saliva drooling out to your notes. His jacket would then come over you, after, he would take your pending stuff and start solving problems and making notes for you to have it easier at the memorizing part of the study.

You always wake up to see the edges of your paper full of arrows, little equations and encircled key words. And, sometimes, a tired Miguel sleeping uncomfortably by your side, just waiting for you to tell him it's time to go.

The day, a Friday, where you're finally done with college (at least for a couple of months) Miguel felt it like the day his soul came back to his body.

You are smiling all day again, calling his name, doing a mess all over the whole building. And he can not be more happy about it.

He might never tell you, me might even justify himself saying he had been staying up late working in the lab every time you ask for the bags under his eyes. Because he's definitely not telling you there were nights where he couldn't even close his eyes 'cause you weren't there with him.

"Time to go home." You hum behind him, getting all of your stuff inside your backpack.

"Thank God" He rubs his neck, walking closer to you to give you a soft kiss on the forehead. "I'm dying."

You yawn, nodding. "Me too. These weeks drained me."

"Me too." He repeats, and you don't know how much he means it. "Let's just go to sleep, yeah? Hopefully tomorrow there won't be so much to do."

You smile, leaning into his embrace as you walk out the door, hearing the lights turning off as both come closer and closer to the exit.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Miguel steadies your body by pressing down on your hips, keeping your ass on the bed. You try to push his face out of between your thighs but he refuses to pull apart.

"Miguel!" You cry out, tears rolling down your cheeks cause of the overstimulation he was putting you in. "Too much, too much..."

His fingers curl inside you one more time, and your arch your back, almost rolling your eyes at the feeling. His tongue flicks over your sensitive bud again, dragging choked moans out of you. You try to squirm away but his hands pull you from your ass back at him as soon as you start moving.

"Easy there, Arañita. I'm almost done." He smiles up at you, letting you see the lower half of his face completely covered in your arousal.

"Mig... Mi amor..." You breath out, trying to push him out again when his chuckle crashes against your folds.

"One more, love, and you'll be ready for me." He sucks on your clit as he speaks, moving his fingers with an slower pace now. "Uno más, mamita, dame uno más."

He pushes his face down on you, working his tongue all around your most needy spot with his digits burying now deep inside you, hitting that soft place between your walls that makes you want to cry. You're a mess of moans and whimpers by now, but when his teeth slowly press on your clit, it's over for you. Your eyes roll back, your thighs tremble around him, encaging him in his favorite prison as he guides you through it, moaning into your skin when he feels your pleasure dripping on him, motivating his hips to hump against the mattress as a fucking teenager would do.

After you get down from your high, you look up at him to find him positioning himself between your legs, dragging the tip of his cock up and down on your folds.

"Miguel, wait, I'm..."

"You know your safe word, mamita, you can make me stop whenever you want." He places your legs on his shoulders and his hands on your hips, keeping you just as he wishes to. "I'm going in, and I want your eyes on me all the time I fuck you, ¿me entiendes, hermosa?"

You nod, watching the point where both of your bodies would join. He enters slowly, giving you time to adjust his size. But after the first hint of your hips trying to feel him even more, he pulls back and thrusts all the way in, making your head fall back as your back arches.

His right hand grabs you by the jaw, forcing you to open your eyes and observe how red his irises had turned.

"Eyes on me."

His pace speeds up, bottoming out with every thrust he makes. Your hands push at his lower abdomen, biting your lip to avoid crying out loud again.

"Too fast, Mig. Too much." You moan, your still overstimulated clit rips another whimper from you every time his happy trail and trimmed hair crashes against it. You were barely holding on, but your lover can't never get enough. His body reaches down, and as he places one hand around your neck, his other thumb toys at your clit in a excruciating pace. "Fuck! No, Miguel."

You tremble under him, wrapping your legs around his waist when you cannot think about anything more than cumming. Your nails bury on the skin of his back, dragging an out of breath grunt out of him.

"I'm, I'm cum-" You try to voice but nothing in your brain seems to work anymore.

"Do it, love. I got you." He keeps up his pace, almost kissing your cervix by now. "Cum for me, mi amor."

His hand squeezes a little bit harder on your neck and you need nothing else to see fucking white. Your mouth opens in a big O before your start trembling, shaking uncontrollably under his body, letting out the sweetest of sounds for him to hear.

He grunts, falling into the crock of your neck when you tighten your walls around him.

"I'm going to fucking fill you." He's out of breath and he curses something in Spanish you cannot make out. "I'm going to put a baby on your tummy, mamita..."

"Miguel..." You were on the verge of tears again, you cannot longer feel your legs but you surely can feel him deep inside you.

"Yes, love. Fuck... I'm cumming. I'm..." He bites down on your flesh, sinking his fangs into your skin when his hips stutter. His talons grow so big they dig into the headboard.

You moan at the feeling, hugging your body to his until he can breath normal again.

When he looks back at you his eyes have returned to that soft brown you're used too.

"Are you okay?" He asks, sending shivers down your spine when he caresses the sore skin.

"Yes." You smile and he traps your lips into a kiss. "And now I'm really fucking tired."

He chuckles, lifting his weight onto his forearms.

"Come here, amor. Let's take a shower so you can rest comfortably." He places another soft peck on your forehead. "I'll wash your hair."

You definitely know he will do more than that.

PD: Tbh with you guys, all I could think about while writing this was this tiktok:

[occamstfs]

Ain't No Place For A City Boy

Well this one was quite a bit longer than I intended it to be, Here's a ranch hand TF! Hope y'all enjoy and Happy Eclipse Day! -Occam

Day One

Buckley would never deign to visit a ranch of his own volition. Apparently once he left for college his dad visited this place quite frequently, but a habitual indoor kid Buckley never sought to join him. His father recently passed and his last request for Buckley was to give this place a chance. Homebody he may be Buckley was not going to ignore a deathbed request to just try some manual labor so here he is, luggage packed standing outside Stockman August’s Ranch. 

He fights back a grimace as he reminds himself to keep an open mind, eyes going slightly wide as a massive man starts approaching him from the homestead. He repeats various mantras under his breath; I can do anything for a week yeah? It’s for dad, it’s not like they’ll have me do something I don’t want to do.

Buckley throws up a performative smile as August approaches close enough to see it, he stands there frozen waiting for the man to offer some pleasantry. He throws out a hand to shake and asks, “You Austin’s son?” steely eyes under a furrowed brow observing and assessing the weak man before him. Buckley quickly goes to shake August’s hand, doing his best to manifest the strong handshake his dad had always endeavored to teach him but his hand simply cannot near the strength this man expects of his ranch hands. August makes no attempt to hide his own grimace looking at the sorry state of Buckley.

He turns to go back to the ranch, hands in his pockets expecting Buckley to get his own luggage as he shouts back, “gotta room for ya upstairs. Ya missed dinner, but we’ll get a plate for made. Work starts tomorrow.” Buckley just stares blankly as the cowboy wanders off, biting his tongue as he forces a smile onto his face one more. If he keeps it up maybe he’ll trick himself to not be stewing in irritation. He struggles behind August with his heavy luggage trailing behind, taking great care not to disparage this whole experience as he feels his open mind already being tested. 

Finally stumbling into the doors, Buckley finds a friendlier face in a younger ranch-hand Beau. All smiles, Beau welcomes him to the Ranch “Yew must be August yeah? August said yew’d be around, did’ya need some help with yer bags?” Buckley firmly latches onto the helping hand wordlessly taking all the help Beau is willing to offer, blushing as the man easily hauls all of his bags up the stairs and into his room.

Finding his accommodations, Buckley is less than pleased that there are three beds in the room. The light drops from his eyes as he realizes what a scam this whole mess is. He’s paying to share a room with two men? Seeing disdain painted across Buckley’s expression he quickly goes to assure him, “Hey now, ‘s not so bad Buck! I know there’re three beds but it’ll just be you and me in here and cross my heart I’m a terrific roommate! Or I was, uh, in university?” Buckley squints his eyes at the man before him, seeing his eyes go blank as if he’s adrift in his own mind and scratching at his chin. Rather than addressing his clear state of confusion, Buckley instead goes to correct his new roommate, “It’s Buckley actually, if you don’t mind.”

This snaps Beau out of it as he returns to assuaging Buckley without missing a step, “Sorry partner! I’ll try to remember that. How ‘bout I go on and get yew something to eat. Think there’s still some chili left. ‘ll that work for yew?” Buckley nods and Beau quickly makes to grab him a bowl from downstairs, repeating Buckley’s name to himself under his breath to avoid calling him Buck. In his absence Buckley begins to less than sneakily snoop around the room for anything he can learn about this horrible camp or his theoretically not abhorrent roommate. It is shockingly hard to find any personal effects of Beau, he thought he saw a degree on the wall but upon a double-take and closer inspection it just turned out to be a list of chores for the upcoming week.

As he inches over to Beau’s part of the room he smells something horrible from his closet, sure he can quickly sneak a peak before his roommate returns he opens the door to see pair after pair of dirty overalls filling the floor of the closet. As he opens the door a few spill out into the room proper as Beau returns with supper for Buckley. He looks away out of embarrassment and exhales out of his nose, before chewing out Buckley, “now why’d yew hafta go and do that there Buck- Buckley. Coulda just asked ‘S plain rude.” He stands tall over Buckley as he walks over with food. Buckley sees genuine anger appear in the eyes of the man towering over him before it fades to a smile and he pats Buckley on the back, “Not that yew’ll mind soon,” laughing, “I’m sure after a week here there’ll be at least this much laundry!” He rolls his eyes at this and begins to ask Beau about the ranch.

“How long have you been visiting here Beau?” Beau smiles and answers as he puts the bowl down, “I've been here for years bud! Originally was just a visitor but I loved it so much August went ‘n hired me and I’ve loved it ever since.”

Buckley’s eyes narrow in suspicion as he starts to eat, “I see, so you worked here while doing your studies?” Beau just briefly looks in confusion before bursting out in laughter, “my studies? As if kid, I ain’t a city boy like you ha! Anythin’ I need to know I learned from August! I’m sure you’ll learn a thing or two from him as well, certainly already eatin’ like a country boy haha!”

Buckley looks down to find he’s already nearly done with this bowl that had enough meat to stuff him two times over and burps in embarrassment. How could he possibly have scarfed it down so quickly without even noticing. Beau laughs once more seeing how embarrassed the newbie is and goes on to explain exactly how things work around the ranch. “It’ll be a long day tomorrow but I’m sure you won’t do nuthin’ too hard. Probably gardenin’ s’where he usually throws weaklings like you. Oh, uh sorry ‘bout that Buck- ah! Buckley.” 

Buckley smiles kindly at his roommate as he stumbles through this attempt at helping. It’s not like he minds being called a weakling, and if all he has to do tomorrow is garden he certainly won’t mind. He yawns as he continues to listen to Beau, slightly tilting over as he starts to fall asleep. Surely there wasn’t something in that chili, he thinks as he tries to stay conscious. Seeing him begin to drift asleep Beau goes to catch him and carry him to a bed, “boy all that eatin’ sure tired yew out huh. Dontcha worry kid, I’ll wake yew in time for chores tomorrow.”

In his presumably chili-based stupor Buckley dreams only briefly. He’s back in the office watching as papers and contracts pile up on the desk. Phones ring incessantly and a crowd of people demanding things of him as they walk towards him shouting. He turns over in bed uncomfortably as in the dream he turns to look out the window and sees an open field with horses running free. He sees Beau riding a stallion and motioning for him to join. Or it looks like Beau? He looks larger, his beard has filled out.  Before Buckley can even think to react he’s awakened by his roommate, blushing as he realized he dreamed of him beckoning. There must have been something weird in that chili.

Day Two

Hearing August downstairs Beau sprints out the door to hear the day's orders. Not having the awareness, or at the moment desire, to rush to attention Buckley takes his time getting ready. As he changes into an outfit to garden he finds himself thinking of his roommate. Didn’t Beau seem taller standing over his bead to wake him up today. He sure didn’t have that beard yesterday, though he did in the dream. God, did that shirt really flatter his pecs as well. Buckley finishes getting ready and struggles to shift his attention from the warmth growing in his crotch. Maybe there’s something to be gained from visiting this ratty camp after all. 

Stepping out the door he bumps directly into August who just grunts in response. Buckley falls backwards to the floor and the Stockman just glares down at him as a command issues from deep in his chest, “Be ready tomorrow morning. Don’t care who yer daddy is, I ain't gonna let some city pansy sit around and distract my boys. Today yer gardenin’ do good and maybe you’ll get to try some real man’s work tomorrow.” Buckley recoils as August spits on the floor next to him, sneering down and grumbling about how much he hates city tourists. Buckley grits his teeth as a strange new feeling begins to grow in his chest. 

Rather than the persistent voice in his head demanding he just back out of this hellhole, after bumping into the Stockman he finds himself wanting to prove the old man wrong. He rolls up his sleeves and rushes to the vegetable garden and gets to work. He doesn’t question how he knows the way or how proficient he seems at harvesting and tending to the vegetable garden. His mind grows pleasurably numb as he roots out weeds and plucks out food enough for tomorrow's dinner. He feels his mouth water in excitement at the upcoming meal as he wipes sweat from his brow, getting dirt all over his face and jarring him out of his apparent trance state. 

Buckley looks out in shock at the garden that he has somehow expertly cared for. There’s a large basket full of greens ready to be washed and a pile of trimmings as proving h that he’s even pruned the garden. He stumbles back knowing he couldn’t possibly have done that to any degree of success, with any amount of self-interrogation he would find that even greater than shock was a fear of disappointing August. His mind recovers both from the numbness and the shock as he goes to check whatever damage he’s done. Looking closely however he is filled with a degree of pride in his work, he’s really done a superb job here! He grins to himself seeing what adept work his hands have worked, consciously or not. No real surprise though, after all he’s been doing this for- Uh, well this can’t be the first time he’s gardened right? Did his dad teach him how to do this? He must have. Buckley wipes dust from his hands as he looks out to see whatever work the other ranch hands have gotten done. 

His gaze turns strangely wistful as he sees them herding the animals through the pasture. Just like in his dream he sees Beau atop a stallion controlling the beast like the paragon of a ranch hand, sweat dripping from his brow as he pulls down a bandana to smile and wave at Buckley. He starts to shout “Hey Buck-” before being interrupted by a sharp whistle from August standing at the edge of the field. Every man, Buckley included, knows that must mean dinner’s ready. He rushes to change into something not covered in dirt and finds an outfit on his bed, he didn’t remember packing this ratty tshirt or hat, maybe it’s Beau doing a favor. Regardless he throws it on so he can try to make it on time to dinner.

Arriving just in time the Stockman gives him a curt nod and gestures to the empty seat next to Beau. He happily sits and meets the other ranch men. He can’t feel deep inside that something about these boisterous men should put him off but the thought slides off his mind as their energy only riles him up more. The oldest ranch hand shouts over the rest to chat with Buckley, “Now Buck, you shoulda seen Beau when he first started workin’ here. Was a beanpole of a kid he was and look at him now!” Beau looks away from Buckley as he tries to hide his embarrassment, this however only highlights the power of his traps and neck that only entices Buckley more. Staring at his roommate he doesn’t even think to correct the old man for calling him Buck.

One of the other ranch hands tosses Buckley a beer, normally he would never stoop to drink the swill but if there’s nothing else handy he might as well. He finds himself thinking that he could use the calories, as if that’s something he’s ever been concerned about. Buckley starts to down the bottle before Beau puts his arm over him and shakes him shouting, “Look attcha Buck, er Buckley, already one of the guys! And what’d I say yer already less prissy, got some dirt right on yer face.” Beau goes to do Buckley a favor and wipe it off when he finds it's not dirt but sideburns growing on a face that was unmissably clean-shaven this morning. Buckley feels it too and quickly goes to rub his cheek in shock.

At the head of the table August sits silently and takes in all the chaos happening in front of him. His small horde of ranch hands all scarfing down their meals and chugging their beer so they may get back out there and finish their chores. He rubs his gray stubble as he appraises the spirit and physicality of the men before him. His eyes shift to Beau, pleased at how well he’s already filling out his clothes, clearly ready to move up a size or two. 

He then looks towards the freshest meat sitting next to Beau. He was impressed with the work the kid got done, not of his own accord of course, August’s eyes sparkle imperceptibly as he feels proud of his own work spurring the man to be better. This ain’t no place for some city boy, but Buckley’s already starting to carry his own weight. August wanted to see just how fast he might go beyond that. He’s Austin’s kid after all August thinks before grumbling to demand the table's attention as he walks to stand behind Buckley. “Tomorrow. Buck’ll join the rest of ya in the fields. Ya’ll go on and show him the ropes then. Needs to get rest so he can start real work. He’ll go on and turn in now.”

Buckley starts to speak and protest, not of the opportunity but of being told to turn in early. He opens his mouth to speak but turning to look at his Stockman he feels the weight of sleep overcome his mind. His eyes grow heavy and his stomach grumbles. Bickley turns to find that he has well finished his dinner. All the other ranch hands have vacated as he sits in front of a few discarded cans of beer and multiple servings of the meal, August pats his shoulder and dismisses him, “see ya tomorrow youngin don’t let me down. Don’t let your old man down. Become the man you ought to be.”

Buckley stumbles up the stairs drunkenly and bloated before collapsing into his bed once more. Immediately drifting to sleep he feels his body lie there dead as a rock as a pervasive soreness and itch fills his subconscious. This easily shifts to a primal lust-filled hunger. The feeling of his chest itching against his bedsheets becomes grinding against Beau’s body in his mind. His stubble pushing out into a scruffy beard in the waking world goes unnoticed as dreams of his tongue forcing itself into his roommate's mouth, knocking the hat off his head as he throws all his weight against him. The musk of many hard-days work and that of a lustful slumber merge as a copious amount of sweat swiftly stains Buckley’s sheets. 

The ache in his stomach begins to dissipate as his body forces itself to grow. He humps his bed as he does Beau in his dream, each time his arms press larger. His scrawny chest begins to grow real weight, each grind into his bed straining his new t-shirt as it too begins to change, revealing the growing pecs as well as hair pushing out all over his chest, and a forest that is never to smell fresh again growing in his pits. His cock was already filling his jeans when he collapsed into the bed, as his jeans grow to accommodate his growing waistline they struggle to keep up with the constant surges of growth in his crotch. He moans loud enough to wake his sleeping roommate as he loses control in his dream. Beau smirks to himself as he knows what it’s like to get so riled up and palms his own cock wondering what Buckley’s dreaming of.

Day Three

Buckley awakens at the first light of day, his hand shoved in his pants covered in still drying cum. He hops out of bed wiping his hand on his sheets and he tosses on a hat before racing down the stairs, excited for another- No. his first day on the ranch outright. He passes some new luggage in the living room, just like that he had brought all that time ago. He briefly tries to remember why he didn’t think to grab clothes from it this morning before remembering instead he wasted time watching Beau stretch and get ready. He meets August on the porch who hands him a mug of coffee and sending him off towards a stable. 

Just as the day before Buckley’s eyes glaze over and his mind is overcome with a comforting thoughtless buzz as he starts going about acting with an unconscious precision. He pulls all the levers and gates to release the cows to graze. He wanders around checking for any peculiarities of the stable, confident he would notice anything out of place, his foggy mind obscuring his personality growing brasher and more self-assured by the second. He meanders alongside the cows, petting them all in the right spots as if he reared them himself. He feels his lips move without his input, calling specific cows by name, recognizing them as soon as their names leave his mouth.

While his mind remains adrift he finds himself thinking once more of his dream and Beau, his Beau? He tries to maintain focus on inspecting the cows, but as his pulse quickens as the thought of disappointing August hits him like a shot of adrenaline, he is no longer able to move unknowingly as his thoughts race and his hands shake as he remembers. He stares at his shaking hands as they are unquestionably too large, dark hair crawls up from his wrists making way to soon grow onto his upper arms. He sees the muscle filling his biceps quiver and flex as he ambulates at all. He puts his face in his hands, feeling the beard scratch against them, as he tries to recall further. His shirt suddenly itches beyond imagination and it tosses it to the floor, baring his chest as it expands even more powerfully with each heaving breath. Hair thickening in dark waves down the whole of his torso.

His ears ring as if there was an explosion as he struggles to stay standing, this isn’t who he is. Right? He’s been here for like a week? His mind blaring as it contradicts itself saying he has been here even less than that but also so much longer. Buckley stamps his feet down in rage as he tries to remember any truth at all. He, he was supposed to train to be a rancher today, right? But it can’t be his first day, he did his part like he’s a professional. He is a professional no? He’s been doing this for- He can’t remember, he was gardening just yesterday wasn’t he?

Buckley scans the farm looking for Beau, or August, anyone who can offer some immediate answer. Instead the only figure he can see is one he can’t recognize, some kid that’s doing the gardening. Buckley sees him grimace as he makes his way through the garden, harvesting quickly but efficiently. He rolls his eyes, sure that he could do a better job than whoever that little bitch is. The thought that he is a spitting image for the man that Buckley was not but twenty-four hours ago does not even begin to occur to him. For Buckley is not that man anymore. He looks down to see veins trailing across his arms, pumped from the effort of moving hay bales and readying all the dairy cow equipment. 

August whistles once more calling everyone inside for dinner, this time Buckley can’t bring himself to care enough to change or even throw some deodorant on. Beau’s prediction of it being one week before the man would put work before hygiene has been blown out of the water, but neither could begin to recall. For this is who Buckley is, this is who he has always been. At dinner he is sitting directly across from the new gardener, Colton.

He stares daggers into him as the crew begins to dig in. He isn’t quite sure why he feels such rage at the weak man across from him, but it only grows worse as he starts to scarf his dinner. Words that August never even said to him echo in his head as he stares at the young man eating, this ain’t no place for a city boy. Seeing his roommates eyes darken under his thickening eyebrows Beau hits him in the shoulder, “Hey now play nice, Colton’ll be staying in our room so y’all two need to get along, right Buckley?” Averting his rage at the anxious twink across from him Buckley takes sudden umbridge at being called Buckley.

“Y’know, I think you may have had a point yesterday, Beau. Think it’s fittin’ if I just go by Buck.” Beau smiles at his roommate, playfully punching his arm before pulling him into a side hug. Neither man notices as an accent has suddenly imposed itself onto Buck’s voice. Across though Colton rolls his eyes as he sees the cowboys staring at each other so intently, more focused on them than the haste at which he is cleaning his plate.

Tonight, rather than sending one ranch hand to get some rest, August decides to treat his crew and give everyone the rest of the day off. To celebrate, all indulge in even heavier drinking than usual, Colton as the newbie is required to prove himself to the other ranch hands as Beau grabs a couple six packs and motions for Buck to follow him. The two head off towards a quiet corner of the ranch, where August would not be able to watch and the two just sit together and talk. There is a palpable gravity between their bodies as they sit and watch the sunset. Buck wants nothing more than to give in but his mind is suddenly murky once more. He struggles to ask Beau, “Beau, what, or how long have I been here at the ranch?”

Beau tossing back the last of a bottle just looks coily at his partner, “Now yew know as well as I do hon-” 

“No! I just want you to tell me.”

Taken aback Beau opens a bottle and offers it to Buck before continuing, “Well, y’see it’s just a little foggy ain’t it?” Buck’s eyes widen as if he’s cracked a case before saying as much though his mind is thrown into disarray as Beau goes on, “I remember you being new, but also, you’ve done worked here for years Buck?” The words hit Buck’s mind like a hammer on the anvil, the idea of him working at this ranch searing red hot into his mind as he coughs up the beer he was drinking. His eyes glaze over immediately as he drops the beer bottle, he doesn’t remember anything else of the night, at least not in the conscious world.

The last words of reality he remembers; Haven’t you worked here for years Buck. what is his mind to do besides stew on them, now given total creative liberty. He remembers first coming to the camp, he was the weak scrawny dweeb, but that was a time so far removed from the present that it may as well not be him at all, he was surely a teen at the time anwyay yeah? In his dream he remembers meeting Beau very soon after, the two hit it off immediately and become the exemplar ranch hands they clearly are today. Bizarrely he remembers seeing his father with August, but this is, it’s a dream? Surely his subconscious is just throwing spaghetti at the wall. He sees himself caring for the cows, feeding chickens, showing Colton how to garden. He sees Beau tending to the stallions, helping out in the kitchen, repairing the stables as is often needed.

He sees wrinkles start to appear in the corners of their eyes, white hairs start to speckle his beard as the years fly by in his mind. He watches as both he and Beau grow and maintain their bodies, every day working hard for the ranch, for August and Austin, and becoming the ideal that any cowboy, that any man should be. He remembers playfully mocking Beau as he went in to get another tattoo. He remembers Beau teasing him for the pride he takes in sculpting his body, and for plucking out his gray hairs. He is taken back to the first time they had sex, taking an uncharacteristic break from working in the stables to fuck behind the pens. His mind is filled with encounter after encounter, day after day of working hard together and retiring each night to the same room. He sees himself now, body still, lying in a bed next to a man he has clearly loved for longer than the entire life he lived before the ranch.

Day Four

Thus is how awakens. Nude in his thankfully private bedroom with his partner, his lover, Beau. He brushes Beau to help him awaken as he throws on some comfortable clothes for another day of work. Scratching his beard and offering a large dad yawn he makes his way to the common area where he sees Colton already dozing once more, lazy freeloader. Inspecting the new kid though he is pleasantly surprised to see that he must be going through a growth spurt, his midriff is exposed and he seems to be scratching his chest in his sleep. August must really know what he’s doin’ hm.

Speaking of the devil August rounds the corner and looks to Buck with a twinkle of pride in his eye. Both for the work he has done and will continue to do, and at the vitality and virility of the man before him. His father would be proud. Beau soon follows after, squeezing Buck’s shoulder and tossing his forgotten cowboy hat on the couch next to him, his scent in the air as he stomps by is more than enough to get Buck to think with his balls. Before he’s too far gone though August clears his throat and goes over the plans with the two clearly seasoned ranchers. 

Buck squeezes Beau’s ass as he heads out to the pastures, excited to prevail through another day at the ranch. He feels an outpouring of gratitude towards his dad for bringing him to this place. It made him who he is and he is more than eager to show other men exactly what they can be. No, what they should be.

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Communication is good. It's wonderful, even! But screaming matches? Especially ones that last this long, aren't healthy in the slightest. In fact, all they do is damage relationships. So, after convincing Barbra and Tim to go upstairs, promising that he'd be up in a few minutes with Dick, he went back to where Bruce and Dick were screaming at each other.

Nothing had been thrown yet. Small mercies.

God, Danny hated being a mediator. Why couldn't people just work out their problems by talking? It'd make his life so much easier. Was that so hard to do? Too much to ask? Apparently.

"And you-!" Bruce rounded on Danny the second he closed the door behind him. "You don't get to come into my house and-"

"Let me stop you right there, Mister Wayne." A few days into his running away, Danny discovered a new power. He can't control it, but sometimes, when he's angry or needs people to shut up, the inside of his throat goes cold and his eyes narrow. It's really cool, from Danny's perspective, and pun fully intended. Something about Mister Wayne had brought that power to the surface, and thank the gods for that because Danny really needs to be listened to right now. "I told you earlier that my name was not a fight you wanted to pick. I think I should reword that. I am not a person you want to pick a fight with."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, meeting Danny's glare with his own. "Is that a threat?"

"Yes, Mister Wayne, that was a threat. And you can hold me to it. I will win any and every fight you try to pick with me."

Dick kept glancing between the two. He had a bad feeling about these two interacting like this, but something was stopping him from getting them apart.

"I have your name and your face. It won't be too hard to get you arrested for several crimes."

"Framing a child, Mister Wayne? Good luck with that. I don't exist anymore. Besides, I can threaten the same thing about Batman, and that holds significantly more weight than anything you could do to my name."

"If you're not scared, then you'll give me your whole name."

"That was a horrible fish for information, Mister Wayne. You're slipping. You must be getting rusty in your old age."

"Danny-"

"Dick." Danny held his hand out to his - on paper - responsible adult, "C'mon, Tim and Barbra are waiting for us upstairs."

Danny lead Dick out of the room, Bruce staying behind and obviously glaring at the back of Danny's head. When the door shut, Dick sighed, every bit of tension he hadn't felt melting off of him. "Sorry about him."

Danny shook his head. "Don't apologise, Dick, you didn't do anything to spark that. However," he glanced at him from the corner of his eye, still holding his hand, "Screaming matches aren't going to fix anything between you two. I don't know if you even want a relationship with him, but he's right. We came into his house, so it's up to us to be polite. You may be his kid, but you are a guest in his home until you two can form some kind of positive relationship. The hostility between y'all right now? That demotes you to 'house guest' instead of 'visiting child'. Got it?"

"..yeah."

"Good. Now, Tim and Barbra are waiting upstairs; go find them."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to go apologise to Alfred."

"Alfred? Why?"

"Bruce may claim this as his house, but Alfred's the one who takes care of it. It's his haunt, so I'm gonna go apologise for almost starting a fight."

"Um, alright..?"

***

Dick found himself wandering into the room that had been given to Tim. It was bare bones and barely looked used, but that's where he found Tim and Babs. He sat next to her.

"Where's Danny?" Tim asked.

"I- He's gone to talk to Alfred for a minute."

"Oh? Why?"

"I don't..he wasn't really clear on that."

"Oh."

The three lapsed into a silence that hovered somewhere between comfortable and uncomfortable. Tim was on his bed, messing with something on his phone, smiling occasionally or chuckling softly. Dick and Barbra sat together on the couch against the wall between the two windows. None of them spoke for a while.

It was a lon twenty minutes of sitting, doing nothing. Sometimes one of them shifted, but no conversation was made.

The door opened. "Wow. Did I end up in a graveyard or something? Y'all're quieter than the dead." The three flinched back as if struck. "Sorry, that was in poor taste." He closed the door behind him and sat on the foot of Tim's bed. "Seriously, though, why're y'all so quiet?"

"Waiting for you," Tim answered, "What'd you talk to Alfred about?"

Danny waved his hand in the air as if to physically dispel the words. "Nothing you need to worry about. Good news, though, I have a standing invitation to the Manor, so.."

"Is that a good idea?" Barbra asked, "You and B, well...You didn't really.."

"Yeah," he smiled, "Alfred's given me permission, and that's all I need. I won't be going with you guys to the Bat Cave, though."

"What?" Tim's voice pitched up a bit, "Why?"

"That's Mister Wayne's haunt. Because he doesn't like me, I'm not gonna risk even thinking about going down there."

"But you'll come and go from his house?"

"Yes."

"Weird."

"I don't make the rules, Timmy." Tim snorted softly. Barbra smiled.

"I hate to be the one to bring the mood down again," Dick said, "But why were you wanting to go to the Cave?"

"I just said I wasn't."

"Yeah, but why would you ever need to go down there?"

At this, Danny looked a bit sheepish, turning to look away from the others and rubbing the back of his neck. "Alfred said we're staying the night."

"What!" Dick shot up from his seat.

"Are you coming on patrol with us?" Barbra asked Dick, her eyes expectant.

Tim grinned. "That'd be so cool! You two should totally join us!"

Dick shook his head. "I really-" He cut himself off, making the mistake of looking Barbra and Tim in the eye. He sighed. "Alright, I'll join you guys for the night. But I don't answer to Bruce."

"Yay!"

"Wouldn't expect ya to."

"What about you, Danny?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I don't do the whole vigilante thing anymore."

"'Anymore'?" Babs raised her eyebrow, "That's a story I wanna hear."

He blushed. "It's really not,"

"You'll be on comms, though, right?" Tim wondered.

"I, um.... Sure. I'll join you guys on comms."

"Yes!"

"But I'm still not going into the Bat Cave."

Part 13 Part 15

[stevie-petey]

episode four: the body

For the second time within a week, Steve Harrington almost kills you with his stupid BMW. Granted, the first time wasn’t necessarily his fault due to your crying, but this time just felt personal.  “Hey! Henderson!” “Jesus Christ-” You’re biking to the Wheeler’s, lost in thought as the sun begins to set, when stupid Harrington scares the shit out of you.  His unexpected shouting causes you to swerve your bike towards his car and he has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting you.  “Do you, like, have a fantasy about me hitting you with my car?”

Summary: you basically have a "no babe don't cry over ur dead brother ur so sexy" moment with jonathan, hopper plays mr love doctor (cute date idea: coffin shopping), and somehow nancy wheeler makes you realize that you're a horrible babysitter and an even bigger idiot. meanwhile: steve harrington is frustratingly charming.

Rating: general but plenty of cursing as usual.

Warnings: cursing, fem!reader, and use of y/n.

Words: 8k

Before you swing in: hello ! happy eve of a spending time with loved ones, however ya choose to celebrate or not celebrate and all that jazz. i hope y'all are well and doing okay :) a LOT happens in this chapter, so buckle up. so many feelings and revelations my god. also this chapter is one i really loved writing purely because i got to explore more of steve and reader so ,,, ya welcome ! (hopefully i was able to clear up jonathans thoughts and how he processes, i really want it to come across as someone hurt and overwhelmed rather than just him being cranky lmao). anyways, enjoy !!

-

It’s a quiet morning.

You roll over, the sunlight streaming through your curtains, and for a moment you forget. It’s a blissful moment, sweet naivety that strokes your cheek and coaxes your eyes open. As you throw your arms over your head and stretch, last night’s events haven’t caught up to you quite yet. 

Then you feel Jonathan’s body next to yours and for a moment you’re confused. He never sleeps in your bed whenever he spends the night, being ever the gentleman. No matter how many times you offer, he always insists on respecting your mother’s wishes and sleeping on the giant beanbag chair within your room, and it always makes your heart warm. 

Your mother had specifically bought the beanbag for Jonathan when you were thirteen. He had been spending more and more nights at your home, sneaking in through your window to avoid his parents fighting. At first he would simply fall asleep on your carpet, despite your many reassurances that he could sleep in your bed, so when your mom unexpectedly barged into your room one morning and saw him lying face down on the ground, she freaked. 

Once you had explained everything to her (with Jonathan’s permission), she had shoved you guys into her car, dropped him off at his house, and then found the beanbag at a garage sale for $10. 

“This way, he’ll have a place to sleep that’s soft and cozy, away from my young daughter,” she had said during the drive home. You had covered your face in embarrassment at her implication, but you were also incredibly proud to call her your mom at that moment. She may be overbearing at times, but she was the kindest woman you’ve ever met. 

You rub your eyes and glance at the bean bag that sits between your bed and wall, its dusty blue color almost glowing in the early morning light. Then you glance at Jonathan, who has woken up before you, and notice the redness in his eyes and the dark circles now darker than ever. 

Then it all comes rushing back to you. 

Will’s body in the quarry. 

Holding your brother as he mourned his friend. 

El, so quiet and shy and sweet, running away after your cruel dismissal. 

Jonathan showing up to your window hours later, broken and devastated. 

Then, late into the night, the two of you falling asleep, side by side in your bed, both needing each other more than ever before. 

The two of you get ready without saying anything. You hand Jonathan some spare clothes of his that you keep in a drawer before giving him some space as you go and take a shower. You spend longer than usual getting ready, but you pay no attention to the clock. There’s no way you’re going to school today. You’re not leaving Jonathan alone for even a second. 

Jonathan finishes getting ready before you do and waits in your room. Neither of you have said anything yet, last night being too fresh in your memories, but words aren’t needed between the two of you. 

You take his hand and lead him into your kitchen and wordlessly hand him a banana. He stares at you, and you stare back, silently challenging him to decline the food. He needs to eat. You’ve noticed how thin he’s gotten with everything happening. 

He sighs, knowing he won’t win this fight, and takes a bite out of the banana in a mocking manner, but you’re just relieved he’s eating. 

You grab your own breakfast before writing a note for your mom, informing her that you’ll be with Jonathan today and promising to make up any missed assignments as soon as you can. Then you quietly go into Dustin’s room to check up on him, but his bed is empty. You glance at his alarm clock and note the early hour, he doesn’t normally leave for school for another thirty minutes, which makes you frown. 

Where the hell did the kid run off to?

An uneasy feeling settles over you, but you don’t have time to question anything. Knowing Dustin, he ran off to school earlier than usual to see his friends and distract himself from last night. While your mom offered you both to stay home for the rest of the week due to Will’s death, neither of you have ever been good at staying put and dealing with your emotions.

Wherever your brother is, you know he needs his space.

Once everything is settled, you join Jonathan in his car and drive to his place. While he never explicitly asked you to this morning, you know that you’re going to his house with him to help him deal with his mother and the funeral preparations. 

He doesn’t have to ask, and you don’t have to tell him that you’ll help. 

You both just know. 

About halfway to his place, Jonathan finally speaks. 

“The cops say that Will crashed his bike and fell into the quarry,”

“Jonathan, we don’t have to talk about it right now-”

“My mom doesn’t believe that he’s dead. She-she insists that he’s in the walls, that he can speak through-through… Christmas lights.”

His voice shakes as he speaks, and you can’t tell if it’s due to grief or anger. 

“Will is dead and my mom chooses to believe that there’s some monster in our walls that took him.”

“A monster?” you think about El and her powers and the fear on the boys’ faces when she pulled out the Demogorgon piece. Then you remember the other night at the Byers’ home when Joyce came running outside as the lights were flickering wildly. Her fear had been genuine. 

“A fucking monster that’s hiding in our walls. She wouldn’t… she wouldn’t listen, Y/N. I tried talking to her, to calm her down, but she just…” His words fade off, and he clenches his jaw as tightens his hands around the steering wheel. 

You’re not sure what to say. It’s a tough situation, a fucking heartbreaking one, and it’s all so unfair. Jonathan needs his mom, but his mom needs Will. 

You rest your hand behind his head and allow your fingers to rub circles against his skin. He leans into your touch, and for now this is all you can do. 

The state of the Byers’ home has only gotten worse since the last time you were there. There’s now letters painted on the wall and string lights placed all throughout the house. There’s also clothes in random corners and trash thrown around. 

Jonathan had been staying in this house alone, watching his mother spiral. Your stomach twists with guilt. 

You should’ve been there more for him, but instead you allowed your petty need to help everyone distract you from what’s important. 

Joyce is passed out on the couch with an ax clutched between her hands, which breaks your heart even more. Jonathan walks over to wake her up and you give the two of them some privacy as you head into the kitchen to make Joyce some breakfast. 

Their fridge is barren, but you aren’t surprised. You make do with the few eggs you find and get to work; it isn’t much, but it’ll have to do. As you prepare breakfast, you notice a stack of Will’s drawings on the kitchen table, which causes you to gag with remorse. 

There’s still so much of Will within these walls, his entire childhood still locked inside, untouched, and yet the house lacks his presence. 

He’s gone. 

– 

You wait with Hopper in the morgue waiting room, nervously tapping your foot and frantically trying to distract yourself with a comic. The words blur together in your head and the images float around. You can’t focus on anything. For once, Spidey’s quips and banter can’t distract you from reality. 

Not only are you incredibly worried for Joyce and Jonathan, but the thought of Will’s body being a wall away from you sends chills down your spine. You can’t imagine what’s happening behind the doors, and you’re secretly relieved that you’ll never know. 

“What’s taking so long?” Hopper’s voice breaks you from your thoughts.

You put your comic down and listen, figuring that it’s best if you’re caught up on everything so that you can store away any useful information for later. 

The front desk lady sighs. “Well, everything’s been a bit chaotic around here without Gary.”

This catches Hopper’s attention. “Without Gary?”

“I thought you knew. Those men from State, they… they sent Gary home last night.”

Now this catches your attention. Why would the State replace the town’s coroner? 

“So who did the autopsy?” 

“Someone from State.” 

Hopper looks at you, almost as if to ask if you’re also hearing this, and you give him a slight nod. It’s odd, really damn odd. 

“Why would they send someone for a little boy?” You ask Hopper, but he only shakes his head in response. 

In the back of your mind, you think about what El had warned you of. The bad men, the people she has to hide from… it didn’t make sense at the time, but now…

Your thoughts are cut off as Jonathan runs out the door, his hand over his mouth, and you immediately get up to help him outside. He throws up against the wall outside, and you wince at the smell. You’ve never been good with people getting sick, but Jonathan needs you right now, so you rub soothing circles on his back as he throws up. Once he’s done, you head back inside and wait for Joyce. 

You offer Jonathan a tissue before coaxing him to rest his head on your shoulder. Having nothing else to do, yet urgently wanting to help, you begin to read him some panels from your comic. He doesn’t say anything, so you take it as a sign to keep going. Your voice is hoarse from all your crying, but you read aloud anyways. 

Hopper watches your interaction with a small interest. You don’t notice his curious eyes and the way they seem to glint with sincerity. In his eyes, the two of you will get together soon enough. 

After a couple minutes, Hopper finally asks Jonathan how Joyce is holding up. The boy straightens up, but grabs your hand to steady himself, and responds as best as he can. He explains the lights, the letters on the wall, everything. 

“She’s had anxiety problems in the past, but this…? I don’t know.” He takes a shaky breath, and you draw reassuring patterns on the back of his hand. “I’m worried it could be… god, I don’t know.”

“She’s grieving,” you remind him, and he nods. 

“Yeah, she’s grieving, but she’ll be okay. We’ll be okay; my mom, she’s tough.”

“Like Spider-Man,” you say, though you don’t really mean to. You’re tired and the words just slip out, but Jonathan begins to laugh. 

“Yeah, like Spider-Man, you’re right. Thanks, bug.” 

“Anytime, bee.” 

Jonathan smiles at you, still softly laughing, and it’s then that you realize. He hasn’t laughed in days, he’s hardly even smiled, and yet here he is, smiling at the stupid nickname you gave him and laughing at the stupid joke you didn’t even mean to say; you realize you’d do anything to get him to laugh again, to give you that smile that he’s only ever reserved for you. He squeezes your hand and his eyes shine for a moment with a familiar warmness that has always made you weak. 

It hits you like a cold, cruel wave on a harsh winter day. 

You’re in love with Jonathan. 

Fuck.

It’s horrible timing, and you feel sick with guilt for realizing that you love your best friend merely hours after his brother has died, but now it’s all you can think about. 

You love him, you love him more than you’ve ever loved anything before, but you can’t tell him. It wouldn’t be fair, and you don’t have the time. 

You’re thankful when Hopper begins to talk again, reiterating that Joyce is tough, so that you have the time to process your newfound feelings. 

Then Joyce comes crashing through the door, screaming about how whatever is in the other room isn’t Will, ignoring everyone who tells her to calm down. Both you and Jonathan stand up to calm her down, your comic dropping to the ground in the process, but she doesn’t listen and instead runs outside. 

“Mom!” Jonathan follows after her. 

You sigh and tuck your hair behind your ears before picking up the comic. You know that Jonathan needs to be alone with Joyce right now, give them some privacy, it’s a personal matter. More personal than anything else, and yet you also selfishly don’t want to be near him for a few moments so you can collect yourself as well. 

As you’re gathering your things, Hopper clears his throat. 

“Do you love him?”

You freeze, having not expected such a personal question. You’ve only just realized your feelings for him, how the hell has Hopper already figured it out? “What does it matter? His brother is dead and his mom is losing it.”

Hopper rubs his hand over his face, giving you a warning look. “But do you love the kid?”

It’s the way he says it, like it means life or death, that has you respond, “I do.”

“Take care of him, then.” He looks you in the eyes as he says it, urging you to understand the weight of his words, and you do. 

You’ve heard about how his daughter had died and his wife divorced him soon after. They’d only ever been rumors to you, but now you know that they’re true. He’s telling you to take care of Jonathan, that your love for him means that you have to take care of him in a way that no one else can. 

In a way, you suppose that you and Hopper aren’t so different after all, and you gain a new sense of respect for the man. 

You swallow deeply and nod at him before excusing yourself to follow after Jonathan and Joyce. 

– 

The mother and son in question are a few blocks down the street, Joyce waving her son away as he follows her with the car. 

You sigh. 

This day definitely sucks. 

Running up to them is a pain in the ass, honestly. You get that you gave them some privacy, but damn. Did Jonathan seriously have to take the car as well? 

When you finally catch up, he’s parking. “Hey, what are you-” 

He doesn’t spare you a glance as he turns the engine off and runs after his mom. 

“Seriously?” You groan, clutching at a stitch in your side from running. Usually you’re a great runner, actually choosing to go for a run whenever you’re particularly stressed out or anxious. However with the shitshow that this week has been, you haven’t gone on your morning run in a while and you’re starting to feel the effects of being out of practice. 

Joyce, being surprisingly fast, is hard to catch up with, but you do your best as Jonathan sprints ahead of you. When he finally reaches her, he grabs at her jacket with a determined look in his eyes. 

You hang back, now regretting the fact that you left the coroner’s office in the first place. 

“Mom, stop!” 

“Just go home, Jonathan.”

“No, this is not an okay time for you to shut down.”

“Shut down… what-” The confusion in Joyce’s eyes is enough to make you feel Jonathan’s frustration as well. You feel for the woman, you really do, but she has another son to worry about. Jonathan is still here, he’s lost his own baby brother, he needs his mom now more than ever.

But Joyce, too lost in her own grief and desperation, can’t see that. 

“We have to deal with this, mom. We have to deal with the funeral!” You’ve never heard Jonathan raise his voice at his mom before, but after days of begging for her attention, you’re proud of him for defending himself.

The word “funeral” seems to snap Joyce out of her daze and once again she goes on her tangent about how Will’s body isn’t really back at the morgue, that he’s still alive, and Jonathan’s anger in his voice makes you ache. 

As he and his mom continue to yell at one another, a few nosy people in the town area stand and watch. They whisper to each other, no doubt about how Will’s death has made Joyce Byers crazy, and you kick a few rocks at them. 

“Fuck off! At least pretend that you aren’t a bunch of nosy assholes like most decent people do.” A woman sneers at you, but you wave your arms above your head, “Oh! Scary! Get fucked!” 

Eventually they do as they’re told and walk away from the screaming mother and son, which pleases you. 

You really hope that random lady wasn’t a patron of Bookstrordinary though. 

“Yeah, well, while you’re talking to the lights, Y/N and I will be planning a funeral for Will!” Jonathan’s voice is laced with bitterness as he screams at his mother, breaking your heart even more. “I’m not letting him sit in that freezer another day!” 

Joyce storms off, but you notice that her shoulders shake with tears as she leaves. 

It’s such a devastating situation, and while you’re also frustrated with the way she’s been treating Jonathan, you also know that maybe her craziness isn’t exactly “crazy”. El is still out there, even if you’re not sure where, and you think about how she was able to control the comic book and the game pieces. The static electricity you felt in the air when she used her powers, the same static you felt at the Byers’ home a few nights ago when Joyce came running outside with the lights flashing and Will’s song playing on the radio.

But then you think about how El promised that Will was alive. 

He isn’t; you see his dead body every time you close your eyes. 

So really, what is there to believe?

Lost in thought, you don’t notice Jonathan walking towards you until he grasps at your arm and flings you along back to the car with him. He’s breathing heavily and you notice that he’s shaking. He’s in no condition to drive. 

As you near the car you quickly reach around and grab his keys from his pocket before running over to the driver’s side and throwing yourself into the seat. Jonathan hates when you drive the car, not because you’re a bad driver, but because some part of him truly believes it’s impolite to make a girl drive. 

As cute as you think his chivalry is, today you couldn’t give more of a damn. 

Jonathan stands outside your door. “Y/N-”

“Nope, no time to argue, Byers. Get in.” 

“But-” 

“In.”

He does as he’s told, albeit with some attitude, but eventually the two of you are off. Without having to ask, you drive to the local funeral home. While you and Jonathan are similar in many ways, the one thing that pulls you together is planning. You both cling onto the stability that planning provides, and right now Jonathan is clinging onto his responsibilities for Will’s funeral.

Like he told his mom earlier, you and him have a funeral to plan. 

The funeral home is closer to the edge of Hawkins, so the drive is a longer one. Along the way Jonathan slowly begins to calm down, untensing his shoulders and releasing his clenched jaw. You let him take all the time he needs, thankful that for now you have some time to yourself to reflect over today’s revelation.

You love Jonathan. 

Those three words are heavy within your chest, and you almost don’t want to think about them, but you know that sooner or later you’ll have to. You glance at Jonathan, the late fall sun casts a warm glow on his face that for a brief moment brings back the boy you knew only a week ago, before everything changed. Then he turns to face you and you see the red in his eyes, his cheeks sunken in, and you know that you don’t have the time to unravel whatever you feel for him. 

He needs his best friend right now.

Jonathan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts, his voice cracking a bit from disuse. “Can we talk about yesterday?” 

You cast him a quick glance. “Yesterday?”

“Our… our fight, I guess.” 

“Oh,” you shift your hands on the steering wheel, now suddenly painfully aware of the silence within the car. “We don’t have to right now, bee. We should be focusing on the funeral arrangements.” 

Your voice catches on the word “funeral”, it still hasn’t sunk in yet that Will is really gone. 

“Bug, for the past eighteen hours all I’ve been thinking about is Will,” he takes a shaky breath and you gently place a hand on his, encouraging him to keep talking, “but when I’m not thinking about him… I’m thinking about you and what-what you said yesterday.” 

“I said a lot yesterday-” 

Jonathan gives you a pleading look. “Please just let me get this out, okay?”

You purse your lips but remain silent. 

“I will never, ever deserve you. This week and my actions have proven that. This isn’t some pathetic attempt to make you pity me, I was an asshole to you and I recognize that. You love people in a way that terrifies me, Y/N. You’re my best friend and I think I would actually die if I ever lost you.”

A snort escapes your lips, “you probably would.”

“I definitely would, but this isn’t about me. I’m so, so sorry for how I’ve been treating you lately and the fact that you’re driving me to a funeral home after watching my mom have a meltdown in the town square without even batting an eye is all the more proof that you’re too good for me.” 

“I wouldn’t say too good, but yeah. Close enough.”

“It’s more than enough, bug. That’s what terrifies me: I’m afraid that I’ll never be able to repay you for all that you’ve done for me, even before Will disappeared; you’ve been taking care of me since we were twelve.”

His words hang in the air as you allow them to wash over you. There’s so much you want to disagree with, namely the fact that he doesn't deserve you, but you know that he wouldn’t want to hear your arguments. 

Again you think about how similar the two of you are, and while you both give your all to the people that you love, your love comes freely while Jonathan has grown up believing that it comes with conditions. It’s never been a problem in your relationship until now, but you guess with how much you’ve been overcompensating for everything, the need to return it all has caught up with him. 

Finally, you speak. “You feel that you can’t accept my help because I’ve already done enough for you. Is that it?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan takes a deep breath. “I know it’s stupid, especially because I’m asking for your help right now with the funeral preparations, but…”

“I understand, but we’ll get through it,” you pull into the funeral home parking lot and turn the car off. “We always do, right?” 

“Right,” Jonathan’s smile is a weak one, but you accept it nonetheless. 

“Now, you ready to go look at children’s coffins like real men and women do?” 

He laughs at your poor attempt at a joke, but even he can admit that objectively the entire situation is morbid. “Only real best friends go coffin shopping together.” 

“My thoughts exactly, good sir.” Then, before you forget, you reach over and whack Jonathan’s head with the back of your hand. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

You shrug your shoulders, “ask Nancy.”

And with that, you unbuckle your seatbelt and head into the funeral home, trusting that Jonathan will follow eventually enough. Things aren’t exactly the same between the two of you, especially with your newfound feelings for him, but it’s a start. 

“I deserved that,” you hear Jonathan grumble, which makes you smile. 

You’ll take whatever you can get.

– 

You spot Nancy before Jonathan does. 

It wasn’t intentional, really, but the funeral home director was droning on and on about the different wood selections for coffins and finishes that you can customize and it all makes you want to throw up; the coffins before you are so small, you weren't really paying attention in the first place. 

She stands in the doorway and motions for you to get Jonathan’s attention, who is deeply focused on everything the old man is saying. A part of you wants to ignore the girl, but the scared look on her face tells you that this is something serious. 

You nudge your shoulder against Jonathan’s and point at Nancy; he excuses the two of you as you walk towards her. 

Jonathan shoves his hands in his pockets, a bit guarded. “Hey,”

“Hey, your mom, um… said you’d be here.” 

“You talked to Mrs. Byers?” You ask, feeling a sudden possessiveness over the woman. Sure, you were kind of okay sharing Jonathan with Nancy so long as she was with Harrington, but Joyce? She’s like a second mother to you.

It made you uneasy that Joyce even talked to her in the first place. 

Nancy tilts her head at you. “Yeah, it was only for a brief moment though. She seemed pretty… distracted.” 

“No shit. Her son died, Nancy.” 

The girl flinches a bit at your tone, which causes Jonathan to yank at your sleeve and shove you behind him. “Ignore her, we’ve had… Well, it’s been a long day.” 

You feel your shoulders drop and unclench your fists. “Sorry, is everything okay? Is it the boys?”

“No, they’re fine, I just,” Nancy’s eyes shoot towards you, uncertain, before directing them towards Jonathan. “Can we talk for a second?”

The photos Nancy shows you makes your blood run cold. They start with Barb sitting alone by the pool, but slowly she pulls out more and more pieces of the torn picture to create a terrifying image with a shadow-like figure looming over her friend. 

Jonathan tries to sum the shadow up to lens distortion, but you know that he’s wrong. Nancy asks more questions, trying to figure out exactly what has happened to Barb, but all you can think about is El. 

You check the time on your watch and curse. It’s late afternoon now, you’ve been gone with Jonathan since early this morning. Dustin hadn’t been in his room when you left and you stupidly assumed that he’d gone off to school. Now, seeing the picture of Barb and that thing… Something is so goddamn wrong. 

“The cops think that she ran away,” Nancy says. 

“Just like they did with Will,” you’re whispering more to yourself than to them, but Jonathan hears you anyway. 

“Maybe she did run away-” 

Nancy shakes her head. “No, she wouldn’t do that. They don’t know Barb. When I went back to Steve’s… I thought I saw something.”

Your head shoots up. “Nancy, what did you see?”

“Some weird man,” the urgence in your voice confuses the girl, but you silently push her to keep talking, “or… I don’t know what it was.”

Both you and Jonathan are quiet afterwards for very different reasons. 

He’s quiet because he probably thinks Nancy is crazy, just like his mom. 

You’re quiet because you’re currently afraid you’ve accidentally left your idiotic brother and his friends and El alone with very real monsters and possible bad men. The figure Nancy saw… El being terrified of bad people finding and hurting her…

Well shit. 

“I’m sorry, I-I shouldn’t have come here today-”

You stop Nancy from leaving. “No, you should stay… I think,” you look at Jonathan, nervous for how he may react to what you’re about to say. “I think I might have an idea of what you saw last night. A lot has happened since Will disappeared, things that I’m still trying to understand, but I think I know where to start finding an explanation.” 

Jonathan turns to you. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Technically I did try telling you a few nights ago but then you yelled at me and threw a jacket at my face-” 

“You threw a jacket at Y/N?” Nancy asks, which you and Jonathan ignore. 

“But for now I can’t tell you anything else. I made a promise, and I’m not sure I’m right or even sane for considering it an explanation, but we need to leave. Now.”

“A promise? To who?” There’s an edge of hurt in Jonathan’s voice and you desperately wish you could explain more to him, but now isn’t the time. Not with Nancy sitting between you two and her own brother involved. You don’t want to cause any unnecessary worry for her; right now she needs to focus on Barb. You’ll wrangle in the boys, it’s your fault they’re even alone right now with El.

“I can’t exactly say who, but just trust me, okay? Again: I really hope I’m just insane and worried about nothing and that this will all be an embarrassing laugh for us later.”

“Y/N-”

“Jonathan, we need to go.” 

“‘We’?” Nancy now speaks up, seemingly fed up by your vague exchange with Jonathan.

You try to collect yourself and pretend like you have some amazing plan. “Yes, we. Jonathan will take you to the photo developing room at school and see if you can make the pictures clearer. On the way there, he’ll drop me off at home so I can grab my bike and head out.”

“And what will you be doing?” The boy asks.

“Tracking down my brother, unfortunately.” 

He gives you a doubtful look. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to just let you run off on your own without more of an explanation.” 

You know he’s right, but you just… you can’t tell him about El and the bad men yet. You can’t. Not until you know for sure what the hell is happening. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing… but just in case, I really need to find Dustin, okay?” 

I’m a really, really bad babysitter, you think. 

Jonathan opens his mouth again as if to argue, but you hold your hand up to silence him. You really don’t want to waste time fighting with him. He has to trust you on this, whether he likes it or not. 

He sighs with defeat, “Just be safe, please.”

You also really don’t want to put anyone else in danger. It’s bad enough that you allowed the boys to get dragged into this mess, but you refuse to drag your best friend in as well. But really, who knows? Maybe you’re just a regular idiot who believes in fairy tales and monsters, not some idiot who leaves three overly naive boys alone with a girl with superpowers. 

God you hope you’re just a regular idiot. 

However, if Joyce believes that Will is alive, even without the knowledge of El and her powers, then you’re sure that the boys also believe he’s alive and will inevitably go looking for him again. Alone. In the same woods Nancy saw that strange figure. 

You cast those thoughts out of your head and give Jonathan what you hope is a reassuring smile. “When am I not safe?”

You really, truly hope that you’re just an idiot, but if the photos that you just saw scare you. Before he can change his mind, you quickly reach over and snatch Jonathan’s keys from his jacket and give him a peck on the cheek before running out to his car.

“I call shotgun, Nancy!”

– 

Unsurprisingly, the drive with Nancy and Jonathan is an awkward one. Things are still a bit tense between you and him for reasons you’re not sure you can tell him about just yet, and now Nancy is in the backseat trying not to make any sound, so really it was a doomed car ride from the start. 

It’s not that you don’t like the girl, but there’s something about the way she acts around Jonathan that honestly makes you want to collapse. You know she’s with Harrington, but the tenderness Jonathan has shown her the few times they’ve interacted makes you uneasy. 

Yesterday you chalked the uneasiness to simply never sharing Jonathan before, but now you know the truth. 

You’re jealous because you’re in love with him. 

It’s a nauseating feeling. 

“So, how long have the two of you been friends?” Nancy’s question surprises you, mostly because she should already know the answer. You know she’s just trying to make conversation, but the question itself further reminds you of why the two of you had drifted apart in the first place. 

“I moved here when I was twelve, remember? Your family helped us move in.” 

“Oh, right. Sorry,” You see Nancy nervously playing with her fingers in the rearview mirror, which makes you feel bad. She’s trying, you know she is. 

“It’s fine,” you try to catch her eye, and when you do you give her a smile. “I know you probably don’t remember much from that day. It was the middle of the school year and our brothers immediately started being annoying together, so you had gone inside after only a couple minutes.” 

Nancy laughs, now remembering that day. “Didn’t Mike hold an initiation for Dustin that night?” 

“Yeah,” you laugh with her now. “That’s actually how Jonathan and I met. Remember, bee?” 

Jonathan’s smile is a soft one, a smile that makes you feel weak because you know you’re the reason it’s there. “Of course I do. We both showed up at the Wheeler’s house at the same time to pick up our brothers.” 

“And then-” 

“I answered the door.” Nancy finishes for you. 

“Yup. Ever since then, Jonathan hasn’t been able to get rid of me.” 

“It’s been horrible,” he says with a monotone voice, but it’s clear to everyone that he’s joking. 

You punch his shoulder. “You weren’t complaining when I saved you from those bullies later that week.” 

Jonathan gives you a pointed look and tries to subtly motion towards Nancy, clearly embarrassed that you've brought the bullies up in front of her. Like he wants her to think he’s someone cooler than he really is. 

Your smile vanishes. 

He wants to impress her. 

“Right, sorry,” you clear your throat and if Nancy notices your sudden mood change, she doesn’t say anything. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and remind yourself that what matters right now are the boys and El. They should be your priority, not petty boy drama. 

Luckily Jonathan pulls into your driveway not long after the abrupt conversation ending, which you’re thankful for. 

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face Nancy, and it takes everything in you to force a smile on your face. “Alright, well, this is my stop! Nancy, I’m trusting you to tell me whatever you and Jonathan find. I’d ask him to keep me updated, but I know he’ll inevitably forget.”

The girl nods at you. “You can trust me.” 

Can I?

Although you’re not exactly sure what it is that you don’t think you can trust her with. Then, your eyes drift to Jonathan and the way he’s staring at her from his own mirror, and you realize that maybe she’s not the one you should be worried about. 

“Good,” you turn to Jonathan now. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“And I’ll answer… probably.” 

“You’re so sweet to me.”

“I know, right?” 

You snort at the boy and wave goodbye to him and Nancy before getting out of the car. Your bike is in the shed, so you motion to Jonathan that he’s good to leave. When he’s sure you’re okay, he waves at you one last time and drives away. 

It feels like you’ve made a huge mistake as you watch Jonathan and Nancy leave, but you don’t have time to think about why. Dustin’s bike isn’t in the shed alongside yours, which you expected, and you have to find him. 

Your brother and his idiotic friends need you right now. 

– 

For the second time within a week, Steve Harrington almost kills you with his stupid BMW. Granted, the first time wasn’t necessarily his fault due to your crying, but this time just felt personal. 

“Henderson!”

“Jesus Christ-” You’re biking to the Wheeler’s, lost in thought as the sun begins to set, when stupid Harrington scares the shit out of you. 

His unexpected shouting from the other side of the road causes you to swerve your bike towards his car and he has to slam on his brakes to avoid hitting you. 

“Do you, like, have a fantasy about me hitting you with my car?” 

You glare at the boy. “You are a man, I am a woman. It’s getting dark outside. What exactly made you think it’s a good idea to yell out at me?”

“Well, I mean, I called after you.” He says, so matter of factly that it makes you want to strangle him. 

You hate him. You really do.

A strand of hair has fallen in your face, so you blow it away before bothering to answer. “My apologies, you called after me and almost killed me in the process.”

Steve winks at you. “Apology accepted.” 

You stare at him, unamused and still in the middle of the damn road, and after a couple beats of silence you cock your head at the boy. “Are you going to tell me what you need or…?”

“Oh,” Steve coughs, as if startled by your question. “Honestly I didn’t really have a plan when I called after you. I just kinda did, so…” 

“Right, well.” You clench your jaw in annoyance. Why are you even surprised that Harrington has wasted your time? “This was fun, let’s never do it again sometime!”

You ride off on your bike, trying to quickly get up the hill so that you can get to the Wheeler’s before it gets too dark to see. The hill is brutal and it’s almost embarrassing how long it’s taking you to get up it, and as you’re huffing and dripping in sweat, headlights come up from behind you. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you groan. 

Steve’s car is now right next to you, the fucker having done a complete u-turn to follow after you. His window is still rolled down and he has one hand on the steering wheel and the other hanging out his window. 

“Hello again, Henderson.” 

“I never said hello back to you.” 

“C’mon, at least pretend to be happy to see me.”

You let out another groan as you continue to struggle up the hill. “I physically cannot do that, sorry.” 

Steve, ever the comedian, responds, “It doesn’t seem like you can physically get up this hill either.” 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of laughing, but you’re a bit annoyed that his quip was funny. What a jackass, honestly. 

“Henderson,” your silence doesn’t deter the boy, “just get in the damn car already.”

Once again you almost crash into the BMW, this time because of your complete shock at his request.

“What?”

He gives you a look as if you’re the insane one in this situation. “You’re sweatier than I am after basketball, and at the rate you’re going I’d say you’ll reach your destination in about three to five business days.”

You stare at him, speechless. 

He stares back at you with a smirk on his smug little face, knowing that he’s won the argument. “Get in the car and I’ll throw your bike in the back.” 

You do as he says, your mind completely blank and still taken aback. Sweatier than him after basketball? There’s no way that’s true, and also who says that to someone they barely even know? As if you’re really that sweaty-

You see your reflection in his car mirror and wince. 

Okay, so maybe you’re a little sweaty. 

Fuck Steve Harrington. 

The boy in question tosses your bike in the trunk as you hesitantly get in the car. He watches as you sit yourself down and laughs. “It’s a car, Henderson. It won’t bite.” 

“Yeah, but you might.” You slap a hand over your mouth, embarrassed by the implications of your words. 

Steve raises an eyebrow at you as he turns the car back on. “Careful there, last I checked you’re a taken lady.”

The embarrassment you previously felt is gone, now replaced with your usual annoyance when it comes to Steve. You think about what he did yesterday to Jonathan’s camera, the cruelty in his eyes as he watched the thing shatter onto the ground. He didn’t show any remorse, and while you understand that he had been defending his girlfriend, he had taken it too far. 

“How many times do I have to tell you that Jonathan and I are just friends?” 

“Please,” Steve huffs with amusement, “the two of you have been inseparable for years. Besides, no way a guy like Byers can just be friends with a girl like you. Not scientifically possible.” 

You wrinkle your nose. “What’s ‘a girl like you’ supposed to mean?” Then another thought occurs to you, “Also, you didn’t even know my name until this week, so don’t go acting like you know my relationship with Jonathan.”

“Relax, Henderson. It was a compliment. All I meant is that you’re decently pretty, all things considered, so I wouldn’t blame Byers if he was in love with you. It’s human nature.”

“Okay, that’s just really sexist-”

“As for knowing your name only this week, you’re wrong.”

“I’m sorry?” You ask, confused. 

Steve places a hand over his chest, almost as if he’s reaching for his heart. “Apology accepted, it means a lot to me.”

“Ugh,” you scoff at him. “That wasn’t an apology and you know it. Can you just take me to the Wheeler’s, please?”

“Woah, slow down there. First I need you to tell me why you thought I didn’t know your name, then I’ll take you to my girlfriend’s house. Free of charge.” 

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that you see some offense in Steve’s eyes for thinking he only recently learned your name, but why would he care? Besides, you know he’s never paid any attention to you before this week.

“It was literally this week that I had to tell you my name after you almost hit me with your car, Harrington.”

“Okay, hey,” the boy holds a finger up. “Actually, you almost hit me with your bike because you were too busy hysterically sobbing.”

He’s right, but you won’t tell him that. Minor details, honestly. You’re about to tell him as much before you realize what he’s said. “Wait, you knew I had been crying?”

Steve gives you a well, duh look. “Yeah, that’s why I pretended not to know your name. Figured you wouldn’t want to talk about it and the least I could do was make you laugh. And viola, I did.” 

He had willingly tried to make you laugh?

His words make you flush, which seems to only amuse him further as he chuckles at you. You wave your hand at him, now more annoyed than ever. “Okay, fine. Whatever, so you knew my name before this week, big whoop. Can you just drive now?”

“I’ll take that as an ‘I’m sorry Steve for assuming you’re an asshole who hadn’t noticed a girl you’ve known since you were thirteen’, then.” Steve takes the car out of park and begins to drive to the Wheeler’s which you’re relieved by. 

You feel uncomfortably warm after that conversation, regardless of the fact that you’re still overheated from your biking. There’s no way that Steve has seriously known about you since you were twelve and he was thirteen. No, you decide that he must be lying, playing up his usual boyish charm. He’s been this untouchable entity ever since you moved to Hawkins, so why would he have paid any attention to you?

Then your mind floats to his compliment, calling you “decently pretty”, but then again not even five minutes earlier he stated that you sweat more than he does after basketball, so really his words should mean nothing.  

And yet, after the week you’ve had and your fight with Jonathan and Will’s death and El’s mysterious powers… 

Steve’s words make you a bit giddy, embarrassingly enough. You hate that they do, because he’s Steve Harrington and he’s with Nancy who is beautiful and kind and everything you’re not. It doesn’t matter what he thinks of you. 

You pick at your nails as he drives, the car silent, and you accidentally graze against the cut on your finger from yesterday. It’s scabbed over by now, but the pain is still fresh. 

“I know that what Jonathan did was wrong, I won’t excuse his actions. Standing up for Nancy was the right thing to do and I admire you for it, really,” Steve spares you a glance as he drives, nodding his head slightly to indicate that he’s listening. “But breaking Jonathan’s camera wasn’t.” 

He groans. “Nancy said the same thing, but what’s the big deal? The creep shouldn’t have access to a camera if he can’t use it properly.”

The slight warmth that Steve had somehow put in your chest dissipates at his words. “Jonathan isn’t a creep, but regardless of the situation, the big deal is this: not everyone can afford a fancy BMW and Raybans. Not everyone in Hawkins lives in a giant mansion with a pool. He worked so hard to afford that camera, it’s not something that he can just buy again on a whim.” 

Steve shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Henderson, you know I didn’t mean it like that-”

“I know, but it was still a shitty thing to do.”

The silence that settles in the car is a heavy one, and you almost feel bad for Steve. You know he hadn’t thought about the repercussions of his actions, but you suppose that the fact that he hadn’t considered the price of a camera was proof enough of his naivety. 

When you get to the Wheeler’s, Steve gets out of the car to help you with your bike. He doesn’t let you do a thing, so you stand there and awkwardly watch. You can tell that he’s trying to make up for his actions from yesterday, which you appreciate. 

“Thank you,” you say once he places the bike down. 

“All in a day’s work.” Steve responds, wiping his hands off on his jeans. 

As he turns to leave, you stop him. “And thank you for earlier this week, ya know, for making me laugh after falling off my bike. I, uh, appreciate it.” 

He seems surprised by your sincerity, but he smiles. “Again: all in a day’s work. And listen, I’m sorry about Byers’ camera,” Then he quickly adds, as if afraid he won’t have the nerve to later, “I’m sorry about Will, too. I figure you were close with him and now he’s…”

His words trail off, not wanting to say the word “dead”, which you can’t blame him for. 

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a bad person.” Steve turns to face you now, your words catching his undivided attention. “You just have the worst taste in friends, but when you aren’t around them… I guess you’re alright.” 

He laughs a bit, but there’s a certain emotion in his eyes that you can’t quite name; you have to stop yourself from leaning in closer to him. Suddenly the space between you feels too close and you take a step back, but as you move you feel Steve’s hand ruffle your hair. “I guess you’re ‘alright’ too, Henderson.” 

You watch as he leaves, standing in the Wheeler’s driveway for longer than necessary. You place your hand on your head and find yourself smiling, the warmth of his touch still faintly there.

-

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[chaos-in-deepspace]

Zayne's Chocolate Incident (Discussion)

Aight so this is spoilers for the newest 5-Star Banner for Zayne, but felt I should discuss it since I've seen some discourse about it that I've been seeing. If you don't mind spoilers or have already seen it, then you can continue under the cut.

So I've been seeing two different things being brought up about this, and it's:

MC not telling Zayne it was alcoholic chocolate and how horrible that makes her.

Zayne pretending to be drunk (or how the fuck did this man get drunk) discussions.

Let's start with the 1st one!

MC not telling Zayne about the chocolate

People are making it out to be super problematic, as if MC was trying to get Zayne drunk for amusement, or maybe it's just the fact that there was alcohol in the chocolate and she didn't tell him.

I dunno if y'all have ever had alcoholic chocolate, but for the most part...you eat it for the flavor. In fact, the alcohol content in it is so low it's laughable. It would be impossible for someone to get drunk off a single chocolate unless they were an actual toddler (hell a toddler would probably be fine). Not to mention chocolate contains both sugars and fats...two things that are known for helping you sober up when drunk.

In essence, you're eating the chocolate for the flavor alone. The taste of the alcohol in the chocolate can help accentuate the flavor and it's good. Unless I had a friend allergic to chocolate or didn't drunk due to religious reasons, I probably wouldn't bat an eye at it.

To put it into context, one piece of chocolate contains about 1.8% alcohol in general. An average shot of alcohol is 40%. I could probably eat 20 of those chocolates and maybe feel a slight buzz...if that. Pair that with the sugar and fat content of it, it makes it even harder to get drunk off of it.

This is probably why MC didn't say anything about the chocolate. You're eating it for the flavor, not the effects, and Zayne likes sweets. It's common knowledge in this fandom. I'd probably offer it to him too because hey, it's a different type of chocolate that won't be giving you negative effects like getting drunk.

Not to mention Zayne originally only took a bite of the chocolate, and managed to realize it had alcohol in it. He then proceeded to continue eating it, which probably meant he was also aware that this kind of chocolate is made for enjoyment not getting drunk.

Hell MC was fucking shook when Zayne ended up getting drunk from said chocolate because she clearly didn't think it was possible, and the proceeded to take care of him with a bit of teasing on the side (something he's also done a bit of when MC was drunk).

At the end of the day it's up to your opinion if MC not telling Zayne it had alcohol makes her a horrible person, in my opinion it doesn't. She knew he didn't have religious reasons and he wasn't allergic, and she didn't think it was possible to even get tipsy over a single chocolate.

Now for the second part:

Zayne getting drunk

It's a trope. It's a trope people. In fact it happens in K-dramas pretty often from what I've heard from those who watch them. They wanted to find a believable way to get the composed Zayne to get drunk. None of us can really see Zayne actively drinking since he's made it clear he doesn't, but he ain't gonna turn down chocolate.

I also don't believe Zayne was lying or playing up the drunk part. Again it was to fit a trope. They wanted to get Zayne drunk for the card, so they made him drunk. Same reason we got the cat banners. They wanted the men to have cat ears and came up with a random thing. Same reason we got the Wander in Wonder event. They wanted an excuse to put them in unique clothing that's outside of the norm.

It's for tropes.

Also these are fictional characters in a fictional world.

I think with having said that, it's kinda cleared up the case of the alcoholic chocolate. Realistically Zayne wouldn't have been drunk, even if he's a lightweight beyond lightweight, it just isn't plausible. He got drunk because he's a fictional character and that's what the devs wanted. If he was sober it wouldn't have made for a very exciting card.

[lvis44]

Sweet Escape - The Wedding Pt.1 // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: Language, Alcohol Consumption, its really just a whole lot of fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+

Summary: Paradise is supposed to be fun and relaxing... a Sweet Escape, but when unspoken feelings and jealousy rise to the surface, everything can be turned upside down in the blink of an eye.

Notes: The beginning of the long awaited wedding! I have decided I will be releasing this in chunks, I cannot guarantee when each one will be coming but it will all be in the universe soon enough. I love you all and appreciate those of you have been kind and patient, I'm still here y'all I promise. Once again I cannot follow the same tense while writing and this has not been fully edited.

I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy! xxx

Previous Sections: Prologue - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Epilogue

What if I come and stay until 11:55?” His voice is whiny and desperate, making you laugh.

“Lewis, you have to go before Charlotte and Miles come and drag you.” You tell your pouting fiancé, still laughing at him.

You’re standing outside the fancy restaurant rented for your rehearsal dinner, snow falling around you as people start to clear out. Lewis had been attached to your hip for the last few days, his adoration for you only growing as you two approached your wedding day, The day that you had perfectly planned together.

“Wanna sleep next to you though.” Lewis says quietly, a cheeky smirk on his face as he pulls you against him, his hand traveling down to your bum.

“Lew! My parents are right there.” You whisper shout, grabbing his forearm to move it up to your lower back.

He just laughed, shaking his head before pressing himself against you even firmer, “Seriously, can we stay together just a little while longer? Promise I’ll leave before midnight.”

You could tell his intentions weren’t to sleep and you knew you would be hard pressed to kick him out later in the evening. You’re not a particularly traditional person but you were holding to sleeping apart the night before the wedding, much to his dismay. His mother had been the one to bring it up during wedding planning and while Lewis thought it was a horrible concept you were more than happy to go along, it made her happy and it made everything feel even more real. Two suites had been rented for the night at different hotels, mostly to keep Lewis from sneaking into your bed in the middle of the night.

“Bruv, if you don’t let go of her and come get in the damn car, I will remove you myself.” Miles’ voice boomed from behind you, saving you from having to turn your fiancé down yet again.

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing Miles and Charlotte were tightly wound, the stress getting to them both as if it was their own wedding. You could see that Lewis was finally accepting defeat, rolling his eyes but nodding to Miles, motioning that he would be there in a second.

“It’s fucking crazy that the next time I see you will be at the altar.” Lewis whispers, looking giddy yet anxious.

“Gonna be Mrs. Hamilton tomorrow!” Your voice was quiet as you tried to hold back your squeal of excitement.

You were beyond elated to be marrying your best friend. When he proposed he had made it very clear that you could be engaged as long as you wanted, that nothing needed to be rushed. Only two years later you were here, ready to marry the love of your life in less than twenty four hours.

“Son, I think Miles is going to explode if we don’t all get going.” You hear Anthony laugh from nearby, evidently amused by the frantic state that Miles was in.

“Okay, okay.” Lewis just laughs, glancing at Miles who was now pacing outside of the black town car.

“I love you, get some sleep, need you in tip top shape tomorrow.” You say to Lewis, leaning up to place a family friendly kiss to his lips as you pat his chest

“Yes ma’am, I love you too.” Lewis mumbles against your lips.

Lewis stares at you for a moment, love pouring out of his dark brown eyes before squeezing your waist once more and walking off toward Miles who looks about ready to shove Lewis into the trunk if it means they’ll leave any quicker. Having said your goodbyes to everyone earlier, you make your way over toward Charlotte where she’s waiting by your own matching town car.

“You look much calmer than Miles was.” You laugh as she makes a ridiculous display of opening the door for you.

“Well thankfully I’m in charge of the much easier spouse,” She giggles, following you into the car, “I knew you’d stick to your guns and send him on his way. Miles on the other hand has about ten different plans of ways to just about lock Lewis in his room, pretty sure a straight jacket is on the table.”

You can’t help but laugh, knowing Lewis will more than likely continue to complain throughout the night. You would be lying if you said you truly didn’t want to be next to him for the night, you always sleep better in his arms, but you know one night away from each other won’t kill either of you, you’ve done it countless times before. It’s been rather adorable to you how clingy Lewis had gotten over the past few weeks, it was rather unlike him but you weren’t going to fight it. You know it’s something he does sometimes when he needs to ground himself, and right now his emotions are at an all time high. There had been a few snafus with decorations and such in the weeks leading up to now, each one seemed to wind him that much tighter, the perfectionist in him struggling.

When you arrived in the suite you were exhausted and ready for your pajamas but knew there was no way you were ready to go to sleep just yet. Your mom was waiting for you in the suite when you arrived, already opening a bottle of wine and urging you and Charlotte to come sit with her, a much needed moment of decompression. You’ve been busy all day; last minute preparations, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner with all of both of your families. You were drained yet still so full of adrenaline. Being around Lewis all day had helped immensely, always so in tune with each others moods and needs, more than once he had rescued you from a conversation that felt like it had just gone on too long. It also helped that he was bubbling with excitement and energy, even after so long you frequently questioned where he got it, the level rarely faltering.

It wasn’t long before Charlotte was excusing herself to go get ready for bed, leaving you alone with your mom.

“This is all still so crazy to me.” Your moms voice is quiet and kind.

“Which part?” You laugh, taking a sip of your wine.

“All of it!” You mom says, gesturing into the air, “The fact that my baby is getting married, that her wedding is in a castle, that she’s marrying a man that we watched and admired racing for years, the fact that he’s the love of her life, just all of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at your moms little rant, because it was true, so much of it felt surreal but everything was perfect.

“I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.” You tell her softly, sincerely, taking a moment to think back on everything that has happened over the last three years.

Growing up, Sundays were reserved for F1, you and your mom massive Hamilton fans from the very beginning of his career. When you had told her that you had met him she freaked out nearly as much as you originally had, fangirling in a way you had never thought possible. Your dad thought it was impressive too, making a comment about you never leaving the city to come home and visit them now that you were hanging out with celebrities. When you told your parents that you were dating, your mom was incredibly happy for you but never let her admiration of Lewis get in the way of her daughter's well being, she made sure to check in with you frequently, always worried that his distance and status may be taking a toll on you. Your father on the other hand was less than pleased when he first learned about your relationship, preconceived notions about Lewis’ personal life and persona taking over, less than pleased with the age difference between the two of you. It took a while, but Lewis was able to win him over and you’ve never been more grateful for anything, you were desperate for all the people you loved to get along.

Now you had a fiancé who spoke with your father without you needing to be around, a mother who had befriended Lewis’ mother and stepmother and adored him, and were mere hours away from becoming his wife. Life truly does come at you fast.

“You’re ready?” Your mom asked, breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

“I truly don’t think I’ve ever been so ready for something. I’m nervous of course but there’s no one else that I would rather be with for the rest of my life. I’m sure of that.” Your voice was confident as you spoke, meaning every word.

“I’m so glad you found someone so good for you hun, he truly is a dream. Hell, I wish I had met someone like him when I was your age,” Your mom laughed, sending you a wink, “don’t tell your dad I said that.”

“Secrets safe with me,” You giggled back, “but I don’t think there’s another one of him.”

“Not that I’ve ever seen.” Your mom shrugged, the soft smile never leaving her face.

You can’t help but giggle at the conversation you're having with your mother. You’ve never been one to be sappy but the emotions boiling inside of you leading up to your big day are sending you over the edge, truly letting all the cliche thoughts you have about Lewis come to the forefront.

“You, my dear, need to get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you and need to be well rested for your night.” Your mom winked making you groan through a laugh.

“Mom!” You buried your head in your hands.

You and your mom have always been open with each other about every aspect of your life but you didn’t need to hear her joke about you consummating your marriage.

“But truly, you should try to get some sleep.” She laughed at your embarrassment, trying and failing to come off seriously.

“You’re right, I’ll try.” You say, rolling your eyes as you finish off the last of the wine in your glass

[madwomansapologist]

gift exchange with baldur's gate 3 companions

Navigation | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: As the end of the year approaches, the group united by worms decides over starting a tradition: exchanging gifts!

warnings: i don't think there is any...? this can be seen as tavrem or just platonic. ASTARION FLIRTS. i use tav as a nickname for reader, so... i made the sortition on a site so this is really random. i swear. like y'all wont't believe me, but it's random. also, i love those weirdos. just thought i should said that. happy rest of 2023 for all of us!

After losing a bet, Gale was responsible for starting what soon will be a tradition among the almost honorable group.

Gale stood up from his place near the fire, an unopened package floating beside his body, making a little flourish. "When I found out who companion I would gift, an immense honor took over my chest. My virtuosic―"

"Chk," Lae'zel crossed her arms. The look on her face was clear: she was daring Gale to dare her. "Humanoid, use fewer words."

Gale breathe in, so close to losing it. One things is to be disrespected, an that he can bear, but to be interrupted? He prepared jokes, and it would even rhyme. Decided not to be the one that would ruin the night, he ignored her.

"To sum up," he smiled at Lae'zel. "What a honor to put a face to the name, Blade of Frontiers."

Wyll hugged Gale, patting his shoulder affectionately. "The honor is all mine to meet such a renowned wizarding prodig."

Gale handed over the package, and then sat back down by the fire. The wine goblet returned to the wizard's hand.

Wyll's smile gradually died. From the packaging, he took out a book. "General Theory of Contracts and Unilateral Acts?" He glared at Gale. "What should this mean?"

"I'm just helping my friend," Gale took a sip. "So in the future you won't sign any appealing contract."

Facing the book that soon will be burned, Wyll regret getting into debt with Tav just so he could buy the perfect gift.

Wyll picked up the bag left on the log, and ignored Shadowheart's giggles.

"In this year full of surprises, good ones and horrible ones, but meeting this person..." Wyll breathed. "Gale, you worthless cunt. Astarion, I hope you like this."

Astarion took the gift with his fingertips, excited to have guessed who had drawn him. He told Karlach that Wyll was acting strange lately. He didn't thanked Wyll, that is something he'll only do if his gift is good.

When he touched what was inside the bag, he knew that the fabric was of quality. And upon seeing the details of the black ensemble, Astarion's smile became real.

"Oh, darling," he purred. "You spoil me."

With a smug smile and a hesitation to provoke his companions, Astarion continued.

"To show that I am capable of doing the right thing from time to time," Astarion licked his fangs. "I spent arduous weeks collecting what I would need for tonight's best gift."

Everyone booed him.

Rolling his eyes, Astarion took the chest from his tent. "I smell the scent of jealousy coming from all of you," said Astarion. He stopped talking, just to play with everyone's feelings. "That one is to my sweet leader."

You cheered as you stood up. If there's one thing no one can say about Astarion, it's that he doesn't have good taste. After all, there is a reason for why he chose to bite you.

"Thank you, darling," you mirrored the way he talks to you. "That won't make me mad, will it?"

"Oh, Tav, you know me" your nickname flowed from his lips like honey. "I only play with your feelings when we have privacy."

When he handed you the trunk, you even stumbled under its weight. You placed it on one of the fallen trees. Opening it, a smile appeared on your face.

Potions. Lots of potions. Of all kinds. Speed, invisibility, healing. Poisons, coatings. From the most basic to the rarest.

Looking at Astarion, you pouted. "Thank you," you whispered.

Excited, you runned to your tent to take the hidden gift. Something on you told you the problems you got yourself into just to able to get that would be worth it.

"Oh gods," Gale murmured. Sarcams dripped from his tongue. "What is that? Can anyone tell?"

"On my defense," you pointed at him. No words made to your brain, so you breathed in. "How else would I pack an trident?"

"Not like that," said Shadowheart.

You chose not to discuss with them only because you knew that just wrapping it with red silk and a pink knot was a bad idea, but it still hurted to know that it was the best you could do. How can wrapping things be so difficult? Why no one told you that it would be so difficult?

"The person I gonna gift deserve the whole world, and one day I will sure that they get's it," you started. Surprised that Lae'zel didn't stopped you already, you continued. "I really wasn't expecting to like that person, but she won my heart so easily."

"Heart," Lae'zel murmured. "Is it Karlach?"

Karlach jumped from her place. "IS IT ME?!"

You showed your tongue to Lae'zel, then turned to Karlach. "Yes, it is!"

In a matter of seconds you were too far from the ground. Only when your breathing had already become a problem did Karlach carefully place you on the ground again.

Karlach tore open the wrapping, the trident glinting in her hands. She was already thanking you so happily. The only reason why she didn't hugged you again was because she didn't want to hurt you.

"This pretty girl in your hands is Nyrulna," you started. "Because of an spell, it'll return to your hand when thrown. Plus, no one can force you to drop it. It also creates an explosion. But the best part is that I found a way to make it red!"

Wyll sighed, and threw his book on the fire.

"Hey!" Gale yelled.

After a little dance to celebrate, Karlach tried to control her beaming smile. She didn't knew most of her companions felt their hearts getting warmer, but if she did it would have just worried her.

Karlach held onto the box she protected with her life to ensure no one would tamper with the gift. "This person deserves a fucking break and I―"

"Shadowheart," you yelled. "Is it Shadowheart?"

"You're fucking right!" Karlach pointed at the cleric. "Is it you, my girl! You're the one that deserve a break!"

"Well," Shadowheart forced a little smile. "Thank you. I guess."

Karlach handed over the small package, and without delay she pulled Shadowheart into a hug. The brunette had no option but to accept it. Carefully, Shadowheart opened the package and found a book with leather cover.

She threw the package on the floor to open it. "What is it about?" Shadowheart asked, flipping through the book.

"It's a collection of erotic stories," said Karlach.

Halsin took a sip from his goblet. Finally someone with taste.

Shadowheart ignored whatever wit comment Astarion made and took a deep breath. "Of course it is."

Shadowheart wasn't recovered from her gift, but the tiredness that overtook her members was also caused by the irony of what was about to happen.

"Lady of Sorrow guides us," Shadowheart whispered to herself. Instead of trying to make people guess who she's about to gift, Shadowheart just threw the box onto Lae'zel's lap. "There is no reason for me to delay this torture even more."

"Chk. Oh. This seems like it's you fate to deal with me." Lae'zel opened the box with one of her daggers. "Let's see if I will thank you, follower of Shar."

Inside the box, Lae'zel found several instruments for improving weapons. How she hated liking the gift. Lae'zel would like to do like Wyll and burn everything just to embarrass Shadowheart, but she couldn't damage such well-made instruments.

"Well done, cleric," Lae'zel hissed.

Lae'zel knew that her gift was the best, but there was a possibility that she did not thought about: maybe she had got the gift she would like to receive. Either way, it would be worth it.

"I share the cleric's interest for no unecessary fuss," Lae'zel was quickly to say. "Bear, I hope you enjoy this."

She handed over the box and walked away before Halsin could think about hugging her. Halsin undid the knot that kept the box closed, and everyone gasped at the sight of his gift.

You looked at Lae'zel. "How did you... Did you keep it all this time? How did you preserve it?"

In the glass above Halsin's hands was Minthara's head.

"You truly are..." Halsin sighed. He didn't knew what to say. "Civilized."

Before Halsin could recover, Gale approached the druid.

Unable to say anything, Halsin handed him the package. Gale didn't care, he just wanted to know what he had won. His smile didn't last a lot.

"Boots, Halsin?" He yelled. "Very mature of you. Very mature."

Wyll laughed at last.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[covid-safer-hotties]

a newsletter some of y'all may be interested in subscribing to

By John Dupuis

Welcome to the latest issue of the Covid-Is-Not-Over Newsletter! A couple more issues during December before I take a little break from regular issues and publish a couple of filler “Bonus” issues. I’m definitely looking forward to a couple of slower weeks of holiday movies and fun books. I’m thinking of a Lord of the Rings rewatch this year. LotR are holiday movies, right? Right?

Mini-theme this week seems to be librarian-friendly, with a couple of colleagues writing about Information Literacy and the pandemic and how we’ve gotten ourselves in this rather amazing fine mess. How can all that good information be available to seemingly smart people, and yet it doesn’t seem to sink in? How can Long Covid fly under the radar, ignored or psychologized?

One thing that I want to remember from last week is that appalling Lisi Tesher article. You may recall that Lisi Tesher is the Toronto Star agony aunt who gave a horrible response to a letter about how to accommodate a Covid cautious person at a wedding. Tesher basically called the person mentally ill. Appalling.

Anyways, clear air advocate Ryan Tennant wrote a fantastic response as a letter to the editor at the Waterloo Record, which republishes Tesher’s column. Here’s a little bit.

In the context of COVID-19, we should respect and support individuals who make choices to protect their health and the health of those around them, especially when science justifies it.

For weddings and similar gatherings, a compassionate response would have offered creative ways to understand and incorporate evidence-based health protections against COVID-19, ensuring everyone feels valued and safe.

I urge this publication to ensure its contributors are equipped with accurate information and an appropriate tone for readers seeking support.

If you are the grudge-holding type of person, perhaps it’s not too late to encourage Ms. Tesher to read this week and last. The Star’s Life section email is life@thestar.ca, the city editor is city@thestar.ca and Ms. Tesher herself is at lisi@thestar.ca.

This week I also highlight some more on Trump and public health, not to mention some revolution-making, rabble-rousing, high-energy jazz.

Like! Share! Subscribe!

As most have probably noticed, there is no paid subscription option for this newsletter. However, Substack does have an option where subscribers can pledge to subscribe “just in case” and a few kind subscribers have made that pledge. I very much appreciated the vote of confidence in what I’m doing here. What I’ve decided to do on a trial basis is to set up a “tip jar” on the Ko-fi platform. I’m not anticipating a huge surge of income from using Ko-fi but whatever revenue I do end up with, I plan to spend on supporting artists on Bandcamp.

Be my secret Santa!

It’s not about information literacy: Why people’s risk calculus around COVID has changed by Meredith Farkas / Information Wants to Be Free: The Newsletter I don’t think information literacy is the issue here. Most people I know are quite smart, well-read, and adept at research. I don’t know if they read things about COVID anymore, but if they’re not, it’s not because they don’t know how to find it. I think a lot more is happening with people who avoid COVID information and ignore risks and I think it’s a mix of personal psychological factors, privilege, the absolute disaster that was public health messaging around COVID, and social pressure to align with the dominant narrative that COVID is over. I know we like to distill things down to a single cause (“they’re selfish!” “It’s Biden’s fault!”), but this is considerably more complicated.

Many of us are dealing with pandemic fatigue, which is a lot like burnout and leads to a “demotivation to engage in protection behaviors and seek COVID-19 related information” (Haktanir, et al., 2022, p. 7315). Ford, Douglas, & Barrett (2023) describe pandemic fatigue as “a complex set of emotions comprised of anxiety, hopelessness, depression, and anger.” There are a few of reasons people become fatigued in this way. The biggest is simply the length of time we were all expected to stay in a state of emergency and hypervigilance. Living in that state with no clear end in sight can easily lead to burnout as many of us who have worked in high stress jobs can attest. You can’t stay in a state of hypervigilance forever without eventually becoming exhausted and desensitized (Koh, Chan, & Tan 2020). Chen et al. (2024) found that even when they controlled for pandemic severity at particular points in time, pandemic fatigue increased in study participants an average of 5.8% every six months of the pandemic. Instead of vilifying folks who experience pandemic fatigue and decrease their precautions, the WHO portrays it as “a natural and expected reaction to sustained and unresolved adversity in people’s lives,” (7), an approach which I personally appreciate. Shame is not a motivator and these are very normal psychological responses.

Advice for U.S. Government Scientists: Lessons Learned From the ‘Muzzling’ of Their Canadian Counterparts by David Shiffman / The Revelator Step One: They Can’t Delete What They Don’t Exclusively Control

For scientists working at government agencies, they suggest making copies of everything so it can be stored somewhere else — and to do that as soon as possible, certainly well before the next administration starts.

For example, does your agency have a publicly funded database, report, or educational website that has anything to do with climate change, conservation, diversity, equity and inclusion, or public health? It’s very likely that the next administration will try to suppress or delete at least some of it. A nongovernment partner, such as a university or large nonprofit, can host copies of these important documents and data if they’re shared in advance.

These efforts are already underway, but it’s vital to spread the advice as far as possible, as quickly as possible, so no data is left vulnerable.

New Zealand Covid inquiry finds vaccine mandates were ‘reasonable’ by Australian Associated Press / The Guardian A royal commission into New Zealand’s Covid response has largely accepted the need for vaccine mandates, while accepting they harmed a substantial minority of New Zealanders.

The first of two inquiry reports on the pandemic was released on Thursday and also called for broad investment to plan for the next pandemic.

A headline finding is that New Zealand had one of the lowest rates of Covid deaths for each head of population among developed countries.

The most contentious of the issues surveyed was the use of lockdowns and vaccine mandates, which helped to curb the spread of the virus, but at the cost of social cohesion and trust in government, according to the report.

“Contentious public health measures like vaccine mandates wore away at what had initially been a united wall of public support for the pandemic response,” commissioners Tony Blakely, John Whitehead and Grant Illingworth wrote.

“Along with the rising tide of misinformation and disinformation, this created social fissures that have not entirely been repaired.”

Another finding was “it was reasonable to introduce some targeted vaccine requirements based on information available at the time”, but the case was weaker from early 2022 when the Omicron variant took over.

The COVID inquiry report is an excellent guide to preparing for the next pandemic – health cuts put that at risk by Michael Baker, Amanda Kvalsvig, Collin Tukuitonga, Nick Wilson / The Conversation The report concludes that New Zealand’s adoption of an elimination strategy was highly successful, but had wide-ranging impacts on all aspects of life.

The strategy required early use of border controls, lockdowns and other restrictions which helped prevent widespread infection until most of the population was vaccinated. This response gave New Zealand one of the lowest COVID mortality rates globally.

The report also found that as the pandemic progressed into late 2021, the negative impacts increased. Controlling the pandemic was focused on mandates, including restrictions on public gatherings, quarantine and isolation, contact tracing, masking and vaccination requirements.

The effects included declining trust in government within some communities and loss of social cohesion. Vaccine hesitancy emerged as a growing challenge to the vaccine rollout, fed by exposure to misinformation and disinformation.

The prolonged pandemic and lack of a clear exit strategy from elimination added to the difficulties, according to the commission’s report.

Almost a third of preteens, teens with long COVID still not recovered at 2 years, study shows by Stephanie Soucheray / CIDRAP A new study from UK investigators shows that—while most COVID-19 patients ages 11 to 17 who reported long-COVID symptoms 3 months after the initial infection no longer experienced lingering symptoms at 2 years—29% still did.

The findings, published in the journal Communications Medicine, come from the National Long COVID in Children and Young People cohort study, which followed up on thousands of young people after their COVID-19 diagnoses. …

Overall, 20% to 25% of all infection status groups reported three or more symptoms 24 months post-testing, with 10% to 25% experiencing five or more symptoms. Not all who reported symptoms, however, met the formal criteria for long COVID. In fact, five or more symptoms were reported by 14.2% of those who never tested positive for SARS-CoV-2, and by 20.8% of those with at least two infections.

Older teens and females were most likely to meet formal definitions, the authors said. "We did not find that symptoms or their impact differed by vaccination status," the authors wrote.

Independent Long COVID Journalism as a Lens for Critical Information Literacy: Conversations with The Sick Times Founders Betsy Ladyzhets and Miles W. Griffis by Andrea Baer / Communications in Information Literacy The realities of COVID-19 and Long COVID and their ongoing impacts are unsettling. In a world of information overload, when we face numerous wicked problems that have no simple or complete solutions, it’s understandable that we may sometimes want to simply look away or may, at times, feel paralyzed and throw up our hands. Some readers may, like me, ask themselves to what extent to engage with wicked problems like COVID-19 in the realm of information literacy, given how polarized and taboo this topic has become and given that most discussions about COVID-19 place it in the past tense (e.g., “postpandemic,” “post-COVID era”). Some readers may also, like me, ask themselves how examining reporting on complex topics like COVID-19 might inform their teaching practices more broadly. I would like to do more of the latter along with others, and do so with critical reflection, care, and an ongoing practice of perspective-taking. …

COVID-19 and Long COVID, similar in many respects to climate change, are not going away, and they affect us all, albeit to varying degrees and in different ways. The Sick Times is a concrete example of people and communities making a positive difference for many in the short term, while also growing connections and efforts that necessary for larger and more systemic change over the long term.

Long COVID is becoming a serious social and economic issue for Australia by Jason Murphy / Crikey Among the current generation of kids, many are growing up with their mother or father confined to bed or confined to bed themselves. According to a study by ANU, long COVID is hitting up to an estimated 20% of Australians three months after they contracted COVID — mostly women, but also men and children. In the current COVID wave, that means a lot of people coming down sick for a long time.

Long COVID is keeping people from their jobs and their lives, and as COVID cases continue, it is unclear whether the rate of new long COVID cases is increasing faster than the old cases recover.

‘I was in denial about it’: actor Matt McGorry on having long Covid by Estelle Tang / The Guardian What does risk mitigation look like for you, and what did you want people who don’t have long Covid to take away from the video?

The risk mitigation in my life is very high. When your health is taken away from you, you realize how important it is. There’s not much that feels worth the risk of another Covid infection.

I don’t necessarily expect that everyone does or should do what I’m doing, but the number one thing is having a very well-fitting respirator. For maximum protection, you need something that forms an airtight seal. While you may get some protection from a surgical mask, if you’re already taking that step, it makes sense to find something that seals to your face. I wear the Flo mask, which is a reusable mask. People definitely look at it, and I have all sorts of feelings about that. I used to love to people-watch, and now I don’t any more, because people are watching me. …

My asks are very simply masking, at the very least, in places where disabled and immunocompromised people have to be: grocery stores, medical settings such as doctors, offices, pharmacies, hospitals, and transportation like planes, trains and buses.

Even as an act of solidarity, picking a couple of those places, making a commitment to that and making that known is incredibly important. As someone who feels extremely isolated and abandoned by the rest of society, I don’t have the capacity any more to ask individual people in my life if they will take this on. That’s what the video was for.

Long COVID pandemic in the aftermath of the acute phase / Centre for Pandemics and One-Health Research Why is this topic important?

It is important for many reasons, but I would say the main reason is that this is a problem that affects a large fraction of those with acute infections or certain acute infections. In this COVID study with adolescents, we found that approximately 47 percent had long-term sequels, and quite a high percentage of these would fulfil the criteria for chronic fatigue syndrome, which is a debilitating situation. That is quite similar to what we have seen after other infections. For instance, with kissing disease, six months after the infection, you are left with 10 to 15 percent with a chronic condition and with functional impairments.

The good news is that the majority, especially in the younger age group, will recover spontaneously. However, this can take a long time, and in adolescent medicine, this is one of the major causes for functional impairments in adolescents. So, it has a significant impact on people´s functional capability. It is necessary to understand the details of the pathophysiology for treatment, prophylaxis and prevention. The first step is, therefore, to understand what is going on. The next step is to conduct clinical trials in order to try to treat this phenomenon. This is something my research group is doing as part of the research.

For the love of God, Covid isn't over - so can people please wear masks? By Sam Williams / Canary A week ago, my wife and I went to John Lewis to look at air fryers. As we entered the store, I put on an FFP3 mask because of Covid. My wife looked at me in disgust and said, “Oh, you’re wearing a mask?” I replied, “Yes. There’s a lot of Covid around, and I don’t want it. Do you?”

She responded, “Well, the trouble is, I’m not wearing a mask”.

I said, “Yes, I can see that. I wish you would. The trouble is, every time I’ve caught Covid, it’s been from you. I’m disabled with long COVID, and every time I get reinfected, it makes me really, really ill”.

So here’s my question: does my wife not care?

I want to use this piece to spark a debate about who we are as people. Are we kind and virtuous, or are we selfish and indifferent? Writing an article about what stops people from wearing masks, while I live with the pain caused by my wife not masking, feels like an oddly meta activity.

That’s right, folks: it was probably my wife who gave me Covid in the first place. Although, to be fair, neither of us knew about masking or long Covid back then.

Want to Limit Respiratory Virus Infections? Mask and Test in Hospitals by Rachel Robertson / MedPage Today Stopping universal masking and SARS-CoV-2 testing in hospitals led to a surge in hospital-onset respiratory viral infections relative to community infections, a cohort study found.

After these safeguards were removed, there was a 25% jump in hospital-onset respiratory viral infections compared with the preceding Omicron-dominant period (RR 1.25, 95% CI 1.02-1.53), reported Theodore Pak, MD, PhD, of Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston, and colleagues.

When hospital staff began masking again, the rates of hospital-onset respiratory viral infections decreased by 33% (RR 0.67, 95% CI 0.52-0.85), they wrote in a JAMA Network Open

Testing and Masking Policies and Hospital-Onset Respiratory Viral Infections by Theodore R. Pak,Tom Chen, Sanjat Kanjilal, et al. / JAMA Network Open In this study, stopping universal masking and SARS-CoV-2 testing was associated with a significant increase in hospital-onset respiratory viral infections relative to community infections. Restarting the masking of health care workers was associated with a significant decrease. Limitations of our analysis included a lack of concurrent controls, possible variations in compliance, difficulty disentangling effects of testing vs masking, and potential case misclassification. However, medical record reviews suggested most hospital-onset cases were true acute cases.

Nosocomial respiratory viral infections remain associated with increased length of stay and higher mortality in hospitalized populations. Our data suggest that masking5 and testing were 2 potentially effective measures to protect patients who are hospitalized, particularly when community respiratory virus incidence rates were elevated.

Long Covid-19 Weakens Immunity In Children, Increases Risk Of Infections: Study by Himani Chandna / News18 Children experience weakened immunity and bacterial infections after suffering from long Covid-19 syndrome, a study published in the medical journal Nature has revealed.

Persistent fatigue was the most common symptom in children with long Covid syndrome, while the majority of children often complained about anxiety.

Is H5N1 (Bird Flu) the Next Pandemic Causing Virus? / LIL_Science One critical aspect of H5N1 becoming a pandemic causing virus is developing person to person transmission, this has not yet been reported for the virus. However, research published December 2nd, 2024 in Nature Microbiology makes a strong case for increased virus shedding and hence airborne transmission being a key component of increased infectivity. The researchers found that increased viral shedding in H5N1 found in an infected dairy farm worker but not in H5N1 that infected the in cattle themselves. This means the virus in that person had changed in a way that allowed for improved airborne spread. This supports prior research published October 28th, 2024 in Nature showing that the same virus strain (A/Texas/37/2024 (huTX37-H5N1) had acquired a mutation that improved the virus’s ability to infect human cells and increased lethality in animal models.

Repeat human infection gives the influenza virus more chances to develop mutations. Within the last month several reports have indicated that H5N1 is moving closer to person to person transmission while maintaining it’s highly pathogenic nature, exactly what we don’t want.

I have gotten hundreds of questions on social media about this so I will start with some of the basics to help everyone navigate what might be coming next. Let’s dive into where H5N1 came from, why is it more concerning than annual influenza strains, and what can we do to protect ourselves?

'Mistaking Covid as a cold may put people at risk' by Nikki Fox / BBC An NHS matron said that too often people were mistaking Covid for a common cold and a lack of testing could be putting vulnerable people at risk.

Lana Goodwin, who works in Covid services at Mid and South Essex NHS Foundation Trust in Billericay, Essex, said she believed people who were not high risk "feel that Covid has gone".

She added that statistics showed many vulnerable people were also not aware they were eligible for anti-viral drugs.

Ms Goodwin said: "I feel the public see [Covid] symptoms as a cold and it doesn't trigger off a response to test."

Ms Goodwin said that her clinic had people testing positive for the virus every day and vulnerable people were "unfortunately still dying from Covid".

[cultleaderyoongi]

With You, All The Way | myg

☆ pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

☆ genre: ex2l, pwp • angst, smut, fluff

☆ word count: 10k (I have no excuse except for I'm frustrated)

☆ warnings: toxic stuff happens, a lot of miscommunication; a lot of making up and making out; some cursing; mentions of alcohol; explicit smut – kinda soft dom!Yoongi, breast/nipple play (he's kinda a boob guy), fingering, eating out, handjob, blowjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (reader is on birth control tho which is mentioned), multiple orgasms, simultaneous orgasms, creampie, some praise, some aftercare

☆ synopsis: Break-ups are rough, more so if you and your ex share the same friend circle. How could a simple and supposedly tame night full of fun games change the trajectory of your relationship that is no more?

☆ playlist: Tinashe – Perfect Crime | Alina Baraz – Between Us | Kali Uchis – Moonlight

☆ a/n: Guess who's back after *checking imaginary watch on my wrist* almost a year 💀 Did I whip this out within approximately two weeks? Maybe. This is the fastest I've ever written, so therefore it's sloppily edited – especially towards the end (I'm not a fast writer, ok? I'll come back to edit it soon). Listen, I was super heartbroken about the concert (still am), so my mind conjured up this beast of a delusional, self-indulgent story. Pls think of me when you go see my man live, especially if it's the Newark show tonight 😭

I started off this story with Marie Claire Yoongi in mind, but with the release of D-Day it turned more and more into Haegeum Yoongi, sooo...feel free to imagine whichever version you want. Happy D-Day era to y'all! Lmk what's your favorite track, your favorite look, your favorite whatever. Let's talk and suffer together lol

Enough of my rambling though. I hope you enjoy reading! As always, if you do – thank you and pls lmk what you think ♡

☆ taglist: @main-bangtansmauyeondan @jwlmnbt (I'm really horrible at keeping track of my taglist which is also due to my inconsistent posting, but if you see this and you remember wanting to be on my practically non-existent permanent taglist pls lmk)

© cultleaderyoongi on tumblr | do not repost or translate on any platform

You shouldn't be here.

You really shouldn't.

Whose idea was it to bring everyone together for a night of fun activities and drinks? Whose stupid idea was it to invite you when your least favorite person in the world is going to be present as well? And furthermore, whose stupid idea was it to seat the two of you within clear vision of each other?

"Don't hate the player, hate the game." Your friend Jimin, the host and therefore perpetrator of all this, speaks with a smirk as if to answer your internal monologue, watching your other friend Jungkook pick up eight colorful cards after being hit with two subsequent draw fours.

Laughter goes around the circle as the youngest tries to rearrange the abundance of cards in his hands.

Truth be told, you could've declined. It's not Jimin's fault things went south with you and the man whose glare avoids you as if his life depends on it. Yet you spot glimpses of his feline eyes set on you when he least expects it, catching him off-guard – and suddenly the fluffy, white rug beneath his feet is a lot more interesting to look at.

"Oh Jungkook, you're almost as rich as Taehyung!" Seokjin jokes, drawing your attention back to the group.

Hoseok joins in, accompanied by an animated cackle. "You're giving Taehyung a run for his money."

You muster said boy beside you, his brows furrowed and tongue poking out in focus. He can barely spread out his set of cards without dropping any. Poor Taehyung.

As the game continues and more and more people yell out Uno in relief until a loser is revealed (it's a close and tedious match between Jungkook and Taehyung, but at the end Jungkook pulls through) you pay close attention to the way Yoongi toys with the rings on his fingers. He always does this when he's anxious. His action is incessant, almost obnoxious in your eyes. You don't like being here any less than he does, but at least you try your damn hardest to pull yourself together in front of your friends. They're your friends as well as his. You haven't had the chance to see them as much lately while he gets to see them all the time – they live together, for fuck's sake!

"_____." Jimin's voice pulls you back to reality. "Lend me a hand?"

"Uh yeah, sure." You spring up from your seat, realizing Jimin asks for your help clearing the table.

While he collects the cards strewn across the coffee table, you make move of collecting empty bottles and cans. In your position, you're slightly hunched over the surface which involuntarily causes one thing to happen.

Your suspicion is confirmed when you look up at your ex-boyfriend shamelessly staring at your cleavage. There's a split second where you make direct eye contact once he grasps the situation – and now things are ten times more awkward.

Taking a deep inhale, you place everything on the kitchen island nearby before returning to your seat. You muster Yoongi's stone-cold, almost dead-like expression. To anyone that didn't witness what happened seconds ago, it probably looks like the regular go-to mood for Min Yoongi. But you can catch the tiny movement of teeth nibbling on the inside of his bottom lip. Oh, he's frustrated. You can't quite determine yet if you're proud of this achievement.

Meanwhile, Jimin sets up the next game.

"This doesn't look like a safe game to be around Namjoon-hyung," Jungkook murmurs, inspecting the tower of wooden blocks stacked on top of each other.

"Hey!" Namjoon retorts to the boy, his lips pulled into a slight pout. "I can play Jenga alright. Just you watch."

There are noises of disagreement going around the group, some of the guys sharing anecdotes on things Namjoon has accidentally broken recently.

"There's a little twist, by the way," Jimin informs everyone amidst the commotion. "Each block has an instruction on the bottom. Kinda like truth or dare – but you don't get to choose."

"Oh!" Seokjin claps his hands once in excitement. "Now we're talking."

Of course, leave it to Park Jimin to make an already awkward evening even more awkward by potentially causing ruckus with whatever tasks he gives out to people. Great.

After a match of rock, paper, scissor to determine who starts (which is Namjoon who already almost has the tower topple over by crouching down to the table), the first few turns go by in a breeze. Nothing too out of the ordinary has been requested yet. Taehyung choosing Jimin if he had to pick someone he would date out of the bunch or Jungkook giving Hoseok a lap dance like there's no tomorrow seem like natural occurrences for a Saturday night in this house.

"My turn," you murmur as you bend over until you reach the stack. Carefully, you pick a piece from the lower half, smiling to yourself as it slips out with ease. That smile fades though as soon as it appears when you flip over the block to read out the demand: kiss a person of your choice (on the lips! No less than 10 seconds).

There are multiple Oohs going around the group. Some are of surprised and enthusiastic nature – some stem from a place of concern.

You're rooted in place, your mouth running dry at the idea of... What exactly? There's nothing to be nervous about. Most of the guys (emphasis on most) wouldn't even make such a big deal out of this for your sake. Also, you're not blind. You've got handsome friends for sure. Each and every single one of them. It's the thought of him and the consequences. Whatever that may entail.

"I don't think this is right." Namjoon comes to your rescue, most likely sensing your discomfort.

"Why not?" Taehyung asks in earnest, visibly confused about the elder's remark. "She's a free woman. She's free to do whatever."

"Hyung," Jungkook chimes in, "I know for a fact she's not gonna kiss you. You can stop sucking up to her."

The youngest's savage comment has everyone in a laughing fit – everyone except for Yoongi of course.

Uncertainty takes over your mind, covering it in a thick blanket. It's been three months since the two of you broke up. Are you still hung up on him? Yes. A hundred percent yes. Does the same apply to him? You can't say for sure. He's been eerily quiet the entire evening, almost too quiet for your liking. He could either be hiding his innermost thoughts or he actually doesn't give a single fuck about you anymore.

Once the laughter dies down, the sound of his all too familiar voice has you lifting your eyes from the little troublemaker in your hand.

"He's right," Yoongi points out plainly, referring to Taehyung. "She can do whatever she pleases. I don't care."

As he finishes up with a sip of his whiskey, the room falls silent. Nobody dares so much as even breathe. Everyone exchanges looks between each other ranging from unease to utter shock.

So he really doesn't care.

"Okay." You catch his attention with these two syllables, his eyes never straying from you as you place the wooden piece on top of the tower. Making your way over to his side of the couch, you maintain eye contact throughout. There's a slight twitch noticeable in his eyes, confusion taking over his features. Once in front of him, you bend over before leaning in – only you redirect at the last second, wrapping your arms around Seokjin's neck who's sitting next to him. You give it no second thought, planting your lips onto his in an instant.

Although in tunnel vision, you can still hear the gasps around the room. You didn't think this through, but you have to commit now which is why you slightly intensify the kiss by parting your lips. Your hunched-over position becomes uncomfortable though, causing you to drop down to one knee beside Seokjin's thigh on the cushion.

He welcomes the closer vicinity, holding you by your waist with gentle hands.

Has it been ten seconds yet? You have no idea. You assume Jimin would count down, but he's probably too stupefied like the rest of them. Throwing in the tiniest of tongue action for good measure, you part again rather sooner than later. A clear sheen of lip gloss and saliva covers your friend's plush lips. His ears are flushed almost a hot pink.

Your job here is done.

Clearing your throat, you turn around to no one in particular. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom. You can keep playing without me."

And with that, you brush past Yoongi's frozen form, ignoring the whispers going around the room.

You've been warned about the sink in the downstairs bathroom not working (once again, courtesy of Namjoon), so you swiftly climb up the flight of stairs to the upstairs bathroom.

Closing the door behind you, you let out a loud exhale before you make your way over to the sink. You don't have to use the bathroom. You just need a minute to breathe. Or two. Or five.

You look up at your reflection in the mirror, the telltale sign of the kiss written all over your lips. Had you known this is how things are going to pan out, you would've opted for smudge-proof lipstick. Turning on the faucet, you dab some water onto the pad of your finger to wipe at the corners of your mouth.

What have you done?

A knock on the door startles you.

"What?" you ask, wondering who it is.

"Let me in."

The deep, raspy tone coming from the other side of the door draws an annoyed sigh out of you. "I'm peeing," you answer flatly.

"No, you're not."

Another heavier sigh passes your lips this time. He's the last person you want to see right now, but something tells you to give in still. "What do you want?" you bite as you swing open the door with so much power you almost detach it from its hinges.

Yoongi steps over the threshold, closing it behind him with equal force. The impact causes the door handle to rattle. He watches you wander back over to the sink, irritation marking every inch of his face. "What the fuck was that for?" he spits with so much venom it's far from characteristic of him.

"What do you mean 'what the fuck was that for'?" You turn to face the mirror, inspecting yourself again. "I did what was expected of me."

Coming up behind you, your ex-boyfriend shoots daggers at you through the reflection. "Are you fucking kidding me? That was way more than what was expected of you!"

"What's your fucking problem? You made it clear in front of everyone, including me, you don't care. Besides"–with your blood pumping hot through your veins, you spin around looking him dead in the eye–"you wanted this. You ended this." You point back and forth between the two of you. "So you don't get to complain now."

He stares you down with what you can now decipher as hurt and rage. "Don't talk about our relationship like it was just a thing. For fuck's sake, _____! We were together for almost two years." His growing distress shows as he rushes a hand through his pitch-black hair. "You took equal part in the downfall. You took equal part in the decision."

A small scoff comes to the surface. "Are you actually listening to yourself? You sat me down and told me this wasn't gonna work out – not me. You came up with all the excuses you're too busy and your career doesn't allow a stable life when you know very well I've tried everything in my willpower to make things work."

His features contort more into agony. "That's because you were never satisfied with my solutions. Who says you were the only one trying to make things work? Nothing was ever good enough for you. I know I have a busy lifestyle, but things always have to go according to your plan. You immediately shut down whenever I suggest something that's not part of your vision."

You roll your eyes at him, partially in anger but also in a poor attempt at keeping your tears at bay. He's not entirely wrong, you're aware of that. It wasn't easy with him, but you could be equally as stubborn. At the time, the glass was simply too broken to put back together – no matter how hard any of you tried. Maybe you needed the time apart to see clearer.

"These past three months were hell for me," you confess suddenly, dropping your head in shame.

There's a beat of silence following your words. "For me as well," Yoongi finally answers, his voice coming out barely above a whisper.

"How come we're so bad at this?" It's more of a rhetorical question, but you genuinely wonder how you managed to stay together this long.

Another pause settles in before Yoongi speaks up again. "I don't think we're bad at relationships. There are things we need to work on, sure. But these things don't come overnight." After wetting his lips tentatively, he continues, "We're already making big progress by talking about this – even if we wanted to strangle each other seconds ago. If anything, we needed this in order to finally be honest and not hide behind a façade anymore."

Your mind takes you back to that fateful day when you talked each other through the break-up. Things were convoluted as you convinced each other you didn't see any future in being together just to avoid addressing the truth and finding a common denominator. It seemed easier this way, running away from your problems and saving face in the process.

Now look where it led you – the worst outcome possible.

Catching a stray tear rolling down your cheek, you muster up the courage to look at him again. "What do we do now?"

He lets out a low hum at the sight of you, his hand coming up to carefully wipe another tear close to spilling from the corner of your eye. "I don't know. All I know is I don't like this. The distance, the avoidance – the animosity."

"Yeah." You let his words hang heavy in the room. Hard agree on this one. "Neither do I."

"And I certainly don't like seeing you make out with someone else right in front of my face – let alone Jin-hyung at that."

His comment has you chuckling lightly. "To be fair, I didn't enjoy it as much as you'd think."

"You're joking." He breaks out into his signature gummy smirk. "Worldwide Handsome didn't do it for you?"

You shake your head, a small smile forming on your face. "He's not you."

At that, his grin grows even wider, his eyes turning into downturned crescents.

"I'm sorry, by the way." You play with one of the bracelets around your wrist, tugging at the golden chain.

Yoongi reaches for your arm, most likely out of reflex as he notices your hesitation. "It's okay. I'm sorry, too." Dropping his hand, he elaborates, "I overreacted earlier. You're not... We're not­..."

He struggles to finish his thought, but you know exactly what he's trying to say. "Do you want to be?" you drawl, immediately wincing at how desperate you sound. Maybe it's still too early for this.

Your concern dissipates as his eyes light up in an instant. "Of course," he murmurs. "I've always wanted to."

The corners of your lips tug upwards again at that. "I do, too," you follow up though you're sure he already figured.

What a serious turn of events. Who would've thought things were going to work out this way? You could hug the world right now. Hell, you could hug the entire universe.

"Should we..." he starts, a mischievous glint glossing over his irises, "shake hands on this?"

Bursting into laughter, you shake your head at his ridiculous idea. "That's so formal. We're not business partners."

"Fine then."

Your laughter ceases instantly as he takes a few steps forward, slowly backing you into the marble countertop behind you.

"Should we hug it out instead?"

You watch the way his tongue swipes across his bottom lip as you're caged in between his arms, the closeness sending your mind reeling.

"Or do you have something else in mind?"

Swallowing down hard, your focus switches between his lips and the seductive gaze he holds you with. "A hug would be a start,” you croak out.

He sends you a crooked smile before releasing his grip around the corner of the sink, enveloping you with both arms for a tight bear hug, his cheek coming to a rest on your temple.

You welcome his touch, bending your arms that are stuck underneath his to clasp around his shoulders. An abundance of warmth and comfort washes over you, so you bury your face into the crook of his neck to take it all in. Words can't describe how much you missed this – how much you missed him.

The two of you stay like this for a while until Yoongi breaks the silence. "Just to be clear–"

You lift your head to get a proper look at him.

"–I do care. I always have, and I always will."

All trains of thought leave you as you stare at each other, the sincerity in his eyes granting them with a spark you haven't seen yet before. You swear there's a magnetic force involved, that's how strong the urge is when you slowly close the distance pressing your lips onto his.

Bliss overtakes you instantly, the familiar feeling of his lips bringing back all the memories of the past two years. Things were never easy between you, but you want to make it work this time no matter the cost.

Once you pull apart, all you can do is look at each other, completely at a loss for words. You catch the way Yoongi's focus switches back and forth between your eyes though, trailing down to your lips before coming back up where it ultimately stays.

He loosens one of his arms around you, bringing it up to rest his hand on the side of your neck. With his thumb, he rubs soothing circles into your cheek.

You close your eyes at his touch, unfurling an arm from behind his back to curl around his neck instead. The other follows the curve of his spine before enclosing around his waist.

"God..." Yoongi murmurs, his forehead coming to rest against yours. "I missed you so much."

Blinking your eyelids open, you catch the moment his open just a second later. "I missed you, too."

This time it's he who draws you in for a kiss, his hand gently tilting your head to the side to grant him access.

There's always been something super addictive about Yoongi's kisses. From the tingling sensation that infests your entire body starting at the top of your scalp all the way down to the soles of your feet, to the funny feeling in your core that has you weak in the knees and lose all sense of self – you could never get enough.

You're done for when he parts his mouth slightly, the tip of his tongue slipping through the seam of yours. You let out an involuntary moan, seeking solace as you tighten your grip around the cotton fabric of his shirt.

He steps closer causing you to part your legs to make space for him. With your torso bent backward into a small arch, he starts planting kisses along your jawline down your neck.

At this point, you're like wax in his hands. Of course he's more than familiar with your weak spots.

His hold around your waist wanders down to your thigh as he hooks your leg around his hip, gently hoisting you up on the countertop. In a painstakingly slow fashion, his lips flutter across your collarbone before they land above the cups of your bustier top.

You can feel his hand travel further up your thigh, shyly slipping beneath the denim fabric of your skirt. Before he can go any further, you gently grab him by the wrist.

Flustered, the male lifts his face from your cleavage. "Sorry, did I–"

"No," you interrupt him quickly. You don't want him to get the wrong idea. "Not here."

"What–"

Before he can ask any further questions, you climb off the counter, dragging him out of the bathroom down the dark hallway.

The door closes behind you with a silent click before you switch on the light.

You haven't seen this room since the break-up. It looks about the same, maybe a bit messier than you remember. The bed looks like it's been made in a hurry, there are a few more clothes strewn around than you're used to from your ex-boyfriend. You're unsure of the emotions that overcome you. They're something along the lines of guilt, shame – sadness.

In your daydream, you don't notice Yoongi coming to stand in front of you. "I'm sorry it's kinda messy," he apologizes, scratching the back of his head. "I didn't expect company tonight."

You solemnly shake your head. "It's fine. That's not it."

It's silent for a beat until he speaks up again. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to."

Again, you shake your head. "I do though."

The man musters you sternly as if to read your mind. Then he cracks a small smile. "Okay. Me too."

One wouldn't be able to tell the two of you were engaged in a semi-heated make-out session just a minute ago with the way you're gradually closing the distance between you. But once your arms are slung around his neck again, the passion from before resurfaces in an instant.

His hold around your waist grows more desperate with each passing second, pulling you further into the room along with him until you reach the foot end of his bed. In between hungry kisses, he plops down onto the mattress with a soft thud.

You're still in a mostly upright position, a little bit hunched over with one knee propped up beside his thigh as you continue kissing him. It's comically similar to the scene from the living room – although this time it's with the right man. The realization has you chuckling against his lips.

"What's so funny?" he asks, breaking out into a smirk of his own.

You playfully nibble on his lower lip. "Nothing," you lie. "Just thought about how strange life is sometimes."

A tiny squeal escapes you as Yoongi suddenly drags you down with him, your arms coming out just right on time to cushion the fall. "Life is strange," he agrees. "But I like where it's leading us right now."

The mischief in his tone doesn't go unnoticed by you, so to wipe that smile off his face you lean down stealing another kiss from him. It starts off relatively tame before you try to rile him up ever so slowly, lowering your body until you're straddling his waist. Your tongues are fighting for dominance, but ultimately you have the upper hand in this as you pull away, watching him from above in all his glory. Or so you thought because the second you lay eyes on his fucked-out expression, his parted lips so plump and shiny and his pitch-black hair splayed out on the white comforter you swear you lose all sense of reality. Ethereal is the word that comes to your mind. He's nothing short of ethereal.

"Ah!"

Yoongi takes advantage of the situation while you're lost in your thoughts, flipping you over on your back. "Enjoying the view?" he jokes, his gummy smirk on full display.

You snort. "Maybe."

His lips are on you again immediately, retracing their path from earlier as he places kiss after kiss over the curvature of your chest. "So am I."

You're reduced to whimpers when he sucks love bites into your skin.

Once he pulls away to admire his work, he informs you with a straight face, "You know, I had a really hard time not staring when we were downstairs."

You bite your lip, patiently waiting for the revelation.

"But then you helped clearing the table, and they were practically in my face, so–"

"You missed my tits," you interject with an amused smile.

He chortles. "You make it sound so crude." Tracing the intricate flower embroidery covering your breasts with his finger, he elaborates, "Obviously, I love looking at all of you. Not just your tits."

The way he repeats the word has you burst into laughter.

"Stop laughing at me." His cheeks rise into full globes before his face falls again. "I'm serious, I missed seeing your face. You look really beautiful tonight."

Whatever bullshit you were about to say – it's gone. The way his words leave his lips with such sincerity and his eyes are set on you as if to imprint every single inch of your face in his brain renders you speechless. All you can do is show him that you missed him just as much – if not even more. Pulling him down to you by the nape of his neck, you press your lips together again, eagerly running your hand through the strands on the back of his head. It's gotten a little bit longer ever since you broke up, and admittedly you find it kind of sexy.

"In all seriousness though"–Yoongi mumbles in between kisses–"as beautiful as you look in this, I want if off now." Toying with the strap of your top, he gently glides it over your shoulder until it loses tension.

You comply with no questions asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. Yoongi catches on right away, reaching behind you to pull down the zipper. It always amused you how contradicting he could be, his patient character cracking when it came to intimacy, his soft-spoken nature turning more daring and demanding.

A low hum resonates from him at the sight of your bare breasts, and it doesn't take long until his attention is on them again, his hand cupping one of them while he bends down to take care of the other.

The sudden contact has you moaning out louder than you'd like. As he changes up the motions on your hardened nipple, it's hard to keep it down now. Throwing your head back, you relish the onslaught of suckles and licks, kisses and bites.

He switches sides, granting your other boob the same treatment while still squeezing the prior.

You're a mess, to say the least, the dampness sodding your panties a sure indicator of that.

As if he's living in your head, Yoongi's hand wanders down the expanse of your torso before stopping right under the hemline of your miniskirt. Tugging at the seam, he grumbles, "Take this off, too, baby."

The audacity to throw in the pet name as well – you've never been quicker at undressing up until this point. Your hands are shaky as you're fiddling with the button though, so Yoongi comes to the rescue, unbuttoning it at the speed of light yet the veins raking across his hands have your undivided attention, prolonging the moment to infinity.

He slides down from the bed to the floor, taking the obstructing clothing with him at the same time.

There's something about you being stripped down to your underwear whereas he's still dressed that sends uncontrollable tingles to your core.

While leaving fluttery pecks across your lower abdomen, the male slips a single digit under the fabric covering your crotch. "We haven't even started yet"–he places another peck closer to your pelvic mound–"but you're already so wet, baby."

A snarky response is on the tip of your tongue, something along the lines of it being a given when he's been playing with your boobs like a man possessed, but you swallow it down when he drags his finger over your folds, dipping the tip into your slit.

Your reaction is immediate, the whimper passing your lips drawing a smile onto his. "God, I can't wait to make you cum," he grunts, and with that his fingers hook around the waistband of your panties, removing the last remaining piece of clothing covering you.

Any sort of thought dissipates from your mind as he throws your thighs over his shoulders and his mouth connects with your center, licking up your arousal like it's a sport.

You're no stranger to the things he's capable of with his tongue, but this is no match to the times before. His moves are calculated yet determined, taking you to the brink of an orgasm in record time. There's no use holding back anymore, your hand covering your mouth doing little to nothing hiding your whines.

In between all the licking and sucking, Yoongi retracts for a split second, a wicked grin gracing his features. "Getting close?"

"Mh-hm," you hum out breathlessly. "Please don't stop."

He doesn't need another plea from you, his movements more eager than before as he continues eating you out.

Weaving your hand through his thick locks, you watch him from above. His eyebrows are furrowed as he focuses on your pleasure, his hands around your thighs digging deep into your flesh. This sight alone could have you cumming on the spot, but it's the switch-up from small kitten licks to suckles on your clit with the perfect amount of pressure that drives you over the edge. "I-I'm cumming, fuck!"

He guides you through your release, letting you grind on his face as he runs his hands over your thighs locked around his head in a tight grip. Once you're done riding it out, he presses one last kiss to your quivering core, smirking at the way you squirm over the sensitivity.

"Fuck," you curse again in disbelief. The room around you appears surreal. You watch the ceiling above you to regain consciousness. He essentially mouth-fucked you into oblivion.

A light kiss to your temple brings you back from wherever your mind was catapulted to. Outer space or another dimension. No one really knows for sure.

"Still with me?" Yoongi checks on you, his thumb rubbing tiny circles into the highpoint of your cheek.

You swallow down hard, willing your eyes to focus on his looking back at you. The deep brown of his irises resembles that of the Iced Americanos that he loves so much although warmer and more welcoming than the caffeinated drink. "Y-yeah," you manage out.

"Good." He bends down to peck your lips. "Thought I'd lost you for a second."

You might as well be lost for the rest of eternity. Your hands seek for harbor, digging into the sleeves of his jacket. "Take this off," you mumble, impatiently tugging at the garment.

"Alright." Yoongi chuckles at your cute antics, taking it off instantly.

You're not satisfied yet though, curling your hands around the hem of his shirt, dragging it upward until a sliver of his abdomen shows. "This, too."

He shushes you, grabbing ahold of your wrists. "Baby, you're getting too excited."

With your lips in a pout you protest, "I'm not. I just wanna take care of you, too."

His laughter resonates in your ears. "You're gonna get to take care of me soon enough." You're still pouting, so he comes up with a peace offering. "Here, how about this?" Guiding his hand back down to your heat, he proposes, "Give me another one, and I'll let you do whatever you want with me for a while."

You're spent already, your first orgasm having drained your entire energy. But you're willing to go again if that means getting what you want. Nodding your head, you lean back onto the bed.

"Good girl."

Holy shit.

It takes all your might not to melt into a puddle right then and there, but his working hand doesn't give you enough time to even process his words, his ringed fingers already drawing circles on your swollen bud. You gasp out silently, leaving an imprint on the mattress with how hard you're throwing your head back.

His digits expertly tickle your clit as if you're a key on his piano or a string on his guitar, experimentally dipping them into your heat for precise pumps. You thank the gods but also simultaneously curse the devil for making this man skilled with both his tongue and his hands.

It's not long until you feel the all too familiar knot in your core tighten again, squeezing your walls around his fingers as you feel the cold metal adorning them.

"That's it, baby," he growls. The pad of his thumb works your nub while his ring and index finger drag in and out of you with fast strokes. "Almost there."

You barely manage out anything intelligible other than Yeah and Don't stop. Sweat forms on your skin from your neck down to your chest, the golden pendant of your necklace clinging to it. So close, so damn close.

His hawk eyes are on you the entire time, intense and sinister. Not a single twitch of your muscles passes them by. If it wasn't for that crooked smile of his you would think he's studying you, analyzing your every move.

It's easy to feel intimidated under his watch, so to lessen your nerves – and finally bring yourself over the edge – you grab him by the collar, pulling him close to you. "Kiss me,” you murmur as if his lips aren't already pressed to yours.

With one last wicked grin, Yoongi gives in to your request, kissing you as if his life depends on it. He knows exactly how to get you going, lets you taste yourself on his tongue while he produces more of your sinful essence.

All you can do is whimper against his mouth until you break apart, another orgasm ripping out of you sooner than you thought that has your thighs clamping shut and your back arching off the mattress. A string of profanities leaves your lips as Yoongi continues massaging your clit through your high. Your sweaty hand clutching at the comforter snatches his wrist, stopping his crazed motions. "F-fuck okay, stop," you manage out, your throat as dry as a desert.

The man has the audacity to send a soft slap to your folds before pressing a quick peck onto your temple. "You did so well." He peers down at you with a gummy smile as he sits up straight, popping his soaked fingers into his mouth. "That was fun."

You're essentially an empty vessel, watching him with your mouth agape while nothing but a numbing, tingling sensation travels along your limbs. This must be the afterlife. Hell or heaven or maybe both.

"Alright." His voice takes you back to the bedroom. "As promised"–he shuffles to the edge of the bed, spreading his legs–"you have all the creative control now."

A tired chuckle escapes you before you scramble yourself up on your elbows, immediately sliding down to the floor in front of where Yoongi sits. You're quick to work on his belt, looping the leather through the holes although the feeling in your fingers hasn't returned yet.

The sound of Yoongi's laughter fills your ears, and you know you must look like a fool with the way you're trying to get him out of his pants before you even took off his shirt. Oh shit, yeah. You totally forgot about his shirt, but you have all the time in the world. For now, your focus is on something entirely else.

He observes you as you pull down his jeans and boxers in one go, lifting his butt from the bed to facilitate the process for you. He sports this cocky sideway smirk that drives you insane, but you manage to wipe it off his face the second your hand wraps around his length. A hiss passes through his teeth once you start stroking him in an up-and-down motion. Throwing his head back, he lets you take full control.  

You add in a twisting motion whenever you reach the tip which clearly affects the man, his breathing becoming shallow and his whines turning into guttural moans. "I've barely done anything," you tease him just as he did earlier. "But you're already so hard."

That smirk returns instantly though weaker this time. "So what? I get hard watching you get off."

"Mh-hm," you hum unimpressed. "So what you're saying is I can do this"–you bend forward to slowly lick a stripe from the base up to the tip, giving the head a light suck–"and it does nothing for your raging hard-on?"

Whatever response is on the tip of his tongue, it disappears as soon as you put your mouth on him again, swallowing half of his length. "Ah, fuck!" His hand shoots up to hold you by the back of your head. The further you take him down your throat, the tighter his grip around your hair becomes. "Baby..."

You wish you could imprint this memory on instant film. The rosiness creeping up on his cheeks and neck compliment his smooth, milky skin so well. A thin sheen of sweat starts forming on his forehead, the strands of his dark bangs clinging to it framing his face like a picture. He's beyond beautiful, especially when he falls apart under the touch of your hand and the wet, warm comfort of your mouth.

Your head bops up and down at an excruciating pace now, his hard-on covered in slick from your saliva. You ignore the stinging ache in your jaw, planning on sucking him dry. He's always been such a sucker for your blowjobs, so you want to put on the best show possible for him.

"Baby," he repeats, his voice quivering. "Please."

Slowing down your movements, you resort to running your tongue across the protruding vein on the side of his length. "Yes?"

His hands wander down to your arms. "Come here."

"Hm?" You give him one final hard suck before pulling off him with a loud pop. Still kneeling in front of the man, you feign ignorance.

Impatiently, he pulls you up to your feet. "Stop playing."

You practically fall into his arms, straddling him in the process. His hands immediately find their way to your ass, grabbing a handful causing you to gasp. "What now?" you ask innocently, covering him with your slick as you grind down on him.

Drawing you in for a heated kiss, he drags your pelvis down onto his even harder. "Hands and knees, baby," the man orders with a sharp slap to your ass.

You don't waste another second, complying as you crawl off his lap. Getting into position with your butt high up in the air, you can hear his feet shuffle across the hardwood floor. He reappears in your vision shortly after, rummaging through the drawers of the bedside table.

"Shit," he curses harshly. "I thought I had some in here."

No further explanation is needed to understand what he's referring to. Sitting up on your heels, you watch Yoongi run a hand through his hair in distress.

"Can you check the other side?" he suggests, his eyes set on you.

"Sure." Leaning over the edge of the bed, you sift through the drawers though without luck.

Yoongi usually keeps the condoms on his side, the right side. When you were together, you would occupy the left side which is closer to the window. You always preferred the one closest to the window. It didn't matter much to Yoongi which side he slept on, but he made sure yours was always cleared so you could store whatever stuff you wanted. From any type of jewelry you took off before going to sleep, to snacks or books you brought with you that day – you always had your space within his home. And going through what were once your drawers, you realize nothing much has changed. They look rather uninhabited, no traces of you or him – or even someone else which is a concern that crosses your mind now.

He scratches the back of his head. "Fuck..." His voice comes out in defeat. "Maybe I can ask one of the other guys–"

"Don't!" You grab him by the wrist before he can wander off.

Confused, he looks down at your hand then back at you. "Why? You don't want to anymore?"

Shaking your head, you murmur sheepishly, "That's not it." There's a beat of silence as he waits for more. You swallow down the lump in your throat before you elaborate further, "Have you been with anyone else after..."

He holds your gaze, his eyes turning somber at your insinuation. "No."

His answer his short, but it's all you need to know. Min Yoongi might be the master of poker faces, but when it comes to you you can read the man like a book.

"Have you?" he follows up.

You shake your head. "Me neither."

Your reply seems to loosen some of the tension Yoongi was harboring, his body language becoming much more relaxed. Intertwining your hand with his, he inquires with a spark in his eyes, "Are you still on the pill?"

Giving him an affirmative answer, you interlock your fingers with his free hand as well. Your gesture changes the mood for good, his signature gummy smile making its return. You pull him closer until you're chest to chest. Sending him a light peck to the corner of his mouth, you curl your fingers around the edges of his shirt, peeling it off his torso.

He chuckles, raising his arms into the air in compliance. His hair ends up slightly disheveled once the clothing drags over his head. As you're smoothing it out for him, he asks, "Are you sure you're okay with this?"  

You give it another second of thought. It wouldn't be the first time you've done it without extra protection. You started birth control once things became serious between the two of you. Over the course of your relationship, you would stick to double protection mostly to stay on the safe side. Now that you're back here with him and your first time ever since is going to be raw, it puts so much more significance to the situation – but that's what you want. You want to be with him all the way.

"I'm okay with this," you assure him with another peck to his lips. "Are you?"

Nodding his head, he allows you to drag down his pants and underwear that still hang around his thighs, letting them pool around his ankles. You're about to crawl back onto the bed when he stops you midway.

"What?" You look at him from across your shoulder. "What's wrong?"

His arm wraps around your middle, turning you on your back. "I wanna look at you."

With bated breath you watch his eyes linger on your face, taking in every inch of it as if he's trying to paint a picture of you in his mind. God. If he's not going to do anything, you're going to have to eventually –

Cupping your chin, he then kisses you deeply while entering you slowly.

Your reaction is immediate, gasping against his mouth as he sheaths himself inside of you. Thank God. Finally.

The feeling is all too familiar though it still needs some time getting used to. He prepped you well at least, so it doesn't take too long until pleasure ultimately replaces the stinging sensation.

"Fuck," he curses as he moves at a moderate pace. "I missed you."

You hold onto his arms resting beside your head. "I missed you, too."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

It's like this flips a switch inside of him, his movements becoming more eager and carnal. He fills you up to the hilt, thrusting in and out of you with vigor. The silver pendant of his necklace swings back and forth wildly, grazing across your chest.

Your nails leave crescent shaped marks around his biceps. You're reduced to moans and curses. How long have you been hoping for this? Within those three months without him, you never considered a chance of getting back together – but you also haven't stopped thinking about the possibility of it. It seemed so farfetched due to all the circumstances. You had ruled it out immediately. But your fantasy always ran wild with the idea of it. And now your fantasy has become reality.

A particularly hard thrust has you practically screaming. You're quick to cover your mouth, your hand clasping it shut.

"Don't do that." Yoongi grabs ahold of it, holding it down above your head. "I wanna hear you." As if to test you, his hips rut into you faster and harder.

This ultimately does the trick, and you certainly don't disappoint as you let out lustful sounds loud and clear. Your focus should be on the here and now – in the arms of the man that you love so much. Nothing else and no one else should matter. "O-oh God, Yoongi!"

He sends you a satisfied grin as he sits up on his heels, his hips still snapping into yours. "Turn around."

With a mocking voice you tease him, "I thought you wanted to look at me."

"Yeah," he states nonchalantly, separating his sweaty bangs. "Now I wanna see the other side."

You let out an amused chuckle but abide alas, turning around on your side first before falling forward on your hands, your ass on full display for him.

"Perfect," he praises, caressing your cheeks with both hands. "You're doing great, baby."

Seconds pass before you feel his tip slide past your folds again. The stretch is different in this position, deeper and more thorough. You don't even notice yourself backing into him, your behind pressed flush to his pelvis.

"A little eager, aren't we?" One of his hands comes down to spank you, but before you even get a chance to complain he continues his onslaught, rolling his hips into your backside with deliciously slow yet harsh thrusts.

"Oh my God!" You lower yourself until your chest comes into contact with the mattress. "Yoongi…"

The telltale sound of skin slapping against skin echoes off the walls though they're not enough to drown out your sounds. As he gradually picks up his pace, your moans turn unstoppable. It's like an out-of-body experience – and judging by the noises coming from the man behind you he seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself as well.  

"Fuck, baby…" Yoongi's grip on your hips tightens. "You take me so well."

You desperately nod your head at no one in particular before burying it in between your folded forearms as you withstand his force. There's a burn you're trying to ignore that spreads along your thighs, but the longer you hold out the easier you lose posture until you collapse like a house of cards.

"Here." His hands guide you further up on the mattress until you're on your half of the bed. "Lay down."

You flop down onto your back like a brick, drawing a chuckle out of Yoongi.

As he positions himself beside you, he puts your legs together rolling you onto your side.  

"Oh..." You watch him with wondrous eyes as he settles down onto the space behind you. "This is new."

"Yeah." He grins while looping an arm around you, burying himself in your heat again. "Thought you needed a break."

At that, you chuckle lightly. "How thoughtful of you."

"Right?" With one sharp thrust, he hits you right in your g-spot. "Aren't I thoughtful?"

You moan out as he continuously pistons in and out of you, unable to answer in coherent sentences. "Mh-hm, so th-thoughtful."

His hand resting on your belly trails down to your thighs, spreading them ever so slightly so he can toy with your clit. The other squeezes through a crevice he creates between you and the bed to play with your tits.

When you think this is the highest of pleasure you can experience, he proves you wrong again. As his hips and hands move together in a perfect rhythm, he has the audacity to nip at your neck at the same time. His hard cock driving in and out of your pussy while he draws circles on your clit, pinches your nipple, and laves his tongue over your neck – this overstimulation sends you straight to the verge of another orgasm.

"Yoongi…" You twist your head around, resting it against his. "I'm gonna cum again."

"Okay." His features are contorted, one of the telltale signs of his own high incoming. "I'm about to cum, too."

Grabbing onto the hair on the back of his head, you press your lips together. The position proves itself as slightly awkward but is no obstacle to the heated kiss you're able to share.

Parting for a split second, Yoongi mumbles against your lips, "Should I pull out?"

You give it a moment of serious thought, shaking your head. As much as you loved when he used to finish somewhere on your body, you loved it the most when he finished inside. It always felt the most intimate, connecting the two of you on another level. "Cum inside me," you clarify, your walls already starting to flutter at the thought of it alone.

It's apparent the male is affected by your command, trying his hardest to send the two of you over the finish line. His eyes are shut, and his forehead crinkled into deep creases. "Baby," he huffs out with shallow breaths, "cum for me, please."

His plea along with his relentless ministrations seem to be the final straw for you, that long awaited orgasm exploding within you like a firework. Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you manage out a hoarse moan, involuntarily clamping your thighs shut while your legs twitch.

"O-oh fuck!" Yoongi also finds his release right away, emptying himself inside of you. "Shit!"

You barely register the profanities leaving his lips, but once he's reduced to mere whimpers you come back to reality. You always thought they were the sweetest sound in the world, such a contradiction to the strong and secure exterior of Min Yoongi.

The two of you lie there entangled with one another, catching your breaths. It could be a matter of a few minutes or maybe even an hour that you bask in the afterglow until Yoongi breaks the silence. "Come on," he murmurs, caressing your cheek. "We gotta clean up. Take off your make-up and all that."

You agree although with an annoyed grunt, slowly heaving your strained limbs from the bed one by one. There's a slight chill in the room now that your body has acclimated without the added body temperature from Yoongi and the physical exertion.

The touch of a fabric being draped across your shoulders causes you to jump a little. Inspecting the piece, you realize it's Yoongi's shirt from earlier. Thanking him, you slide it on as you stand up to your full height. Your legs are like jelly and there's the telltale ringing in your ears.

"Can you walk?" Yoongi inquires, coming to stand beside you. He’s back in his boxers, inspecting you with care.

Sending a timid nod of your head, you take a step but stumble over your own feet.

His arms reach out for you just in time to prevent the fall. "I went too hard on you. I'm sorry, darling."

"'s alright," you slur into the crook of his neck. "I liked it. A lot."

A smug grin finds its way onto his features. "Now come on," he chuckles. "Let's get you cleaned up."

You're more than thankful in this situation that Yoongi's room is one of the two in this household with an en-suite bathroom (the other belonging to Seokjin – being the eldest comes with benefits for sure) since your legs almost give out at any step despite leaning onto him while you walk.

After you take care of your situation down there, Yoongi runs a warm washcloth along the inside of your thighs for good measure. You thank him with your mouth agape, watching him in astonishment while you're propped up on the sink countertop for balance. It's beyond you how you could agree to the break-up so easily when he's always been so attentive to your needs, has always taken care of you without you even asking.

"There." He rises back to eye-level with you. "All good now."

You turn around to face the mirror, looking around for the things you need to in order to wash up. "Do you have a spare toothbrush?" you ask.

The man takes a second to process your request before his hand curls around the handle of one of the upper drawers. "I actually..." He hesitates. "I've got a few things you could use."

When he opens the drawer, your breath hitches in your throat. "I forgot I left these here," you murmur, inspecting the items revealed to you.

"Yeah..." Yoongi scratches the back of his head. "When you said you didn't need them, I tried throwing them away, but... I just couldn't."

You fairly remember the scene, storming out of the house after that talk, and when Yoongi told you he still had stuff of yours when you came over to drop off his you answered in anger 'Keep it or throw it out'.

With a trembling hand, you reach for the pink headband next to the rest of your skincare products. You don't want it to happen, but tears spring up in your eyes. Trying to keep them at bay, you throw your head into your neck, but to no avail. The first tears roll down your cheeks, so you turn away from Yoongi in shame, letting them fall freely.

"Hey," Yoongi coos, his hands coming up to rub soothing circles into your arms. "It's okay, honey. It's in the past now."

You feel so endlessly guilty of how things have turned out. All you want is for it to work out with him.

He continues consoling you, "We're gonna do better this time. But we have to be honest with each other." One of his hands slide down to intertwine with yours. "So no more of that hiding shit."

You let him spin you around in your spot. Looking up at him through blurry vision, you wrap your arms around his neck. "I want this to work out, Yoongi," you croak out choked up on tears. "I really want this to work out."

"It's gonna work out," he assures you, his arms around you as tight and secure as ever. "We're gonna make it work."

As you pull apart, he swipes his thumb over the last of the remaining tears on your cheek before placing a chaste kiss on it. The gesture draws a smile back onto your face, soothing your haywire state.

It's so domestic how you stand next to each other now brushing your teeth and doing your skincare routines, pulling silly faces at one another through the mirror – and before you know it you're racing him back to the bed, drifting off into peaceful slumber with his chest pressed to your back.

Sunlight peeks through the blinds as you blink your eyes open. You're sore all over, the memory of last night hitting you like a bat over the head though it draws a smile on your lips – especially since his arm is still draped over your middle.

Carefully rolling over onto your side, you're met with a half-asleep Yoongi, his eyelids still heavy as he peers at you.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" you whisper, your smile widening at his cute face.

He shakes his head, burying his face into the pillow. "Mh-mh." His voice comes out muffled, thick with sleepiness. "I woke up a minute ago or so."

You place your hand on his cheek at which he turns his head again. Rubbing your thumb across his soft skin, you shuffle closer to peck him on the lips.

He seems slightly more awake after that, chasing after your lips for another.

You still can't believe this is how you ended up. All the trials and tribulations brought you back together in the end. A huge thank you is due to be said to Jimin.

Yoongi props himself up, looking around the room in search of something. Once his eyes land on the bedside table next to you, he speaks up, "Pass me my phone, please?"

You hum out in affirmation, bending over to the side to retrieve the device.

He settles back down on the bed when you hand it to him, welcoming you with open arms as you cuddle up to him. Tapping on the screen, he unlocks the phone to a plethora of messages. He opens the most recent chat with Jimin.

You're not one to sneak a peek, but it's hard not to when it's right in front of your face. When you read the last message, heat creeps up into your cheeks.

from Jimin [12:04 AM]

i'm glad you guys managed to "talk things out" 😉

"Oh God." You hide your face in the crook of his neck. "They know."

"Of course they know," Yoongi replies with a chuckle. "We were gone for the rest of the night." He types out a quick reply before tossing the phone onto the space beside him. "On top of that, we weren't exactly quiet," he jokes, wrapping his arms around you pulling you flush to his chest.

You linger in embarrassment for a little longer until you can't help but laugh along with him.

A soft knock on the door ends your chatter early to which Yoongi answers with a chipper 'Come in'.

The door cracks open ever so slightly, the chestnut-brown of Seokjin's mop of hair coming into sight. "Everybody decent?" he questions before correcting himself. "Well, you wouldn't have told me to come in if not." Swinging the door open wider until he's more than a floating head without a body, he adds, "Uh... Breakfast's ready."

"Alright, thanks," the younger male responds. "We'll be down in a bit."

"So you guys are good again?" The corners of Seokjin's mouth tug upward as if he doesn't know the answer already.

Yoongi sends him an assuring smile. "Yeah, we're good."

"Good, good. That's a relief." It looks like he's on his way out before he adds with a teasing grin, "Otherwise I would've had no other choice but to ask for your hand in marriage, _____, because that kiss last night was something else. Like wow–"

A loud thud sounds as Yoongi throws his pillow at the older male with full force. Seokjin's fast reflexes save him though as it knocks against the closing door instead.

You shake your head at the eldest’s shenanigans.

"Say…" Yoongi starts again, acting as if what just happened a second ago didn’t. "I’m gonna have to go on some trips starting next month."

Your ears perk up at that.

"I know I can’t take you with me on all of them, and I’m not gonna force you, but…" He studies you with careful eyes. "Do you think we can make something work? Like you keep me company for at least one of them?"

Tracing shapes across the smoothness of his chest, you answer, "It’s a little short notice, but I’ll talk to my manager first thing Monday morning."

He cracks a crooked smile. "If not, we’ll figure something out."

"We’ll figure something out," you repeat as an assurance to him but also yourself. "What’s important is we both gotta be comfortable with what we’re doing and be patient with the process. Chances are things aren’t gonna run smoothly right away."

His smile grows wider at your addition. "Yeah, exactly.” Pulling you closer to his chest, Yoongi says the next sentence with an underlying tone of regret. "I hope you know it’s not your fault."

Your fingers curl tighter around his figure.

"I was just as guilty myself, I made just as many mistakes." Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, he trails, "So please, don’t put all the blame on yourself."

Last night you would’ve cried in an instant, but you’re in a much better state this morning. Now you know you both have things to improve in order to move the relationship forward.

Lifting your head off his chest, you nod at him with a small smile. "Thank you for letting me know. And the same goes for you as well."

He reciprocates your smile before pulling you down towards him, pressing your lips together. "I love you," he repeats the words from last night.

Your heart flutters in your chest. "I love you, too." You resume the kiss, your hands roaming around his naked torso. "Do you think breakfast can wait? I feel like"–slinging one leg over to the other side, you straddle him–"I was kinda lazy last night."

At that, he gives you an all-knowing grin and the rest is history.

[jittyjames]

so kinda want to talk about something that happened in the past few days and an ongoing issue within the ham community atm. i know y'all have seen all of the stuff going around, people hiding behind anonymity to tear each other down, name dropping accounts to get them harassed etc.. the blog was fun at first, and i even enjoyed putting in harmless opinions on women's representation and aaron burr being my favorite character, but it quickly devolved into something concerning. but hey! you can't censor people by deleting or ignoring posts on a confession blog right? that would defeat the purpose. so of course all of this discord will be allowed.

except the moderator had no problem taking down my anonymous post that called out the undermining of harmful slurs being used by the community.

i blurred the person's name i was referring to because although it was all over the confessions blog and they have no problem with airing this minor's name after she's already gotten death threats, i don't want to spread it outside of there for people not involved. so here's the following conversation that took place.

(context for anyone who's had the great fortune of not running into this blog: someone had said a homophobic slur in a derogatory way and there was a question if they could reclaim it or not.) (rebuttal is also not the right word, but my mind was racin and that's what we got. i meant response.)

at first, i thought there was a misunderstanding. that someone had asked them to take something down and they mistook my post for it since they made a post saying they did in fact take down a post by someone's request. but i had a feeling it was something more. clearly, the moderator values someone who doesn't want people speaking out about an issue of homophobia being down played's opinion over an actual member of the lgbtq+ community. it's 2024 and we're still having to have the conversation about if slurs are bad or not, and it's frankly exhausting.

i might have adjusted my original post a bit more in the actual tumblr inbox, but this was the gist of what it said bc i always write down what i want to say first outside of the app (social anxiety says hi 🤪). as you can see it lines up with the conversation at hand— the conversation that was allowed and was still up, i might add— and i was polite about everything— unlike the actual hate mongering on the account. i really don't know where this attitude came from or why my specific post about queerness was targeted out of so many, but as you can see, they did so clear as day. to my knowledge, no other post has been taken down despite there being multiple continued conversations that are vague enough to not specifically be about fandom (like the morality of long distance incest, arguing over which hamilton artist they don't like, and people complaining about the drama going on across the blog.) those were allowed to be up, and i believe they should be if those are the conversations that people want to have about the fandom space. so why the detestation in these responses? it's not even veiled disdain. you would think i was the one bullying random minors just because i didn't like their art style or the one sending death threats. when a marginalized person expresses concern over something happening under your watch, why is the first line of action to be hateful and flippant while making excuses that don't even make sense and referring to rules that aren't even followed. despite all of this, it's my opinion it didn't even break said rules. the conversation at hand was about slur usage in the fandom. why did the posts claiming people were basically dumb for finding an issue with it stay, and mine get deleted?

why has the biggest crime on that blog—by the moderator's standards, the post so horrible they had to step in and delete and tell the person to leave the page—a gentle reminder that some people find the use of homophobic slurs a disrespectful practice when the word is in the wrong mouth. even if someone disagreed with my post, which is their right, why was it erased completely?

but that blog was taken down. and we thought it was over. but strangely enough last night, my anon box was filled with so many hate comments i had to turn off anon, and i have no plans of turning them back on. and it appears the blog was remade with rules but only one specific rule.

now here’s the issue. whore can’t really be compared to homophobic slurs or racial slurs due to the way it’s evolved in culture. and let’s say whore is a slur. let’s go with that. just because you listen to music or consume content that has people reclaiming slurs, it does not give you the right to reclaim them and say them for yourself. that is ignorance. you can't silence a community by saying they can't take issue over SLURS with this excuse used over and over again when it's not even an appropriate once. something that will always stand is people should not be saying slurs they can't reclaim.

you all can keep playing around with that blog if you want. just remember while you're arguing and cursing each other over fictional queer ships, actual queer issues are being censored by the person hosting y'all for no apparent reason other than some unnamed person asking for it's removal and the moderator's apparent disdain for queer people asking people not to use harmful slurs. which makes no sense to anyone if you think about it for more than two seconds.

i'm just a blip in this fandom, and there's so many of you i haven't gotten the fortune of talking to, but you need to sit down and ask why you guys are doing this to yourselves in the first place. why are you continuously feeding in to a bullying platform when you know how it's effecting people? when you know the moderator's intentions have been made clear in just want hatred bred throughout the fandom? why are we so dead set on being mean to each other? maybe you think i'm trying to stir up trouble or be self-important by butting my nose into people's business, and that's your right to think that. but this account has split the fandom in two and made it's fun diminish for everyone involved. you can say that every fandom is like this, but i've been in the fandom since the beginning and active on this account for almost three years and i've never seen anything like this. if you want to see change and for the fandom to go back to normal, stop torturing yourselves and calling it entertainment. the drama was silly and fun in the beginning, but now with specific attacks on minors and disparaging an entire community by telling us to take our "queer concern" elsewhere and saying we can't speak out against people using slurs, it's gotten worrying.

obviously, i'm not going to tell anyone what to do or fault them if they continue to play the intoxicating game of ganging up on someone because they don't know who you are and you know you won't face any repercussions. but just realize it could be you or a close friend being endlessly harassed and silenced. i used to think there was no place in this community for things like this, but there's always something that weasels it's way in.

it's basic and you've heard it from every single adult in your life, but think before you post. think about what the intentions are. think about why you find all of this fun. think about why this person behaves the way they do.

[viaoverthemoon]

Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Welcome back, Beloved Reader!

I was happy to see some of you guys were as excited as me for this chapter. I couldn't wait to post it ahhh!!

I hope y'all are ready for some questions to be answered.

Why did Leon bed Lady Ada? Will you ever forgive him? How does Lady Ada feel about all this? I don't know guys... It feels like the King of Duevaula is hiding in the shadows...

Let us continue!

☆*: .｡. Behind Closed Doors .｡.:*☆ Chapter 3

Medeival!Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: Lady Ada shares a few words with you, leaving you with harsh words and feelings burning the tip of your tongue. Meanwhile, Leon recalls the night he spent with Lady Ada and plans a way to explain what had happened.

Tw: Mentions of pregnancy, coercion into sex, sa(??), abuse, violence, angst

Please be careful reading this if you're easily triggered by these things and still want to read.

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!

Enjoy!

☆*: .｡.☆*: .｡.☆*: .｡.☆*: .｡.☆*: .｡.☆*: .｡.☆*: .｡.☆*: .｡.☆*: .｡.

The garden has always been your place of peace.

Flowers of all kinds lined in rows and rows of different shapes, colors, and patterns. Large, well-kept, luscious trees planted sporadically all around the space. Bushes shaped like bunnies, horses, and lions.

For once, your mind has a moment to rest after this horrible week.

You'd spent most of your days locked away in your rooms, ignoring everyone's attempts to coax you out.

Albeit, by the third day your mother had had enough.

She'd stormed into your chambers, demanding you to get out of your head for five minutes and think about how you're going to win the prince back.

And that had caused you to spiral even further.

You abandoned indoors and took to the gardens, seeking the comfort of fresh air and solitude.

So now you sit on a bench, embroidery the only thing keeping all of your screws from falling out.

Your concentration is so deep you don't even hear the footsteps nearing you.

"Your highness."

You instantly recognize the voice, hands pausing the delicate work as you slowly look up.

Lady Ada offers a curtsy, much less deep than the one she'd done for the King.

She doesn't respect you.

You take a deep breath, setting the embroidery aside. "Leave us."

The guards, save for Jill, leave immediately.

"Lady Ada... To what do I owe the pleasure?"

A smirk spreads across her red lips, posture straight as an arrow as she rests a hand on her small belly. "I merely seek conversation with the princess I am to coexist with."

You try not to sneer as she gracefully sits beside you on the bench. "Apologies, I'm sure you don't mind," Her proximity makes your skin burn. "My God, this pregnancy sure is doing a number on my feet."

Your fists ball, your eyes unable to hold hers. "I'm sure."

She seems to notice your anger, smiling in a way the Devil would approve of. "Surely your highness isn't intimidated by me... She wouldn't think that I could take her place-"

You stand, turning and looking down your nose at her in disgust. "It would do you well to remember your place, Lady Ada." You bend to grab your embroidery, pausing when your lips near her ear. "You may carry his baby, but you do not carry the other half of his crown. Always remember that."

And with that, you turn on your heel and walk away, Jill three paces behind you.

☆ Leon ☆

Read. Flip. Sign.

He can feel his gaze.

Read. Flip. Sign.

He sees him flinch in his peripheral.

Read. Flip. Sign.

He clears his throat.

"What are you waiting for?"

His posture straightens, avoiding eye contact as his chin angles high. "Permission to speak freely, your highness?"

Leon waves a hand. "You always have, Chris. Do not fear me now."

Chris, Leon's personal guard, sighs as his body relaxes. He steps closer to the desk and leans his hip on it. "Why don't you just tell her what happened?"

Leon gives him an obvious look, causing Chris to glare at him. "I know what the King said, but you love her. She loves you. I'm sure her highness will understand-"

"Loved."

...

"She loved me."

Chris scoffs. "Do not be ridiculous. You two spent years sneaking beyond your palace walls just to see each other and you're to tell me she just... stopped loving you?"

Leon exhales, dropping his pen and slumping in his chair.

He needed to think.

The effects of that night... The possibility of a bastard child...

A mistress.

It wasn't even him. He never wanted this. Never wanted her.

If only he'd stood his ground...

But now, it was too late.

-

"Father... I can't. It wouldn't be right."

Dim candle light illuminates the chamber, casting a dark shadow over the King's face.

He'd never been the type of monarch that accepted the word 'no'. Anyone to do so were immediately thrown into the dungeon and left to starve to death or until they realized how much they needed their King.

"And why would it be wrong? A King is not tied to a woman, son. A woman is tied to a man. You need not hold yourself for her."

Leon shook his head. "I've promised myself to her. I will only bed Princess-"

His words are cut off by a hand around his neck.

His body is slammed into a nearby wall as the King towers over him. Tension builds as Leon fights for air, clawing at his father's hand. But he doesn't let go, heaving heavy breathes as he grits out his words. "Listen to me boy. I will not have a child in the body of a man for a son. You will not be a man until you have bed a woman."

Black shadows form in the corners of Leon's vision, breaths coming out in shortened gasps. But the King isn't done. "So make of your mind Leon. You either bed the woman I've set for you, or am I going to have to make an example of that pretty little princess of yours?"

Leon's eyes widen, shaking his head as best he could with the hand around his throat.

Not her. Anyone but her.

He doesn't have time to think about his decision, only worried about what he could do to you.

His answer comes out pathetic, a whisper that leads back to a broken heart. "I'll- do it-"

The King let's go instantly, inhaling deeply as his fist clenches. "Excellent."

He ignores Leon's coughs and gasps for air, clapping his hands. "Bring her in."

The doors open and the skirts of a deep red dress embroidered with black flowers flows gracefully into the room.

The woman drops deep into a curtsy and grins at the prince. "Hello, your highness."

That night was not one that Leon would ever forget. His father watched every second. Up until the end, after Lady Ada had been escorted out. After the lights had all dwindled and melted wax pooled at the bottom of candelabras. After Leon had wiped his tears and sat in the bed with slumped naked shoulders.

And then, The King stood from his chair to leave. But not without saying these words.

"You will not tell anyone. Not even your mother. If you do, you can kiss your princess goodbye." He'd placed a hand on Leon's shoulder.

"You are a man now. Congratulations, son."

-

☆

"Ouch! Nara Vella!"

Your sister grimaces and loosens her grip on your hair. "Oh, sorry (y/n)! I've been practicing but I just can't get this braid right..."

You sigh, gently taking the braid from her and demonstrating how it should be done. "Over, under, untangle. You can do it Nara, just repeat those actions."

She gives a determined nod and this time, completes the braid just as you showed her.

"I did it!" She places the braid over your shoulder so you can see it. "Do you like it?"

You hum, smiling gently. "I love it, little sister."

Nara Vella giggles, throwing her hands up in triumph.

A knock comes at your door. Jill's uncertain voice a moment later. "Prince Leon, Your highness."

You roll your eyes, undoing the braid and grabbing a hairbrush. "Tell him to leave, Jill."

Nara Vella's eyes dart between you and the door, wringing her hands to ease her uncomfortability. "Um, perhaps I should come back another time...-"

The door burst open.

You look in the reflection of the mirror, eyeing Leon as he struts in like a King.

"We need to talk, (Y/n)."

"No. I don't believe we do."

A tense silence falls over the room. The two of you glare at each other in the reflection, both waiting for the other to say something.

Nara Vella clears her throat, lifting her yellow skirts and giving Prince Leon a clumsy curtsy. "I will take my leave now... Your highness."

She leaves, only smiling awkwardly in your direction before practically running out of the room.

Jill frowns apologetically and closes the door to give you privacy.

You huff a breath, continuing to brush the braid from your hair. "I would appreciate if you'd stop forcing my guard to obey you."

He steps closer. "We need to talk."

You hum. "So you've said."

"I want you to listen to me."

"And I wanted to be your first."

Leon's expression falls, something close to guilt overcoming his features.

"Though I suppose we can't all get what we want."

You put down the brush and stand, walking forward until you're right in his face, looking up into his bright eyes. You try not to drown in the weight of his gaze."...Do you regret it?"

His eyes flash. "More than anything."

You lick your lips, forcing the burning tears away. "Then... why did you?"

He reaches for your hand, but you're quick to yank it away. His brows furrow, breaths hollow and desperate. "Are you willing to let me explain?"

Are you?

He waits for your answer, both breathing the other's air. Your lips are close enough to share a kiss, something you'd normally kill for...

But you aren't ready to get your heart broken again.

You inhale, about to give your answer.

But then you see it. In his eyes, a flicker.

Pain. Desperation. Worry. Fear.

Love.

You'd once told him his eyes were like oceans. And it didn't help that his emotions hid poorly within those seas.

You could read him like an open book. It really wasn't hard.

Before... You suppose you didn't want to know.

You answer.

"Yes."

☆

Words would never be enough to explain how you felt.

Horrified doesn't even begin to reach it.

You'd welcomed him into your arms as he rested his head in the crook of your neck, spilling the secrets that'd plagued his mind for years.

And by the time he's finished, you still can't get the disgusted look off your face. "Leon- That's-... I'm so-... Great Gods, I wish you'd told me earlier." You gently run your fingers through his hair. "I feel like such an ass. I'm so sorry for not hearing you out, my love."

You coax his head from your neck and hold his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. "You are a man. To me, and by definition. It wouldn't have mattered if you had bed a woman first or not. I will never see you any different." His eyes begin to water and his lip wobbles. "Your father, is a fool to see you any different."

Leon sighs, removing his hands from your hips and placing them over yours. "And... You still love me? Even though I didn't save myself for you?"

You shush him, brows furrowing. "Of course I do. That wasn't your decision." You look him deep in his eyes, placing a hand over his heart. "It wasn't your fault."

His eyes close. "It wasn't my fault."

"It wasn't your fault."

Relief.

Relief so strong his shoulders slump and he nearly falls to his knees.

You're quick to catch him, sliding your arms under his and clinging to the back of his shirt.

His arms wrap around your waist, holding you close as shuddered breaths pass from between his lips.

The truth will set you free.

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Did anyone see that coming? I know for a fact y'all didn't lmaoo

This isn't the end! We have 2 more chapters, me thinks.

Will Lady Ada continue to live in the Kingdom of Duevaula? Will anyone else ever know of the Kings harshness toward Prince Leon? How would the Queen react to such news? Do you still have the chance of becoming Queen?

See you next chapter!

-Via 💕

[enha-hype]

maeumi & me - ch 29 : outrageous conclusions

a/n : the wait is finally over y'all!! i'm so sorry ik it's been almost a year since i updated this sgtsbdkdks. make sure to go read the previous chapter(s) as a recap since it's been so long :3

w.c. : 1.3k

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Jungwon hadn’t been home when you had gone over in the morning to see Maeumi. You were a little disappointed, because you’d been looking forward to your usual weekend routine – taking Maeumi to the dog park together and watching him play while you both sat and talked at one of the benches. But more than the disappointment, worry had started to eat its way up your stomach – was he okay? Why had he left so abruptly the other day? Why hadn’t he contacted you since? And then you saw Jay’s tweets, and you were both relieved and concerned. Relieved that whatever it was, he wasn’t as bad off as your wild imaginations had proclaimed, and concerned because he did still seem upset nevertheless.

Now you stand in front of his door, uncertain.

What exactly are you gonna say or do when you don’t even know what the problem is? You kind of just showed up here without much of a plan. Sure you could ask him, but you don’t wanna push if he’d rather not talk about it. And how will you even know if he just wants to be left alone? He’d probably be too polite to say so. Ah, whatever. You’re here already, you might as well try. You take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.

Jungwon’s eyes widen in surprise for just a second before quickly reverting to implacable indifference. “Did you leave something?” he asks in a stiff voice, looking back into the house as if to check, but not really checking. Huh. Very subtle why are you here. You’re not used to him being like this.

“Umm no, I came to see how you were doing?” you reply, slightly offended.

He looks past you at the lamppost outside. “I'm fine.”

“O. . . kay.” You stand there awkwardly, not really sure you should do this anymore. You study his face as he keeps his eyes fixedly on the spot behind you to avoid meeting yours. Maeumi comes out to greet you then and you scoop him up, eager to dispel the awkwardness. At least someone's happy to see me, you think. Then you remind yourself why you're here. Maybe he's just feeling grumpy because he's in a bad mood; you probably shouldn't take it personally.

You let Maeumi down after giving him a few scratches and clear your throat. “You don’t seem fine, Won,” you start again, reaching out and taking his hand. “I mean you left kind of abruptly the other day and you haven't responded to any of my calls or texts . . . Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me right?”

He clenches his jaw. God, you’re making this so much harder for him. It feels so painfully good to have his hand in yours. He wants to lace his fingers with yours but instead he pulls away – you can't keep doing this. “You don't have to do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you demand, trying not to think about how it stung to have him snatch his hand away from yours.

He finally looks you in the eye, a mix of resignation and determination in them. He knows that if he wants to get this over with as soon as possible he has to be firm and harsh, like ripping off a bandaid. There's no other way. He can't let this continue. He has to set clear boundaries. “Look, I don't know if you're doing it on purpose or if I have just horribly misunderstood everything and deluded myself into some fantasyworld and if it's the latter I apologise for all that I've said and done when I was under the impression that you liked me too. But if you did do it all on purpose out of some twisted sense of gratitude because you feel like you owe me or some shit or for fear that I wouldn't take as good care of Maeumi as I have been until now if you didn't reciprocate my feelings then rest assured that I am not that kind of a person. I will continue to take good care of him for your three years of university like I promised so please, you can stop pretending you like me.”

What . . . the actual fuck? You're so confused at first that it takes a few seconds for you to process what he just said. Your anger steadily rises as the words sink in. What exactly is he insinuating?

“Excuse me?” You glare at him, waiting for him to retract, say he was mistaken, anything, because you still can't quite wrap your head around all that you've just heard but he just returns your stare, unflinching. “Did you hit your head somewhere? Who fed you all this bullshit?”

“Bullshit? Fine, if that's what we're gonna call it. But you said it yourself so I don’t know what else to think,” he snaps, his icy stare still not leaving yours.

What the hell is he talking about? “Said what myself?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“Well I beg to dif–”

“I heard what you said to Heeseung the other day. That you don't like me. That you just feel bad because I’m sweet to you and take good care of Maeumi. That ring a bell?”

You go red in the face, partly from embarrassment - he heard that? - but mostly from rage. You most definitely did not say you felt bad for him although yes, you had said you didn't like him. But was it not obvious that you didn't mean it? Did the past few months mean nothing to him? You had almost kissed the night before for God's sake! And yet his immediate conclusion upon hearing it was what, that you had just faked it all for your own selfish gain? Shouldn't he have talked to you first before jumping to such outrageous conclusions?

You clench your teeth. “I lied to Heeseung.”

He blinks, his face going blank like he hadn't considered that. “What?” The determined look from earlier falters, replaced by a flicker of doubt.

“I said I lied,” you snap.

“And you expect me to believe that?”

“You know what Jungwon, I don't care what you choose to believe. Clearly coming here was a big mistake. But for what it's worth – not that it's any of your business listening in on us like that – yes I did lie then because maybe I just wasn't ready to admit the truth to him or to myself, you ever think about that? Maybe feelings are complicated, and maybe I was overwhelmed because I haven't ever felt so much for someone before, and maybe I needed some time to sit with it before going around proclaiming it to everyone. Of course, he ended up seeing right through me anyway but you know what? Now I'm not so sure it was a lie anymore. I can't believe that's what you thought of me after everything. I came here thinking that maybe you needed some help cheering up after seeing Jay's tweets but this has been very enlightening. Thank you, Yang Jungwon for this eye-opener.” With that, you whip around to leave. You're not quite sure what you're going to do about the Maeumi situation just yet but you'll figure that out later.

Jungwon stays frozen in his doorway for a few seconds watching your retreating back as the gears in his head turn. Well fuck this is BAD. Why did the possibility that you could have lied never cross his mind? I mean, all the signs did say you liked him too up until that point. God, you must think he's such an asshole and he can't even blame you.

“Y/n, wait!” He shuts the door behind him and runs after you.

You trudge on ahead without responding, still fuming.

“Y/n, please just hear me out!” Jungwon picks up his pace to catch up with you. He doesn't know what the hell he's going to say or how exactly he's going to fix this. All he knows is that he can't let you go like this.

tag list : open [comment or send an ask to be added <3] @hiqhkey @i-yeseo @harperwasstaken1 @tomorrowbymoa-together @eloelooo @yjwluvr @rshmra @cholexc @hueningcry @luvnicho

[moreespressoformydepresso]

Fandom's Takes On Trauma Are Terrible And Here's Why: brought to you by terrible Coriolanus Snow and Anakin Skywalker discourse

I've been on the verge of making this post for a while now, but I kept not doing it because this might be a bit of a hot take and I don't like offending people. However, I've been growing increasingly annoyed with the perception of one specific character type so lets see how much my dumb opinions stir the pot this time ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. This will be focused mainly on my current main fandom: The Ballad Of Songbirds And Snakes, as well as Star Wars. You'll see why. Now, I need to make it clear that I'm not judging anyone for their opinions on characters for any reason. In no way am I insinuating you're a bad person for having opinions different to mine or that you’re not allowed to have them. What I am saying is that fandoms have some frustrating and frankly insulting beliefs around trauma and those who survived it, and I'm gonna talk about it because I want to get this off my chest. With that said:

Y'all don't understand how trauma works and it annoys me

As stated in the title, I'm writing this because of the Coriolanus Snow discourse, specifically regarding whether he's a good or bad person. Lets rip off the bandaid straight away: He's a bad person. There's no question about it, Snow is a vile human being. And he's one of my favorite characters because of it. He's fantastically written and hands down one of the most realistic, viscerally terrifying yet utterly pathetic villains ever. And what I hate about the TBOSAS fandom more than anything (aside from how some of them treat the actors) is the way they take away all his agency in the story. But I'll put a pin in that because I have a lot to say about him and instead start at the beginning of my growing frustration with how fandom perceives trauma (feel free to skip through this post, I'll label my sections in case you don't wanna read this whole thing). There's two sides, and both are equally stigmatized and wrong. So lets start with the more obvious one through the lens of Anakin Skywalker.

The Star Wars Fandom's Weird Relationship With Traumatized Children Behaving Like Traumatized Children

So Anakin Skywalker AKA Darth Vader is pretty explicitly a Bad Dude who's done some Bad Things. Bro committed genocide, ain't no getting around that, except... It's a little more complicated. Sure, he did all those terrible things, but a lot of people take that to mean he was always a horrible monstrous big bad in the making who was destined to become the galaxy's worst nightmare. That's missing the whole point of the prequel trilogy, because those movies essentially serve to explain all the reasons for Anakin's descent into villainy, and he had surprisingly little hand in it. Growing up into slavery means he not only has a warped view of the galaxy thanks to all the horrors he's witnessed, it also means he lacks the teachings Jedi younglings get when they grow up in the temple. He was pawned off onto Obi-Wan who had only recently been knighted and was in no way ready to raise a child, and became "friends" with Palpatine who fed him all sorts of lies to manipulate him into becoming little more than an attack dog. Not exactly ideal circumstances for a child in their formative years. Did Anakin shirk the Jedi's rules? Yes. Did he do dumb stuff? Yes. But he was a traumatized teenager, of course he's acting out. When he massacres the Tusken Raiders, it's Padme Amidala who reassures him it was the right thing to do. He felt guilty about it, so this idea that he's some apathetic monster from the second he's born is dumb. It's not that Anakin was born wrong, it's that the people around him either failed to help him go down the right path or were actively trying to push him down the wrong one. Anakin never fully grasped the Jedi's ideals, because the person meant to teach him just wasn't equipped to do so. If he'd had someone to teach him how to get a hold of his emotions, distancing himself enough from them to make the best possible decision and helping him understand the importance of letting someone go when you have to, he wouldn't have fallen to the dark side the way he did.

Anakin did terrible things, but blaming it on him just having an evil heart shows a fundamental misunderstanding of how people's environments change who they are. A life in slavery, where he was not allowed to have anything and risked losing what he held dear at any second with no control over it likely caused him to be very possessive of what he held close to his heart once he did have some control over what he kept and lost. Shmi died because he wasn't there to protect her (in his head), so he clung to the people he loved so he could save them the way he couldn't save his mother. Palpatine actively groomed him, if you think that didn't have any effect on him I don't know what to tell you. Throughout the war, he constantly lost people he was close to. That control he had slowly starts to fade as Ahsoka leaves and he starts having dreams about Padme dying. He does everything to save her, only to find out she betrayed him (in his mind, a thought quite likely influenced by PTSD as well). I can tell you that believing one of the few people you trust has betrayed you can make you act very impulsively. Anakin made an impulsive decision and regretted it for the rest of his life. He wasn't born a monster, the world turned him into one.

However, that does not excuse his actions. It explains them and spreads the blame to more people, but his actions are still his actions. Anakin separated himself from his past because of all the pain it brings him, and in doing so he did a lot of bad things. And he still needed to face consequences for those actions, even if the events that led up to them aren't necessarily on him entirely. If he'd gotten therapy, he wouldn't have choked Padme to death. Possibly he wouldn't have attacked the temple. But he didn't, and he did all those things trauma or not. I have major issues with the way some Anti-Anakin parts of the Star Wars fandom insist on ignoring or writing off his trauma, but that doesn't mean I'm absolving him of all guilt.

An explanation is not an excuse, and that sentiment brings us to the reason for this little rant:

Coriolanus Snow's defenders have a habit of infantalizing trauma survivors and I wish they would stop

Oh Snow, how your amazing character completely flew over the heads of most of your loyalest fans. I'm joking, obviously, but also... It's not exactly wrong. Now, I need to make this clear: I'm not insulting Snow fans here. I'm kind of one of them (I hate his guts but I love how he was written, it's a love hate relationship). However, the way people talk about his trauma... I'll be honest, it's kind of sickening for reasons I'll talk about later after getting through the technical(?) stuff. Where the way people view Anakin disgusts me, the way people treat Snow disturbs me. Because people view The Ballad Of Songbirds and Snakes as if it's some typical tragic villain backstory that humanizes and in some ways justifies who he became, to show what changed him from a normal person into a monster. It's not. It actually shows that Snow has always possessed the traits that made him the monster we know from the OG series. What it does is explain why specific things were so important to him and how he grew to lose all redeeming qualities, letting the worst aspects of his personality grow and take over until it's all there's left of him.

What made Snow do stuff like poison political adversaries and constantly beat down the districts so they don't rebel? A thirst for power. A thirst he's always had, born from the feelings of entitlement he held thanks to his family's previous status. He deserves that power in his mind, so he'll do anything to get it. Power, control, and influence are his driving motivators. It's at the back of his mind throughout TBOSAS, and by the time he becomes a gamemaker it's the only motivation he has left. Those traits, the things that pushed him to do what he did, they were always there. There was just more stuff to cover it up. Stuff that fell away with time. Snow is a terrible person, but people pretend he's some poor misunderstood baby who just needed a hug because... why? Because he has trauma. And that's the root of the problem. Does he have trauma? Absolutely. He survived a war, he lost his parents, struggled through poverty while being raised by propaganda from the Capitol and was arguably groomed by Gaul. Sound familiar? It's kind of like Anakin. Horrible childhood filled with loss, less than amazing figures raising him and grooming. Except people use the opposite argument for him which is equally wrong: he's traumatized, so we cannot blame him.

Yes we can.

Trauma does not justify your actions. It might explain them, but you are still accountable for your own actions. Snow murdered people, starting with Bobbin, and every single time it was his choice to do so. It doesn't matter why he made that choice, because he still did it. He ruined countless lives and ended nearly as many, both directly and indirectly. No amount of trauma justifies that. I've seen people claim he's just an anxious young boy who's a poor victim of circumstance, and anyone who doesn't believe so is simply unable to separate the actions of an 80-something-year-old from the 18-year-old, but... No. That's one of the most braindead takes I've ever heard, I'm sorry. Snow hadn't committed the crimes of his older self yet, but the behaviors he shows in TBOSAS are the ones that led him to doing so later on and ignoring that is just stupid. I don't need to judge Snow based on his later actions to call out how fucked up he was in TBOSAS. Again, he chose to murder several people and deluded himself into believing he was justified. That's what makes him a great character. Bad people always believe, on some level, that they're doing the right thing. It's fascinating. But people take his words at face value when he says he's doing the right thing, and the whole point is that he's wrong. He's lying to himself. Because that's what people do sometimes. Snow's family was knocked off its throne, and Snow clung to the idea that the districts are beneath him and at fault to cope with that. He deluded himself into believing Gaul's dumbass theory to justify continuing the games.

It's the exact opposite of Anakin Skywalker: Trauma is relevant, it does inform your perspective on the world and your actions, but it does not mean you can do no wrong. Snow had every chance to be a good person: Knocking Bobbin out or running away instead of murdering him, joining the rebellion with Sejanus, staying in district 12 with Lucy Gray and being honest with her. But he killed Bobbin. He fucked over the rebels and got Sejanus killed. He lied to Lucy Gray and destroyed any chance he had with her. Every chance he got, he threw into the fire without hesitation. Anakin leaned into being a bad person to forget the past, Snow chose to be one because it benefitted him the most. Neither of them are excused because of their trauma, their descent into villainy is simply explained. You know why? Because both of them created new victims. Snow was complicit in the murder of hundreds of children before becoming responsible for thousands more, he killed people with his own hands and ruined several lives over the course of TBOSAS. All that pain he caused isn't erased because we can explain why it happened. Even at 18, Snow has many things he should be held accountable for. War, being an empoverished orphan, being groomed, none of that nullifies the shit he's done. People who say Snow's just an anxious, young, traumatized boy are one side of the horseshoe theory of the myth of "the perfect victim". The "Anakin's Trauma Should Be Ignored Entirely" crowd are the other side. Which brings us to...

It's all horseshoe theory

To conclude the analytical part of my post, I'll bring it back to what I briefly mentioned in the intro to all of this. Agency. That's the running thread here. Both in cases like Anakin and cases like Snow, the fandom takes away all agency a character has in the story for the sake of justifying one's feelings about them. Anakin was born a monster and he was always destined to be evil. It wasn't the trauma, it wasn't the events of the story, he's just bad. On the other hand, Snow is a good person who was made to do terrible things by his trauma. It's all the trauma and nothing else. His bad childhood caused him to be this way and it has nothing to do with his own worst personality traits. See the connection? In both these instances, the characters had no influence over who they became. With Anakin, nothing could've had any influence because he's just born wrong. With Snow, it's everything around him that shaped him into who he was. Both scenarios completely ignore the character and focus on external factors to explain everything. One demonizes trauma victims by saying those that went off the rails are just bad people and there's nothing to be done about it, the other infantilizes trauma survivors by saying they shouldn't be held accountable for their actions just because they have trauma and it's only when they're older and should know better that we can bring consequences down on them.

Victims of trauma should be held accountable, though. The only thing the presence of trauma should change is what kind of accountability. Merely locking them up won't change anything, they should receive help to work through their problems while residing in a place where they cannot hurt anyone else. Including themselves. That is what acknowledging trauma is useful for. But this? This is doing nothing but stigmatizing trauma survivors even more than they already are, and I hate it. And you wanna know why I hate it? Because I've been both sides of this horseshoe, and it nearly got me killed.

The part where I talk about my Tragic Backstory(TM) to explain why this bothers me so much

This'll be a little heavy, so while I'm not gonna go into detail I advise you to please be careful. If you're not in the headspace to handle talk about actual real life mental health issues, feel free to stop reading here. I'm putting this at the end for a reason. If you really wanna know why people's perspective on Snow disturbs me but don't wanna risk getting triggered, skip to the last bold line in this post.

Without going into detail, I've dealt with some pretty big mental health issues throughout my life. One of them is PTSD, so believe me when I say I understand that trauma can heavily influence one's actions in ways even they don't understand. But I had to learn the hard way that there's a difference between explaining and excusing. I used to believe that, because of my previous experiences, I was entirely justified in doing what I was doing. Kind of. At that point, I didn't know that what I was experiencing was PTSD, but I did feel justified in my actions the same way Snow does. I explained every bad thing I did away and wrote it off as nothing or sometimes even as a good thing. Granted, I never did anything as big as committing murder, but I don't live in a country as dark and horrible as Panem so we'll chalk it up to that. As I grew older, I started to recognize the ways in which I accidentally hurt the people around me, and eventually had the realization that my past does not in fact justify the pain I was causing people entirely uninvolved in what happened to me. They had nothing to do with that, and shoving all my pain onto them the way I did was wrong. My view of myself pivoted to the other side of the horseshoe. If I'm not justified, am I... am I bad? Am I evil? Am I just born wrong?

I don't know how to explain this to anyone who hasn't gone through this themself, but that is a horrible feeling to have. To feel like you're just bad and there's nothing you can do about it... It kills something inside of you. A hope, a will to keep going and keep trying. Why bother when you cannot be fixed? I've lost the will to live at two points in my life, and that was one of them. And now I get to see both of these mentalities be repeated by dumbasses who don't understand the first thing about trauma. It's... not fun. It's grating and aggravating in a way I can't accurately bring across with just my words. It makes me wanna scream and laugh hysterically until I cry.

Here's the thing: I relate to Snow, and the way people perceive him disturbs me on a visceral level.

As I said, I justified my own bad behavior the same way he does. I convinced myself I was a blameless poor victim who had no hand in their actions. But just like Snow, I did. Not nearly as much as I would have liked, but I did. I learned to control the defensive mechanisms my trauma gave me, and I grew from it. Seeing people defending Snow with the same arguments that kept me from ever getting over what happened to me, crying out that he's just traumatized so none of it's his fault... it disturbs me. Because they're outsiders who should be able to see the pain he caused others and realize that nothing changes the fact that he did that. But they don't. They're me, without any of the personal stakes that kept me trapped in my own delusions. It's all just fiction, and I know that, but it hits just a little too close to home for my comfort. It's a little too raw and a little too real for me to just let it go and move on again like I always do.

I'm sorry for the rant, I didn't mean to make this post this long but I guess I hope you find something of interest in here that made it worth reading? Have a nice day 💜

[theschizotypalsolilquy]

I just know that that anon is the same person who was camping under two Jikook blogs yesterday and I don't know why y'all even waste your time on them because it's clear as day that they're just a Jungkook solo who's extremely homophobic.

It's okay to think that he's not with Jimin and that he's someone who fools around and has a high body count. Anything is possible. But to double down on the fact that "JK fucks girls" is all I need to know about that person and what their agenda really is. If the point they're trying to make is that it's unlikely for a young, handsome, successful and famous man like him to be in a committed monogamous relationship, then why is their emphasis only on the fact that he's sleeping with women? He can still be sleeping with men as well, no?

I love how they use "scandals" and that recent smoking clip of him *nonchalantly* staring at a girl for three seconds as proof that he likes pussy, but conveniently ignore all the times he's shown blatant attraction towards men over the years.

I wouldn't be surprised if anon is just a JK solo imagines herself as his future Y/N and doesn't like the fact that there are so many people who believe he possibly doesn't like women, likes men and even more so, that he's been in love with one for so many years. It shatters the illusion.

Anon should give up on coming here with some mission to make Jikookers "see the light". It's futile. There have been many like them years before, they're not the first. But what's always interesting about these people is that I've never see them camping under Taekook, Yoonmin and Vmin (when it still had people who genuinely believed they were in a romantic relationship) blogs with their theories.

I've always lurked on every side of ARMY Tumblr and I never see the other shippers getting such asks; it's always Jikookers. Which is strange considering that Jikookers aren't even nearly as loud as Taekookers or Yoonminers for them to always attract people like that.

Simple answer?

Cuz they feel threatened by a 5'9 androgynous beauty who gets heart eyes 24/7 from their solo stan.

But what they forget is that before Jimin's "glow up" (cuz dude was always hot he just matured into an ethereal being and honestly good for him) JK was still obsessed. Constantly touching and squeezing his arm muscles, the almost exorcist neck turn when Jimin would flash his abs during the choreo for "No More Dream", how when the members were asked what part of Jimin they liked the best, JK doubled down and said "all of that".

He LOVES that man. And whether they think it's platonic or romantic, some people have a problem with it. And that's horrible for them because their bond is so rare. It should be celebrated. The gods decided those two should meet, they should bond, and we are better for it. Because something like that comes along so rarely, and we are privileged to witness it.

But homophobic bitches and delusional yns ruin it. They can't accept it. I guarantee you that if those two weren't half as hot and as popular as they are, they wouldn't give a fuck. It's the audacity to them. How dare a gorgeous man love another gorgeous man? He should be getting all that pussy, spreading his seed far and wide, not settling for a man. How dare he gatekeep his own hotness??

That's how they think. And it's revolting.

[redroses07]

Unexpected Proposal // Tommyinnit x fem!reader

WC: 900

Content Warning: Tooth rotting fluff, making out, swearing, mentions of marriage.

Summary: Tommy returns home after being on tour for months, but he springs an unexpected question on you.

A/N: I honestly wrote this on a whim, so apologies if it's not my best work. The dream situation has sent me back to my tommyinnit phase so you know I had to write something for him. Anyways, enjoy! Love y'all.

You lay in your and your boyfriend’s empty bed. He had been gone for months on his comedy tour, and his long-awaited return was in a matter of hours.

You had missed him more than you thought possible. Having a job that required you to stay close to home was a horrible curse.

It wasn’t so bad at first, but you had begun to realize how much your life had changed without him.

You still texted and called every day of course, but Tommy was often busy. He loved you, but his job was important so you gave him space.

Yet, you missed the little things. You had grown used to silent dinners when Tommy’s never-ending chatter used to fill the room. You now awoke to a cold bed, missing the blonde boy that usually clung to you like velcro. You even missed his snoring.

You worked on your laptop peacefully, realizing Tommy’s constant interruptions weren’t as annoying as you had thought.

Now, you were only moments away from seeing the person you loved most, and your heart pounded with anticipation.

You both cleared your schedules for the evening and the next day. You both knew you would be reluctant to leave each other's side for at least 24 hours.

You must have unknowingly allowed yourself to drift off while waiting because when Tommy returned home he found you fast asleep in your bed.

Tommy sat next to you, sinking into the soft mattress. He brushed the hair from your face, studying your features as he had many times before.

He leaned down, positioning himself close to your ear.

“Hey, love it’s time to get up.” He whispered, rubbing your arm softly.

Your eyes fluttered open, recognizing his voice instantly. It took a moment for your vision to adjust before you saw a pair of familiar blue eyes.

You jumped up into a sitting position.

“Tommy!” You exclaimed, jumping into his arms instantly.

You tackled him, both of you falling back onto the mattress. Tommy wrapped his arms around you pulling you as close to him as possible.

“Ahhh I missed you so much, pretty.”

You stuck your head up, taking a good look at your boyfriend who you loved with all your heart. Tommy smiled at you, eyes lit up with admiration.

“I fucking love you, you know that right?” Tommy asked.

“Well, I love you more!”

Tommy grabbed you, tickling you lightly. You burst into a fit of giggles, as you tried to escape his grasp.

“Not possible,” He said laughing.

The tickling came to an end, and Tommy pulled you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you once more, he never wanted to let go.

Tommy had missed every little thing about you, and it was so hard for him to make it through his tour without you. You were his crutch, his shoulder to cry on, he couldn’t imagine doing life without you.

Tommy took your face in his hands, finally able to do what he had missed for months.

His lips crashed against yours, initiating a passionate kiss. Your mouths fit together perfectly, almost like they were sculpted for one another. Tommy’s lips were always so soft, the plush skin rubbing against your chapped lips.

You tangled your hands in Tommy’s blonde curls, playing with the thick locks. His body was pressed against yours so closely you could feel his heart beating against yours. It was beating unusually fast, no matter how many times he kissed you the nerves were still there. Like a schoolboy who had just been kissed on the cheek by his crush.

You separated, taking a moment to catch your breath. He had surprised you with a kiss that intense.

Tommy nuzzled his nose into your neck, leaving sweet kisses along your collarbone.

“I never want to be away from you for that long again,” he mumbled, resting his head against your chest.

You smiled to yourself and kissed the top of his head. A moment of silence washed over the two of you, allowing you to soak in each other's presence.

Tommy broke the silence with a sentence you would never expect.

One that would change the trajectory of your relationship in a way you wouldn’t have seen coming.

“Do you wanna get married?” Tommy said so casually, his face still pressed against your chest.

You went silent, not sure if he was being serious. Tommy noticed, raising his head to look at you.

You cracked a smile, hoping for some indication if he was joking or not.

“I’ll buy you a ring of course! Honestly, you can pick it out yourself if you want, I want to make sure you like it. Even if it’s the most expensive one you can find. I’m sorry, I know this isn’t very romantic either…”

Your smile became even wider as watched him become a bundle of nerves.

“Tommy.” You pressed a finger to his lips.

He went silent, giving you all of his attention.

“Don’t apologize. We’re together, sharing a moment. There’s nothing more romantic than that.”

“Of course, I want to get married.”

Tommy broke into a cheesy smile, tackling you for at least the tenth time since he had arrived home.

“Ten karats and a princess cut by the way.” You whispered in his ear.

“Okay,” Tommy replied, fighting a fit of laughter.